Captain's Blog pt. 96: The Enemy Within

On October 6th, 1966, a day that lives in infamy for Merry Pranksters everywhere, Captain Kirk (and through him, America) confronted:

Title (2.5) If I taught a college course on Trek, it would be fun to spend a few weeks on this episode, with each class organized around a different reading. "The Enemy Within" is an invaluable object of meditation that rewards the field researcher with varied interpretations, all more or less equally credible thanks to the story's broad accessibility. We've seen this before, of course; the only show to achieve more success than TOS in this multiple-meaning arena is The Prisoner (arguably) and it had to abandon linear narrative altogether to surpass it.

I'd start off said class with the assignment to read the goings-on as a breakdown of Shatner's Narcissistic Personality Disorder, simply because it's incredibly amusing to do so. Try it on your next watch. Google your preferred definition (or set of definitions,) hit play, and have a blast.

But we’ll stick with the reading closest to the surface: that of the Id, Ego, and Superego. A common enough issue of the era, to be sure, and of no small interest to the Genes.

These are probably familiar terms to you, but should a quick refresher be of use to you, click here. I'll get into this more below, but I mention it here because "The Enemy Within" works pretty well as a catch-all title, but given the tertiary nature of the concept, the title should perhaps be plural. "The Enemies Within" would have been confusing, though. It's a very minor red flag but enough for me to dock half-a-point.

Script and Theme (7 / 10) Okay, so Id, Ego, Supergo. This is already written into the show via its holy trinity (Bones, Kirk, and Spock) but here their shared dynamic is explicitly sub-divided (if you will) via a split Captain Kirk. "Two of the same animal but different.

"One gentle, this. One mean and fierce, that:

"Some kind of savage, ferocious opposite."

The genius of the Genes was taking original material

and re-shaping it into this sort of prism of simultaneous meaning described above. They weren't 100% successful all the time ("Mudd's Women") and alienated some of the writers whose scripts they worked over in this manner ("City on the Edge of Forever.") But when they were on, they were on. The source material might have its own implications or subtext, but what the Genes did was harness it towards their own preoccupations and their Trek-occupations, if that makes any sense. I'll trust you know what I'm getting at well enough by now: TOS is the warp-nine intersection of all these various factors. Or as Freud put it: Underneath the surface, our personalities represent the power struggles going on deep within us. True for Western civilization, true for 1960s television.

The Captain's ego ("good") is paralyzed upon discovery that his Id ("bad") has taken on a life of its own and roams the decks of the Enterprise:

He's so distraught he can't even bring himself to use traditional sentence structure in his as-it's-happening report to Starfleet: Captain's Log, stardate 1673.5. Transporter... still inoperable. Negative self is under restraint in Sickbay.

 

My own indecisiveness... growing. Force of will... steadily weakening. On the planet, condition critical. Surface temperature is 75 degrees below zero... still dropping.

Spock's role in the proceedings (as he helpfully summarizes about halfway through the episode) is to play the supergo, to help re-fuse Kirk's Id and Ego back into a functioning whole. He is ideally suited to perform this task, as he tells Dr. McCoy: Being split in two halves is no theory with me, Doctor. (...) I survive it because my intelligence wins over both, making them live together.

“As if the ego's job wasn't hard enough, playing referee between the id and reality, its performance is under constant scrutiny by a relentless judge, the superego. While the ego negotiates with the id, trying to prevent another tantrum, the superego judges the performance. (Superego) expects your ego to be strong and effective in its struggles against the libido's force.”

Among the Superego's duties is to goad the ego into action by appealing to its vanity, as Spock certainly does: You're the Captain of this ship. You haven't the right to be vulnerable in the eyes of the crew. You can't afford the luxury of being anything less than perfect. 

When it comes to the imaginary integrity of the space navy and the men (and women) who hold command positions within it, that kind of dialogue is so much more palatable in service of pop-psychological pastiche such as this than for its own sake as an attempt to generate tension or drama. It's part of the reason I have trouble with episodes like "The Doomsday Machine." As cool as the planet-killer-bugle in space is, all the Starfleet captain bravado really grates on me. To each his own, of course.

Another psychological phenomenon on display here is splitting, i.e. “the failure in a person's thinking to bring together both positive and negative qualities of the self and others into a cohesive, realistic whole.” This leads to idealization and devaluation. (And is essential to understanding modern media techniques of manipulation, but that's a story for another day.)

Let's stick with Splitting.

"I'm the Captain. Isn't that obvious?"

"Look at his face."

"Look how he's tried to hide them."

"You know who I am."

