After the playful and light-hearted crossover episode of last week, the pendulum of "Star Trek" swings back with the heaviest episode that "Strange New Worlds" has crafted to date—even surpassing that chilling episode featuring Gorn Babies, which culminated in Hemmer's tragic demise. In many respects, this moment has been a long time brewing. While "The Broken Circle," the season-two opener, was an enjoyable installment filled with allusions to M'Benga and Chapel's shared service in the Klingon War, particularly their tour of duty on J'Gal, it hinted at a darker past. We saw them inject themselves with an unknown substance—whose name we finally learn in this episode—triggering a berserk rage that suggested a grim familiarity. Chapel, whom we know as perpetually cheerful, and M'Benga, who exudes kindness and concern, have clearly witnessed and endured experiences they'd prefer to erase from their memories.
This episode brings it all flooding back, thanks to what Pike dubs "a special visitor." Pike views Rah's visit as a positive development. After all, Ambassador Dak'Rah (Robert Wisdom), affectionately known as "Rah," is tasked with sowing peace throughout the galaxy, most notably in the Prospero system. However, the fact that Dak'Rah is a Klingon complicates matters, despite his apparent ease in charming Pike. As Pike notes, most of the Enterprise crew lacks direct war experience. Those who do, however, perceive Klingons, particularly this Klingon, through a different lens.
This sentiment extends to the bridge, where Rah interrupts Ortegas' debate about the merits of having a Klingon peace ambassador, with Uhura (a staunch supporter of Rah) as their guest. The ever-diplomatic Rah pretends not to hear and attempts to win Ortegas over. He even brushes off his pain when Spock's attempt to prepare a raktajino accidentally burns his hand, leading him to Sick Bay. There, the barely concealed fury on M'Benga's usually serene face instantly highlights the discrepancy between Rah's presented self and the person M'Benga still believes him to be.
But who is Rah, really? Is he a genuine convert to the Federation, or merely donning a convenient façade? We discover that he has lied about at least part of his defection narrative, but does that necessarily mean he is dishonest in all aspects of his life? Moreover, does this even matter when weighed against his good deeds? "Under the Shadow of War" never definitively answers these questions. Instead, it remains ensconced in a moral gray area, culminating in a series of final scenes that blur reality and truth, compelling us to view Chapel and M'Benga through a different lens. The events portrayed here are undoubtedly destined to haunt future episodes.
What fuels M'Benga's (perhaps) murderous fury? The episode delves into this inquiry with clarity through its poignant flashbacks to the Klingon War and the fateful time M'Benga and Chapel spent on J'Gal's Moon, where their paths converged, forging the supportive bond we've borne witness to throughout the series. The onscreen text reveals that this encounter transpired "a few years ago," amidst the tumultuous upheaval of wartime, shortly after Chapel deployed what amounted to a Starfleet MASH unit within the heart of a combat zone.
Upon her arrival, she is welcomed by Commander "Everyone Calls Me Buck" Martinez (played by Clint Howard), the unit's chief medical officer, a man whose malapropisms, such as "Apparently, a watched pot doesn't get the oil," hint at the dire shortage of supplies, specifically the lack of an internal-organ regenerator—a harbinger of dire consequences to come. Buck informs Chapel of her role as head nurse and directs her towards M'Benga, leaving her to navigate her own path as wounded soldiers begin arriving via transport.
As Chapel triages the injured, she confronts the gravity of the situation when faced with the decision of what to do with a critically wounded soldier desperately in need of an internal-organ regenerator. M'Benga, recognizing the urgency, proposes a temporary, albeit sketchy, solution: storing the soldier's pattern in the transport's buffer (a foreshadowing of his later actions with his daughter). It's a questionable makeshift fix, but it offers a glimmer of hope amidst despair.
Later, the bond between Chapel and M'Benga strengthens as they frantically attempt to revive a patient whose heart has ceased beating, adopting the team's makeshift motto: "We got this."
Switching to the present, Pike pays M'Benga a visit, ostensibly to borrow some Deltan parsley—a delicacy in moderation but lethal in excess. M'Benga sees through Pike's pretext and even accepts it calmly when Pike reveals his orders to make Rah, a Klingon War veteran, feel welcomed. To this end, Pike is hosting a dinner for Rah (complete with jambalaya) and invites M'Benga and Chapel to attend. It's not mandatory, but its significance is undeniable.
