“Happily Ever After ... or At Least Until Our Own Series Debuts”

It's one of those clichéd (and in my opinion, wildly wrong-headed) literary axioms that all truly great epics begin with a birth, a wedding or a funeral. While certainly quite a few have—the marriage of Carlo and Connie in The Godfather springs immediately to mind—it's not as if they're mandatory: I mean, I’ve never read that it was so in the Turkey City Lexicon, John Gardner’s On Writers and Writing or even, for that matter, The Book of Love. [Geez, Louise, am I dating myself, or what?]

All too often, as a matter of fact, these ill-considered events set a tone that leaves you shaking your head.

Now most of us will readily concede that Star Trek: Nemesis had about as many redeeming qualities as Hurricane Katrina. One, though, that I imagine many TNG fans welcomed and celebrated was the wedding of Will Riker and Deanna Troi.

I watched along with my fellow Trekkies (and assorted other moviegoers), and reflected on what I was seeing. One thought sprang to mind … and wouldn't, despite my efforts, allow itself to be dispelled.

"Pathetic."

Now don't get me wrong: I didn't leap (or, considering my weight at that point, struggle) to my feet and burst out with that in the theater. Such would have been extremely rude to those who were receiving a romantic payoff for which they'd longed over almost two decades.

It just didn't work for me—not in the freakin’ least.

Now, granted, I'm a Cynic of the First [Cardassian] Order ... but it's not as if I don't believe that love can conquer all. It's just this particular instance that, for some reason, annoyed me no end. Rather than, “God, I’m glad those two found each other at long last,” I instead thought, "Yeah ... now they're gettin' married, when their supply of extracurricular nookie has waned quite a bit; they're both pretty long in the tooth—Riker’s a doughy pudge and Troi’s got that ‘used up hooker’ thing goin’ on—and figure that each is the best the other will do."

In other words, it didn’t register with me as coming full circle so much as it did settling … or, rather, collapsing.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I imagined myself in Will’s place, in the instants after Deanna had proposed; let’s just say my response would have been a bit different—probably something like this:

"No fuckin' way, baby. You gave the best years of your life to whomever came along, and now you want to grow old with me? Since nobody else wants to fuck you, now, why don’t you just go fuck yourself?"

I’m responding from the vicious male’s perspective here, but trust me, it’s not chauvinism. Admittedly, Troi would easily have just as much reason to take such a stance; after all, Riker was even more the slut puppy than she was.

I spoke about this attitude of mine with Trek writer Allyn Gibson—in a way hoping that, clear-thinking fellow he is, he’d set me straight.

His reaction to my viewpoint?

“Yeah, I got that stink of desperation off Nemesis, too.”

Hoo boy. When even the nice guys respond that way, is it any wonder that the assholes like me do?

This wedding, from where I sat, occurred about a decade too late. The moribund reactions of the wedding invitees seemed to punctuate this (though I’m sure the shitty directing had something to do with that, too). Worf was reduced to a drunken oaf, and the other aging cast members milled around trying desperately to look happy, and failing miserably. Hell, considering how crappy a singer he is, Data’s death at the story’s climax almost seemed fitting retribution.

But I digress.

Weddings should be climaxes, not afterthoughts … and if the first USS Titan novel, Taking Wing, is any indication, Mr. and Mrs. Troi’s nuptials have set the tone for a series about which no one will care.

How’s that for a toast to the bride and groom?