"A perceived threat to the narcissist's self-esteem..."

As encouraged by Spock and Bones, the Id and the Ego realize the destruction of one means the destruction of the other and slowly reconcile and re-fuse.

As every TOS fan could tell you, he wanna live!

I originally went with scores of 10 apiece for this category, but I'm deducting 3 points from the script for the end, where Spock tells Yeoman Rand that the Captain's Id had some... "interesting qualities, wouldn't you say, Yeoman?"

    

He's clearly suggesting that the Yeoman (and by extension all women) are secretly turned on by their rapists. (Oh yeah, I guess I should have mentioned that: once out from under the thumb of his ego's rules and restrictions, the Captain's Id hastens to Yeoman Rand's quarters and urges her to STOP PRETENDING, JANICE.)

Like Chekov's attempted sexual assault in "Day of the Dove," the horror of it all is somewhat undermined by the actors' hammy (though perfect) delivery. You don't die... not yet for "Dove," and the Too Much Woman matter-of-factness, here.

As Grace Lee Whitney wrote in her memoir: I can't imagine any more cruel and insensitive comment a man (or Vulcan) could make to a woman who has just been through a sexual assault! But then, some men really do think that women want to be raped." All the more chastising given Whitney's real-life sexual assault(s) on the show. (Also: that Shatner slapped her, repeatedly, admittedly with her permission, to get her "into character" for this scene.)

Add it all up, and it's a big bowl of discomfort for your humble narrator, and, I imagine, more than a few other people. That the script "goes there" is good; the Freudian catacombs are indeed filled with Cthulhian horrors, well worth mapping out. It'd probably be a cheat without it. That Spock wraps this episode up with this obscene bow? Less good. Substantially. Like double-plus-un-good, times infinity. 

Come to think of it, it's always Spock who gets these sorts of lines, isn't it? I think we're meant to believe Spock is a little sexist, because he's all about logic and women (makes whirly-finger gesture at ear) amirite? I prefer to look at that as the sexism of the era and not deliberate characterization of Mister Spock. It's certainly an aspect of the character that Nimoy never revisited after the 60s.

Anyway, I should probably deduct even more than 3 points for such an incredibly tasteless thing, but of course no addition or deduction on my part does much of anything. Who knows what the hell they were thinking or trying to get across, but if it isn't what it seems (i.e. You know you wanted it) they really dropped the ball in conveying it.

Visual Design (1.5) I guess it's the first time we ever see Engineering, so that's something, but it's not one of the more visually exciting episodes. Plenty of close-ups that emphasize the Captain's eye shadow, to be sure:

Kirk and the Gang (35)

Not the most coveted part ever offered an actress, but Whitney does a good job here.

"C-captain K-k-kirk..."

Guest (2.5)

As Eugene Myers writes: "The poor dog in that furry costume was very silly, but I was amused that almost every cast member cradled it at some point with a straight expression."

    

Internal Logistics (1.5) One of the earlier episodes so still plenty of stuff coming together. Mr. Farrand makes a good point, though, re: Spock's line about his human half as well as an alien half, submerged: "Did he just call his Vulcan half "alien?" I thought Spock prided himself on his Vulcan heritage. Wouldn't he be more likely to identify his human half as alien?"

- Also, we saw Deela admiring the Captain's grooming products in "Wink of an Eye." Here we see he has stage make-up at hand, too - amazing! I bet he keeps that stuff around just for the ladies. Straight out of the Playboy Guide.

Memorability (5) #TrekConfessions: In the late 1990s, I attended a poetry reading in Dayton, OH and was asked to participate. Everyone may have been a little out of their minds on Saurian Brandy, among other things. I approached the microphone with a bit of trepidation, which was just for dramatic effect; I was actually quite composed as I knew exactly what I had to say and how to say it. "(Pause) Get those men beamed back aboard fast." * Mic drop, arms raised, exit stage left.

In my imagination, this brought down the house down, a calculated, Kaufman-esque send-up of the whole experience. In reality, the lone chuckle of my buddy Mike was all I heard against an awkward backdrop of chairs scraping against the floor, murmurs, and glasses clinking behind the bar.

* The actual line is Get those men aboard fast, but that's how I said it. (If someone had shouted that out from the audience, correcting me, that would have made it way cooler. I'm tempted to add that detail - I mean who would know?)

Total Points Awarded: 65

King's Highway pt. 54: The Dark Half

This one has quite a few "variant covers:"

Probably my favorite - simple and effective. Nice colors.

Also good.

Actually, I like them all except for the generic one I bought. Which I won't even reproduce here. But here are some others.

