#honestly see America right is unmissable. it's so good

[lord-radish]

Legit, you've gotta listen to the Ships and Dip V recordings from John Darnielle and John K. Samson. Fellow Johns. Johns in Arms.

Bonus song from another person at the Panel, Melissa McClelland:

[minsyal]

The Fugitive: Finding Home, Pt. 2

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

The Fugitive: Finding Home Masterlist

Part 1 - The Beginning

“Mother Miranda, I’ve been requesting new maids for at least six months to this day.”

“That’s because you keep eating your other ones.”

You were shaken awake.

“I think that my castle would be best suited for her.”

“Oh, so you can bleed ‘er dry? You think that would really be the best use of anyone’s time?” A familiar voice retorted.

“Good morning!” A shrill voice squeaked as what felt like wood kicked at your face. “She’s up! She’s up! She’s up!” It exclaimed excitedly with a bounce, the voice became softer as the skittering of feet scrambled away.

“Ah,” the unfamiliar smooth woman’s voice cooed as your eyes adjusted to your surroundings. There were what looked to be six figures in the room. Miranda stood before you, perched upon a stage-like area that once housed what you could only imagine was a priest or preacher. To the left sat a cloaked woman with a blob of white resting in her lap. Another woman, also adorned in a white garb, sat towering over the rest, the light constant trickle of smoke danced upward from her vintage cigarette holder. On your right sat a familiar face, the man from the village who had saved you only a few hours prior. You’d come to know him as Lord Heisenberg. He maintained the large woman’s gaze, but the look held no love or any remote sense of familial belonging. Instead, his eyes were set ablaze, even behind the shaded rims of his glasses. Lastly, a shorter creature with a large hunched back moved ungracefully around. Its long gangly arms accompanied by its deformed face only aided in the growing unease.

The dull ache of your shoulder only distracted you from the bindings of your wrists for a moment. Your attention was quickly drawn to the rough ropes that dug their thorny threads into the soft skin of your wrists. Everything ached, mentally and physically.

“I do think she would be best suited with me.” The tall woman repeated herself. “There’s no doubt Moreau wouldn’t be able to handle her, and likely not the rest of you either.”

The hunched creature whirled back, throwing a forlornly glare in the woman’s direction. You supposed that was Moreau.

“You think I couldn’t handle her?” Heisenberg shot back, bent forward to rest his weight on his heels. His relationship with the large woman was clearly tumultuous given his outburst and her subsequent reaction.

“You always get them.” The shrill voice called. It was the doll; the fucking doll was talking... not that this should surprise you at this point. “She should come with us! We need more friends.”

“You’re not included in this conversation.” The tall woman mocked with a fierce glare shot violently at the doll as its mouth hung slack.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Thus far, nobody had managed to answer your simple question. The lot turned toward you, the majority with piercing stares. “Guess not.” You muttered, becoming quite fed up with the range of emotions you had been experiencing over the past day. If it kept going in this direction, you’d surely have to be treated for whiplash.

“She’s already proven to be a considerable pain in my neck.” Miranda loudly projected. Her steps were a clear juxtaposition to her tone, falling light on the church floor as she approached. “One villager is unable to walk, another dead.”

“Dead?” The words fell before you could stop yourself. She didn’t answer.

“Please,” Heisenberg leaned back once more, his hand moving to the interior of his jacket, “the dumb thing practically laid down when she was attacked by a lycan.” His fingers fumbled around the darkened paper of a cigar. Yellow, blonde streaks flashed upon his face as the distinguishable clink of a metal lighter was flicked. “I wouldn’t call that too capable.”

“My friend pushed me.” You argued, once again mentally reeling for the outburst.

Heisenberg let out a huff of smoke, intentionally blowing it in the tall woman’s direction, “sounds like a piss poor friend.”

“Enough.” Miranda had taken to her spot at the front near the alter once more. “The girl shall go to Alcina.”

