Sunday, January 1, 2012

Angel One

** (2 stars out of 5)
There's nipples today! Nipples galore to satiate any viewer who enjoys nipples... on men. Oh, well. Sigh.

The missing male crew of the Minnow, sorry, the Odin were stranded on "Angel One" seven years ago. Like Troi's home world, Angel One is run by an elected council of women. Ruh-roh!

Females are aggressively dominant in this matriarchy, larger, stronger, butcher. They are the soldiers and the providers and the bossy trollops. Of course, this means the dudes are decorative, perfumed dandies.

Wesley's snowball from the holodeck hits Picard. Wes' class brought a respiratory virus back from the Quazulu VIII field trip. (Since we were told holographic material can't exist off the holodeck, the writers can't have been implying that it was a virus from the holodeck, that's just silly, right? Right?... and since Crusher herself told us the common cold's been cured... she must have meant the common Earth cold. Had to be. That's that sorted.)

La Forge is in charge while Dr. Crusher seeks the cure. "Being in charge", just like on the surface, means standing sternly with one's hands on one's hips. "Seeking the cure", in this instance, means gentle caresses of one's shirtless captain.

The Elected One, Mistress Beata, wants the disruptive alien males silenced. Her colleague Ariel, however, has secretly fallen for the stranded Ramsey, and his nutty notions of equality. Men, know your limits!

Riker dresses to impress and beds Beata. Can she stop objectifying that tasty piece of man-meat?

Oh, myyyy. -George Takei.

Ramsey's men and sympathizers are to be disintegrated. Because that's what you get from a world in "mid-20th Century development". As I recall, the unorthodox Lucy and Ricky Ricardo faced disintegration several times back in the fifties.

'LOOOCY! We got some 'sploding to do!'

I'm not sure what barriers were being challenged, really, but I get the feeling the story was attempting to say something... and that's to be admired.

Inequality between the genders is a problem, all right. A big, hairy conundrum. A sweaty, sticky, thorny problem... Dear lord, close your shirt, man!

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