There's even more, but I'll stop there.

Some fun fan art.

Before we get into the book and then the movie, ask Mama if she believes this... did you know there was a videogame? I sure didn't.

I'm on record as wanting an It NES game. But, really, most everything King's done could and should be available to play as a game, NES or otherwise.

The Dark Half is a simple enough plot. As a child, Thad Beaumont suffers from a brain tumor. He hears sparrows when the headaches/ seizures come on. The tumor is removed, and he grows to adulthood and becomes a teacher/writer. The novels he publishes under his own name don't sell all that well, but the novels of his pseudonym, George Stark, sell pretty well. A "creepazoid"figures out that Stark is Beaumont and tries to extort Thad and his family. Rather than acquiesce to this, the Beaumonts decide to "kill" Stark and release the story to People magazine, replete with a fake-burial and fake-tombstone (Here lies George Stark - Not a Very Nice Guy.)

Only, Stark doesn't want to stay dead. He materializes in the grave, escapes, kills everyone that was involved in the farce of his death, then terrorizes Thad's family directly. But Stark is coming physically unglued:

"Something seemed to be wrong with the underlying structure of the man (Stark)'s face. It was as if he were not simply decaying, but mutating in some horrible way."

Stark demands Thad help him write a new novel and holds him and his family hostage to accomplish this.

 "It was his eye that Stark wanted - no, demanded. That odd third eye that, being buried in his brain, could only look inward."

Sparrows gather ominously around "the cabin in the woods, Stark is consumed by them and sucked into the sky ("a black hole that bore the unmistakable shape of a man struggling.") Thad and family (and Sheriff Pangborn, who we'll see next in Needful Things) burn down the house and move on. (Tho they do not, as readers of Bag of Bones know, live happily ever after.)

The above set-up is a negative-print-image of King's own experience in interesting ways. His own novels sold quite well, but those of his pseudonym's (Richard Bachman) sold poorly. Until he was approached by one Stephen Brown, who was, by all accounts with which I'm familiar, not a "Creepazoid." Bachman was then said to die of "cancer of the pseudonym." (This didn't stop him from publishing a few more books, though, as we'll get to next time or the time after that.) And - as was mentioned by ChrisC in the comments last time for Tommyknockers - King's own relationship with Bachman and what it meant to his own frame of mind/ inner-psychology is certainly interesting and has some obviously-non-literal parallels with the grisly struggle between Thad and George.

As he mentions in On Writing, "Traditionally, the muses were women, but mine's a guy; I'm afraid we'll just have to live with that."

Does it work as a novel? Yes and no. "Work" might be the wrong word. It's a fun enough read, to be sure; it's a page-turner, the characters are believable, etc. For me, it was an interesting reversal of the traditional-King-book complaint, i.e. that he "loses steam at the end." Here, it is the beginning that has some trouble finding its pace. (In particular, the People piece just doesn't read like a People piece, to me, and the scene at the table reading it, as interspersed with Thad-and-fam joking, never really "clicks." Maybe just for me; so it goes.) Whereas as the last act is where the writing really "hums."

Speaking of the fam, the twins never really seem like more than message-indicators to me. (i.e. when someone said something about the duality of Thad's situation, the twins bump into one another, or cry out suddenly, or cry or laugh, etc. Set dressing.) King doesn't let their subtext work on its own without calling attention to it like that, which is interesting given the novel's other concerns, but a little distracting. When George puts them in danger, I am less emotionally invested in them. Still, the "twin" motifs running through the book are fun, and I didn't think to start noticing them until well-into-it, so that's my bad.

The incidental characters are fun, as per usual. Rawlee (more on him below) and the FBI wiretap guys do more than just fill plot-shoes; each is brought to life with real economy of word.

Where it fails-to-excite-me is on the question of how exactly George Stark came to be, or rather the discussion of this, throughout.

King loves the ECs, and so do I. And had this plot been published therein, I don't even think I - or anyone - would even ask this question. But an EC-tale in novel-form, which this feels like in some spots, and especially one where characters say things like "It's not like this is some EC comic," provokes different concerns and questions of its author.

Actually, given the whole split-self/ psychic-toilet-externalized spirit of the piece, maybe this is a better EC cover.

The novel spends a little too much time having characters ask (understandably, sure) "how can this be?" without getting anywhere, or offering suggestions/ denials as to how George might have materialized in the flesh. There's more fat to trim than usual. (And it's one of his shorter books.) Should we just go with it, like in other King works? I'm not bogged down in why/ how Carrie has telekinesis, for example; I'm happy to accept it as metaphor and let King tell the story he wants to tell. And as George himself says at one point, "How it happened doesn't matter - what matters is that I'm here."

