A Quick Tip by rbuchanan
A quarter-century heretofore this afternoon, I attended an initial screening of William Shatner’s feature directorial debut, a picture lambasted by Trekkies, disdained by the public and reprobated by most cinema critics. My persistent gratification from The Final Frontier assuredly constitutes a glaring lapse of acumen kindled by nostalgia, yet for its manifold and egregious flaws (most notably the shoddy SFX of its third act), it's neither so mawkish as the ponderous allegory of Meyer’s lauded sixth entry nor a fraction as puerile or embarrassing as the cretinous efforts laxated by Abrams, Orci, et al. in recent years. Most of its cast is demonstrably adroit (BillyShat’s hastened delivery, Koenig’s irredeemably horrendous accent and Gouw’s stilted acting notwithstanding, Luckinbill and Kelley actually contribute terrific performances); its set and especially costume design exceed the caliber of those for the series’ preceding features; Goldsmith’s recycled and original compositions alike are engaging; convivial moments therein prove charming…irrespective of their worst jokes.
Had its script been subjected to another draft to amend glaring improbabilities of navigation, theology and fraternity by excision, or Shatner afforded a reasonable timetable by Paramount’s executives, he might well have produced an adequate flick. Natheless, I love it with the unqualified affection with which I might cosset a disfigured offspring…marshmelons and all.