'Tis Charity to Show Chapter VII Part 2

‘Tis Charity to Show

Chapter VII

Part 2

They could hear the mayhem coming from the meeting room before they even reached the place; Rose’s voice was shrill and grating against Scotty’s jumbling mess of halted, severed sentences. 

Spock reached the meeting room before the others, but suddenly stopped abruptly by the door.  He just stood there, appearing confused, puzzled, his hand gripping the frame of the door, as if some kind of fainting spell was trying to overtake him.  Rand looked at Spock, mystified over Spock’s behavior, until impatience spurred her to step under his bracing arm and enter the room, with Begay following her. 

Scotty and Rose stood toe to toe, like bulls, screaming at each other in blaring, deafening pitches.  Rose shoved Scotty in the chest hard enough to make him trip, stumble, and fall.  Standing with her feet apart and her fists clenched, Rose raised her head defiantly, like a pack animal that humiliated her alpha leader.  While Scotty was struggling to get up off the floor, Rose loomed over him like a schoolyard bully waiting to stomp him.

“P-p-p-pussy!” 

When Scotty finally got up, his eyes were ablaze.  His lips twisted obscenely, barring teeth.  He let out a ripping howl as he grabbed Rose by the collar and yanked her, making her head snap back violently.  His other hand struck her in a back-handed slap that echoed in a nauseating, crackling sound, like bones shattering.   

“Scotty!”

Rand leapt towards Rose, whose body was twisting in free fall after Scotty released her from his grip.  Rose crashed to the floor, landing on her hip.  Blood coated her lips, laced her teeth, and there was an angry red impression that ran from her cheek to her chin. 

Rand bent down over Rose and reached for her face, cradling it in her hands.  Rose was crying, her eyes squeezed shut and smeared with the wetness of her tears, her mouth a grimaced red pit. 

“Hyacinth!  Hyacinth!”

Rand could hear the shakiness in her own voice and tried to control it, but the image of a wild-eyed, sneering Scotty backhanding Rose seared through her mind.  Rose kept screaming, inconsolable, unreachable.  Rand looked up and saw Begay struggling against an irate, crimson-faced Scotty who was reaching over Begay’s shoulder with an accusatory finger towards his victim.

“At least Begay has him under control,” she thought with some relief. 

Rand looked over at Spock, who was still standing by the door.  He was rotating his head slowly, his shoulders hunched, his eyes strained.  It was as if there was something in his head he couldn’t shake, like an invasive, insistent white noise. 

“Spock, are you all right?”  Rand asked warily.   

 It was hard for Rand to tell whether Spock was going to stay where he was, or leave his spot.  But then, as if answering her, he stopped turning his head and straightened up, his eyes suddenly relaxed and focused, and started towards Rand when a bizarre contraption, long, bulky and multi-tentacled, slid in his path and under his feet, making him trip and tumble to the floor in a pummeling spill. 

There was dead silence.  Everyone froze in their place.

Rand held her breath, taking a look at what it was that appeared out of nowhere to make Spock fall. 

It was a spiral plant-holder, made out of plastic but produced to resemble a tree, its branches shaped as bowls where potted plants could be placed, accented by dainty carvings of attentive little fairies hovering just underneath the pots.

One of the plant holders had broken off and bounced down the floor, heading towards Rand.  She followed it with her eyes numbly, forgetting all about Rose, who she was still holding.  The clattering of the holder echoes through the quiet of the room until it came to an abrupt halt.

“WHAT DID YOU DO??!!  I’M TRYING TO BUILD MY OBSTACLE COURSE HERE AND YOU BREAK ONE OF MY EQUIPMENT PIECES??!!  WHY DON’T YOU WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, GODDAMNIT!!!!”

Riley appeared, seemingly, out of nowhere, standing over Spock and yelling at him, gesturing wildly, while Spock lay face down on the floor. 

Spock hoisted himself up slowly, tentatively, until he was sitting up.  He looked at the detached plastic piece on the floor in front of him, and then at the bottom of his meditation robe and saw that the hem had been torn, its gold trim detached raggedly and dragging beneath his feet.

