“Wedding Bell Blues”

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds continues its third season with a wedding…sort of.

Comedy is subjective. What works for one viewer may leave another cold, and Strange New Worlds is no stranger to comedic attempts. A disproportionate number of episodes lean into humour, and that tradition continues here, with mixed results. For this reviewer, the style simply didn’t connect, making it difficult to engage with what was clearly intended to amuse.

The episode picks up three months after the last, with Spock’s log updating viewers on the uneventful interim. Everyone is preparing for the Federation’s centennial, and Chapel is due to return after an extended absence; a plot point that joins the growing list of missed opportunities in Strange New Worlds. Once again, the show feels structured like a twenty-six episode season condensed into ten, with key character developments happening off screen or referenced without texture. Chapel’s absence is what ended her relationship with Spock as, apparently, three months apart was too much. The significance of that time is never dramatized. A single episode exploring their separation that shows Spock struggling to cope while Chapel seems to find it easy could have added weight to this shift. Instead, viewers are told what mattered, not shown why it did.

Spock and Chapel romance is clearly meant to carry emotional weight, but it’s built almost entirely on narrative milestones. We see them get together, then break up, but the connective tissue is rarely depicted so there’s little sense of their baseline as a couple, which makes investment difficult. The show tells us Spock missed her and their reunion is awkward, and while those beats technically cover what’s needed, they lack substance. The emotional arc happens off screen, so when it’s time to care, there’s nothing to hold onto.

Chapel’s arrival with Roger Corby (Cillian O’Sullivan) as her date to the centenary celebration transforms the Spock/Chapel drama into a full-blown love triangle. While she’s clearly moved on, Spock remains emotionally raw, and it shows. His discomfort is palpable, and Ethan Peck deserves real credit here; he expertly captures Spock’s inner turmoil, balancing stoicism with flashes vulnerability. Peck’s take understands that Spock is deeply emotional beneath the surface, constantly engaged in an effort to suppress and control. The presence of Chapel and her new partner shakes that foundation, confronting him with emotions he’s unprepared for. Performance-wise, it’s nuanced and compelling. Unfortunately, the narrative itself isn’t as strong. The writing fails to deepen the triangle beyond its setup, leaving the audience watching a well-acted struggle with no real dramatic scaffolding behind it.

Some time is devoted to detailing how Chapel and Roger’s relationship began. It’s presented as a sweeping romantic tale designed to tug at heartstrings. It feeds directly into the episode’s conclusion, reinforcing Spock’s acceptance that Chapel has moved on, and nudging him toward the same. Whether this story lands emotionally will vary from viewer to viewer, but as a surface-level justification for Chapel’s attraction, it does the job. However, the episode offers scant space to explore actual chemistry between Cillian O’Sullivan and Jess Bush. Their dynamic remains mostly implied, since the narrative focus is squarely on Spock’s emotional reckoning. This makes it harder for the audience to invest in the new pairing. Chapel’s future may be with Roger, but dramatically, it’s Spock’s loss, not her gain, that defines the moment.

At its core, the episode charts Spock’s acceptance that his relationship with Chapel is over. It explores this through a reality-bending setup courtesy of an omnipotent being (Rhys Darby) who inserts their wedding into the centennial festivities for his own amusement. Roger is the only one initially unaffected, and once he convinces Spock of the manipulation, Spock is forced to confront what the wedding symbolises; an idealized future with no basis in reality. Though marrying Chapel may seem like a dream fulfilled, Spock immediately rejects the fantasy. His discomfort isn’t rooted in heartbreak but in falsity; he values truth and order above personal desire. The notion of indulging in a fabricated reality is counter to his nature. It’s a sharp moment of character clarity. Spock may be emotionally complex, but he needs the universe to make sense, and this doesn’t. It’s a strong character beat, consistent with how this show defines him. But it’s also frustrating. Spock deserves richer storytelling than love triangles and relationship drama, and watching him wrestle with this emotional setup feels like a missed opportunity for something more intellectually or philosophically robust.

