[7.3/10] In his book Sirens of Titan, Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “It took us that long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.” “Tin Man” spends much of its runtime with characters searching for their purpose in life, and reaching more or less the same conclusion. It’s the kind of thing I like in science fiction, whether in 1950s novels or 1990s television -- using the boundlessness of the genre to grasp at the big questions in life and dramatize the best answers we have in ways that only sci-fi can achieve.
Those questions feel particularly acute to those of us who are different in ways that make it hard to fit in, and in some cases, hard to function. When you’ve been socialized into a community, when its norms and boundaries make sense to you, when you’re able to navigate them without agonizing over it, it’s easier to get along without wondering what your purpose is. But when it’s hard to adjust, hard to acclimate to those social cues that come naturally to others, it’s much easier to wonder why you’re here and what the hell you’re meant to be doing.
The fulcrum for that idea in “Tin Man” is Tam Elbrum, a Betazed prodigy whose blessing -- being able to hear others’ thoughts and feelings at a much younger age than most of his species -- is also his curse. Because of that gift, Tam’s had a rough time in life, paradoxically unable to connect with most folks because of the rush of mental noise he can’t turn off, while also becoming a liability on Starfleet missions because the enhanced empathy that comes with his abilities makes him liable to identify too closely to the other side, and lose himself in the wave of thought.
It’s a cool concept for a character. There’s some poetry to the character being played by Harry Groener, who would go on to play The Mayor in Buffy the Vampire Slayer (often interacting with Armin “Quark” Shimerman), a show that would also explore the debilitating effects of a psychic feed without a filter. Examining the notion of someone who doesn’t just have these extraordinary powers, but who is both helped and hurt by having them, felt most keenly in how they other him, make it hard to connect with “normal” people, is fertile ground for storytelling and character exploration.
There’s no better poster boy for feeling different than everyone else on the Enterprise than Data. So it makes sense that Tam takes a shine to the android, not just because Data’s the one person on board whose mind Tam can’t read, but because he too understands what it’s like to be different and to struggle with observing social customs and other bits of decorum that make it easier, rather than harder, to forge connections with people.
In that vein, it’s a fool’s errand to hunt too closely for an exact, real-world analogue, but it’s not hard to imagine Star Trek: The Next Generation tangling with emerging ideas of people on the spectrum, of people with ADHD and other conditions that lead them to perceive the world in different ways and sometimes buckle under the stress of both that perception and the way it can build a wall of misunderstanding between them and others.
“Tin Man” always holds empathy for Tam, and by extension for Data, even when he sheds those norms, bristles against the chain of command, or makes choices that threaten the safety of the crew. It doesn't back away from the awkwardness or rudeness of some of Tam’s interactions, with Captain Picard in particular. It also doesn’t shy away from Picard pushing back on him, not trusting him, when he makes choices that put the life of those aboard the Enterprise in danger. But it also sympathizes with his plight, with his struggle to be loved and understood, adding shades of gray to the guest star of the week in the way the best Star Trek episodes do.
There’s a few catches to all of this, though. The first is that, god help him, Groener overacts a fair bit as Tam. Some of that may be a deliberate choice. Tam is an outsized character whose emotional reactions to things should feel miscalibrated or at least off to the rest of the emotional effect on TNG. That can be a feature, not a bug. There’s just a fair bit of dialogue and performance that goes a step too far beyond naturalism to work for me here, and ultimately makes some of these intriguing questions and concepts feel less real in execution.
The second is that the plot is a little off. In short, there’s a race against the Romulans to a living spacecraft, the titular “Tin Man”, who only Tam can communicate with. It’s not the worst setup in the world, but there’s not a lot of story beats between “We have to go find this being” and “We’re there and trying to protect it from the Romulans.” The pacing is a little slack and the conflicts become a bit repetitive, with the same sort of friction between Tam and the rest of the crew, followed by some comfort or camaraderie between him and Troi or Data. The balance of plot to character development isn’t quite right, and certain stretches feel like the show’s spinning its wheels.