Spock looked up at Riley, who continued to yell, point and gesture.  At first, his eyes were dead as he sat there on the floor.  But then, something happened to them when he started to get up,  his eyes came alive in a slow, rolling boil. 

“YYYYOOOUUU  STUUUPID STUUUUPID……..What??!! WHOA!!!!

It happened quicker than an eye blink, or at least it seemed that way to Rand.  Spock’s lip was turned downward in a contemptuous curl, mirroring Scotty’s when he had attacked Rose.  His eyes narrowed on Riley like a falcon that finds its prey before tearing it apart for the feeding.  With unnatural speed, Spock latched onto Riley by the back of his collar and lifted him up, making Riley hang like a ragdoll.  Riley looked down to see the long, elegant fingers of the First Officer’s curling up one by one into a fist. 

The Lieutenant’s face was a clear expression of dread and horror with his gaping eyes and trembling lips, as he grabbed Spock’s wrist with both hands, pushing and pulling, attempting to loosen the Vulcan’s steely grip on him.  He twisted his neck, trying to duck his head inside his collar in order to remove himself from his tunic.  His body jerked like a chicken pinned to a slaughterhouse hook. 

“GOD, NO!! SPOCK!!” 

Rand jumped up and sprinted towards Spock, abandoning a distressed, hysterical Rose right there on the floor.  Begay and Scotty shot out in front of Rand and reached out, their hands outstretched.  Begay was yelling at Spock to stop, to put Riley down, to think carefully about what he was doing. 

The two men surrounded Spock and Riley, and Begay tried to grab Spock by his arm, but Spock elbowed him in the shoulder blade, making Begay crumble to Spock’s feet.  Scotty tried to grab Riley, but ended up clawing at air as Spock yanked Riley away from him.  Spock pulled Riley horizontally while he reached under and punched Riley square in the face. 

Riley’s nose and mouth collapsed under the weight of Spock’s fist, globs of red, pink and white matter exploding onto bare knuckles.  The pitiful, writhing squeal that came from Riley was the last thing Rand heard before everything went completely black.

   

  

'Tis Charity to Show Chapter VII Part 1

‘Tis Charity to Show

Chapter VII

Part 1

Rand was sick and tired of staring up at the ceiling.  It had become a bad habit, almost like an addiction that consumed her, but she’d become afraid of falling asleep.  She simply couldn’t understand, for the life of her, how otherwise astute and reasonable Starfleet personnel could be oblivious to their plight one moment, and then, the next moment, be so keenly aware of it.

Rand let out a long, ragged breath and ran her fingers through her hair, which was fanned out on the pillow.   She knew that she couldn’t count herself entirely blameless, as she’s been almost completely swept away by all the hallucinations and apparitions like everyone else, but the extreme sexual nature of her experiences have kept her from confiding about them to anyone.

That scene in the shower room changed all that.

Something was going on that was distracting the landing party, keeping them dangerously absorbed, isolated to their own illusions, and from one another, while whatever it was ate away at what little faculties of reason they had left. 

Rand continued to gaze at the ceiling, at the wheel of light from Tijus’ moon projecting from the blinds.  She thought back to Dr. Ellis’ logs, and how they degenerated into gibberish about her childhood eczema.  Clearly, what was happening to this landing party had happened to the missing archeological team.

Why the hell didn’t she see this before? 

Rand chuckled.

Stupid question, when you consider what’s been going on, she thought.

Rand wondered if the physical deterioration of the crew was somehow connected to all this; the pale skin, ragged eyes and weight loss. 

Was all of this connected to the team’s disappearance?  Because if it was, that meant Rand needed to reach Spock, to make him understand, before they became the subject of a search themselves.

She sprang upright in her bed, her lips drawn firmly, her back firm and rigid.

“I don’t give a shit,” she thought.

“I don’t give a shit about his nastiness, his standoffishness, his blocking the bedroom door!  I’m talking to Spock, even if I have to force him to listen!”