While true we don't really need to know from a psychological-reading-standpoint, (i..e George is just a fictional metaphor for property dualism or anything of that nature; the umbrella's kind of large here and I don't mean to pin it down by that name) it does matter if characters keep asking questions that work-against-themselves. The glandular-deterioration thing is a good example. It suggests that George's physical existence is tied to Thad's. Sort of like "The Enemy Within," another exploration of this sort of thing, from Star Trek: TOS (that's "The Original Series" to ye unenlightened out there) but there's no transporter-malfunction in The Dark Half. How George gets into this predicament is never really explained, and it kept putting in mind how he came to be in the first place. Each time it's addressed, its haziness grows a little more urgent.

The Truth Inside The Lie has this to say:

"...Maybe he's a ghost; maybe he's the ghost of Thad's never-born twin; maybe he's a Forbidden Planet-esque projection of Thad's subconscious, a Monster From The Id with a southern accent and decomposing flesh. King never quite manages to spell that out one way or the other, but I'd argue that he gets away with the omission ... barely."

(That's from a review of the film, actually; here's the review of the novel. Both are worth reading, particularly the bits on the connections to King's other work such as Pet Sematary and "The Crate," and the overlap of Wilhelmina Burks and Rawlee.)

The character of Rawlie is turned into "Reggie" in the film and is played with considerable gusto by Julie Harris. She hams it up, sure, but as the "eccentric English professor," she definitely adds to every scene she's in.

Does it need to be addressed? Maybe so, maybe not. I think your answer to that depends on how swept-away you are in the prose. It's a fun read and all, but for this reason, I find "Secret Window" to be a more compelling take on similar subject matter. 

 Here's what the New York Times book review has to say:

"On the whole, Mr. King is tactful in teasing out the implications of his parable... No character in the novel comes right out and says, for example, that writers exist (at least to readers) only in their writing, that each person (at least to himself) is his own fiction, that the writer's imagination can feel alien to him, a possessing and possessive demon, a Dracula arisen to prey on the whole man and his family. Nor does anyone in the novel say outright that reality inevitably leaks fiction, which then floods reality, that reality and fiction feed on and feed each other, that they are at war yet they are twins - so identical that attempts to say which is which only lead to more fictions. Such things are better left unsaid, anyhow. Stephen King is not a post-modernist. "

I'm not sure I agree with this last bit (emphasis mine) at all, though it's important to recognize this review was written around 1990, before King started appearing as an explicit character in his work. Still, it seems odd to me to approach the story this way, almost dismissively, as if the idea that SK might be self-consciously-commenting-on-his-role-as-a-storyteller-in-the-telling-of-this-story can be dismissed so totally. That tells you a lot about how critics were viewing his work in 1990, and how changed the situation is in 2012. (Now critics take aim at his post-modernism.) 

"Thad closed the eyes God had put in his face and opened the one God had put in his mind, the eye which persisted in seeing even the things he didn't want to look at. When people who read his books met him for the first time, they were invariably disappointed. This was something they tried to hide from him and could not. He bore them no grudge, because he understood how they felt... at least a little bit. If they liked his work (and some professed even to love it), they thought of him beforehand as a guy who was first cousin to God. Instead of a God they saw a guy who stood six-foot-one, wore spectacles, was beginning to lose his hair, and had a habit of tripping over things... What they could not see was that third eye inside his head...

"That eye, glowing in the dark half of him, the side which was in constant shade... that was like a God, and he was glad they could not see it. If they could, he thought many of them would try to steal it... even if it meant gouging it right out of his flesh with a dull knife."

(Particularly interesting in that this is precisely what happens to Thad at the novel's beginning. "In addition to the eye, they found... two teeth. One of the teeth had a small cavity in it.")

Now, on the subject of "Writers and Metafiction in King's Texts," here's a good article. (I hope throwing these links at you isn't bad form; if you want more than the meager bits presented here, have at them) It's tempting to speculate where King's head was "at" when he wrote this. A common aspect of recovery-therapy (assuming this was written in that period after The Tommyknockers when he was "drying out," as I think it was) is coming to terms with "flushing the psychic toilet," i.e. externalization of all-negative-traits into a different persona. It's a huge topic, beyond my ability to relay concisely enough for this blog, but if we read George as a literal example of this, it makes a certain amount of sense.

"'But do you kick the guy out?' Thad went on. 'No. For one thing, he's already been in your house for awhile, and as grotesque as it might sound to someone who's not in the situation, it seems like he's got... squatter's rights or something."