A wicked smile crossed the tall woman’s face. “Thank you, Mother Miranda. It is so good to have you back.”

“Where are you from?” One of the girls ushered you through the depths of the castle. She wore a simple gown with stitches at the bottom, holding together the frail fabric that looked to be decades old.

“America.”

The girl cocked her head to the side like a newborn. “I don’t know of that town.”

Upon arrival you were escorted down to what was described as the maids’ chambers. In a small stone room, you were assigned a cot, given a chest, and told to change into uniform. Your arm ached and spasmed as you lifted the lid of the trunk open. Somewhere between being shot by the villagers and being transported to Castle Dimitrescu, the bullet was removed from your shoulder and replaced with gauze that limited the mobility of your arm. The distinct oily feeling of grease caused friction between the bandages and your clothes; the ache of alcohol still stung, causing a sore numbness.

The Lady insisted all maids conform to the strict code of dress. Long, unflattering dresses, short heels, and sometimes a headscarf if hair wasn’t pulled tautly into a bun at the base of one’s neck were a few things to name the least. You always wore the headscarf, which was a thin piece of grey lace that attached at the peak of your hairline, cascading over your shoulders to land at waist-length.

The rest of the day passed slowly. You learned the ins and outs of the castle, became acquainted with the sparse staff that only consisted of women, and met Alcina’s daughters from a distance. The next two weeks passed the same way.

Wake up, clean the castle, serve Lady and her daughters, go to bed. That was your routine. Though, the sounds that seeped from the halls at night prompted unwavering curiosity. Heisenberg had mentioned the ill-fated maids that had the luxury of serving the Dimitrescu women back in that church. Nothing at this point had you doubting that was the case. But you assured yourself daily that you would not accept the castle’s fate; you would get out of here one way or another.

You had only been at the mercy of Lady Dimitrescu once to this day. A small spat broke out between maids and the arrival of the head of house had the women squealing lies of how you were the one to start it.

“She stole our rations!” The girl with the wide nose accused her chubby finger outstretched in your direction.

“I didn’t steal anything, you dirty fucking liar.”

“She did. We were squabbling over how she should be punished.” The other girl replied, tucking a shaking hand behind her back as she straightened her poor posture.

“A thief,” Alcina regarded you, “that’s a shame.” Knives skid across the thin skin of your forearm. “Another outburst like this and there will be harsher consequences.” Red stained her tongue as she ran the claw through her cherry-red lips.

As she sauntered down the hall and out of sight, you uncurled your arm from your chest, wincing at the large crimson stain it left on your dress.

“Fresh face.” The words ricocheted off the wall in front of you. Footsteps steadfastly approached from behind. He walked with an effortless swagger, legs slightly bowed with each lyrical step. You’d gone for the quiet route after the situation, finding that silence often pleased those that ruled over the castle. “Here I was thinkin’ it would take you a little longer to lose that fight.” He stepped closer; the unmissable smell of tobacco seeped from his lips. “Looks like I was wrong.”

Instead of words, you held his gaze through unimpressed eyes. Hues of yellows, greys, and greens met yours from beneath his rounded glasses. You could see more of him from here. A large scar ran from the right of his face to the left, the lifted skin healing over leaving memories of whatever had happened. In fact, the majority of his face was plagued with scars. One ran from the bottom of his lip down to his chin, disappearing beneath the stubble of his beard. You wondered if his disdain toward Alcina was founded by those wretched claws of hers. His hair was wirey with shades of brown and peppered grey streaking through the ends. Quite honestly, he was an attractive man.

“I’ve got a name, you know?”

“I don’t think I cared to ask.”

“Then I suppose you aren’t deserving of one either.”

“Well,” he tapped at your chest with a gloved finger, “I think you’ve got a little spunk left in you, sweetheart.”

“Call me Y/n.”

“No last name?” He deadpanned.

“L/n.”

He nodded, but you felt as though your words had passed through him like a ghost.

