new to streaming: D.S.9 & What We Left Behind

I was recently delighted to find that What We Left Behind, the critically acclaimed documentary on Star Trek: Deep Space 9, is now available for streaming on Amazon Prime. (Sadly, it's not one of the free movies, you do have to pay a small fee.) The movie starts out pretty cheesy, with actor Max Grodenchik -- who played Rom on the series, and is therefore almost unrecognizable without his pounds of Ferengi make-up -- performing a lounge-singer-style song about the science fiction series. The fact that the song and Grodenchik's performance are both surprisingly good somehow adds to the corniness of the idea.

"What the hell am I watching?" I thought. "Is the whole movie going to be this full of in-joke clowning around, this tongue in cheek?"

That would have been insufferable, but thankfully, this weird opening is just the filmmaker having a bit of fun with his audience. What follows is a fun, insightful documentary about the creation and evolution of a Star Trek series that broke the mold. Okay, yes, Paramount later put that mold back together and applied it in one way or another to most Star Trek series that followed, but Deep Space Nine itself was, for better or worse, the least Star-Trekky of all Star Trek series.

D.S.9 both alienated and intrigued fans of the the classic original and the surprisingly successful first spin-off, Star Trek: The Next Generation by eschewing the exploration theme and optimism that lay at the very heart of those previous series, in favor of darker themes and taking place in a stationary setting, on space station Deep Space 9. Yes, all three shows took place in a future where Earth was a utopia lacking in crime, poverty, and war, but the pilot episode of DS9 immediately established that the titular space station was as absolutely far away from the paradisiacal Earth as you could get and still stay in Federation territory. Captains Kirk and Picard commanded beautiful, majestic, powerful starships on extended missions of exploration and peace. Benjamin Sisko of DS9 commanded a dimly lit, grimy space station with a shameful past, a station with operations systems that always seemed to be breaking down even when they weren't under attack by malevolent forces. Kirk and Picard would occasionally find themselves in space battles, but they always managed to avoid all-out war. Deep Space 9 was always under constant threat from the Cardassians, the Dominion, or the Klingons, and those hostilities often broke out into all-out war, that in one case, lasted for years on the series. Heck, in one extended storyline, DS9 wasn't even in Federation control anymore, having been conquered by the Dominion. This storyline was no one-episode "what if" exception, it went on for weeks. The classic Trek equivalent would be Captain Kirk in forced exile from his own ship as Klingons cruised the galaxy in charge of the Enterprise -- for half a season!

And yet there was much to like about the show. Classic Trek and The Next Generation were, of course, no strangers to the idea of dealing with alien cultures, but that usually took the form of "alien of the week" episodes that dealt with some strange alien culture for an hour or so before the Enterprise would zoom off to another planet in search of the next adventure. Deep Space 9 really delved into the diverse cultures of its various alien species. The Bajorans, Cardassians, Jem-Hadar, Klingons, Vorta, and Trill each had its own highly detailed views on diet, law, morality, philosophy, and religion. The previous series were definitely, explicitly about discovering strange new worlds and civilizations, but of the first three series, DS9 is the one that really took the time to explore those worlds and civilizations. This was a level of world-building that Star Trek, as a franchise, simply hasn't seen before or since.

Personally, I think that DS9's strongest aspect was the character of Cardassian officer Gul Dukat, the series' primary villain, perhaps because he was a personification of the three-dimensionalism that made the series so entertaining and well written. Dukat's carefully chosen parting words in the pilot episode -- which could be equally interpreted as either friendly platitude or thinly veiled threat -- set the tone of his entire character arc. The character was equally convincing, and equally effective as ally or villain. He was equally sincere when heaping praise and words of affection onto the heroes of the story, as he was when threatening conquest, war, and global annihilation. He was charming, sinister, and wholly believable as a man with his own emotions and motivations. 

