Despite loving both science fiction and TV, I have never really got far with Star Trek, arguably the quintessential marriage of the two. I’ve seen and enjoyed the odd episode, and even flirted with the first season of The Next Generation, yet nothing has really stuck.
In August, knowing that the 60th anniversary of Star Trek: The Original Series was approaching in September, I decided to give it a proper go. But which, if any, show would pull me into this vast sci-fi universe? And what would I learn about the heart of Star Trek?
I set out to watch at least three episodes from as many Star Trek shows as possible, then continue with whichever piqued my interest the most. Due to time limitations, I would stick to TV, Star Trek‘s first and truest home. I would steer clear of The Animated Series (1973-74) and Picard (2020-23) – continuations of The Original Series and The Next Generation, respectively – until I knew I enjoyed their predecessors. And I omitted the much-loved animated comedy Lower Decks (2020-24), only because its charms rely on an investment in the franchise I didn’t yet have.
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My rapid-fire approach came with a risk: how could I be sure I had picked episodes representative of the tone and quality of a given series? I decided to consult a wise council – a Federation, if you will – of New Scientist superfans: physics reporter Karmela Padavic-Callaghan, senior editor Jacob Aron and technology reporter Matthew Sparkes. I came to think of them as my Kirk, Spock and Bones (I’ll let you decide who is whom), each offering a distinctive perspective on the franchise.
Where to start? Instantly, my advisers began to clash. Jacob suggested I begin with the second season of The Next Generation and specifically “The Measure of a Man”. “I’ve never disagreed with Jacob more,” replied Matt. “TNG is very good, but how could you skip the original? Sacrilege.”
Having fatally undermined the collegial relationship between Jacob and Matt, I decided it was only right to begin with the original (1966-69). Like most people, I knew a fair bit about it: the phasers, the red shirts, the boldly going. I was keen to get to grips with its near-future setting, in which members of the space force Starfleet aboard the starship Enterprise set out on a five-year mission of discovery.
Karmela lovingly called it “campy and low budget”, and I enjoyed watching pop-culture stalwarts like “Amok Time”, the famed episode in which Spock goes into heat. I also loved the way the show was shot: its universe is awash with colour, so unlike too much modern sci-fi. I could see how the world fell in love with it.
There was surprising substance amid the goofiness, too. “The Man Trap” is both a soapy love triangle about an alien disguised as Bones’s old flame and a poignant story about the extinction of a once-great species. “The Ultimate Computer”, flagged by Matt as “a nice comparison with current events”, is a remarkably prescient look at the dangers of AI.
I loved the way the show was shot: its universe is awash with colour, so unlike too much modern sci-fi
Off to a great start, I tried TNG (1987-94) – the series with “the most genuinely good episodes”, according to Karmela, and “where things get both more utopian and more philosophical”. This was the only Star Trek show of which I had seen more than a handful of episodes, so I knew some parts I’d enjoy – like Patrick Stewart’s delivery as Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Enterprise years after James T. Kirk.
By watching later instalments recommended by the New Scientist superfans, I realised how much TNG gathers steam as it goes along. “The Measure of a Man” is as great an entry point as Jacob described: full of heart, the thorny, well-written episode sees android officer Data’s self-determination rights come under fire by a Starfleet scientist who wants to create copies of him.
Next up was Deep Space Nine (1993-1999), of which I had almost no knowledge. It is “the true answer for the best Star Trek series”, according to Jacob, “but also the least Star Trek“. The latter was immediately clear: set on a space station rather than a spacecraft, it is a markedly political drama that felt far away from what I’d come to know as Star Trek.
It took me a while to warm to Benjamin Sisko, the Starfleet captain running the station in conjunction with the Bajorans, a society that had just liberated itself from occupation by the fascist Cardassians. But once I’d watched later episodes (“Duet”, about Bajoran Kira’s conviction that a Cardassian war criminal is on the station, and “In the Pale Moonlight”, Karmela’s pick, which sees Sisko betray his ideals), I was pretty invested in him.
Voyager (1995-2001) was another divisive one. It was “full of great characters”, according to Karmela, but “it squandered its premise” in Jacob’s eyes. What a great premise: when the crews of Voyager and a rebel ship are both stranded 70,000 light years from Earth, Starfleet’s Kathryn Janeway must unite former enemies and lead them through uncharted space. Janeway – a Katharine Hepburn-lookalike on whom I instantly imprinted like a duckling – became my favourite Starfleet captain.
But I struggled to connect with the other characters in Voyager. Except during the stand-out two-parter “Scorpion”, another of Karmela’s picks that sees Janeway negotiate passage through territory controlled by the cyborg hivemind the Borg, I found myself missing Data and the rest of Picard’s crew.
At this point, recommendations from Matt, Karmela and Jacob were starting to dry up. From then on, I simply watched the first three episodes from my remaining shortlist – while reminding myself that sometimes series can take a while to find their feet.
