September 13, 1999

What can you say about a show like Space: 1999?

It was the first big SF show after the original Star Trek (the abortive UFO doesn’t count). The production values tended to be a quantum leap above the earlier American show.

The science was nothing to write home about — spontaneous nuclear explosions from buried waste, the whole idea of burying nuclear waste on the moon in the first place, an endless supply of (presumably) wormholes between systems for the Moon to travel, an endless supply of planets that they just happened to encounter as they passed through solar systems … and, of course, the ever-popular “sound in space.”

And, yet, there was always a sense that everything was at least somewhat thought out. Moonbase Alpha felt … well, if not realistic, than at least planned and organized and considered in its creation. Complete with designer uniforms. And the Eagles — the multi-purpose spacecraft they had to work with, and which they seemed to have an endless supply of in the face of their regular destruction — were cool. Because it was set in the not-too-distant future, the technology and setting and politics all felt more contemporary than the 22nd Century realm of Star Trek, with its magical transporters, magical warp drives, magical phasers. Well, Space: 1999 had magical lasers, too, but that hardly counted. They looked cool.

(As a look, Space: 1999 was part of what I call the White Plastic Era of SF. Starting with 2001, and continuing into Star Wars, it was all part of a period when, like they said in The Graduate, the future was “plastics.” That era didn’t end until David Lynch’s Dune.

Space: 1999‘s biggest problem was that, in the first season at least, it was too damned … British. The plots tried to be artsy, were often turgidly incomprehensible, and more than once degenerated into silliness in their pretention (as opposed to Star Trek’s silliness. ST had Spock’s Brain. Space: 1999 had expedition members turned into cave men, complete with bearskins, and back into Alphans, complete once again with their uniforms).

The music wasn’t as majestic as ST, though it had its own charm. Wailing guitars during the main title, music that was sometimes avant-garde, sometimes classical, sometimes pedestrian, sometimes just, again, weird. Odd camera angles.

There were some episodes, though, which resonated through the pretension. The consequences of “War Games,” the haunting Adagio in “Dragon’s Domain,” the Nazi trope of “Voyager’s Return,” the alternative history of “Another Time, Another Place,” the cosmic justice of “Earthbound.” There were good stories in there, and if their execution was sometimes clumsy or overly-arch, it beat the hell out of Buck Rogers.

After a season of British weirdness, the second season saw an Americanization of the series. The uniforms got flashier, the plots more conventional, Maya the “shapeshifter” was introduced … and the show spiraled into oblivion.

Martin Landau’s John Koenig was something of a wimp compared to Jim Kirk, but he had the alarmed/angry/confused brow-furrow down perfectly. Barbara Bain, his wife, played Dr. Helena Russell, the Chief Medical Officer and Koenig’s main squeeze. She often played the voice of reason, with a look of tragic compassion on her face. Barry Morse, who’d made his fame in The Fugitive, was along as the folksy and philosophical Victor Bergman, Chief Science Officer.

There were a host of backup players. And, to their credit, Alan and Paul and Sandra and Kano all got their moments in the sun much more than Sulu and Chekov and Uhura did, and thus felt like more realistic characters.

But there was also the Red Shirt syndrome. You could be fairly certain if there was another crew member introduced to any degree, you could be fairly certain that he would be dead by the end of the episode.

Some great actors, though, including Brian Blessed in more than one role over the series.

As a child of the 70s, I have to acknowledge Space: 1999‘s contribution to my Jungian SF archetypes. There’s a bit of John Koenig, and Alpha, and Eagles, and weird music and odd camera angles and British artsy pretentiousness in what I bring to what I expect (or fear) in SF, even to this day. And that’s probably a good thing.

They’re out on DVD and VHS again, just in case you didn’t get enough of them as a kid …