Learning to "re-integrate the negative" is part and parcel of the process. No two recoveries are exactly the same, but certain roadmarks on the road to recovery are. Relapse is avoided by learning what makes the addict tick and what his/her triggers are. Getting to a point where negative emotions don't provoke someone rushing to the psychic bathroom to vomit up their "bad vibes," or place them wholly on someone else, etc. Looked at through this lens, George Stark is like the revenge of the therapy doll, i.e. that pillow/ sock puppet a therapist will have you yell at to come to terms with beating yourself up.

It's possible (not a given, obviously) King simply transposed some aspects of this into fictional form, here. I looked around for specific interviews with the author that might address this but didn't find any, alas.

The idea of "parasitic twin" - overtly - and "doppelganger" - less overtly, but still above-ground - is all over the text, of course. Basically, it could be all of the above in a Cuisinart. Or none of it; it could just be King writing a "Hey, this is a cool idea" tale.

Stark - again, like Kirk's evil twin in "The Enemy Within" - is perfectly happy with himself, while Thad - and Kirk - realizes in order to survive, he has to defeat-but-reintegrate the bad with the good. There's a Germanic (I think) pagan tradition of vomiting up the nemesis that seeks to destroy you. Can you believe in this day and age I'm having trouble finding it for you? Googling those search terms is interesting, though; I'm on the wrong side of the algorithm.

George Romero adapted the novel for the screen in the early nineties.

I only saw this for the first time a few months back but watched it again last night to re-familiarize myself. (Unfortunately, I fell asleep towards the end, which is becoming a real damn problem in my advancing years. But! YouTube to the rescue.) I like it. The same problems that exist in King's novel re: wait-now-how-did-George-come-to-be-in-that-grave exist here, as well, but it's visually-striking and moves the story along well.

It clips off the very end of the book, which may be a bit sudden, but it also seems like it tells everything it sat down to tell. I didn't need to see the Beaumonts walk back to the world; ending on the swirling-psychopomps taking Stark to pieces and swirling away worked for me.

Timothy Hutton in particular really shines. Thad is characterized well, and he imbues Stark with a menace not seen in any of his other roles. Arguably his best performance, but for me, his second-best. (For many years, The Falcon and the Snowman was my Fourth of July-viewing film, though I've skipped it the last few. It's an underrated film, though, as is his performance in it.)

The sparrows of the film deliberately invoke Hitchcock's The Birds

Unfortunately, Romero's film is shot rather darkly - a new release with color correction would probably do wonders for its reputation - and my prntscrs of good-sparrows-examples are too unreadable. But here's a great shot from The Birds.

This may put some strain on the whence-this-menace Stark-metaphors of the book by doing so, but it didn't bother me. Unless the film is hack work - and this isn't - any visual-recall to Hitchcock is always welcome.

A young Thad works on "Here There By Tygers" at his typewriter; again, my prntscrn failed me. But a nice touch.

Michael Rooker as Pangborn is another selling point. Rooker's played a variety of roles over the years, but usually he's the villain (and usually inept) or duplicitous in some way. He brings a humanity and accessibility to Sheriff Pangborn that he doesn't normally get to showcase.

"Slow Cooker" is not among the featured selections of my old band's MySpace page, but as a result of its chorus, I to-this-day mentally rhyme 'Michael Rooker' with 'Slow Cooker' whenever either term crosses my path. MICHAEL ROOK-ERRRR...!

Romero and King don't seem to work much together anymore, do they? Romero's an interesting director. Night of the Living Dead is an acknowledged classic, to be sure, but does his uncompromising "maverick" status seems to prevent him from the kind of widespread appreciation many of his contemporaries enjoy? The Dark Half may not be as daring and iconic as that one, or Martin or The Crazies or Dawn of the Dead, but it's a solid "mainstream" pic. It's a shame it didn't seem to fare too well with the critics or at the box office.

(And then there's Knightriders, which I've tried to watch a few times. What the hell is going on with this movie? King (and Tabitha King) are in it, briefly, as spectators, towards the beginning. I have a feeling somewhere in this movie is at least the suggestion of a masterpiece, but it seems to be mining similar ore as Electra-Glide in Blue, and that "obscure indie American-70s * generational-commentary knights-errant-on-bikes" spot is already taken in my DVD folder. One of these days, though, I have to finish it.)

(* It wasn't released until 1981, but let's not kid ourselves: Knightriders is a 70s movie.)

NEXT:

(King as "Bachman" in Sons of Anarchy)
BLAZE/ THINNER