I have had the week from hell. Due to work commitments, a speeding fine, and some trademarked millennial ennui, I found myself feeling listless, wishing for something enjoyable to fixate my eyes on for an hour or so. Mostly, when circumstance or illness brings my mental health percentage to under ninety, I end up doing one thing: choosing a random episode of Star Trek, getting my favourite pyjamas on (currently, they are Winnie the Pooh themed—thanks, Mum), and letting Picard/Kirk/Janeway indirectly solve my adult problems for me.

On this website, I have stated my love for episodic science-fiction content on many occasions, most notably, Star Trek and Doctor Who. However, my tired, pyjama-wearing self has not resorted to the new content either of these shows currently has on the air to cure my enervation. Instead, I am rewatching the Moriarty episodes of Next Gen, or choosing which Doctor suits my current mood. Being merely twenty-five years old, I do not wish to step into the dangerous realm of “back in my day… things were better,” as I have been assured by many Buzzfeed articles that neophobia only sets in after thirty. No, the quality of content has not gotten worse over time (Star Trek had episodes involving a qualified doctor falling in love with a lamp, and Doctor Who ended an episode with a blowjob joke). We have just screwed the world up enough to make feel-good sci-fi too high of a bar on which to suspend our disbelief.

Despite my general inertia, I have been able to keep up to date on both of these shows. Depressingly, I see it more as an obligation than an enjoyable pastime. Last year, I wrote an article about my disappointment with the newest incarnation of The Doctor, and I have to admit that this feeling has not got much better, just… more complex. After fifteen years of watching this show religiously on the day of release, I almost quit entirely. An episode was released only a few weeks ago, that was so terrible… so depressing, I turned to Facebook messenger and, in a true low-point of my life, complained to my friend about it. In an effort to save time, and ruin my dignity, the messages follow. (Spoilers ahead, if you care.)

If these seem like the ramblings of a madwoman, you would probably be right. Orphan 55 hurt me. After these messages, Ben (contributor to our lovely little website) had a rare stroke of wisdom for me:

Who knows, maybe the next Doctor will be a return to form. The current Doctor says the world is fucked and we’re going to burn alive, but hey, we can change that. Bring a new, optimistic doctor in times of crisis. To me, that’s what The Doctor always does. Comes in times of crisis to help. You know most episodes, how they usually resolve whatever monster or conflict is ailing people rather than running away like ‘oh shit, we better not make Earth a wasteland’? The Doctor helps. This Doctor doesn’t seem to help.

I kept watching Doctor Who, and the next episode brought an interesting mystery and a return of a new character. I was back in. Then, the very next episode, the plastic in our oceans became a breeding ground for an alien pathogen. I do not blame the show for making political statements about a current socio-political climate (I mean, the original run of the series did that multiple times). Instead, I am ashamed that our current climate has lent itself to such hopelessness. Will we ever make it to inventing warp speed? Will humanity ever spread across the stars?

Star Trek always gave me an insight into the wonders of human existence, and hope that one day these stupid little meat-sacks on planet Earth will be capable of great things. It would not be an over-exaggeration to say that Star Trek has assisted my development into becoming a decent human being (or, at least, I think so). The theme tunes of each series bring me back to a very specific time in my life. It is a Sunday. With my mum on nights, I would tiptoe down the stairs to greet my aunt for breakfast. Softly, in the corner of the room, Star Trek would have begun, and my aunt and I would watch it together. With a cup of tea in hand, a stomach full of crumpets, and my eyes fixated on the screen in front of me, I thought without a doubt this is what our future would be.

Picard opens with our beloved captain playing chess with Data. Behind them, a planet seems to be erupting. The conversation that ensues brings a tear to my eyes, and in the rest of the episode, tears begin to cascade down my cheeks. In the pilot episode, Picard is in an ill-fated interview that ends in him telling us how broken The Federation has become. It feels like when you reach a certain stage of adulthood when your parents begin giving insight into the dark corners of your history that you were unaware of as a child. As if we have eaten from the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden, we are confronted by the knowledge of the imperfections of our species. We are no longer treated as naive; Picard is here to tell us where we are going wrong.

While there are some quality issues with the latest series of Doctor Who, the same cannot be said for Picard. Patrick Stewart’s performance is incredible, and while there are a few strange story choices, I am unable to argue that this is an incompetent show. Picard brings the unpredictable to a series that has relied on happy endings for so long; we have grown up now, and we are able to see more of this universe, both good and bad. I cannot help but miss the naivety of youth that came with my viewings of the franchise. Things were nicer back then… even if they weren’t very truthful.

So, where does that leave us? While I still have my beloved Orville for escapist content, there is a definite undercurrent of nihilism pulsing underneath the skin of recent sci-fi. The Mandalorian is an excellently executed episodic narrative that reincarnates the spaghetti western with futuristic trimmings. However, the world Mando inhabits is far from utopic. Furthermore, last year brought us such films as Ad Astra and High Life, both brilliant films that dealt with a darker viewpoint of science-fiction ideas. While there have always been dark, dystopic science-fiction worlds in film and television, we do not have the light, network-y adventure shows that I was weaned on. Perhaps our world has become a little too dark for light entertainment.

As a lowly film reviewer, I cannot come up with the solution to fix our cynical outlook on the future. While I do try to reduce plastic usage, and I always throw my rubbish in the bin, I am aware that humanity’s current lifestyle is unsustainable. The news is filled with frightening tales of inept politicians, and the doomsday clock creeps ever-closer. However, I can only live in the hope that someone, like me, spent their Sunday mornings with a loving family member watching a television series brimming with hope, thinking of what could be. This someone (or, perhaps, a group of someones) might have the capability to create what is necessary to elicit change. While we no longer have The Doctor to help us (and never did in the first place, with the character being fictional and all), I can hold onto the hope in humanity that these series planted within me. Sure, we may all die in a nuclear explosion, but we might not. That’s something, right?