Patrick Stewart as Captain Piccard.
It's hard being in space. But luckily, Jean Luke Piccard and his crew of stubbornly hansom goons will take the burden from you and sail away into the incredibly confusing final frontier... before the next final frontier of course. The show takes place in the 24th century, where it hilariously predicts the last 3 centuries as horrible, death ridden holocausts led by Illuminati druids that beat people to death with stacks of cash and gas powered toilets. Those silly 22nd century ninnies... good thing we're in the space age now! Where people have lost their need for material possessions and television, because sitting around and being interesting is far more entertaining than watching talent shows where failed experiments of Obama Care battle to the death with these primitive things called "spoons."
Back to the action. The show is about a crew of horribly witty people that sail around space and stick their limbs into different assortments of dangerous "things" to figure out what they do. This is what they call in the future: science. You have Geordi Laforge, who is equipped with a super mega visor that allows him to see like a god, but prays by his Robocop bedsheets that he can see like a boring, normal person. He's also talented in pressing unlabeled buttons while pretending to actually do something. Luckily, the same 4 brite-lite buttons on a tiny control panel, controls the strings of fate and destiny and can do anything, besides solving drawn-out issues.
Next you have Data. It's an obvious 24th century trend to name your robot children very confusing plural words. It's the equivalent of naming your human child "Arm Pits" or "Osteoporosis." As a robot with a nose that also doubles as a USB stick, he is able to become a professional at everything in existence, but instead they have his limitless talents being punctually efficient at pressing unlabeled buttons on a neon counter-top. To show how easy this job is, you often have a 12 year old teenager doing the exact same thing right next to him. We'll get to that little weasel in a moment.
Now there's Commander Riker. As your standard white guy, he's equipped with a full beard to prevent you from accidentally mistaking him for some that's not interesting. He's the first officer to Captain Piccard, who's character can be simply described as: Is good at telling people to get off his bridge / good at waiting for his problems to Dr. Who themselves away. Because, as good of a captain he is, one who is actually watching the show and not drooling over their limited edition Lenard Nemoy milk saucers may notice that he gets extremely lucky when solving a situation. Or as they say in the late 21st century... sitche'ation. He always gets his tight jumpsuit jammed up his finely compact butt crack and thrown into a time-space-alternate-death-life-anomaly-machine-hole to death, but some spit of luck always shines his replicated shoes in just the right ways. What's the point of fearing death or failure when you or someone in your crew dies and gets time-phased back into existence? And they always seemed shocked when they go back in time, even though Piccard makes it look easier than teaching a toaster the Rules of Acquisition. Which became fairly simple in the 23rd century. "But the United Federation of Planets didn't know about Ferangi then, Pasidon!" You're a nerd, and you need to experience water boarding before the cold hand of death chokes you with your own gold plated Benjamin Sisco diaper fasteners.
There's also Warf, who just stares at people like Peter Falk's creepy glass eye. And the Beta Zed woman, who is so boring, I don't even care to learn her name. Reading people's emotions is helpful, right? Obviously. When a man smashes a table and she's able to figure out that he's angry... ... this was a poorly executed joke. No. It's not a useful ability at all. It's like watching a disabled baby fall down a flight of steps and having the ability to discover that the baby probably didn't want to crack its skull open on a wooden rail at the bottom. For a woman who can read minds to the most useless of degrees, she sure is clueless when it comes to deciphering why men stare at her chest when her custom 24th century spandex v-neck jumpsuit that hides everything except for her dignity. Then there's Wesley Crusher. Don't let the awesome last name fool you... this 12 year-old bacon-lipped baby man is quite talented when it comes to failing to perform simple tasks and gaining praise for it. "Well done, Crusher. You almost got the Enterprise exploder'ed, but you managed to fix your mistakes by the fear of death being jammed down into your throat tubes." We all stood and applauded when Piccard told that little creep to "Get the hell off his bridge" in episode one, but now he's becoming accepted into the crew, thanks to his fabulously inappropriate rainbow pj's.
To conclude this show, it's horribly cheese to the point where my bones are practically indestructible thanks to the amount of calcium that's being grafted into my eyes. And I consider that a good thing. But when the show throws a curve-ball pervert right into the episode and needs a busty brainless rag-doll, they throw the Beta Zed woman into the episode. And she derails the show for me so quickly, I start to doze off and day-dream about how much better the series would be if she was drowned in a bucket of tea earl grey hot. But I've also gotten to the point where the anticipation is slowing down. What's the point of fearing a death of a character you love when some nonsense time loop unexplodes everything and gets our crew of dastardly albatrosses right back on track? None! But if you disagree with all my points, all you need to say is "Woopie Golberg" and I'll slide right back into my tin foil hole until next time.
Edited by Pasidon, 19 September 2014 - 03:22 AM.