“Karl.” He gave a lazy bow, tilting the rim of his hat. “But I think you probably already knew that.”

“Gossip and information don’t come easily from the maids here. Sorry,” you pressed your lips together, “I didn’t know.”

Karl gave a shrug.

“Do you know what happened to my friend?” The thought had been playing on your mind for the past few weeks.

He raised an inquisitive brow and turned his head to peer out the shaded window. “The so-called friend that left you to become lycan chow?” A hearty tut left his chest. “I think she’s assimilated into the town.”

“Dumb bitch.” You breathed.

“There’s that spark.” He stood tall with an artificial sense of pride. It had been a long time since somebody in the village was willing to use such crude language in front of any of the Lords, let alone Miranda. It almost astonished him that they’d let you live after the killing of Adelina’s brother. The gun misfired; it wasn’t really your fault.

Another week of growing suspicions and two newly missing maids, you finally attempted to seek out the dungeons that everyone spoke of but warned to stray from. You had to know what was going on here.

“Lost?” Heisenberg’s voice appeared at your right side. His chin almost rested upon your shoulder; the stubble of his beard scratched at your neck. “This isn’t a place I’d get lost in if I were you. In fact, it’s not even a place you should be exploring.”

“Are you going to run to Alcina if I do?” You didn’t face him, why would you? The hallway was cramped, restricting of any sort of movement other than in the direction you were going.

“Me?” He leaned backward to stand at full height. Your body cursed silently, wishing nothing more than to have him close again. How he wasn’t hitting his head on the rafter just inches above floored you. “I hate that bitch. You do what you want, but I won’t bail you out when you get caught.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on being caught then.” You descended the metal ladder, only looking upward for a moment to catch a glimpse of Heisenberg leaning over the opening. An eerie smile was plastered on his lips, it was almost smug.

The dungeons were as you imagined. Cold water trickled down some of the walls, likely due to cracks in the castle’s foundation accompanied by the ever melting of the outside snow. It smelled of mothballs and garlic, something musty was clinging to the air. You noted a few turns here and there, attempting to memorize the path you had taken in case you needed to make a swift escape. What didn’t help was the skid of your maid’s clothes along the rigid floor.

Muffled cries put you further onto the edge. The narrow hall gave way to a large room filled with arched stonework. Metal bars shot from floor to ceiling, hinges creaked as the sound of hands banging against them filled your eardrums. You didn’t want to go further, scared of any repercussions should any of the jailed women recognize and rat you out.

Turning to head to the ladder, you collided with a chest. “Leaving so soon?” Heisenberg again.

“Shh!” You slapped at his chest with a closed fist, only realizing what you had done when the action was completed. He looked rightfully amused. Everything that you had learned of these “Lords” up to now told you to act less casually with him, to put on an air of respect at the very least. But there was something surprisingly human about him. Something that told you it was okay despite it potentially not being so. At this point, you were only prolonging the inevitable.

“What?” He started, swiftly being cut off by approaching footsteps. Firm hands grasped at your arms, pulling your face forward into his chest. “Open your mouth and I’ll feed you to whatever’s coming.” He said through his teeth, trapping your arms between your two bodies.

The room grew dim, the wall behind your back became close even though you had not moved at all. Heisenberg’s grip was strong on your forearms, causing you to inaudibly hiss as his thumb dug into the slash Alcina had left weeks prior. The footsteps were accompanied by the soft cries of a woman, gasping pleas of being let go falling silent on the ears of her assailant. A minute passed; the dungeon fell soundless.

“You can breathe now.” His lips lingered close to your ear, once again sending a rush of chills crawling down your skin. He knew what he was doing.

“I’ve been breathing.” You breathily retorted sounding as if you had just run a marathon.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

The wall behind you gave way, moving on its own. You turned; the materials that had been pressed to your back laid themselves on the ground. Heisenberg’s smile was unmissable. “Go ahead.” His voice was gravely, gruff, a slight melancholy dismay underlying. Heisenberg desired for you to implore what just happened, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You refused to see him as anything but normal, for if you did give in to the village’s mental games, you’d likely find yourself going mad. He was a man, you told yourself, nothing more.

