[7.4/10] One of my recurring complaints about Star Trek: Voyager is that it never really feels like they’re stranded lightyears from home. Some of that stems from how most of their adventures are garden variety Star Trek problems that don’t really take advantage of the scenario. Some of that stems from a lack of real practical limitations, like the fact that the ship seems to have a nigh-inexhaustible supply of shuttles and torpedoes. But a lot of it is the fact that the crew rarely seems bothered, or even seems to care, that they’re separated from all that they know and love.
The environment aboard Voyager is convivial, hard to distinguish from the vibe aboard the Enterprise-D. Everyone’s chummy, more or less, and people rarely seem emotionally affected by what they might be lacking from back home. Maybe it’s just that Voyager itself remains a comfortable cruise ship despite the crises-of-the-week. (That was kind of the point of “Equinox”.) And in fairness, every once in a while the show does explore the mental strain of being lost in the Delta Quadrant in episodes like “Night” and “Gravity”. But for the most part, nobody really seems to struggle with the day-to-day, human challenges of their predicament.
That's why I like “Fair Haven”, a rather infamous episode in the Voyager pantheon. This is not the nerdy “Can’t talk to girls so I canoodle with holograms” adventures of Geordi or Barclay. It is, instead, the story of a lonely soul, thousands of lightyears from home, whose only chance for romantic fulfillment is a holographic simulacra of love. This is an episode about coping with what being so far from home imposes on the crew, especially their captain. And, by god, I wish we got more of it.
Granted, there is a crisis-of-the-week here to be dealt with. The episode isn't all holographic romance. But the standard issue space anomaly -- this time a giant “neutronic wave” that forces Voyager to stay put for a while, is more of an excuse to fuel the holodeck side of the story than something worthy of focus in its own right.
When the crew has to batten down the hatches, it provides an excuse for Neelix to suggest running Tom’s Fair Haven program, a recreation of 19th century Ireland, around the clock as a respite for our restless travelers. The occasional turbulence allows the show to lean into the “storm’s a-brewin’” motif that connects Janeway’s present to her childhood desire to retreat somewhere safe and comforting when the thunder starts. And a need to amass every ounce of power the ship’s got to withstand a surge from the surrounding wave means Janeway has to sacrifice her beloved holoprogram to get it done.
Much of this feels perfunctory in terms of the technobabble hurdles our heroes have to leap over during the hour. But it serves a purpose in the story, explaining the need to retreat and pass the time, and to give the rumblings and intergalactic tempests a cost beyond the usual, easily-repairable scrapes and scratches.
That purpose is to furnish the personal story for Captain Janeway here. When she walks into Fair Haven, an idyllic glimpse of small town life across the pond that feels of a piece with the likes of BallyKissAngel and All Creatures Great and Small, she largely writes it off as an amusing diversion. But unexpectedly, she runs into a hunky bartender, one whom she has instant sparks with, and suddenly, she’s off to the races.
That alone would be interesting. It’s not easy being the captain of Voyager. There are a lot of stresses and despite the parental role Kathryn takes with much of the crew, the job can be isolating. The idea that she might find comfort in a hologram, one whom she seems to have instant chemistry with, during a long voyage is worthwhile on its own. (And though Tuvok’s situation ultimately turned out to be different, there’s shades of his experience in “Alter Ego” here.)
But there’s more to it than that. It’s not enough for Katrhyn to simply flirt with a holographic bartender and enjoy the company. She has to crack open his noggin’ and rewire the guy. Suddenly, this friendly yet salt-of-the-earth barkeep is reprogrammed to be well-read, more outspoken, more curious. (Oddly enough, making him more like Henry Janeway from “11:59”, which “Fair Haven” feels like a spiritual successor to.) He’s also made taller, less stubbly (though not none!). And most notoriously, the Captain herself gives that fateful command: “Delete the wife.”