She flung the bed sheets off her body, sprang from the mattress and hastened out her bedroom door, not even bothering to close it behind as she headed for the hall to Spock’s room.

“Hey, Janice!”

Rand turned.  It was Dr. Begay, coming down from the other end of the hall, clad in his pajamas, slippers, and robe.

“You look like a woman running out of a burning building!  Where are you going?”

“I need to talk to Spock.”

“You too?”

“Yeah.  I can’t deal with his lack of action anymore.”

“Hey, I guess great minds think alike.  You can’t see him like that, though.”

“Like what?”

“Are you kidding?  You hardly have anything on.”

Rand knew she’d rushed out of her room without her robe and slippers, and that her nightshirt only covered her from the top of her thighs.

“Oh, give me a break, Mat.  I’m not naked.”

“A break, nothing.  Put this on.”

He slipped off his robe and held it out in front of him.  Rolling her eyes, Rand stepped in front of the robe, turned her back towards it, and put it on dutifully, tying the belt around her waist.  When she was finished, she turned to Begay and, in jest, held up her arms for inspection.

“Am I presentable now?” she smirked.

“Almost.  Put these on your feet.” 

Begay kicked his slippers off his feet, and pushed them, with his heels, towards her.

“Your slippers?  Don’t be silly, Mat.  What about you?” 

“You’d be surprised how thick my calluses are.  Don’t worry about me.  Put them on.”

“Oh, such a doctor,” Rand teased as she placed her feet in the slippers. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Finally.”

“Very funny.”

They started on their way hurriedly, asking each other about whether Spock would be receptive to their concerns.  When they reached his door, Rand and Begay stood in front of it and simply looked at each other.   It was like the one was waiting for the other to make the first move, to be the one to rap their knuckles on the door.

“OK.  I’ll let him know we’re here,” said Begay finally, a slight crack in his voice.

“Don’t get too nervous, Mat.  Chances are he won’t even answer,” Rand quipped.

“Then we’ll stand here for as long as it takes,” he said, his nerve gathering back.

He pounded on the door with the side of his fist, pushing aside any pretense of politeness. 

“Mr. Spock!  Mr. Spock! Do you hear me?  Are you in there?” 

“I can indeed hear you, Doctor, and I am indeed here, as I would be nowhere else at this hour.”

“Oh, my God!  I didn’t except it to be this easy,” whispered Rand.  “If this is a real window of opportunity opening up here, let’s jump on through, I say!”

Mr. Spock, I’m here with Yeoman Rand.  We have some real concerns about this mission that we feel need addressing.  May we come in?”

“By all means, if the matter is pressing.”

Rand’s smile burst forth as Dr. Begay pushed pushed open the door to Spock’s room and followed him in.  They found Mr. Spock in his long, black and gold trimmed robe, sitting erect in what appeared to be the lotus pose.  He was situated in front of a small alter shrouded in a black cloth, with a small bowl sitting on top of it.  A long crimson rug sat underneath both him and the alter.

“You must excuse me.  My faculties of concentration have alluded me throughout most of this mission, so during the few occasions I am able to settle my thoughts, I as you would say, grab hold of the opportunity, if you will.”

Spock leaned forward, placed his hands a few inches in front of him and hoisted himself up slowly.  There was fatigue etched in his face, a heaviness under his eyes that made him appear aged, frail.  He was thinner and paler like the rest of the landing party, making the greenish undertone of his skin harsh, glaring, almost cadaverous. 

Spock moved to the edge of his bed and sat down heavily, his shoulders slumped.  Rand and Begay walked over to Spock and stood over him, waiting.

“I must, in all honestly, say that my behavior has been less than fitting of a Starfleet officer, and that I am pleased that you are both here, so that you two may be the first that I apologize to.”

“Less than fitting is putting it mildly, but then Spock has always had a way of understating things,” thought Rand.

Still, she was moved by the gesture.   And downright relieved.

Whether Spock was going to stay in his right mind was still in question, so Rand kept a guarded optimism, as it would be stupid not to.