“I thought you weren’t going to bail me out?”

“I wasn’t.” He tightened his grip on your arms. “But I figured it’d be a shame to lose such a pretty face so soon.”

“I, I’m sure you say that to all the girls here.” You couldn’t hold his gaze at this distance. Perhaps Adelina was right, you were rather frumpy and unexperienced.

A huff came as he exhaled, a thoughtful tug of his lips upward accompanied it. He didn’t answer, a reoccurring event with those who inhabited this town.

Heisenberg had been keeping his trips to and from the castle a secret. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure why he felt so inclined to bother with the outsider woman who appeared in the village one fateful evening. Perhaps he was growing bored of his daily routine with no results to show. Maybe he was enticed by the well of knowledge you held of the outside world. Maybe it was something else, something human. The Lord’s weren’t allowed to stray far from the village. The other three lived delightfully oblivious, completely okay with never exploring the unknown. Heisenberg, on the other hand, was not. Your friend, Jess as he recalled you calling her, was far from interesting to him. It didn’t take a genius to tell how low her I.Q. had to be. She conformed easily to the village and by all accounts had been down talking you to the others she met. She quickly fell into the same brainwashed daze of worship.

It had been another turbulent week of utter chaos around every corner. Nobody knew of your adventure into the depths of Castle Dimitrescu and you had no intentions of spreading any gossip among the maids. They all seemed to have it out for you anyway. You were the “outsider,” as one described it. It was so blatantly evident to them that you were not going to conform to their ways. And that disturbed them.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t your fair share of punishment to this point. In actuality, you had received a significantly greater amount of beratements and surface wounds from Alcina and her daughters. You thought to Heisenberg often, continually wondering how your life would differ had Miranda bestowed you upon him. He was irresistibly charming in his own twisted sense. Every word that escaped his mouth heavily contradicted his actions. You received a good number of swats to the hand stemming from woeful daydreaming of the man you hardly knew.

He could be dangerous, you’d tell yourself before slipping into yet another sequence of fervent and unrelenting thoughts stemming from the mysterious man. He was a Lord, one placed in a top position according to the village’s hierarchy. You just weren’t sure why.

There had been countless times the man had sauntered into the castle, “accidentally” run into you, and held brief conversation.

The other maids were assholes. Though you had concluded this swiftly upon entering the castle, their recent actions only solidified your feelings.

It had been only a day since Heisenberg’s last visit. He strolled into the castle, easing his way past the maids as they hurriedly passed by. They paid him no mind. The evening sun had begun to set in the sky. Lady Dimitrescu had gone out for the night, instructing her girls to hold down the castle while she was away. The three of them had descended into the dungeons, not to be seen again until morning. This left the halls free and roamable for the savvy Lord.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Your voice caught his attention. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Marybeth.”

Shrill voices argued back and forth behind the kitchen doors. The sound of muffled giggles fell on his ears; it was an unusual sound within the castle walls. The girls must be relaxed knowing they’re safe from punishment tonight. At least, that’s what they thought.

In a second, the hinges of the door burst off, sending the heavy frame crashing down to the tiled floor. Shrieks came quickly and died on their lips as soon as the girls realized who was there.

“Lord Heisenberg.” One woman bowed her head, concealing something within her hands as she placed them in her lap, clasped tightly together. “Lady Dimitrescu has left for the evening.”

“I know.” His brow raised at the scene set before him. You stood to the rear of the kitchen, clearly irate at something the woman who regarded him had done. Five other women were huddled with the one who spoke, following her lead and averting their gazes. No aroma of cuisine drifted from the empty cauldron, only the stale scent of curing meats clung to the air.

“What’s going on in here?” He looked directly at you from beneath the lid of his hat.