This directive is questionable, and it seems unlikely that Pike, as fond as he is of hosting his crew, would attempt to implement it without explicit orders. The dinner quickly reveals its folly. "There's a chance General… Ambassador Rah has genuinely changed," M'Benga remarks to Ortegas before they enter. "Sometimes, pretending long enough can make something the truth." They agree to don "the Starfleet face" and endure the evening. But it proves easier said than done.
While Rah entertains the guests with anecdotes of his diplomatic escapades, Chapel struggles to conceal her discomfort. She doesn't even seek solace in conversation with Spock.
Spock devises a clever distraction by delving into a comparative analysis between Sun Tzu's "The Art of War" and Klingon philosophies on warfare, cleverly creating an opportunity for Chapel and M’Benga to discreetly withdraw, thereby triggering yet another poignant flashback. In this vivid recollections, an Orion operative attempts to enlist M’Benga, who harbors an undisclosed past in covert operations, for an assassination mission targeting Rah, a notoriously cruel Klingon leader.
Back at the dinner table, the veneer of civility shatters when Rah broaches the subject of J’Gal. "My ideals have undergone a transformation," he asserts, a statement that highlights a growing disdain for Klingon traditions since boarding the Enterprise. Ortegas remains unconvinced, her suspicions aroused further when Rah attempts to toast to J’Gal, only to be met with the Klingon battle cry of "Remain Klingon." Disgusted, she exits, followed by Chapel. Observing Rah's visible distress, Pike takes note, and shortly thereafter, M’Benga also leaves, though not before Rah extends an invitation to engage in some Klingon martial arts—a proposition he might have reconsidered had he known of M’Benga's background.
The atmosphere is thick with tension as Rah proposes an alliance, viewing it as a powerful statement. In response, M’Benga inquiries whether Rah truly slaughtered his own men to escape and defect. But the truth is, M’Benga already knows the answer.
His time aboard J’Gal pushed him to his breaking point. The harrowing experience of erasing the pattern of a gravely injured soldier from the transporter buffer, witnessing the soldier he and Chapel had saved marching off to war only to return as a corpse, coupled with the death of the Orion agent, impels M’Benga to confront Rah personally. Rah earned the moniker "The Butcher of J’Gal" for eliminating his own men, but it was M’Benga who actually pulled the trigger, and he would have terminated Rah too, had the chance arisen.
When Rah and M’Benga reconvene in Sick Bay, M’Benga’s genuine sentiments are impossible to conceal. Rah persists in his entreaty for M’Benga to join his peace mission, even as M’Benga confronts him with the stark reality that it was Rah who issued the orders for J’Gal's worst atrocities. "I've been striving with all my might to atone for my sins," Rah laments, just before M’Benga unmasks himself as the genuine Butcher of J’Gal. The conversation then takes a decided turn for the dire.
M’Benga unveils a container holding the very weapon he wielded to slay Klingons under Rah’s command. Despite this revelation, Rah continues to advocate for peace. A scuffle ensues, culminating in Rah being stabbed to death. Yet, the exact sequence of events remains shrouded in mystery, both to us and to Chapel, who bears witness to the altercation through a wall of frosted glass. She later testifies that Rah was the aggressor, seizing the knife and forcing M’Benga into self-defense—a narrative she cannot substantiate with certainty, yet she testifies to it nonetheless. Whether she knows the truth or merely wishes to believe it remains a question mark.
Pike, visibly shaken, nonetheless appears to accept Chapel’s account, bolstered by DNA evidence linking the knife to the Butcher of J’Gal—an accurate association, albeit with the wrong individual. Pike, far from gullible, speaks to M’Benga, saying, "I trust that if you did provoke the altercation with Rah, and it spun out of control, you would confide in me. I would stand by your side and help sort it out." M’Benga insists otherwise, and Pike must take him at his word. M’Benga then poses a hypothetical: what if he had indeed slain Rah, but Rah was an exceptionally wicked person? Would that mitigate anything? Pike, a steadfast optimist, cannot endorse such a hypothetical. "You haven't walked in my shoes," M’Benga responds. "You have the luxury of believing in the best in people." When M’Benga confesses his relief at Rah’s demise, all Pike can do is nod somberly and depart.
