In the not so distant future, I’m going to be very embarrassed by what I’m about to admit.
The new Star Trek kicked serious ass.
Now, I’m no Trekkie. And I don’t make a habit of spending my Sunday afternoons in the megaplex (except that with Ma away on vacay, it’s my duty to get Pa out da house now and again—last Sunday it was Angels and Demons). But I left the theater today thinking I could go back and waste another two hours of my life watching the same thing end to end again.
A few weekends ago I caught parts of an old episode of the original series in which Capt. Kirk is almost killed by Spock on Vulcan in a duel to the death over claim to Spock’s wife. From the hokey planet set to the cheesy overacting, the whole thing was pretty comical, but the movie proves that our taste as fans as well as Hollywood’s skills have come a long, long way.
Personally, I’m diggin’ on the new James T. Kirk, even though the brother spends most of the movie with his face all bruised up. The ninth hour appearance of the Hot Fuzz/Shaun of the Dead dude as Scotty was completely bril on the casting director’s part. As for the new Spock, his performance is slightly overshadowed by Leonard himself, but in the words of “New Spock” as proffered by the one and only Portland Mercury: “Jim’s bringing the Orion Slave Girls. Bones got a sixer of Romulan Ale and … wait … wait … hold up. I gotta Twitter dat.”
See you next Sunday.