“A Space Adventure Hour”

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds delivers a murder mystery that explores the franchise’s roots on a meta level.

The Holodeck episode -love it or loathe it- is foundational to Star Trek’s narrative flexibility. It allows writers to break free from the constraints of canonical continuity, shifting genres, setting stories in wildly different locations, and indulging in pastiche or thematic experimentation. At its best, it’s a narrative sandbox with limitless potential. But all too often, this storytelling tool falls back on the well-worn trope: the safety protocols fail, and the crew is thrust into genuine peril. It’s a concept that began as clever but has since become formulaic, used so frequently that its dramatic punch now barely registers. The device remains compelling in theory, but its overuse has dulled the edge of what was once an innovative storytelling shortcut.

Strange New Worlds gestures toward an origin story for the technology, positioning the Enterprise as a test bed for entertainment tech designed to sustain crew morale on extended missions. That setup hints at both the genesis of the Holodeck and the conceptual roots of the five-year mission soon to be led by Kirk. It’s a promising premise, and on paper, it ties nicely into Trek lore. But in practice, it’s transparently a vehicle for a period murder mystery. The story justification feels incidental, a retrofitted rationale for playing with genre. The Holodeck becomes less an origin story and more a convenient delivery system, bypassing deeper narrative integration in favour of aesthetic novelty.

La’an is selected to test the Holodeck based on her track record with combat simulations, which form the foundation of the technology. She prompts it to generate a murder mystery drawn from a series of books she enjoys, setting up a scenario that will feel familiar to anyone versed in Star Trek’s use of the Holodeck. There are period costumes, vintage setting details, and, of course, disabled safety protocols. Rather than offering a fresh take, the episode assembles familiar pieces with little new insight. It plays more like a curated anthology of Holodeck hallmarks than an attempt to reframe or challenge the concept. Viewers new to the franchise might find it inventive, but overall, the story depends entirely on how much one enjoys seeing the cast play dress-up.

In that regard, there’s some charm. The actors clearly revel in the departure from the norm, leaning into exaggerated personas with gusto. Yet those tuning in to see Pike and his crew in the context of meaningful sci-fi exploration may be left wanting. The Holodeck scenes dominate the episode, and even La’an is consumed by her simulated persona, further diluting her presence as a core character within the actual narrative.

The murder mystery itself is unsatisfying as the episode doesn’t commit to it being self contained. None of the clues really mean anything as the solution is a twist that connects to La’an. Anyone familiar with The Next Generation episode “Elementary, Dear Data” will likely see the twist coming as soon as La’an requests a simulation that she will find challenging. In “Elementary, Dear Data” Geordi La Forge requests the Holodeck create an enemy that can defeat Data which conjures up a version of Moriarty that has control over the Holodeck functions so that he can challenge Data as a user of the technology rather than Sherlock Holmes the character.

In this episode, the Holodeck creates a version of Spock that is sneakily picking off the characters while La’an investigates meaningless clues designed to throw her off the truth. It comes to a head when she realises the simulation of Spock is acting out of character and concludes that he must be the one behind the murders. Whether the surprise will land for those unfamiliar with The Next Generation episode is impossible for this reviewer to say but La’an’s word choice combined with Spock already being in the Holodeck when she enters makes the twist a little too obvious.

The Holodeck framing serves as a thin veil for what is essentially meta-commentary on Star Trek‘s origins, but it’s commentary that undermines its own intent. The extended opening sequence draws on surface-level parody: kitschy sets, low-budget alien design, and Paul Wesley’s broad impersonation of William Shatner; not so much the man as the exaggerated caricature that pop culture latched onto. Though the episode ostensibly seeks to evoke nostalgia, what comes through instead is an attitude of condescension.

What makes this more frustrating is that The Original Series, especially in its early seasons, wasn’t the punchline this parody implies. It was pushing the envelope in television production, boasting effects and set design that were state-of-the-art at the time. More than that, it was a show treated with sincerity and ambition, innovating through inclusive casting and pioneering storytelling. That legacy deserves more than a wink and a nudge. It deserves understanding.

By riffing on misconceptions instead of truth, the episode perpetuates a lazy stereotype about the franchise’s aesthetic and intentions. It ignores the historical context that made Star Trek groundbreaking in favour of cheap laughs that reinforce the very dismissiveness the series once defied. A better tribute would embrace the quirks fans love, while correcting the myths that have calcified through decades of parody. Respect and levity aren’t mutually exclusive, but here, they feel like they might as well be.

The episode’s late-stage meditation on the healing power of art, delivered through Uhura’s simulated proxy, is sincere and thematically sound. It speaks to the role Star Trek has played for generations: as comfort, inspiration, and a cultural touchstone that helped shape identities. Framing the franchise as an artistic force capable of providing comfort and encouragement is potent, particularly in a media landscape increasingly marred by gatekeeping and toxic fandoms. The idea that something loved can become a source of resilience offers meaningful commentary on what fandom can and should be.