But perhaps not coincidentally, Enterprise (2001-05) – described by Jacob as “the forgotten child” of the franchise – was the first Star Trek series I really didn’t enjoy. Set 100 years before the original series, it follows the first crew of Enterprise as humanity is just beginning to explore space. While it’s an interesting concept, elements of it felt regressive and completely unlike Star Trek. If watching Enterprise had any value, it was in making me realise I had developed opinions about what Star Trek ought to be.
There was a long gap between Enterprise and Discovery (2017-24), the first show of what might be termed the modern Star Trek era. Setting out on my Star Trek journey, I had asked my Federation for any thoughts on the newer series. “None that can be printed,” Matt replied. Ouch.
If Enterprise had value, it was in making me realise I had developed opinions about what Star Trek ought to be
As a result, I wasn’t optimistic about Discovery, but it became one of my favourites thanks to its propulsive early episodes. “The Vulcan Hello”, the show’s first, is an incredible shot across the bow. First Officer Michael Burnham, a human raised by Vulcans, is both a natural leader and a rebel willing to break rules to save the day. She is a natural counterpart to Kirk, and this, with the heightened, slightly soapy nature Discovery shares with the original, felt like a welcome return to classic Trek.
Finally, I took on two more shows that defied expectations. Strange New Worlds (2020 to present) was the series I’d expected to enjoy the most. Jacob had described it as “genuinely good and innovative”. I knew it made experimental choices: following Kirk’s predecessor Christopher Pike, its episodes see the crew swapping bodies one week and transforming into puppets the next, with more serious fare in between. Unfortunately, the three episodes I watched were all in the latter group. As such, I reserve judgement, but I was a little let down by my limited viewing.
I found Starfleet Academy (2026), which aired earlier this year and was unceremoniously cancelled soon after, to be far better than its reputation suggested. This young-adult series, in which the training school is being rebuilt after a galaxy-wide disaster in the far future, has a very fun premise and some incredible guest stars like Holly Hunter and Paul Giamatti. It can struggle to replicate the Gen Z voice, but it is perfectly good fare for its intended audience, and it deserved better than it got.
By the end of my experiment, I had thought a lot about what makes a Star Trek episode. Is it philosophy? Predictive power? Or entertainment value? I didn’t have a good answer. Perhaps Star Trek‘s enduring power comes from its flexibility. It offers a galaxy’s worth of tones, tastes and tribulations, all of them valued.
Personally, I knew I intended to continue watching TNG and Discovery – a little of Star Trek, both old and new. I can’t wait to get properly stuck in.
Facts Only
* Author observed episodes from multiple Star Trek shows to gauge interest.
* The author consulted three New Scientist superfans for guidance.
* The starting point was *Star Trek: The Original Series* (1966-69).
* Episodes from *The Next Generation* (1987-94) were viewed next.
* *Deep Space Nine* (1993-1999) and *Voyager* (1995-2001) were examined.
* *Enterprise* (2001-05) was reviewed, perceived as regressive.
* *Discovery* (2017-24) was watched due to positive early episodes.
* *Strange New Worlds* (2020 to present) and *Starfleet Academy* (2026) were observed.
* Karmela Padavic-Callaghan, Jacob Aron, and Matthew Sparkes served as advisors.
Executive Summary
Full Take
The narrative charts a journey of critical evaluation, moving from initial curiosity toward a nuanced understanding of genre flexibility within the Star Trek franchise. The process itself illustrates a key tension: whether meaning resides in fixed canon or fluid reception. The dismissal of sequels and continuations initially demonstrates an impulse toward seeking foundational purity, yet the eventual appreciation for *Discovery*'s early episodes suggests that aesthetic novelty and thematic resonance can override structural adherence to established continuity. The shift away from *Enterprise* to *Discovery*, despite initial reservations about its setting relative to the original, reveals a desire for a framework where philosophical inquiry and kinetic storytelling coexist. This outcome implies that the "heart" of Star Trek is not a singular set of events but an infinite capacity for varied expression—a reflection of the Federation itself. The author’s final conclusion—that the franchise's strength lies in its flexibility to offer a "galaxy's worth of tones, tastes and tribulations"—suggests that true engagement requires suspending judgment on timeline progression in favor of appreciating the tonal spectrum available. The implicit pattern is that resistance to rigid categorization often yields a richer appreciation for complexity.
Bridge Questions: If the value of Star Trek lies in its flexibility, what specific thematic tensions, when juxtaposed across different eras (Original vs. TNG vs. Discovery), generate the most profound philosophical exploration? How does the perceived regression in *Enterprise* reflect an external societal anxiety about technological and ethical progression that the narrative attempts to mirror or critique? What criteria should be applied to judging a franchise's "heart"—is it narrative cohesion, character depth, or thematic scope?
