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Sorry about writing another Star Trek-related post but I can’t stop thinking about how much gosh darn fun that movie was. Henry and I are hoping to see it again on Friday, and if Dan wants to see it on Saturday I’ll go again! Perhaps on the second viewing I’ll be able to avoid weeping at the opening sequence. Probably not :)

Forgot to mention that McCoy looked strangely familiar… someone said something yesterday about someone from LotR being in Star Trek and I suddenly put all the pieces together — he was Eomer! My god, he made a good McCoy.

James Lileks wrote an excellent review yesterday:
http://lileks.com/bleat/?p=2169

Some choice excerpts:

Chekov: Can we bring back Wesley Crusher and not make you hate him? Yes We Can! A very endearing take on a character who was, let’s admit, a Beatle-Commie. Or maybe a Monkee-Commie. Chekov was always the guy who waved his hands at what he saw on the console and couldn’t figure it out, and that was the end of it, keptin; this Chevok looks at the readouts and figures it out, his mind racing ahead of itself. (Note to starship designers: for GOD’S SAKE, figure out a way to transfer transporter control to the bridge. TRUST ME. It will come up again.)

Uhuru: Oh my. Ditch Ms. Nichol’s velvety star-stenographer routine, dress her up fine – these boots were made for establishing a subspace channel, and that’s not all they’ll do – and give her a hint of romance that really turned canon upside down and said HA HA to the purists. Loved her.

Bottom line: Loved it. Loved it, loved it. O I loved it….The opening was just a big shovel of chocolate for the fans – been a while since you saw something with NCC on the hull fire phasers and get hit with torpedoes and generally blow the hell up, eh? Here. On the house. And it’s emotional, too – thus was Odysseus born!

It wrapped up fast, which was welcome. I hate movies that drag the final cataclysm on and on, but when this was done, it was done. Then it was one final piece of chocolate for the fans – Pike, in a wheelchair! Yes! – before curtain call. All the characters in place, everyone stepping into the shades of their predecessors, staring into a bright new future that you can be damned sure will have a sequel, possibly going up against Iron Man 3 or maybe an X-Men Origins tale, but, really, Cyclops? Who the hell cares about him? Jerk.

Then the voice over; then the theme, and it’s like they emptied an entire can of Reddi-Whip on the entire cake. You’re ten again, and you can’t possibly be happier.

Oh yes, yes it was. Actually, it was like being 7, and watching Star Trek re-runs with my big brother in 1976, and then taking a walk down our dirt road and pretending we were an away party. (California foothills have the same terrain as most class-M planets, oddly enough.)

And it was like being 11 and planning my life so I could sit in front of our tiny B&W tv all weekend for a Star Trek marathon, watching every single episode through the snowy reception.

And it was like sitting with my little sister in front of the TV every afternoon, waiting for Star Trek to come on at 3:30, and hoping it wouldn’t be “The Enemy Within” again. (Why did it seem like they played “The Enemy Within” twice a week?)

One more thing: MINISKIRTS! No more creepy clingy stretch polyester bootcut jumpsuit monstrosities!