Did M’Benga initiate the conflict? The truth remains elusive, intentionally so, with scant evidence pointing to Rah losing his composure and becoming combative. Whether he was feigning his love for peace or genuinely believed in it, his message remained steadfast throughout the episode. (And even if he were feigning, that does not detract from his achievements as an ambassador.) Yet, it is challenging not to empathize with M’Benga’s perspective. He survived unspeakable horrors, and here stood the individual most directly responsible for the worst he had witnessed and endured. Posing ethical dilemmas is a frequent staple of Star Trek, but rarely does it leave them so unresolved, much less hint at the possibility that a major and deeply sympathetic character might have crossed a threshold from which there is no return. The malfunctioning, flickering biobed that M’Benga perceives as a metaphor for his own shattered state hints at the episode’s conclusion, yet the story lingers, unresolved.
Greetings, I'm Sophie, your guest recapper for the day. While Keith takes a well-deserved break until the season finale next week, I've pledged to maintain the decorum of our virtual quarters. As the adage goes, both on the storied stages of Broadway and the boundless expanse of outer space, let the performance commence!
The scripting geniuses behind 'Star Trek: Strange New Worlds' didn't need to pull out all the stops. They could have crafted a perfectly decent penultimate episode, seamlessly integrating the season's core themes—navigating the intricacies of camaraderie, platonic bonds, and romantic entanglements; balancing personal aspirations with the dreams of our beloved ones; and grappling with past sorrows and traumas. These elements could have woven together into an adventure filled with genuine warmth and profound emotional depth.
Yet, Dana Horgan and Bill Wolkoff took a daring leap, increasing the episode's complexity exponentially by penning a musical extravaganza. Not even an abundance of hand-waving scientific jargon could unravel the intricate tapestry of character development and thematic coherence that grants "Subspace Rhapsody" its narrative robustness. The delightful, often poignant, and incredibly catchy tunes crafted by songwriting duo Tom Polce and Kay Hanley elevate the entire production to new heights. You might recognize their work from the vibrant discography of Letters to Cleo or their contributions to films like '10 Things I Hate About You' and 'Josie & the Pussycats.'
It's sheer delight to witness the crew members displaying their exceptional prowess. Uhura darts through the 'Star Trek' rendition of every glamorous 1940s switchboard-operator montage, clearing the electronic decks for this thrilling experiment. Her excitement about a naturally occurring subspace fold is mirrored by Spock's eagerness to test a hypothesis: What if this fold could triple the speed of subspace communications? Imagine interstellar texting! Uhura's unconscious humming inspires Pelia with a brilliant idea: Since the fold operates under different physical laws, perhaps a different form of communication—dynamic harmonics, a.k.a. songs—could unlock the desired speed. Pelia, with her cheeky demeanor and air of mystery, raises questions: Is she a sincerely helpful, nearly immortal physics genius, or a mischievous trickster? Perhaps she's a blend of both.
The episode's confidence is further underscored by its patience, as the first song doesn't arrive until seven minutes in. Amidst the ship's turmoil from a mysterious wave emanating from the fold, it's none other than Spock who initiates the first tune with the most Spock-like lyrics conceivable, "The intermix chamber and containment field are stable / I’ll get to the warp core and assess its state when I’m able," and thus, we're off on an odyssey that's, as they repeatedly emphasize, most peculiar indeed.
Each member of this talented ensemble possesses a melodic gift, with even those boasting more modest vocal ranges shining brightly and seamlessly paving the way for powerhouse talents such as Grammy-winner and Tony-nominee Celia Rose Gooding, alongside classically adept dancer Christina Chong. A heartfelt nod to Polce and Hanley for tailoring their script to play to the strengths of their exceptional cast. Upon diving into their Wikipedia profiles, a delightful revelation emerged: Rebecca Romijn, an actress, supermodel, and singer extraordinaire, honed her vocal prowess at UC Santa Cruz. She truly is a jack-of-all-trades!