“That’s actually why we’re here, Mr. Spock.  Everyone’s been under some kind of influence that induces these strange behaviors.  This grip has been so strong that it’s distracted us almost to the point of our sabotaging this mission, sir.  And judging from Dr. Ellis’ logs and the erratic swing they took, I believe that our behavior on Tijus might be connected, in some way, to the disappearance of the expedition members.”

Spock’s brow cocked, his interest clearly peaked.

“I am listening, Yeoman.”

“YOOOOOUUUUUUBAAASSSSTARD!!!”

The scream was drawn out, wild and throaty.  Rand, Spock, and Begay turned to the door.

“What the hell…”

“It sounds like Rose!”

Spock was the first out the door as the three of them bounded down the hallway to the commotion in the meeting room.

   

  

'Tis Charity to Show Chapter VI Part 5

Tis Charity to Show

Chapter VI

Part 5

Rand was not too tired to be livid.  The landing party had just returned from a search conducted on the outskirts of the camp along the desert waste; a search that proved to be so futile it made Spock’s growing lack of professional judgment stunningly apparent, and all too embarrassing.

At least it was over for now, until the next time Spock would be seized by, and induced in, the throes of psychotic hubris.

The shower room resembled the Battery Park Tunnel, only a lot smaller, and without the curvature. Embedded in the tile, on either side, were rows of copper stump showerheads evenly positioned over small, rectangular dashboards.  The tile was a mood mellowing soft ecru, an appropriate color for winding down under glorious jets of warm water and steam, especially after the shit day she had.

Her flip flops made small hollow echoes as she walked over from the connecting locker room, and found a showerhead that was as far from the locker room door as possible for that much-needed sense of privacy.  She manipulated the eye-level controls on the dashboard until the showerhead moved upward to accommodate her height.  Pressing a few more controls made warm water shoot against her skin, enveloping her with its undulating vapors.

“Oh, God.  I seriously needed this,” she thought.

Rand could feel her anger ebb away in the water, vapors and lilac body shampoo she massaged over her body.  She sighed heavily and smiled, raising her face to the shower stream.  Here she could forget about Spock’s mad night search, and her feelings about being stranded on Tijus and abandoned by the Enterprise. 

And from Khobran.

Rand turned briefly from her shower to see a somewhat discombobulated Nurse Rose stumble to the shower next to her.

Barely able to mumble a greeting, she hastily worked the dashboard until water came down and surrounded her. 

Rand grunted, and was about to turn away when something when something struck her.  She pushed her wet, clinging hair away from her face and did a sweeping double take on Rose.

“Did you lose weight?”

Rose turned half-heartedly and cocked her ear towards Rand.

“Did I what?” she asked, listless and with slight irritation.

“You look like you’ve lost weight, around 20 pounds or better.  I’m not kidding!  I can’t imagine what your secret could be with all the food you’ve been wolfing down!”

Rose looked down at herself briefly.  “Hey, I’m not complaining.  At least I’m not as waiflike as you these days.”

Now, Rand looked down at her own body and rand her hand along her hip and ribcage.  She looked malnourished, wasted away.  The fullness of her hips were carved away, leaving indentations of slack, dry flesh.  Her ribs were pronounced, like a canopy, over a stomach so caved in as to looked almost pitted. 

Rand fought the urge to cry at how hollowed out she was, but the one thing that horrified her more was that she had never taken notice of her deteriorating appearance.  How the hell could she have missed all of this?!  She had showered daily, unclothed daily, lotioned herself up.

What in the hell was going on?

Perhaps in response to Rand’s reaction, Rose shrugged and said simply: “Hey, you don’t look that bad.  No worse than anyone else here.” 

There was an awkward silence between the two women.  Rand swallowed hard, thankful that the water from the shower camouflaged the tears that threatened to fall.

“Thanks,” said Rand, flatly.

“Don’t mention it,” Rose returned with equal deadpan delivery.

More silence stretched between them, the echoes of the shower sprays hitting the tile floor becoming louder against the quiet of the room.

Finally, Rose spoke again.  She hesitated, weighing her words very carefully.