“We were cleaning the kitchen.” The maid spoke through shaking breaths.

After a pensive moment, he waved his hand. “You’re dismissed. Except,” he held his hand at your chest as you attempted to pass, “you.”

The girls stumbled over the door, making quick work of getting back to their quarters and away from the Lord. You listened as the audience of feet trampled away. None of the girls here knew how to walk in heels causing for a rather elephant-like clomping of shoes wherever they went.

“What really happened?”

“Do you care?”

“Not particularly, but color me curious.”

“Don’t get them in trouble.” You demanded through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to deal with the aftermath.”

He chortled. “You seem more afraid of them than you are of me.”

“You’ve not given me a reason to be scared.”

Your back pressed to the wall, a glass chalice fell, shattering against the floor. The lapels of his jacket and dog tags pushed to your chest were still cold from the frosted night air. “Do I need to give you a reason?”

“I just,” embarrassment rose in your cheeks, “would you stop doing this?” There was no budging the man. His strength far outweighed yours, easily acting as if your pushing against his chest was nothing but a soft breeze.

“Doing what?” A smirk grew on his lips. God, he loved this.

“This!” Your clenched fist banged on his chest, not rattling him in the slightest. Droplets of claret liquid ran from your palm to your elbow. “Dammit, Karl. Move.”

The use of his first name was new. A solid hand closed around your wrist, bringing it up to eye level. He tilted back, adjusting his vision. The raise of his brow signaled that he wanted you to open your hand. Complying, you cringed as the reddened skin screamed for relief.

“They did this?”

“It’s no different from the other injuries I’ve gotten here.”

“It’s deep.” He reached into the pocket of his trench coat. “Don’t let anyone know you’ve got this.” A silver tin slipped from his hand to yours, you pried at its ridges with your nail.

Heisenberg disappeared after that, taking off with a dramatic throw of the castle doors as he disappeared into the dense forest. He had given you a tin of salve and a bandage.

“Lady Dimitrescu has requested your presence.”

The Fugitive: Finding Home Part 3 - Foreign Thoughts

I'm so excited for where this fic is going...

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[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Star Trek: A Product of the Times

Miniskirts, beehives and bowlcuts, goodness gracious, is there any time that Star Trek could have been made but the 1960s?

The short answer?  Not really.

Star Trek was made at quite an interesting time.  The Civil Rights Movement, the space race, Vietnam, the Cold War, the hippie movement, and the new wave of feminism was all coming in a wave that swept the nation, turning the country on its head and plunging its people into turmoil.  The 1960s were an uncertain time: President John F. Kennedy was assassinated at the beginning of the decade after dealing with the Cuban Missile Crisis, Martin Luthor King Jr. was assassinated near the end, just in time to see the Civil Rights and Voting Act of the mid-’60s come to pass, ensuring equal rights for all.  In 1969, America put a man on the moon, Nixon won the election of 1968, and Woodstock closed out the summer of ‘69 with a bang.

This was the world Star Trek was born into: a world full of hope and fear.

You may be wondering why I’m telling you all this, why this all matters.

The answer is extremely simple: to help contextualize, and therefore understand, Star Trek, we have to understand the 1960s.

See, no piece of media is an island.  Every movie, every book, tv show and song, is a product of people living in the times, therefore, a product of the times itself.  Everything, no matter how much of a ‘classic’, exists as a product of those who created it, people whose thoughts and actions are influenced very heavily by the world they live in, and the culture around them, ‘dating’ them to future viewers.

That’s to be expected.

It makes sense that our culture shapes who we are and what we think, and therefore the kinds of things we create.  This, in and of itself, is far from a problem.  However, it does leave those of us who enjoy older films with a rather interesting question:

How dated is too dated?

Can we as an audience still enjoy a film that is discernibly made in a time before our own?  Is it possible to relate to the content created in a time of different technology, clothes, and, most importantly, a different political and social climate than the one we currently live in?

