There's a good argument to be made
that without Star Trek, maybe you
don't get Star Wars, The Matrix, or really any other modern day
mainstream sci-fi franchise.
Star Trek laid the foundation for what a lot of those things
would become.
The road, however, to becoming one
of the longest-running, most culturally
important and critically praised cross-media franchises
of all time is going to be anything but smooth.
In fact, the series creator of Star Trek
came dangerously close to not having a show at all,
and that's because NBC fired everyone
involved with the original Star Trek pilot
except for one guy, Spock.
The circumstances are not normal.
Star Trek's original pilot has become
something of an urban legend since its release.
The fact that Star Trek is a name brand known
around the world is a testament to the creators involved
being nimble in knowing which creative battles to fight
and which to let the studio or network win.
This juncture is one at which most creators
fall into an abyss and fail.
However, due to some quick thinking
and stick-to-itiveness, Star Trek prevailed.
It was a long journey.
Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry
had an adventurous life prior to working in show business.
He served in the army during World War II,
later becoming a police officer, and eventually made his way
into TV working on shows like Have Gun, Will Travel and Bat
Masterson.
Masterson's the name.
Bat Masterson.
This resulted in him being commissioned by NBC
to create his own show, The Lieutenant, a show loosely
based on his time in the military,
which, unfortunately, would only last a single season.
Despite this failure, NBC executives liked him enough
and wanted more from him relatively immediate.
So what did he do?
Pitch an idea in conjunction with Desilu Studios,
the studio run by Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball.
I Love Lucy is a Desilu production.
It was an idea that would take the best
of the military workplace drama from The Lieutenant
and pair it with the creative and highly commercial
engine of his time working on westerns.
His pitch?
That would be Star Trek.
And on January 22, 1965, a pilot would
be completed for Star Trek titled
The Cage, written by Roddenberry,
directed by Robert Butler, and featuring
Leonard Nimoy as an alien named Spock,
Jeffrey Hunter as Captain Christopher Pike,
the creator the show's real-life girlfriend as Number One,
and John Hoyt as Star Trek's own Dr. Phil.
Who wants a warm Martini?
The pilot follows Hunter's Pike as he's drawn down
to an alien world, falls in love with a human woman,
and quickly realizes that he's being held prisoner
by an alien race that's physically manipulating him
into procreating with a woman for their scientific study.
This is necessary in order to perpetuate the species.
The initial reaction from NBC brass
was that the pilot was too cerebral, too slow,
and there was not enough action.
So with that surface-level criticism levied,
what exactly was The Cage?
Well, it's something that's fascinating for a few reasons.
The episode feels almost like a dress rehearsal version
of Star Trek, which, frankly, is what every single pilot ever
is.
Jeffrey Hunter's Captain Pike is a subdued, stern man.
He's directly in contrast to Shatner's
eventual scene-chewing Kirk.
We may go up into the biggest ball of fire
since the last sun in these parts exploded,
but we've got to take that 1 in 10,000 chance.
He's a quiet man who plays the stalwart hero well enough,
and by proxy, this impacted the way Leonard Nimoy played Spock.
He's much more dramatic in an attempt
to play off of that, which, as we all know,
is the exact opposite of what Spock would
do as the character's eventual Vulcan backstory was
fleshed out and developed by other Star Trek writers.
I took an oath to carry out responsibilities which were
clearly and exactly specified.
Another noticeable change from The Cage to the second pilot
was that Number One was removed from the show entirely.
Roddenberry had initially wanted Number One
to play a vital role in the show in order
to examine the internal bias of the men working
on the Enterprise.
However, NBC execs did not like the woman being so prominently
placed in a position of power, so they asked him
to remove her from the show.
And while some may think what happens
next is unprecedented or crazy, it actually
happens all the time, and Star Trek
wasn't all that special in this way.
NBC opted not to move ahead with the show
as it was, but instead asked the creators to reconfigure
the show and refilm a completely new pilot with a brand
new script and brand new cast.
This was all largely due to the behind-the-scenes lobbying
of Lucille Ball herself, who at this point in time
was the head of Desilu.
She liked Roddenberry and believed
in his vision of what science fiction could be on television,
but she also thought the show could
be a success if it was given a chance to grow and mature.
That time, apparently, was then and now,
and in turn, the only survivor of all of this turmoil
was Leonard Nimoy's Spock.
We've lost the Captain.
Captain Pike was replaced by Shatner's now beloved Captain
Kirk, and James Doohan as Scotty,
and well, so was basically everyone else,
and the brand new pilot, Where No Man Has Gone Before,
was written by Samuel A. Peeples and shot.
The new pilot, directed by James Goldstone, met NBC's standards.
They gave the show a green light.
It was aired on September 22, 1966.
It centers on the Enterprise's attempt
to cross the Great Barrier at the edge of the galaxy,
and surprisingly, two of the crew members
develop immense psychic abilities
and threaten the safety of the ship, which apparently
was just enough drama and just enough action,
not just for NBC.
The first season of Star Trek ended up
being an immediate ratings success.
Hip-hip-hurrah.
In order to meet the rapid production
pace of the initial outing, Roddenberry and company
opted to recycle the footage from The Cage
and actually incorporate it into the show, which
is, once again, where this pilot gets a little bit weirder.
The 11th and 12th episodes of the first season
were dubbed The Menagerie.
In the episode, Spock has abducted a former commander
named Christopher Pike, commandeers the Enterprise
to set course for the planet Talos 4,
and then turns himself in for court martial.
This functions as a framing sequence
for the rest of the show, which intercuts between Kirk
and Bones interviewing Spock and observing footage
of what he's describing, but that's not what's interesting.
What is interesting is that intercutting is just
footage from The Cage.
Now as we now know, unfortunately, Star Trek, well,
didn't survive as expected.
It was canceled after its second season when ratings dipped.
However, the largest letter-writing campaign
in television history was mounted by fans,
and the show was brought back for a third season, which
went off the rails again when some of the creative team
left and the characters, like Spock, were screwed with,
proving that ultimately, Roddenberry made the right call
when he went to bat for Nimoy's Spock
and now is a large reason why the show has had longevity,
wormed its way into the broader culture,
and eventually resurrected as a series of theatrically
released feature films.
A group of people recognized that Nimoy, and Spock,
was special, and that one bit of recognition
changed all of their lives forever, and in some ways,
that of millions.
Now obviously, casting is an important part
of film and television.
That's one of the more obvious elements of anything.
It's the reason that there's $9 billion news
stories every time Tom Holland is cast in something new.
It's the same reason that everybody argues constantly
about who should be the next Spider-Man, for instance.
Donald for Spider-Man.
We're only gonna watch the next Spider-Man if Donald
Glover's playing Peter Parker.
Sometimes it's important, as creators,
to push for the people you want on your projects
when you want them on those projects.
What I think is more interesting, and maybe
more pertinent here, and maybe even less immediately obvious,
is the way in which studios often
don't have their hands on the pulse of the bodies
they're bearing.
Way too often, studios pull triggers far too quickly.
Sometimes studios are right.
Other times, the studios themselves simply
don't know what they're looking for,
and that's a really important element of creating
and of being an artist.
It's always worth remembering that just because you
show something to everybody, doesn't
mean everybody knows how to critique that thing or even
how to help you make it better.
But it is also very important to remember
who that criticism is coming from,
and whether or not that criticism
is valuable enough for you to change course or fight
for that very thing someone else wants removed.
Because sometimes people just have no idea what the hell
they're looking at.
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