“You know, in the beginning, Riley was being a bit of a jerk, complaining about the mission in those first meetings when there was nothing to complain about.  But, well, it seems to me kinda weird, but it was like his complaining was, I don’t know, foretelling how badly the mission would go. 

“Foretelling?  I don’t understand.”

“Well, yeah.  In the beginning, he said that the mission was taking too long and that we needed to wrap things up, which wasn’t true then.  Don’t you remember?  But now, it’s coming to pass.  It’s like he knew to complain before it happened!  Isn’t it weird?”

Rand snorted.  “Everything about this mission is weird.  It’s all creeping me out!  I even feel like I’m possessed at times, like I say and do things I’m not in control of.  Hell, sometimes I can’t even stay focused on things I can normally do with my eyes closed.”

“Same here!  One minute, I’m so all over the place sometimes in that medical lab that I end up wasting a lot of time, but then the next minute I can be just as focused as I would normally be.  Mathias is the same way-totally focused on his job and then minutes later he’s either crying like a baby or kneeling over, screaming about his guts!” 

“I know what you’re talking about.  When I was working in the kitchen with Riley he was so efficient and helpful, so unlike the nutcase obsessed with obstacle courses and that Russo guy.  You were with us in the kitchen.  You’ve seen him.  Night and Day.”

Rose looked at Rand quizzically, her eyebrows slightly raised.

“Speaking of the kitchen, what happened to you?  Weren’t you on meal duty with Riley?  Why did you leave like that?  And why did you take that black thing with you?”

Rand wasn’t even going to dignify that one.  She turned away from Rose to the shower dashboard, and altered the setting slightly for a warmer temperature. 

“Let’s just say I wasn’t focused on my duties like Riley was,” she said smugly.

Ssssswwweeeoooosshh!

Rand and Rose turned to each other, startled by the sound of a third showerhead being activated. 

Rand knew for a fact she’d alerted everyone that she would be taking a shower, which meant  the shower room was off limits to the men until she was finished.  Hyacinth was here taking a shower right next to her, accounted for. 

So, who in the hell was in here that wasn’t supposed to be?

Rand and Rose turned in the direction of where the sound was coming from and started to protest while they contorted their bodies, using their arms and legs in a vain attempt to cover their nakedness.  They started to back up to a safe corner, out of sight from the view of this inconsiderate blockhead, but then they froze, their bodies straightening up slowly, unaware, like they were on autopilot.  The two women went silent.

He was standing at the far end of the shower room, his tall powerful body naked as water shot down from the showerhead he stood under, plastering ringlets of blue-black hair to his forehead, which he pushed back and away with both hands, the movement emphasizing the bulge and cut of his biceps.

Rand couldn’t speak; she just stood there dumbly, watching him come closer, his eyes locked in on her like she was his target.  His steps were slow, deliberate, while he made his way to each along his path.  As he closed in, each showerhead would rise and settle to accommodate his height, the dashboards lighting up and fluttering just by him standing in their space; it was like something emanating from his body that acted like some kind of activating force.  Each showerhead dutifully sent out streams of water that cascaded down his hair, his neck and shoulders, his inner thighs, making his emerald skin slick and gleaming.  This went on for a while, until Khobran finally reached Rand and loomed over her, his long-lashed eyes narrowed and heavy-lidded, his lips parted slightly.

Rand knew that this thing standing in front of her wasn’t her lover, wasn’t Khobran, and yet he was physically like every inch of him, the violet glint in his eyes, his broad shoulders, even the hint of musk from his skin.  She couldn’t help herself.  She wanted him just the same, to surround him with her walls and legs. 

She reached up to touch him, caress him, her movement slow and thick like she was under water.  Khobran inched closer and took her hand, placed it on his taunt belly and guided it down with a gentle urgency.  Rand was drawn, lulled into the unreality of it all until another woman’s hand brushed clumsily along Khobran’s chest.

It was like Rand had been punched in the temple.  Livid, she jerked her head back and turned to see Nurse Rose bring her hand to her mouth and run her tongue over her palm.

“What the…fuck are you doing?!...Are you out of…your ever-loving mind?!”