On the one hand, the whole thing feels kind of icky. There’s something uncomfortable about essentially designing a mate in a lab. There is a sense of objectification, of commoditizing romance and affection, that is instinctively repulsive. This isn’t quite to the level of Poor Things or Ex Machina. It doesn’t even get to the levels of uncomfortableness of Westworld, which traffics in a lot of the same ideas around the ethics of the treatment of and connections to artificial beings that this episode presents. But you can't help but cringe as Kathryn all but leers at the perfect boytoy she’s molded to her exact specifications.
And yet, on the other hand, why not? As The Doctor points out, she can't date on the ship, because everyone aboard is her subordinate. (See also: the awkward teasing from her forbidden love, Chakotay.) She may be a captain, but she’s still a human being. She has a natural desire for companionship. Seeking it out in a holodeck may make the most sense. The optics may be more awkward, but she’s fulfilling a need; it’s generally harmless, and it’s not that different from writing a romance novel or playing a dating sim as an outlet for those feelings.
The moral of holo-affection Next Generation episodes like “Booby Trap” and “Hollow Pursuits” is that you shouldn't lose yourself to fantasy and escapism just because it’s easier than facing the ups and downs of real life human interactions. But Captain Janeway doesn't have that option. All she has is, as The Doctor puts it, photons and force fields at her disposal. It’s unusual, sure, but Kathryn’s in an unusual situation. Why not scratch the itch this way?
Well, maybe the answer is that being able to craft the perfect partner with the flick of a switch is, in the end, a spiritually deadening experience. As the great Lisa Simpson once put it, (by way of the even greater John Swartzwelder), “Getting what you want all the time will ultimately leave you unfulfilled and joyless.” The Captain and the EMH can debate what counts as “real” or not until the cows come home. I’d like to think there’s more to the ever-evolving Doctor than there is to fit-for-purpose Michael Sullivan. But who knows? Maybe, in time, Sullivan could achieve the same kind of growth and sentience.
But if that's the goal, tampering around with his personality and his mind to suit your needs starts to feel wrong very quickly. (Shades of “Latent Image”.) And more to the point, it robs romance and connection of something special. Attachment born of difference, the ability to be surprised, the need to adjust and adapt to someone else’s needs rather than just bend them to your own, they’re all essential parts of love, in my book.
There’s a theory that for people in isolated or remote environments where the surroundings are unchanged, that you should bring something like a plant along that brings difference and change. It helps stave off the existential dread that comes from a completely static situation. The same can be said for Kathryn’s holo-date, who needs the ability to have parts that are imperfect, inalterable, unexpected for any sort of relationship to have meaning. It’s a deep idea, and I appreciate “Fair Haven” exploring it.
Of course, this remains a show devoted to the status quo, so the spatial storm knocks out the Fair Haven program, and we’re largely back to square one. But there’s something to be said for the story of Kathryn finding herself unexpectedly attached to a holographic beau, pulling back when the realization that the dalliance is unreal and unsatisfying, sacrificing the source of her solace when the needs of the crew take precedence once more, and yet holding onto a piece of the program and the person who gave her comfort. The fact that she has the self-control to restrict herself from tinkering with his program any further show’s learning and self-discipline from the experience.
There’s plenty to sneeze at here if you’re so inclined. Much of the “local color” surrounding Fair Haven is pretty cheesy. I don’t really care about Michael Sullivan’s heartbreak when Kathryn gives up on the program. And while it serves a purpose, much of the neutronic wave business comes off pretty perfunctory.
But “Fair Haven” also gives Kate Mulgrew the chance to play a number of different notes we don’t often get to see from the dignified captain. There’s more vulnerability, humanity, even weakness here, and she knocks it out of the park as always. For once, this episode centers on the hardship of what it’s like to be separated not just from the comforts of home, but from the emotional connections that sustain us.
Giving us the human element of being stranded, the personal challenges of a leader holding this whole thing together but denying herself something she still wants and arguably needs, makes “Fair Haven” poignant and a touch profound, in a way I wish far beyond the spouse-ectomy this installment is known for. It’s not perfect, but with aims like that, I still wish Voyager went for episodes like “Fair Haven” more often.
