the wrath of khan: subtlety is not an issue

To paraphrase some brilliant Brit writing in NME (he was speaking of Scott Walker at the time), there must be people in the world who don't love Ricardo Montalban in the Wrath of Khan, but what must their hearts be like?

It's not even a matter of liking; certain things surpass subjectivity. An old friend once told me he'd approached art criticism as if it was all subjective until the day his father overheard an Ornette Coleman record and said it was utter crap. In that moment, he suffered a revelation: sometimes the quality's there, and if you don't see it, it's due to a deficiency on your own part. A lack of effort, maybe, a cranky attitude towards that crazy post-modern music, or some misguided neural pathway etched into your brain.

Granted, a Ricardo Montalban performance inhabits a whole different stretch on the space-time continuum than an Ornette Coleman record, but let's call it like it is: a masterpiece is a masterpiece, and Khan is a masterpiece. Part of it is context: you don't want to cast some subtle, underplaying Trevor Howard opposite William Shatner, the Uberking of the Scene-Chewers. (You would, on the other hand, cast Christopher Plummer, that great eschewer of English subtlety who tosses himself full-force into the ham in Star Trek 6: the Undiscovered Country with his gleefully Shakespeare-barking Klingon, but that's another piece of brilliance for another day.) Montalban, I believe, is the only actor who ever balanced Shatner move for move. They are a perfect match -- but Montalban wins. The shameless magnificence of his outrageous choices and the impeccable smoothness of their execution combine to make it one of those rare and to-be-treasured performances that can be proudly ranked among the truly intrepid. Not only does he manage to speak lines like "From hell's heart I stab at thee," and "I'll chase him around the fires of perdition," with dignity, he speaks them like they're Shakespeare (yes, alright, Melville) and a goddamn privilege to pronounce. He is an inspiration to behold. Magnificence in action.

And, while there is unquestionably virtue and courage inherent in making oneself ridiculous, a thing from which Shatner never shies ("Kha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-n!"), Montalban transcends ridiculousness, grasps hold of his role with both muscled hands and elicits cheers, not laughter.

Every year when I go to the coast I take Star Trek 2: the Wrath of Khan and watch it right before I'm due to come home. I'm not certain why. It's one of those traditions that sprang up in that realm somewhere outside conscious choice. Although I love this movie, consider it one of the great B-films, I'm impatient with it, too. I tend to fast-forward through most of Chekov's scenes, for instance, unless he's sharing the screen with Khan (sorry, Chekov), and I also tend to look away from the screen when Kirstie Alley's on (yes, I understand that she's cute, but she's no Vulcan. Robin Curtis in the third and fourth films... Now THERE'S a Vulcan woman who would make T'Pau proud.) The sentimental hogwash subplot involving Ike Eisenmann makes me gnash my teeth, too, since he was a favorite child actor of mine in the old days (he did a series called the Fantastic Journey with Jared Martin and the original Witch Mountain movies; awesome) and I was glad to see him onscreen here and sorry to see him wasted.

Still, show me a love affair in which the Beloved has no flaws, and I'll show you a pale, wan reflection of true passion. I'm convinced that there's no Trekker in the world so devoted that he must own ALL the original six Star Trek movies. The first one and the fifth one can be skipped without compunction. The others, -- the Wrath of Khan, the Search for Spock, the Voyage Home, and the Undiscovered Country, -- should be dusted off and enjoyed in all their imperfect glories at least once a year. Make it so.