Despite those problems, I like where “Tin Man” lands. Tam discovers that the living vessel, named Gomtuu, is thousands of years old. It once held a crew that shared a symbiotic relationship with it, until a radiation burst killed them and left Gomtuu feeling similarly lonely and purposeless. Tam and Data beam aboard, and Tam feels a nigh-instant kinship with it, like pieces of a puzzle that are finally snapping into place.
After an entire life of struggling to isolate one voice, one stream of thoughts, to connect with in a cacophony of them, Tam finds someone who speaks loud enough and individually enough to drown out the rest of the noise. Gomtuu has been lonely for millennia, and yet finally finds someone who can act symbiotically with him once more, to literally and figuratively fill that empty space inside of him. They soon discover that they’ve been looking for the same thing, a sense of wholeness only the other can provide, which gives them satisfaction, catharsis, and connection that’s otherwise been painfully lacking. It’s unusual, to say the least, but there’s shades of Star Trek: The Motion Picture, in unorthodox realizations of nonetheless comprehensible desires.
After questioning his place in the world, Tam finds his purpose: to love not just whoever, but whatever around is to be loved. It’s what he and Data settle on as outsiders for whom their presence in the world feels natural or easy -- the reason to be is to forge those connections with people we care for, to serve them and help them, and to find healing in mutual hardships and losses made whole in unison.
It’s enough to move Data one step closer to humanity, to an understanding of those sundry but profound mysteries of life and the human experience it’s all too easy to take for granted. He tells Troi that the experience made him realize that his place is on the Enterprise, a tacit acknowledgment that the people he cares about, the people he wants to help complete and be completed by, are all there.
It’s a lovely notion to go out on, and one that helps buoy an episode with strong ideas and a rocky execution. How we find the important people in our lives, who we fit with, may be trickier for some than others. But finding the right folks who make us feel whole, caring for them, and loving them, can also give our lives meaning.
Review by Andrew BloomVIP 9BlockedParentSpoilers2021-03-28T20:05:37Z
[7.3/10] In his book Sirens of Titan, Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “It took us that long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.” “Tin Man” spends much of its runtime with characters searching for their purpose in life, and reaching more or less the same conclusion. It’s the kind of thing I like in science fiction, whether in 1950s novels or 1990s television -- using the boundlessness of the genre to grasp at the big questions in life and dramatize the best answers we have in ways that only sci-fi can achieve.
Those questions feel particularly acute to those of us who are different in ways that make it hard to fit in, and in some cases, hard to function. When you’ve been socialized into a community, when its norms and boundaries make sense to you, when you’re able to navigate them without agonizing over it, it’s easier to get along without wondering what your purpose is. But when it’s hard to adjust, hard to acclimate to those social cues that come naturally to others, it’s much easier to wonder why you’re here and what the hell you’re meant to be doing.
The fulcrum for that idea in “Tin Man” is Tam Elbrum, a Betazed prodigy whose blessing -- being able to hear others’ thoughts and feelings at a much younger age than most of his species -- is also his curse. Because of that gift, Tam’s had a rough time in life, paradoxically unable to connect with most folks because of the rush of mental noise he can’t turn off, while also becoming a liability on Starfleet missions because the enhanced empathy that comes with his abilities makes him liable to identify too closely to the other side, and lose himself in the wave of thought.
It’s a cool concept for a character. There’s some poetry to the character being played by Harry Groener, who would go on to play The Mayor in Buffy the Vampire Slayer (often interacting with Armin “Quark” Shimerman), a show that would also explore the debilitating effects of a psychic feed without a filter. Examining the notion of someone who doesn’t just have these extraordinary powers, but who is both helped and hurt by having them, felt most keenly in how they other him, make it hard to connect with “normal” people, is fertile ground for storytelling and character exploration.