Review by Andrew BloomVIP 9BlockedParentSpoilers2024-08-10T19:47:40Z
[7.4/10] One of my recurring complaints about Star Trek: Voyager is that it never really feels like they’re stranded lightyears from home. Some of that stems from how most of their adventures are garden variety Star Trek problems that don’t really take advantage of the scenario. Some of that stems from a lack of real practical limitations, like the fact that the ship seems to have a nigh-inexhaustible supply of shuttles and torpedoes. But a lot of it is the fact that the crew rarely seems bothered, or even seems to care, that they’re separated from all that they know and love.
The environment aboard Voyager is convivial, hard to distinguish from the vibe aboard the Enterprise-D. Everyone’s chummy, more or less, and people rarely seem emotionally affected by what they might be lacking from back home. Maybe it’s just that Voyager itself remains a comfortable cruise ship despite the crises-of-the-week. (That was kind of the point of “Equinox”.) And in fairness, every once in a while the show does explore the mental strain of being lost in the Delta Quadrant in episodes like “Night” and “Gravity”. But for the most part, nobody really seems to struggle with the day-to-day, human challenges of their predicament.
That's why I like “Fair Haven”, a rather infamous episode in the Voyager pantheon. This is not the nerdy “Can’t talk to girls so I canoodle with holograms” adventures of Geordi or Barclay. It is, instead, the story of a lonely soul, thousands of lightyears from home, whose only chance for romantic fulfillment is a holographic simulacra of love. This is an episode about coping with what being so far from home imposes on the crew, especially their captain. And, by god, I wish we got more of it.
Granted, there is a crisis-of-the-week here to be dealt with. The episode isn't all holographic romance. But the standard issue space anomaly -- this time a giant “neutronic wave” that forces Voyager to stay put for a while, is more of an excuse to fuel the holodeck side of the story than something worthy of focus in its own right.
When the crew has to batten down the hatches, it provides an excuse for Neelix to suggest running Tom’s Fair Haven program, a recreation of 19th century Ireland, around the clock as a respite for our restless travelers. The occasional turbulence allows the show to lean into the “storm’s a-brewin’” motif that connects Janeway’s present to her childhood desire to retreat somewhere safe and comforting when the thunder starts. And a need to amass every ounce of power the ship’s got to withstand a surge from the surrounding wave means Janeway has to sacrifice her beloved holoprogram to get it done.
Much of this feels perfunctory in terms of the technobabble hurdles our heroes have to leap over during the hour. But it serves a purpose in the story, explaining the need to retreat and pass the time, and to give the rumblings and intergalactic tempests a cost beyond the usual, easily-repairable scrapes and scratches.
That purpose is to furnish the personal story for Captain Janeway here. When she walks into Fair Haven, an idyllic glimpse of small town life across the pond that feels of a piece with the likes of BallyKissAngel and All Creatures Great and Small, she largely writes it off as an amusing diversion. But unexpectedly, she runs into a hunky bartender, one whom she has instant sparks with, and suddenly, she’s off to the races.
That alone would be interesting. It’s not easy being the captain of Voyager. There are a lot of stresses and despite the parental role Kathryn takes with much of the crew, the job can be isolating. The idea that she might find comfort in a hologram, one whom she seems to have instant chemistry with, during a long voyage is worthwhile on its own. (And though Tuvok’s situation ultimately turned out to be different, there’s shades of his experience in “Alter Ego” here.)
But there’s more to it than that. It’s not enough for Katrhyn to simply flirt with a holographic bartender and enjoy the company. She has to crack open his noggin’ and rewire the guy. Suddenly, this friendly yet salt-of-the-earth barkeep is reprogrammed to be well-read, more outspoken, more curious. (Oddly enough, making him more like Henry Janeway from “11:59”, which “Fair Haven” feels like a spiritual successor to.) He’s also made taller, less stubbly (though not none!). And most notoriously, the Captain herself gives that fateful command: “Delete the wife.”