Is Deep Space Nine the best Star Trek series, as some people attest? I say, no. For all its strengths, and there are quite a few, DS9 is the one series out of the first four shows that has, by far, the most episodes that are just plain boring, especially during the early seasons, which usually tended to light up only when the occasional Next Generation character would stop by the station. The two-part episode "The Maquis" was a notable early exception to that rule, an exciting, dramatically intriguing story introducing Starfleet Admiral Cal Hudson, a good friend of Sisko's, who turns out to be the new leader of the Maquis, an outlaw group of Federation citizens in Carassian space. But Cal Hudson was immediately forgotten, and the show went back to its previous pace. It wasn't until roughly midway through the series, when DS9 suddenly found itself caught in the middle of a war between the Cardassians, Dominion, and Klingons, that the show started to become entertaining on a more regular basis.

What We Left Behind discusses all of this, as well as behind-the-scenes anecdotes, and frank discussions with the actors and writers about character, story, and the impact the show's gradual success had on their lives. Perhaps most intriguingly, Ira Steven Behr -- the head-writer of the series and the host and co-director of this documentary -- reunites the key writers of the show, to brainstorm a detailed storyline for a hypothetical season eight premiere. This is perhaps the most honest and intimate depiction of the creative process of a writing staff put to film, and these scenes are intercut with clips from the show, one-on-one interviews, and conversations between the entire cast as they look back on their memories of the show. This is the rare "making of" documentary that is as entertaining as its subject.

new movie review: Once Were Brothers: Robbie Robertson & the Band

At first glance, the subtitle of Once Were Brothers: Robbie Robertson & the Band seems like a blatant ego trip for Band guitarist Jaimie Robbie Robertson. This is especially true in light of Levon Helm’s accusation that Robbie Robertson manipulated the production of the concert film/ documentary The Last Waltz to create a false impression of Robertson as leader of the Band, while in reality, no one member of the legendary classic rock group served as a leader.

But the subtitle turns out to be accurate: This is the story of the Band specifically from Robertson’s perspective. He is unapologetically, undisguisedly, the central voice in this story, and we realize the title is less egotistic and more descriptive.

Through the usual documentary methods— archive footage, music clips, photographs, talking head interviews, etc. — Once Were Brothers tells the story of the Band’s journey, from their rockabilly days backing Ronnie Hawkins in the early days of rock & roll, to their first tentative attempts at independence, to their commercially disastrous tour as the backing band for Bob Dylan during the nadir of his popularity, to the ups and downs of artistic and commercial success in their own right. If that sounds fairly straight forward, it is, but the story is an interesting one, and told with a style that is both entertaining and complimentary to rather than overwhelming of the narrative. Robertson is an excellent storyteller (as previously demonstrated in The Last Waltz), and director/ editor Daniel Roher and fellow editor Eamonn O’Connor make excellent use of the nearly nonstop music. (The music is mostly, of course, courtesy of the Band itself, but various artists who influenced the Band — Chuck Berry, Ronnie Hawkins, etc. — are also featured.) Home movies from the period in which the members of the Band lived together in the house known as Big Pink add an authentic flavor to the visuals. And in addition to Robertson’s narrative, we also get insights from an eclectic group of celebrity admirers of the Band’s music. This is a highly entertaining and informative documentary. An emphasis is placed on the brother-like camaraderie that existed between all members of the Band for many years.

Any discussion of the Band, it seems, has to address the eventual, post-break-up feud between guitarist/ songwriter Robertson and drummer/ vocalist Levon Helm. Helm’s autobiography, “This Wheel’s on Fire,” was highly critical of Robertson. He blamed Robertson for the Band’s breakup, and arguably more serious, accused Robertson of stealing songwriting credits — adding his name to songs he didn’t write at all, and removing Band members’ names from songs they’d co-written, falsely claiming solo songwriting credit for collaborative efforts. Followers of this controversy have typically chosen one side or the other, either decrying Helm as a bitter and jealous man flinging false, hurtful accusations, or accusing Robertson of being dishonest, egotistical, and selfish. As Robertson is the primary voice in this documentary, this is his chance to advocate a very one-sided version of events. That’s not what happens here. The movie, with surprising even-handedness and empathy, takes a conciliatory approach to the issue, and surprisingly illustrates how Helm and Robertson might both be right in different ways. Robertson is surprisingly non-defensive, and doesn’t offer any direct arguments against Helm’s accusations. Instead, he laments the very fact that he and Helm even had a rift in the first place. After all, they once were brothers.