1x17 The Forsaken

[8.0/10] I like Lwaxana Troi. I’ve always liked her as a character. She’s usually a disruptive force among the Starfleet faithful, more of a free spirit who throws protocol to the wind, which tends to ruffle the feathers of the stuffier officers, in a way I find consistently entertaining. But the souls aboard Deep Space Nine are already scruffier than their polished, Enterprise-D counterparts. So “The Forsaken” makes the canny choice to pair her with the most uptight, officious, un-free-spirited person aboard the station -- Odo.

And yet, where the episode goes with it isn’t comedy, or at least not entirely. Over the years, I’ve come to recognize some uncomfortable undertones to Lwaxana’s forthright romantic inquiries. Her insistence on pursuing any eligible bachelor, whether he’s interested or not, both plays on unfortunate cultural tropes of it being incongruous for older women to still act as sexual beings, and would read more clearly as distasteful harassment to most viewers if the genders were reversed.

Context matters, and I will cop to chuckling at her pursuits. Even here, it’s fun to see the typically sure-footed Odo flummoxed by having to fend off the romantic advances of someone who’s practically his polar opposite in terms of personality. But the message it sends is off, and in particular, Commander Sisko’s bemused reaction, rather than acting to assist the officer telling him he feels uncomfortable, is unhelpful in-universe and out. Thankfully, “The Forsaken” leans away from that shtick rather than into it.

Instead, when Odo and Lwaxana get stuck in a malfunctioning elevator, it gives them an opportunity to see one another’s shared humanity, rather than a chance for more comical irritation. As was the trend in her various episodes on The Next Generation, Lwaxana gets to be a well-rounded character with depth beyond her gimmick, something I always welcome. And forced to spend so much concentrated time with an extrovert, Odo himself opens up a little, giving us our most personal and intimate glimpse into who he is and why he holds himself this way yet.

It speaks to the broader themes of the episode -- you may find yourself forced to deal with someone or something you bristle against, only to find some unexpected joy, satisfaction, or fulfillment that you wouldn’t have otherwise seen coming. Odo’s unwanted admirer turns into an important confidante. The implacable ambassadors Dr. Bashir must chaperone become allies in high places ready to champion him. And the stubborn computer system Chief O’Brien must tangle with leads to him adopting a digital “pup” in order to protect the station.

It’s that last story that feels the most like classic Star Trek business. For one thing, the O’Brief fighting with some computer system whose intricacies and nuances only he can understand is a very traditional Chief posture. His willingness to give the system a “root canal”, objections to Cardassian engineering, and waxing rhapsodic on how different computers have different “personalities” gives him credibility as a fix-it man deeply immersed in his craft.

So it’s nice to have a problem only he can solve. A rogue computer program from a random probe causing havoc on the vessel that scans it is pretty standard. But this one works better than average for two reasons. The first is that it ties nicely into the other two stories. While it still takes some narrative gymnastics, the rogue program halts the elevator Odo and Lwaxana are trapped in, creates more things for the visiting ambassadors to gripe about, and eventually provokes the danger that Julian springs into action to save them from.

That’s right, Julian earns his laurels when a fire erupts, trapping him and the dignitaries he’s escorting. But some quick thinking on his part leads him to squeeze them all in a Jefferies tube and evade the threat, earning the plaudits and (first-name basis) of the potentates who’d been such grouses with him to that point.

It vindicates what Sisko tried to tell Julian when the doctor complained about his assignment. Sometimes being at the right place at the right time can be a boon, even if every job isn’t a winner. We understand why Julian is annoyed here. A status-obsessed Arbazan, supercilious Bolian, and snooty Vulcan all earn Dr. Bashir’s dubbing of them as the “ambassadors of unhappy.” But the idea that rather than merely being the designated punching bag for their gripes, his quick thinking allowed him to get a leg-up and enter their good graces, makes for a nice little parable of the value of even thankless jobs when the timing is right.

The same goes for Miles. I’m a sucker for Star Trek’s trope of complicated technical problems explained through the simple metaphors. O’Brien comparing the rogue program to a stray dog, who has to be cajoled, paid attention to, and otherwise acknowledged so as not to wreak havoc, is an enjoyable one. His idea of building a “doghouse” for it has the patina of cleverness to it, papered over with enough technobabble to make his solution seem sharp and resourceful. And the fact that he goes from being frustrated with the station’s computer to offering to “adopt” a part of it adds a tidy little character arc to the mix.

But nowhere is character more present and palpable than in the interactions between Lwaxana and Odo while trapped in that elevator. There’s something amusing when the episode turns down the sexual pursuit and instead just gives us the low-stakes humor of Lwaxana being pathologically unable to stop talking, even as she’s perfectly accommodating of Odo wanting to be quiet, while he prefers counting bolts on a hatch to hearing her anecdotes. The “stuck with someone whom you just don’t vibe with” comedy is cute and enjoyable.

Along the way, though, things get more serious, in a good way. Lwaxana, for all her forthrightness, is the first person we’ve met who feels comfortable asking Odo about his history, about why he feels the way he does, who sees him as something other than a capable constable who can sniff out purloined broaches. She gets him to open up, and what we see inside is endearing and tragic.

We learn why Odo is such a private person, or at least a piece of it. The Bajoran researcher who studied him effectively prompted him to be a party trick, with friends and colleagues coaxing him to transform into chairs and wild creatures and other objects for their amusement. He’s used to people who see him as an object, a source of entertainment, rather than a person, and it led him to keep his real self closed off.

That’s what’s so disarming about Lwaxana. Tactful or not, she wants to get to know Odo as a person, to see what makes him tick and offers him empathy and compassion every step along the way. She’s a flatterer, to be sure, but also someone who seems genuinely admiring of him and wants him to feel accepted and happy.

The peak of that is when Odo starts to melt from having gone too long without returning to his liquid form. It’s a vulnerable state for the normally buttoned-up constable, one he’s embarrassed to expose Lwaxana to. He’s worried it’s a sign that he’s not “real” in some way, part of a latent insecurity that he’ll be viewed as less-than by us solid for the ways in which he’s not like them.

And then she offers a supremely touching gesture in response, handing him her wig, a sign that she too is willing to be vulnerable, and that her hair is an affectation little different than the kind Odo meticulously learned to sculpt for himself. She exposes a piece of her true self to Odo and gives him the space of acceptance to do the same. There is a sense of trust and intimacy when they find common ground, and Odo allows himself to melt and be held aloft in her dress when he can maintain his humanoid form no longer.

When I think of Deep Space Nine, I think of it’s ambitious, serialized stories, told with a grand scope and intricacy that its episodic predecessors rarely, if ever, dabbled in. But “The Forsaken” marks a better blueprint for the show in its early seasons, when DS9 was still finding its voice and figuring out what worked and what didn’t. These are three straightforward, arguably even simple stories, rooted in something both specific and universal. The small scale and directness of each works well and delivers one of the first season’s best outings.

And when I think of Lwaxana Troi, I think of her bulldozing the likes of Captain Picard, or other stuffed shirts, with her boisterous, uninhibited ways, often to comic effect. But the other side of Lwaxana, the one that’s stayed with me on a more elemental level, is as someone who not only puts the full spectrum of her humanity (so to speak) on display, but seeks it out in others. Whether it’s Odo or Timicin or even Alexander, her lack of boundaries leads her to bring others out of their shells, to talk about what’s bothering them, to reveal pieces of their true selves since she’s willing to do the same. I still like Lwxana, and there’s something so heartening about how even a quiet, reserved soul like Odo learns to do the same.