On the one hand, the whole thing feels kind of icky. There’s something uncomfortable about essentially designing a mate in a lab. There is a sense of objectification, of commoditizing romance and affection, that is instinctively repulsive. This isn’t quite to the level of Poor Things or Ex Machina. It doesn’t even get to the levels of uncomfortableness of Westworld, which traffics in a lot of the same ideas around the ethics of the treatment of and connections to artificial beings that this episode presents. But you can't help but cringe as Kathryn all but leers at the perfect boytoy she’s molded to her exact specifications.
And yet, on the other hand, why not? As The Doctor points out, she can't date on the ship, because everyone aboard is her subordinate. (See also: the awkward teasing from her forbidden love, Chakotay.) She may be a captain, but she’s still a human being. She has a natural desire for companionship. Seeking it out in a holodeck may make the most sense. The optics may be more awkward, but she’s fulfilling a need; it’s generally harmless, and it’s not that different from writing a romance novel or playing a dating sim as an outlet for those feelings.
The moral of holo-affection Next Generation episodes like “Booby Trap” and “Hollow Pursuits” is that you shouldn't lose yourself to fantasy and escapism just because it’s easier than facing the ups and downs of real life human interactions. But Captain Janeway doesn't have that option. All she has is, as The Doctor puts it, photons and force fields at her disposal. It’s unusual, sure, but Kathryn’s in an unusual situation. Why not scratch the itch this way?
Well, maybe the answer is that being able to craft the perfect partner with the flick of a switch is, in the end, a spiritually deadening experience. As the great Lisa Simpson once put it, (by way of the even greater John Swartzwelder), “Getting what you want all the time will ultimately leave you unfulfilled and joyless.” The Captain and the EMH can debate what counts as “real” or not until the cows come home. I’d like to think there’s more to the ever-evolving Doctor than there is to fit-for-purpose Michael Sullivan. But who knows? Maybe, in time, Sullivan could achieve the same kind of growth and sentience.
But if that's the goal, tampering around with his personality and his mind to suit your needs starts to feel wrong very quickly. (Shades of “Latent Image”.) And more to the point, it robs romance and connection of something special. Attachment born of difference, the ability to be surprised, the need to adjust and adapt to someone else’s needs rather than just bend them to your own, they’re all essential parts of love, in my book.
There’s a theory that for people in isolated or remote environments where the surroundings are unchanged, that you should bring something like a plant along that brings difference and change. It helps stave off the existential dread that comes from a completely static situation. The same can be said for Kathryn’s holo-date, who needs the ability to have parts that are imperfect, inalterable, unexpected for any sort of relationship to have meaning. It’s a deep idea, and I appreciate “Fair Haven” exploring it.
Of course, this remains a show devoted to the status quo, so the spatial storm knocks out the Fair Haven program, and we’re largely back to square one. But there’s something to be said for the story of Kathryn finding herself unexpectedly attached to a holographic beau, pulling back when the realization that the dalliance is unreal and unsatisfying, sacrificing the source of her solace when the needs of the crew take precedence once more, and yet holding onto a piece of the program and the person who gave her comfort. The fact that she has the self-control to restrict herself from tinkering with his program any further show’s learning and self-discipline from the experience.
There’s plenty to sneeze at here if you’re so inclined. Much of the “local color” surrounding Fair Haven is pretty cheesy. I don’t really care about Michael Sullivan’s heartbreak when Kathryn gives up on the program. And while it serves a purpose, much of the neutronic wave business comes off pretty perfunctory.
But “Fair Haven” also gives Kate Mulgrew the chance to play a number of different notes we don’t often get to see from the dignified captain. There’s more vulnerability, humanity, even weakness here, and she knocks it out of the park as always. For once, this episode centers on the hardship of what it’s like to be separated not just from the comforts of home, but from the emotional connections that sustain us.
Giving us the human element of being stranded, the personal challenges of a leader holding this whole thing together but denying herself something she still wants and arguably needs, makes “Fair Haven” poignant and a touch profound, in a way I wish far beyond the spouse-ectomy this installment is known for. It’s not perfect, but with aims like that, I still wish Voyager went for episodes like “Fair Haven” more often.