Once Spock realizes reality has been tampered with, he spends the remainder of the episode working to restore it. He teams up with Roger, despite his obvious discomfort. On paper, this should be compelling: two reluctant allies navigating personal tension and altered reality. But the episode barely explores their dynamic, squandering a potentially rich character interaction. Before Roger persuades Spock of the truth, the script leans on rom-com staples like botched sabotage attempts, though mercifully spends little time on them. There’s a pervasive sense that the episode doesn’t know what it wants to be. Scenes gesture toward comedy, but rarely commit. When they do, the humour feels tentative, as if it’s unsure of its own punchlines. Once again, comedy is subjective, but it also demands clarity and confidence. Here, there’s an awkwardness to the writing that suggests even the creative team isn’t quite sure what the joke is.

Rhys Darby does what he can with thin material. His character’s main function is to distract Spock and Roger while they attempt to untangle the manipulated reality; a narrative choice that never really builds tension or humour. The reveal that he’s a child toying with the Enterprise crew for amusement fits the episode’s low-stakes framework, and the John De Lancie voice cameo is a neat nod that many fans will appreciate. It’s refreshing that the reveal isn’t over-explained or dwelled on; instead, the story allows the crew’s confusion to take precedence, keeping the focus character-centric. Pike’s attempt to regain control of the crowd once reality snaps back is well staged, with Anson Mount delivering it with his trademark laid-back charm. The moment lands, even if the broader setup doesn’t.

On a meta level, the episode may be arguing, however subtly, that deviating from canon is a mistake. Star Trek lore aligns Chapel with Roger Corby, not Spock, so having them work together to preserve the “correct” timeline reads as a commentary on the prequel’s burden: telling new stories within the constraints of an already-written future. Strange New Worlds sometimes sidesteps this challenge by crafting alternate realities, letting it explore what canon forbids, but this only works if the show embraces the idea of being canon-bound. In practice, it frequently bends or ignores established lore, which makes sudden fidelity feel performative. When attempts to honour canon are this clumsy, they stand out and not in a good way. The show seems hesitant to forge its own identity, often playing it safe, and that timidity dilutes its creative voice. This episode heavily echoes The Original Series episode “The Squire of Gothos“ but doesn’t modernise or meaningfully reinterpret its themes. It’s less homage and more cover version.

While the central plot falters, the episode offers some worthwhile character moments elsewhere. The introduction of Ortegas’ brother, Beto (Mynor Luken), adds dimension to her personal life, with their sibling banter revealing a relaxed, lived-in dynamic. Uhura and Beto’s instant mutual attraction, and their agreement to keep flirting purely to irritate Ortegas, is a lightly amusing touch, teasing a subplot that could develop across the season.

More notably, Ortegas is shown grappling with PTSD from her encounter with the Gorn. Though her physical injuries have healed, emotional scars linger. The choice to depict this through having nobody to dance with at the party, followed by her retreat to a punching bag, is a quietly affecting moment. It underscores her sense of isolation and suggests she sees physical outlets as her only coping mechanism. It’s a promising foundation for deeper material, and long overdue for an often sidelined character.

Another strong element in the episode is Pike and Batel’s relationship. It’s far more grounded and compelling than the others. Much of that comes down to the performances. Anson Mount and Melanie Scrofano share natural chemistry that enhances the portrayal of two adults quietly torn between personal affection and professional duty. Batel is deeply committed to her career and unwilling to sacrifice opportunities for the sake of their relationship, even as she clearly feels the strain of their limited time together.

Pike, too, is in flux. He only recently came to terms with what he wants and how to communicate it. At present, things are easy as the Enterprise has been undergoing repairs, and Batel hasn’t yet made her next move. They’re suspended in a temporary limbo. It’s warm, comfortable, and quietly fleeting. Both are aware the moment won’t last, and neither knows how to navigate what comes next. It’s not overwrought or angsty; it just is. Their connection is adult, honest, and tinged with inevitable change.

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Verdict

A frustrating episode that struggles to balance romantic farce with legacy homage, landing somewhere between emotionally thin and tonally incoherent.

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