The fact is, there is nobody and nothing in existence that can stop any piece of media from being ‘dated’ in the sense that, no matter what, whatever is being made will have the impact of the culture it is made in.  It simply can’t be avoided.  Even films set in the future will feature the hairstyles of the decade it was created in, or use the special effects of the time.  This, although sometimes a little odd, does not negatively impact the films that we watch.  These things are mere trimming, the external demonstration of the culture of the times.  We can watch The Breakfast Club or The Terminator and notice the ‘80s clothes, slang, trends and references, but it does not hurt the core essence of the movie.

So what does?

Ideas.

In my opinion, it is not the styles of a film, but the ideas, the themes, how the world is viewed, that dates a film, more than any beehive or mullet ever could.  It is these elements that cause modern viewers to cringe at offensive lines or words, to wince at blatant displays of sexism or prejudice, and sometimes, turn away from older movies forever.

However, ignoring it, and refusing to watch it, doesn’t make anything better.  After all, those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it, and although movies and television aren’t quite history, they’re a picture of it.

Looking at the context in which a film was created can help us figure out why decisions were made, and understand how the culture has changed.  By looking at where we’ve been, we can better appreciate where we are now, and look to where we are going to be.  We can, and indeed, we should look back at older films, and recognize what doesn’t hold up and what is considerably Not Okay, without ignoring what does hold up.

That’s what we’re doing now.  Today, we’re answering the question:

How dated is Star Trek?

Let’s take a look.

To be honest, at first glance, it seems like it is.  Very much so.

Between very on-the-nose storylines facing off against hippies, racism and the Vietnam war, Uhura’s miniskirt, Yeoman Rand’s beehive, and Chekov’s bowl cut, it seems utterly impossible that this show can exist and hold up in a time period past the 1960s.  The special effects are sometimes cheesy, the acting can be hammy, and the moments of ‘progressiveness’ that are so often praised seem rather small.

Uhura was a black woman on the bridge, sure, but she was horrendously underutilized.  Female characters regularly wore skimpy outfits and threw themselves at male members of the crew, serving as props, seducers, innocents, and rarely holding any real power.  The final episode of the series is about an insane woman who swaps bodies with Captain Kirk because she claimed women weren’t allowed to be starship captains.  Evil Kirk’s assault of Janice Rand is brushed off.  The main characters are all white, and every minority character is in a supporting role.

It’s easy to look back from the twenty-first century with uncomfortably raised eyebrows and ask: “This was progress?”

All in all, it seems impossible to modern audiences that this show could possibly be as revolutionary as it is often said to be.  How can this show be a television game changer, the show that inspired so many and so much good?  How can Star Trek be considered so progressive?

Honestly, it’s all dependent on the time.

Looking back, it’s very easy to judge, to turn our backs on a show that is, in a lot of ways, clearly dated.  There’s no saving the reputation of the bowl cuts, the campy acting, or the tinfoil bikinis, but, if you will, allow me to contextualize, not just the show, but the culture as well.

The year is 1966, and Star Trek’s first pilot has failed, accused of being ‘too cerebral’, (among other things) and having a woman as the second in command on the ship.  The new show, considerably retooled with a whole new crew except for a mixed-race half extra-terrestrial, is set to air, and your crew includes two white American men, the aforementioned half alien, a Scotsman, an Asian man, and a black woman, all in positions of authority on a military ship designed for exploration in deep space.

An Asian man with no stereotypically Asian accent, hobbies, or background was the helmsman for the Enterprise.  A black woman was a lieutenant commander, the chief communications officer.  They were positioned in such a way that they were unmissable for viewers, and regularly took part in landing parties and missions.  They were very smart and very capable.

Now, that’s nothing.  Then?

In 1966, that was huge.

