2x20 The Emissary

[8.2/10] “Opposites attract” is a cliché, but great character relationships are built on contrasts. What distinguishes one person from another, and the common ground they can reach despite that, gives the connections between major players meaning and dimension. Romantic or otherwise, when we understand where two people differ, it makes the moments when they’re willing to bend toward one another, to compromise for one another, moving in a way simple clashes or easy agreement aren’t.

Enter K’Ehleyr, the titular half-Klingon, half-human emissary who just so happens to be Worf’s old flame. It’s a contrivance I might otherwise roll my eyes at -- the person needed to resolve the diplomatic dispute just happens to have a personal connection to a member of the crew. (See also: conference diplomat is Troi’s mom, mission briefer is Riker’s dad, time anomaly expert is the husband of Picard’s ex, famed negotiator is Spock’s dad, etc. etc. etc.). But god help me, I’m willing and happy to ignore that when the character is this great.

Suzy Plakson (who previously played Dr. Pulaski’s Vulcan back-up in “The Schizoid Man”) makes an instant impression as K’Ehleyr. She is everything Worf isn’t: sly, funny, loquacious, expressive, and most of all, disdainful of Klingons. She has an easy rapport with other members of the crew like Counselor Troi, in contrast to Worf’s prickly professionalism. There’s even a self-possessed quality to her, a type of confidence but also complexity with hints of someone who confronted the contrasts in her upbringing and resolved them for herself.

What makes her such a great creation for this episode in particular, though, is the fact that she essentially reached the opposite conclusion of Worf despite similar predicaments. Worf is a Klingon raised by humans, where K’Ehleyr was raised by a human mother and a Klingon father. With both of them caught between two cultures, Worf chose the Klingon side: honor, dignity, a warrior’s stoicism. K’Ehleyr chose the opposite: a casual affect, a rejection of her Klingon temper and traditions.

Maybe that’s why there’s such electricity between the two of them. Short of Picard and Dr. Crusher, Star Trek: The Next Generation has been pretty meager in its ability to generate real romantic chemistry between its major players and their weekly love interests. But Worf and K’Ehleyr have it in spades. There’s a Tracy/Hepburn vibe to them (K’Ehleyr in particular seems to be channeling Hepburn, in a good way), with partners who snipe at one another and disagree sharply with one another, but also feel something for one another that neither can deny. Honesty, if you could somehow strip away the sci-fi setting and lens, you’d get a damn good Old Hollywood romance film out of the Klingon pairing.

Every scene they share is charged in the best way. K’Ehleyr tweaks Worf about their past and his stiff upper lip, while the clearly flustered lieutenant tries to stay steady. The two lock horns over whether it’s a waste of time to try to find another solution to the soon-to-be awoken Klingons poised to pose a threat to neighboring Federation colonies. It builds the tension between them, over a past missed connection we get just enough detail to be intrigued by, and the present difference of opinion and philosophy on life that seem to leave them fated never to be on the same page.

That is, until, they both join in on one of Worf’s “calisthenics” programs on the holodeck. It’s there that they find a bridge to reach each other. K’Ehleyr decides to engage in the exercise after the argument with Worf gets her danger up to the point that she smashes a table. Worf, on the other hand, is similarly steamed but has to be ordered to relax in order to reach the same approach to exercising that frustration. And yet, on the battlefield, the two are in sync and ensnared by one another, working out their feelings physically, in more ways than one.

I don’t mean to be crass. Let’s be real, what happens next is a little weird. There’s snarling, and palm-sniffing, and squeezing hands so tightly as to draw blood. But “The Emissary” also infuses more passion and catharsis into that moment than the scads of Hollywood movies that deliver beautiful people in scenes that verge on softcore pornography. It’s not just because of the great performances, or the stellar patient direction from Cliff Bole. It’s because that moment marks a release between the two of them, a way for them to relieve that tension that builds through the episode up to that point.

And yet, once it’s over, the differences reemerge. Worf begins to howl the Klingon marriage oath, out of a sense of fealty to their cultural requirements after mating, which K’Ehleyr immediately rejects as antiquated and absurd. More to the point, she’s offended at the sense that he’s doing this out of societal obligation, not out of feeling toward her, as the duty-bound lieutenant seems to reflect in his actions. It’s another line of demarcation between them. Both feel the attraction, but Worf wants to channel it through Klingon traditions, while K’Ehleyr takes what Worf criticizes as a human approach to the relationship, leaving both even more miffed than they were before.

That’s particularly tricky, because the Klingon problem K’Ehleyr was brought on to solve heats up immediately afterward. The prospect of Captain Kirk-era Klingons being unfrozen in the 24th century and having to be acclimated to the new normal so they don’t go wrecking everything is a great plot obstacle for the episode. It not only provides a good reason for why the Klingon Empire would send a half-human, half-Klingon diplomat to advise, but it’s good fodder for dramatizing the differences in approach that Worf and K’Ehleyr would take under the circumstances.

It’s the brilliant irony at the core of “The Emissary.” K’Ehleyr has rejected and endeavored to suppress her Klingon side, which makes her believe trying to negotiate or reason with the unfrozen warriors is a last cause. She recommends simply destroying them, which is, contrary to her bearing, a very Klingon solution to the problem. Meanwhile Worf, for all his secondhand devotion to honor and Klingon tradition, has bought into Starfleet’s ideals: that the loss of life should be avoided at all costs, and that there’s always another option to be considered.

His solution to the expectedly belligerent warriors of the past is a clever one that wins the day. He poses as captain of the Enterprise, in full Klingon garb and with K’Ehleyr at his side. He deals harshly with the opposing Klingon captain and makes the usual threats and challenging behavior that mark him as a leader not to be trifled with. Eventually, his mettle wins out, and the opposing Klingons lower their shields and yield, avoiding a deadly confrontation.

That plan works, both in-universe and in terms of the script, because it recognizes and honors the contradictions at the heart of this conflict of personalities and cultures. To succeed in this ploy, Worf adopts a Federation perspective on problem-solving, while posturing as the type of harsh Klingon operator his would-be foes will respect, and enlisting a partner who doubted anything other than sheer force could succeed at neutralizing the problem. It takes a combination of both the human and Klingon sides of the Starfleet officer and the Emissary to solve the problem here.

And it takes a little bending from K’Ehleyr and Worf to reach some kind of equilibrium before they part once again. K’Ehleyr challenges Worf, calling him out for being willing to leave without another word, and he, in turn, admits his feelings for her, beyond simple duty or cultural obligation. There is something there between them, as different as they are, which cannot be elided or ignored, and their brief hand-hold before K’Ehleyr leaves once more is romantic as all hell.

It works because of the tremendous chemistry at play, but also because of the clash of personalities here. K’Ehleyr’s wry comments and speak-your-feelings approach runs directly contrary to Worf’s utter seriousness (give or take a couple of “I am relaxed!” and “The chair was comfortable” moments of comedy) and his struggle to express himself that way. In the end, though, each recognizes the parts of their shared internal tug-of-war between humanity and Klingon impulses that unite them. The differences generate sparks, and the shared understandings despite those differences generate endearing affection and connection.

It’s why this TNG romance succeeds where so many have failed -- a combination of fantastic acting, a natural rapport between characters and performers, and writing that not only frames our two leads as opposites, but finds the wedges and bridges that push them apart and yet, ultimately, bring them together,