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Star Trek canon is a concept that is better left undiscussed. After fifty years of soft and hard reboots, countless official, semi-official and fan publications, on-screen historical and visual contradictions, I think it's better for the individual fan to decide the canonicity of certain elements of the franchize. Something that seems to split the franchize more than anything is the visual appearance of the Enterprise. The Enterprise, no bloody A, B, C or D. While for most, it's almost a sacred icon that is to be revered, for others, it's almost an embarrassment for the whole franchize, looked down upon as a cheap plastic toy. And, to be honest, I think they're both wrong.

To understand the Enterprise as a design, we need to look back to its roots. Not Matt Jeffries, not even Forbidden Planet, but early 20th century Edisonades and WWII/early Cold War era submarine warfare movies. Put these two together: a clear exterior design, pure almost to a fault, with all the blinking thingimajigs on the inside. A set of contradictions meshed together to provide a fucntionally believable design.

Of course, fifty years have passed, so why do people still keep turning back to this old design? Nostalgia, yes, but that's merely one side of the coin. The other: it has become a design language of its own. Call it retrofuturism, Cold War spacepunk, Jeffriesism, call it whatever you'd like. But you can't deny that the simplistic design tells so much when examined closely. So yes, the "monotonous plastic wasteland" has its merits in its own microcosm. And don't forget, it was designed by an aircraft engineer, not an art student...

Models by me

Description

Star Trek canon is a concept that is better left undiscussed. After fifty years of soft and hard reboots, countless official, semi-official and fan publications, on-screen historical and visual contradictions, I think it's better for the individual fan to decide the canonicity of certain elements of the franchize. Something that seems to split the franchize more than anything is the visual appearance of the Enterprise. The Enterprise, no bloody A, B, C or D. While for most, it's almost a sacred icon that is to be revered, for others, it's almost an embarrassment for the whole franchize, looked down upon as a cheap plastic toy. And, to be honest, I think they're both wrong.

To understand the Enterprise as a design, we need to look back to its roots. Not Matt Jeffries, not even Forbidden Planet, but early 20th century Edisonades and WWII/early Cold War era submarine warfare movies. Put these two together: a clear exterior design, pure almost to a fault, with all the blinking thingimajigs on the inside. A set of contradictions meshed together to provide a fucntionally believable design.

Of course, fifty years have passed, so why do people still keep turning back to this old design? Nostalgia, yes, but that's merely one side of the coin. The other: it has become a design language of its own. Call it retrofuturism, Cold War spacepunk, Jeffriesism, call it whatever you'd like. But you can't deny that the simplistic design tells so much when examined closely. So yes, the "monotonous plastic wasteland" has its merits in its own microcosm. And don't forget, it was designed by an aircraft engineer, not an art student...

Models by me