While to modern eyes, the show’s claim to progressiveness seemed like the bare minimum, in the time that the show was produced, it was a big deal.  The equality on the bridge of the Enterprise, (unquestioned, undiscussed equality) changed television, and subtly forced viewers to question their own prejudices.  The idea of a perfect future was one with no prejudice, no distinction among humans.

To quote Kirk himself:

“Leave any bigotry in your quarters; there’s no room for it on the bridge.”

On Star Trek, especially in the Federation, everyone was an equal.  No member of the crew was worth more, or treated differently, than any other.  Multiple characters (non male, non white) characters are portrayed as high ranking, deserving of equal respect.  Sure, now it doesn’t look like a big deal, but in the end, that’s a good thing.

It means that times have changed, and that even in the 1960s, people knew they should change.

In the end, Star Trek remains a good look at a utopian future where everyone is deserving of equal respect and care.  Is it perfect?  No.

But it was about as good as we can expect: Fair For Its Day.

To quote the TVTropes definition of this specific phrase:

“Something from the past that seems like a huge load of Values Dissonance. It seems laden with, say, a Rose-Tinted Narrative or a Historical Hero or Villain Upgrade.

Only… it turns out it was comparatively Fair for Its Day. Maybe the Historical Hero Upgrade or Historical Villain Upgrade wasn’t that unfair a reflection on the person’s views. Maybe the Rose-Tinted Narrative just wasn’t rose-tinted enough for its original audience. Maybe it was even ripped apart in its own time for being downright insurrectionist, and was brave to go as far as it did. It might even completely agree with modern attitudes, but not do so Anviliciously enough for today’s audiences.”

Such is Star Trek.

The miniskirts?  A demonstration of freedom and fashion in the late 1960s.  Uhura’s job?  As a black woman in the ‘60s in a position of authority, it was groundbreaking.  A non-stereotyped Asian man and a non-evil Russian?  Unthinkable.  Khan, one of the show’s most memorable and well-loved villains?  Played by Ricardo Montalbán, a Mexican.  Kirk reported to higher-ranking non-white officers.

Does that fix the fact that Janice Rand’s assault was largely brushed off?

No.

But it’s a start.

Star Trek’s legacy is, not in its perfection, but in the fact that it was a product of the times that saw the need for change.  It’s impact, it’s importance lies in its guts to push the boundaries of what was acceptable at the time, to be a product of the times that was looking for a better future.

Yes, times have changed, and Star Trek no longer looks as groundbreaking as it did at the time.  That’s good.  It shouldn’t.  But that does not mean that it loses its importance.

Star Trek remains a titan among game-changers in the history of pop-culture, and rightfully so.  Very few franchises have the scope of influence and inspiration that Star Trek lays claim to having, and in a true test of its values, continued to expand on them and grow and change with the culture with each version, continuing to strive for the best.

All that leads us to our final question.

Is Star Trek dated?

In some ways, yes.  Some of those stories could only have been created in the 1960s.  Some interactions were only possible in a bygone era.

In others?

Star Trek’s general concept, and indeed, a lot of its execution, actually does hold up very well.  The stories are often just as interesting and compelling as they were when they were first released, and the characters remain as gripping and entertaining, over fifty years later.  In terms of storytelling and characters, for the most part, Star Trek is not dated.

After all, the idea of equality, and a better future, is never dated.

Yes, Star Trek is a product of its times.  Very much so.  However, that fact makes the series no less enjoyable.  It was influenced by its culture and its times just as much as it would go on to influence, and even today, it still casts a long shadow on television, and the culture at large. Star Trek stands the test of time, serving as a reminder of times past, while at the same time looking to the future.

In 1966, Star Trek was a visionary concept that ended up changing the world.  Just because we’ve seen progress since then doesn’t take away any of its punch, it just shows us that it was on the right track.

Fifty years later, Star Trek is still boldly going, and it will continue to do so as long as people still look for a better, brighter future.

Thanks so much for reading!  Don’t forget to use that ask box if you have your own ideas or thoughts that you’d like to share.  I hope to see you in the next article.