As the credits rolled—this week adorned with a special choral arrangement, a veritable boon for collegiate a cappella ensembles—the audience discovered that by introducing the timeless classics of the Great American Songbook through their rendition of "Anything Goes," the Enterprise had inadvertently sparked an alternate musical-theatre universe. This scene harbors a sweet Easter egg for aficionados of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, with La’an and Dr. M’Benga voicing concerns about being transformed into bunnies, a fate far less daunting than the terror felt by Buffy's demon-in-residence Anya, who suffers from leporiphobia.
Captain Pike demanded solutions, prompting the team to spring into action with their initial attempt: sealing the fold shut. This endeavor yielded a trio of interconnected tunes that delicately balance the weights of leadership with personal emotions. The first, a charming waltz between Number One and the visiting Jim Kirk titled "Connect to Your Crew," offers genuine life wisdom on embracing one's true self to forge and sustain meaningful bonds. It's a delightful snippet of Rodgers and Hammerstein amidst an episode that otherwise leans towards the (equally enchanting) contemporary style of Waitress.
Throughout this melodious moment, the camera repeatedly pans to La’an, crouched in the shadows of a hallway buttress. Her countenance mirrors a tapestry of jealous anguish as she watches her friend and hero, Una, casually confiding in Jim, for whom she harbors unspoken feelings constrained by the intricacies of space-time. For too long, she has confined herself within the confines of "Conceal, don't feel." As she laments in her powerful solo, while being cool, methodical, and responsible holds immense value, "it might be time to change [her] paradigm / if only [she] can release the steering wheel." Can La’an reconcile the aspects of herself that guard her cherished memory of "Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow" under double locks with the part that dreams of a whimsical romance with Kirk, allowing herself to be vulnerable and joyful? Is it any surprise that La’an views the crew's emotions as a security risk?
Spock's subsequent maneuver, cleverly crafted to elicit a musical moment, segues seamlessly into a duo of tunes: Chapel's vibrant ensemble piece, followed by his poignant solo response. Chapel's song stands out as the episode's liveliest thus far, yet it poses intriguing inquiries. Beneath her usual laid-back demeanor, perhaps that carefree attitude serves as a strategic survival mechanism, akin to Number One's guarded secrets. Her melody underscores her professional aspirations, which propelled her to secure another esteemed fellowship with a foremost expert in archaeological medicine. She braces herself for whatever the future entails, even if it necessitates parting ways with Spock entirely, albeit keeping her rationale concealed from all.
In contrast, Spock's reply, nestled in the emotionally secure confines of Engineering, adopts the same melody as Chapel's but exudes a poignant melancholy, in stark contrast to her largely triumphant tune. It's disheartening to witness Spock characterize their relationship's dynamics as "dysfunctional, weak, and emotional," considering how embracing his human side seemed to benefit him immensely. Fortunately, Uhura steps in, her song serving as the episode's fiery highlight, capitalizing on Celia Rose Gooding's stunning vocals and captivating presence as she croons about discerning patterns within data and her heart alike. As someone dedicated to preserving others' connections, will she harness these skills to include herself and navigate the looming catastrophe as a unified team member? Uhura, the youngest aboard the Enterprise, bears an astonishing level of responsibility from her peers.
She guides the crew toward the collective emotional zenith necessary to reverse the improbability field's effects, akin to a Back to the Future-esque surge of 344 giga electronvolts. The grand crescendo succeeds due to Uhura's ability to ignite the spirits of all 200-odd crew members, uniting them in song. Teamwork, as always, fosters success, with each individual contributing their utmost—even through dance!—despite the genuine struggles they've articulated through their melodies. The song's climactic triumph is momentarily interrupted by the Klingons, led in song by General Garkog, who, though seemingly unacquainted with T-Pain's repertoire, delivers an impeccable Auto-Tune impersonation. Bruce Horak, who portrayed Hemmer in the previous season, pulls off this A+ brand of silliness with ease.
The song works its magic, and everyone aboard breathes a sigh of relief, embracing a renewed normal where emotions flow more freely and risks are boldly taken. They remain sensitive enough to be momentarily struck with a chill when Uhura hums the melody of Chapel's and Spock's tunes, but this feeling, like all others, eventually passes.