Rand could feel her body shake with rage.  She knew that if she pushed Rose, gave her a good shove, that she might end up breaking her skull on the slippery wet tile, so she checked herself as best she could.

It wasn’t easy.

Rose cocked her head and let out a small, sharp breath.  “Excuse me!  What’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem?!  I’ll break your freakin’ arm in two!  You actually have the audacity to touch Khobran like that, and then lick your goddamn palm afterwards?!  You must either be psychotic or an imbecile!”

Rose’s eyes widened, her face an expression of utter disbelief and patent dismissal.

“You’re crazy!  Touching Khobran?!  Last time I checked he didn’t look like a chocolate fountain—certainly not his color, God knows!”

“Seriously?! You’re trying to wriggle your way out of this…”

“Wiggle nothing!  There was a chocolate fountain at this restaurant that my family used to go to all the time, Jesus!”

A chocolate fountain that she used to go to.  Rand snorted and shook her head in disgust.  Of course.  What’s the one thing Rose obsessed over the whole time she’s been on this mission? 

Food.

Always the fucking food.

The two women looked over to where Khobran, or the chocolate fountain, had been.

They were alone now, the two of them.

Alone, standoffish, and seething.

Rand walked over to Rose and got in her face.  “I guess we were both wrong, huh?”

She walked away from the nurse, went to the dashboard to tap on a mechanism that turned off the water, quietly collected her toiletries, and walked back over to Rose.

“For the record, I didn’t much care for that racist crack about Khobran’s skin color.  Say something like that again, and you’ll be chewing on that fat tongue of yours.”

As a final warning, Rand bumped her shoulder violently against Rose’s, nearly toppling the poor woman over.  When she reached the door, she looked over her shoulder to a quiet, humbled Rose standing under the shower with her mouth tightly drawn, and her shoulders hunched.

“No more chocolate to lick from the bowl, am I right,” she quipped.

Rand smiled slightly, nodded her head, and then walked out of the shower room.

   

  

Humor Me Here: Thoughts on the Success, or Lack Thereof, of Star Trek into Darkness

Humor Me Here: Thoughts on the Success, or Lack Thereof, of Star Trek into Darkness

Author: ProvidenceMine

Source of box office info: Box Office Mojo.  These people really deserve kudos for doing a painstaking job that certainly must be the equivalent of watching paint dry.

I must say that I’ve been pretty amused by all the browbeating ballyhoo on the ‘disappointing’ box office performance of Star Trek into Darkness, especially when the naysayers compare it with the ‘successful’ performance of J. J. Abrams’ first Star Trek installment.

Star Trek 2009 was a box office success?  Really?  I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how this is so.  The first installment was made on an excessive budget of 150 million dollars, 53 million more than the 97 million profits made from 1982’s The Wrath of Khan.  Domestically, Star Trek 2009 made 257,730,019 while it needed an even 300 million just to break even, making it, effectively, a box office failure.  With the foreign market coming in at 127,764,536, the movie made 385, 494, 555 worldwide with a paltry profit of a little over 85 million dollars.  Normally, box office numbers like this would be quite impressive, but not for a film costing 150 million to make in the first place.

By the way things are looking as of this writing, the second installment to the Star Trek reboot will most likely meet the same fate as its predecessor did domestically; it will be interesting to see if the international market will be there to rescue it from total financial failure.

Now, don’t get me wrong!  I’m not, in any way, gloating over the possible failure of Star Trek into Darkness, I’m just dumbfounded by all of the over-analyzing that's been going on.  The smaller profits being made by this sequel have nothing to with a crowded summer movie line-up, J. J. Abrams betraying the true message of The Original Series, Trekkies being too narrow a base as an audience,  the whole nonsense of ‘is it Khan or not’, or whether Star Trek is truly dead.

Oh, and by the way, years ago, it was not uncommon for sequels, no matter how successful they were financially, to make less money than the original. 

Give it a break, people.

The problem is two-fold, and as plain as day.

The problem is a bloated movie budget and an unrealistic expectation on how a film with such a budget can perform in these times.