There’s no better poster boy for feeling different than everyone else on the Enterprise than Data. So it makes sense that Tam takes a shine to the android, not just because Data’s the one person on board whose mind Tam can’t read, but because he too understands what it’s like to be different and to struggle with observing social customs and other bits of decorum that make it easier, rather than harder, to forge connections with people.
In that vein, it’s a fool’s errand to hunt too closely for an exact, real-world analogue, but it’s not hard to imagine Star Trek: The Next Generation tangling with emerging ideas of people on the spectrum, of people with ADHD and other conditions that lead them to perceive the world in different ways and sometimes buckle under the stress of both that perception and the way it can build a wall of misunderstanding between them and others.
“Tin Man” always holds empathy for Tam, and by extension for Data, even when he sheds those norms, bristles against the chain of command, or makes choices that threaten the safety of the crew. It doesn't back away from the awkwardness or rudeness of some of Tam’s interactions, with Captain Picard in particular. It also doesn’t shy away from Picard pushing back on him, not trusting him, when he makes choices that put the life of those aboard the Enterprise in danger. But it also sympathizes with his plight, with his struggle to be loved and understood, adding shades of gray to the guest star of the week in the way the best Star Trek episodes do.
There’s a few catches to all of this, though. The first is that, god help him, Groener overacts a fair bit as Tam. Some of that may be a deliberate choice. Tam is an outsized character whose emotional reactions to things should feel miscalibrated or at least off to the rest of the emotional effect on TNG. That can be a feature, not a bug. There’s just a fair bit of dialogue and performance that goes a step too far beyond naturalism to work for me here, and ultimately makes some of these intriguing questions and concepts feel less real in execution.
The second is that the plot is a little off. In short, there’s a race against the Romulans to a living spacecraft, the titular “Tin Man”, who only Tam can communicate with. It’s not the worst setup in the world, but there’s not a lot of story beats between “We have to go find this being” and “We’re there and trying to protect it from the Romulans.” The pacing is a little slack and the conflicts become a bit repetitive, with the same sort of friction between Tam and the rest of the crew, followed by some comfort or camaraderie between him and Troi or Data. The balance of plot to character development isn’t quite right, and certain stretches feel like the show’s spinning its wheels.
Despite those problems, I like where “Tin Man” lands. Tam discovers that the living vessel, named Gomtuu, is thousands of years old. It once held a crew that shared a symbiotic relationship with it, until a radiation burst killed them and left Gomtuu feeling similarly lonely and purposeless. Tam and Data beam aboard, and Tam feels a nigh-instant kinship with it, like pieces of a puzzle that are finally snapping into place.
After an entire life of struggling to isolate one voice, one stream of thoughts, to connect with in a cacophony of them, Tam finds someone who speaks loud enough and individually enough to drown out the rest of the noise. Gomtuu has been lonely for millennia, and yet finally finds someone who can act symbiotically with him once more, to literally and figuratively fill that empty space inside of him. They soon discover that they’ve been looking for the same thing, a sense of wholeness only the other can provide, which gives them satisfaction, catharsis, and connection that’s otherwise been painfully lacking. It’s unusual, to say the least, but there’s shades of Star Trek: The Motion Picture, in unorthodox realizations of nonetheless comprehensible desires.
After questioning his place in the world, Tam finds his purpose: to love not just whoever, but whatever around is to be loved. It’s what he and Data settle on as outsiders for whom their presence in the world feels natural or easy -- the reason to be is to forge those connections with people we care for, to serve them and help them, and to find healing in mutual hardships and losses made whole in unison.
It’s enough to move Data one step closer to humanity, to an understanding of those sundry but profound mysteries of life and the human experience it’s all too easy to take for granted. He tells Troi that the experience made him realize that his place is on the Enterprise, a tacit acknowledgment that the people he cares about, the people he wants to help complete and be completed by, are all there.
It’s a lovely notion to go out on, and one that helps buoy an episode with strong ideas and a rocky execution. How we find the important people in our lives, who we fit with, may be trickier for some than others. But finding the right folks who make us feel whole, caring for them, and loving them, can also give our lives meaning.