Unfortunately, the delivery undercuts itself. That sentiment arrives in an episode that earlier seemed embarrassed by Star Trek‘s legacy, parodying its aesthetic with broad strokes that lean more into mockery than homage. The affection expressed in dialogue feels at odds with the visual and tonal choices made elsewhere and that dissonance robs the statement of its credibility. Rather than celebrating Star Trek’s roots, the episode cherry-picks cultural misconceptions and repackages them as canon, deepening the contradiction at its core. It references Star Trek’s roots selectively, reframing cultural shorthand as canonical truth, undermining the nuance that once defined it.

A better example of what this episode attempts can be found in Star Trek: Prodigy‘s “All the World’s a Stage“; an episode that makes profound points about the power of fandom embracing new voices while still sincerely honouring what came before.

The episode skirts a profound ethical issue with alarming ease: the use of crew members’ physical parameters without their knowledge or consent. This isn’t just a one-off quirk, it’s a systemic red flag cloaked in narrative convenience. Scotty justifies the choice by claiming it’s the only way to generate lifelike simulations, but the implications are far-reaching. In one moment, Spock remarks that romance is a popular genre for Humans, subtly nudging the viewer to consider how this technology might be used to create intimate, perhaps even exploitative, fantasies of real people.

This isn’t an abstract concern. Trek has explored similar territory in the likes of The Next Generation‘s “Galaxy’s Child” and Voyager‘s “Author, Author”, where simulated likenesses prompted discomfort and confrontation. Here, it’s brushed aside with alarming casualness, missing an opportunity to comment on consent, deepfakes, digital identity, AI generation and the potential abuse of hyperreal simulations. It would’ve been compelling to see La’an or another character confront the moral grey zone they’ve wandered into, especially when the line between simulation and real relationships is already blurred by emotional subtext.

An obvious entry point into the episode’s ethical blind spot is the representation of Spock, miscast by the simulation as a cold, emotionless, purely logical figure. It’s a familiar caricature, one often used to dismiss him. But, as La’an points out, the real Spock would express concern at danger, even if subtly. This misrepresentation could have sparked a meaningful interrogation: how simplified versions of people, especially ones stripped of emotional depth, can be quietly offensive, even if unintentionally so. Yet the narrative lets it slide, failing to engage with the harm embedded in such reduction.

It’s a textbook example of Strange New Worlds sidestepping contemporary issues instead of using science fiction as a tool to dissect them. The choice to emphasise performative fun, with actors relishing larger-than-life Holodeck personas, is understandable. But that levity shouldn’t come at the cost of thematic depth. The scenario holds real-world parallels the audience would likely recognise and care about. To pass up that conversation is not just disappointing, it’s a betrayal of everything Star Trek has long stood for. In an episode that claims to honour its heritage, that failure is unforgivable.

The episode also struggles to create stakes. Safety protocols malfunction, making death inside the Holodeck theoretically possible, and other glitches prevent La’an from leaving. But aside from a life-threatening event late in the runtime, this premise never lands as a source of real tension.

La’an is told that the only way to end the simulation is to solve the mystery, but given her strategic thinking, it’s surprising the episode doesn’t explore alternatives. For instance, she might have considered killing the Holodeck characters. They’re not her actual crewmates, so there’s no real drawback. Yet the emotional discomfort of harming entities with familiar faces could have opened a nuanced moment of reflection.

This may have also offered a fresh angle on the Spock twist: if he’s the last character remaining and the simulation still doesn’t end, it could cast his role in a different light. Perhaps the simulated Spock, playing his part too well, turns on La’an, elevating the threat while questioning the ethical boundaries of synthetic personality.

Speculation on paths not taken may be futile, but the point is: there was room to explore more compelling scenarios, both thematically and dramatically. The potential was there, it simply wasn’t pursued.

Outside the Holodeck, the crew monitor the collapse of a neutron star, with radiation bursts posing a danger to the ship. The tension, supposedly driven by the Holodeck’s massive drain on energy and computing power, is externalised through Scotty manually rerouting power at various moments. Only one instance places the Enterprise in genuine peril, and it’s solved by Scotty diverting power back to the helm. The solution amounts to him plugging a cable into another port. There’s no sense of strain, escalation, or consequence. A flashy visual tries to mask this lack of substance, but it reads as a narrative afterthought, an obligatory technical crisis rather than a meaningful obstacle. The setup promises high-stakes engineering drama; what it delivers is a placeholder.

The ingredients for a meaningful solution to the lack of power were present but not fully used. Scotty’s obsessive need to handle the ship’s technical problems alone and his reluctance to ask for help unless absolutely necessary initially seems like stubborn professionalism or fear of being reprimanded for failure. He approaches others in whispered tones, as though ashamed to admit he needs support. His late in the episode conversation with Una uncovers the root: guilt tied to the destruction of his previous ship. Scotty explains that he began building a sensor array and believed he detected anomalous readings. Time ran out, and his commanding officer assured him the work would be completed. It wasn’t. The ship was lost, and Scotty emerged from that experience convinced that trusting others, even when protocol demands it, introduces risk he can’t afford.