Simple.

Let’s face it, we’re in a global economic recession( why no one is calling it a depression is beyond me), and an outing at the movies in the 21^st Century isn’t like it was during the hard times of the 1930s.   A ticket price for one person is $ 10.00, and that doesn’t include the wide assortment of nutritionally challenged food that’s also sold at inflated prices.  It may not be dining at the Four Seasons, but for many people in these times, it’s a deep dig in the pocket.

True, there have been a few exceptions ( like Fast and Furious 6, for example), but if you follow box office updates you’ll see that Hollywood has been losing money on most of their ‘blockbusters’ budget films as of late.

It’s unrealistic enough to expect box office magic at a time when economic hardships run deep and widespread; why then, when Star Trek 2009 only broke even worldwide, would you up the budget of the second installment by 40 million?!   That would mean Star Trek into Darkness has the herculean task of reaching 380 million just to get it’s money back!!

As of this writing, Fast and Furious 6, Hangover 3, and Star Trek into Darkness have suffered huge dips at the box office this past weekend.  So, at this point, the chances of the Star Trek sequel breaking even looks far less certain, a pretty twisted thing to say for a movie that has just made over 328 million in only 3 weeks. 

I’m not a Hollywood insider, nor am I a filmmaker, but it seems to me that there are a few things that should be considered if one wants to see profits from the movies they make. 

The first thing is to decide on a cheaper budget.  Considering the many expensive box office failures in recent times, this is a given.

The next thing is to look for less expensive alternatives to the more costly special effects, and using creativity in making them look just as impressive for your film.

The last thing, and perhaps the most important element in all this, is to revisit the concept of storytelling for the cinema.  Too many movies these days have sacrificed good storytelling for bigger, more dazzling effects. 

I’ll give you two examples of what I’m talking about here.

Battleship is a movie that chucked good storytelling out the window in the hope that the special effects would carry it to box office success.  It died at the box office.

Chronicle, on the other hand, made strong storytelling a priority over special effects and scored a huge box office win.   Sadly, this movie is more the exception in Hollywood while Battleship is more the norm today. 

Movie making is no longer about creating a good film as much as it’s about a casino gambling kind of mentality, to see just how much money one can throw on the table and win back in return.

Of course, in the event that Star Trek into Darkness is unable to play catch-up to its predecessor, you’re going to hear all sorts of silliness as to why it did ‘poorly’ at the box office.  Most likely, commentators will try to pin the blame on the Star Trek phenomena itself.  I’ve already heard and read about ‘Trekkies being too small a base,’ ‘too old a base,’ and that the ‘phenomena is dead and past the point where it can be revived’.

Give me a break.

 The two Star Trek reboots have brought out a huge number of people to the box office, both reaching past the 300 million mark.  This, Dear Reader, tells me that Star Trek still has a big audience.  If this base is a narrow one, then you’re talking about the biggest ‘narrow’ base there is.

The terms ‘narrow base’ and ‘small base’ have been used repeatedly in so many commentaries, it’s become a broken record.  It’s also inaccurate.

As for the assertion that Star Trek is ‘dead,’ this is also a freight load of bunk.

Star Trek never died, and it certainly didn’t need a ‘reboot’ in order to make it more appealing to today’s increasingly fickle and distracted youth, who need more explosions and bigger body counts just to keep from getting bored.  The ‘reboots’ are simply an excuse for a Hollywood long bankrupt of any originality to take what has worked before for guaranteed box office wins.

Star Trek has had an incredible run that's lasted for almost 50 years—12 movies(including the reboots), five TV series, an animated series, countless books, comics and documentaries.  It’s inspired people in the arts and sciences since it’s growth from a failed TV series to a cult with legions of fans.  It’s stayed popular with the public when other TV shows, even hugely successful ones, were forgotten( who still talks about Welcome Back, Kotter, after all?).

