Here’s a flashback to my review of Star Trek: Enterprise. With your help, such comments could once again be permitted in the Corner:
By now, anyone who cares (if you don’t, you shouldn’t be reading this anyway) has seen or heard that the new Trek series, Enterprise, has a Vulcan sexpot named T’Pol. The producers learned their lesson from Voyager’s 7-of-9, and have concluded they will never again be caught without a silicone-enhanced chick in a spackled-on uniform. It is cool that they’ve chosen a Vulcan to be the sex symbol, since Vulcans — while superior to humans in so many ways — have “not tonight, dear” headaches that last in roughly seven-year stretches (prediction: T’Pol will hear the Vulcan call of the birds and the bees, the Pon Farr, the moment the ratings dip).
With her over-the-top bitchiness and her under-her-top augmentation, T’Pol reminds me of that old Robin Williams joke about how he wanted sex to become an Olympic sport, just so we could see what the East Germans would come up with.
But before we smash our church-lady tea sets at the sight of rich unguents being smeared over that Vulcan torso, let’s not forget that the original Trek (cue harp music) was never above a little T&A — or a lot of it. The Federation memo requiring all female officers to wear miniskirts (officially, they were called “skorts”) was hardly a nod to their ergonomic benefits. Hell, Yeoman Rand was essentially a clipboard with blonde hair and long legs.