This isn’t misplaced trust, it’s a trauma response to institutional failure, and it’s quietly devastating. It’s also painfully relatable: the belief that only by doing everything yourself can you prevent something from falling through the cracks. Una counters with compassion, reminding him that Starfleet’s strength lies in teamwork, not just individual effort. Her assurance offers him a path back to collaboration and a release from the burden of sole responsibility.

Sadly, the moment passes without deeper exploration. Scotty’s rigidity bears the hallmarks of unprocessed trauma. The episode gestures toward this without naming it, leaving a rich emotional thread dangling. Had it leaned into that discomfort, it could have transformed a subplot that does little more than kill time into something profound.

A simple structural fix could help: place the conversation with Una earlier, and build toward it informing a key moment, perhaps the solution to the energy crisis. A resolution to a small arc could come from Scotty reaching the conclusion that he must trust someone else, and seeing that trust succeed in a way he couldn’t have managed alone. The emotional payoff could be significant, and the thematic message clear: recovery doesn’t come from control, but from connection.

There’s a recurring tension in Strange New Worlds between its interest in emotional realism and its reluctance to fully commit to it. That tension is nowhere more evident than in its treatment of trauma—acknowledged in passing, then quietly dropped. Scotty, Ortegas and La’an -though hers is featured less as time goes on- carry the marks of psychological strain. Ortegas’ arc suffers a similar fate to Scotty’s. The previous episode had her suspended from duty pending medical clearance for PTSD, a move that suggested real consequences and care. In this episode, she’s already reinstated, a fact delivered through brief dialogue. Whether this is temporary or permanent is unclear, and more importantly, the emotional weight of her return is never explored. Her trauma is acknowledged just enough to register, then set aside because the episode need the best pilot at the helm.

Together, these choices reflect a broader narrative pattern. Trauma is used for character shading, but rarely allowed to shape outcomes. Strange New Worlds gestures toward vulnerability, connection, and recovery, but treats those themes as atmospheric rather than substantive. Just as moving Una’s conversation earlier could have transformed Scotty’s arc into a moment of earned trust, a scene in which Una speaks with Ortegas before reinstating her could have served as emotional context. It would show that consequences linger across episodes, and that healing is a process.

“Wedding Bell Blues” laid the groundwork for a romantic connection between Spock and La’an, with a dance sequence that played on physical intimacy and actor chemistry. This episode continues the thread, first with a near-kiss, then with a kiss accompanied by mutual confession. While viewers will differ on how they receive the show’s prioritisation of romantic subplots, there’s no mistaking that most of Spock’s current characterisation is rooted in his relationships: T’Pring, Chapel, and now La’an.

It’s a limited palette for Spock, and the cumulative effect is reductive. The emphasis on romance does Spock a disservice, flattening him into a romantic lead while sidelining richer dimensions. His connection with La’an builds across a handful of scenes in two episodes, but lacks the emotional scaffolding to feel earned. The dances suggest intimacy and culminate in a kiss, yet the momentum outpaces the development. It reads more like a rebound than a revelation. Without the emotional scaffolding, the moment lacks weight.

This is part of a broader pattern in Strange New Worlds, where emotional developments emerge with potential, gain traction, and then drift unresolved. Scotty’s rigidity bears the hallmarks of trauma, gently probed but not explored. Ortegas was suspended from duty pending medical clearance for PTSD, yet in this episode she’s back at work, a reinstatement delivered via brief dialogue without insight into her current mental state. These arcs haven’t been conclusively dropped, but neither has the show meaningfully progressed them.

The result is a series that often gestures toward emotional realism but hesitates to commit. Romance and trauma are potent narrative tools, but here they’re deployed without the time or texture required to reshape character. In Spock’s case, romance has become a default mode of expression, a convenient shortcut to emotional stakes that limits the scope of his development. A more interesting approach might have explored platonic intimacy between him and La’an, expressed through mutual support and vulnerability as they danced. That path would honour connection without collapsing into predictability. There are deeper, more varied stories to be told with these characters. Strange New Worlds frequently touches the surface of them, but rarely lingers long enough to let them resonate.

The Holodeck experiment is ultimately deemed a failure due to its interference with ship functions and the risk of fatal malfunction, cementing its reputation as a beloved deathtrap within the fandom. Scotty suggests that these issues could be resolved with a dedicated server room and independent power source, a blueprint that eventually becomes standard Starfleet practice. But Pike, bizarrely, recommends burying that solution in a footnote to discourage future development. The scene gestures toward self-awareness, then retreats into confusion, neither committing to satire nor thoughtful critique. It’s another missed opportunity to engage with the technology’s long-standing narrative baggage. Instead of exploring the pros and cons, the show shrugs off complexity in favor of a punchline that undercuts itself.

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Verdict

A shallow episode that avoids the obvious ethical dilemma and fails to create a meaningful tribute to its own franchise.

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