Star Trek has not died, nor is it on life support.  It is simply a grand old cult that has had a stupendous run, and it doesn’t need the likes of a J.J. Abrams or anyone else to ‘rescue’ it.  It’s the same kind of mentality that says that every bestselling novel ‘absolutely must’ be made into a film, or a mini-series.  If anything, it is finally settling down for a well-deserved rest in the annals of entertainment history.  It should be allowed to do so.

'Tis Charity to Show Chapter VI Part 4

‘Tis Charity to Show

Chapter VI

Part 4

“You what?!”

Rand couldn’t believe what she was hearing!  She just about had it with Mr. Spock; he had walked out on her when she and the others needed his assistance during Dr. Begay’s bizarre attack, and now he had the unmitigated gall to call a meeting at an hour when everyone was  winding down.

“Spock, why the hell are we running around this tree again?!  I thought this was all settled!  Why are we having another night search?!  And further off the settlement grounds, to boot?!  At least, if we’re going further out, we should wait ‘till morning—not that we’ll find anything—but what the hell?!”

“Is it not logical to go beyond the encampment if evidence fails to materialize within its confines?”

“Mr. Spock, if we couldn’t find anything in these quadrants, then it’s safe to say we won’t find anything outside of them!”

“Yeoman, it is not up to you as to how this search is to be conducted.  This mutinous behavior of yours is most disturbing…”

“Mutinous  behavior?!   It is being mutinous to point out that nothing’s been found to give us even a hint of the whereabouts of Dr. Ellis’ expedition party?!  Why would you have us search the outskirts, at this hour I might add, when everything on this site is exactly how they left it?  Tools, excavation, paperwork—everything in its place?!  I can tell you right now they never left this encampment, they couldn’t have!   That’s the only thing we can be sure of, even after you had us search this goddamn site twice, Mr. Spock!  Twice!  Nothing’s been found!”

Spock stood glaring at Rand, but she pressed on undeterred. 

“I gave you the logs, which had nothing more but a manic woman complaining about her eczema before the recording was cut off completely!  All communication to the ship is gone—which you won’t address!  I say that we should try to get back to the ship and declare this mission unsuccessful!”

Murmurs from the other crewmembers ran like a chorus behind her; Rand had become their voice, and by the pointed glare that was emanating from Spock, it was patently clear that he resented it.

When Spock spoke, every word was drawn out, every syllable stressed, his vocal pitch dangerously low.

“We are to prepare for this search.  I would strongly advise that all of you retrieve your equipment.  Now.”

“Rand is right!  Why can’t we do this in the morning!  We’re all very tired, Spock,” Riley whined.

Standing next to Riley was Dr. Begay, silent, solemn, still quite shaken from his psychotic episode from earlier this evening, but nodding in agreement with the others.  Riley continued.

“It doesn’t make any sense!  You’ve been acting like a slave driver, making us go over areas we’ve gone over before with no results!  And now we have to search the outskirts now?!   Captain Kirk would never treat us like this!  That’s for damn sure!”

More murmurs of agreement.  Mr. Spock’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flared like a predator smelling blood, and his eyes hardened for a moment before they returned to their familiar emotionless calm.   When the first officer spoke again, he did so in a level tone while he scanned the faces of each individual officer, making it a point to meet their eyes.

“I’m afraid that this type of behavior is all too typical of terrans, who, as you’d say, ‘can’t make the cut when the going gets tough.’ “

He crossed his arms, his brows knitted.  Spock’s voice was of a much lower pitch now; it carried a simmering rage he contained with enough deftness to be under wraps, but yet still audible.

“You will obey my orders, for that, I am certain.  If any one of you see fit to go against me, then you will be looking at a possible court-marshal.  That is your choice.”

His brow raised, Spock unfolded his arms and left the room.  The rest of the landing party looked at each other, eyes wide, their bodies jittery.

“Can he do that?!  Can he court-marshal us, even if we have legitimate questions about his command?!” asked Rand in a hushed panic.

“Look, I don’t know and I’m not willing to test Mr. Spock on this!  Can we just do what he ‘commands’ of us and get it over with?  Let’s just get this done,” said Dr. Begay, disgusted.

The crewmembers left their spots, exhausted and beaten, to get ready for the search.