Star Trek’s all-conquering return to television all but quashed any interest that I might have once had in watching Family Guy creator Seth MacFarlane’s unexpected foray into the genre. Seemingly destined to be either a brazenly derivative substitute or a weightless pastiche, I really didn’t think that The Orville would be able to win me over. A short-lived £4.99 price tag on its first season compelled me to at least give it a chance.
With Jon Favreau (Iron Man, The Lion King, The Mandalorian) at the helm of the series’ pilot, The Orville’s first surprise is its cinematic sheen. The ship itself is slick and intricately detailed, and whilst instantly evoking the sense of a Federation starship (Voyager in particular), it manages to distinguish itself through an imaginative rear end - its innovative nacelle arrangement makes it look like the product of a union between spaceship and squid. Exuding the same sense of expense while eschewing any modern sense of style, the whole show proves to be a dazzling and colourful feast for the eyes; an apparently conscious melding of Star Trek and Star Trek: The Next Generation that at times feels like a flip of the bird to the ubiquitously dark Star Trek: Discovery and its imminent sister series.
More astonishing still is the show’s substance. Growing organically out of its comedy is an oxymoronic, down-to-Earth ambience that, due in part to basic decency, its genre rivals just can’t match. There’s not a fanciful matter transporter in sight, yet the series leaves viewers with no question marks whatsoever over the ship’s plumbing. The Orville has toilets, as we establish very early on when Gordon does his best to hold in a piss while accosted by Kelly, the new first officer (and the captain’s ex-wife), just outside the bogs. Such awkward mundanities conjure a very real sense of the ship being an authentic workplace, rather than a container for all of humanity’s distilled aspirations and virtues.
Yet The Orville’s humour belies a level of narrative sophistication which sometimes eclipses the franchise that it so overtly seeks to emulate. “About a Girl” is built on the hysterical incongruity that Bortus, the ship’s Worf, comes from an almost exclusively male, egg-laying species. Imagine Worf sat naked in his quarters atop a seat-sized egg, griping about his husband’s low mood and disinterest in sex, and you’ll get a sense of the flavour. Behind such knee-jerk laughter, though, is a challenging and contemporary ethical tale as ambitious as any ever broached in Star Trek. If it’s morally acceptable for a human parent to circumcise a child, then why can’t a Moclan “correct” his child’s gender if she hatches female? It’s a Roddenberry-esque ethical quandary, and one that’s bang on the zeitgeist to boot, yet it never really feels like it as it’s couched in exquisite eggshell comedy. Only afterwards do you realise that MacFarlane has snuck in and Trekked you.
Just as provocative is first-season highlight “Majority Rule”, in which the Orville visits a world subject to “total democracy”. There is no legal system, no constitution, no rights to speak of – it’s a populist nightmare governed entirely by its citizens’ aggregated like and dislike votes. With its apology tours and downvote discrimination, MacFarlane’s script extrudes an entire culture from the very worst aspects of our social media, offering us a sobering look at our potential near future while laughing our heads off at Lieutenant LaMarr dry humping a statue.
As with any ensemble piece, The Orville is only as good as its regular cast – which is fortunate, as MacFarlane’s bridge crew each deliver one polished performance after another. This is especially noteworthy as a typical Orville script requires not only great comic timing, but often emotionally challenging character moments and high-stakes drama too. MacFarlane himself is marvellous as Ed Mercer, the antithesis of almost every Starfleet captain ever seen on screen. He’s likeable, competent, and yet beautifully damaged – more the Miles O’Brien everyman than a Jean-Luc Picard or Jim Kirk history-maker. His (somehow likeable) cheating ex-wife Kelly, dexterously played by Adrianne Palicki (Marvel’s Agents of SHIELD), is altogether stronger, but finds herself in the uncomfortable position of serving a captain that she’s screwed over – and on a ship crewed by many of his best mates, such as Scott Grimes’ series-stealing Lieutenant Gordon Malloy. And despite all external appearances and initial impressions, Peter Macon’s Bortus proves to be one of the show’s most rounded and complex characters. The Orville’s second officer may be a great hulking bruiser of an alien who makes Worf seem garrulous, but he’s also a knackered parent and sex-starved husband who’s trying to juggle a demanding job and busy private life.
Just as captivating is Halston Sage’s super-powered security chief, Lieutenant Alara Kitan, whose remarkable strength is dwarfed only by her rampant insecurities. Even John LaMarr (J Lee), whose initial role seems to be limited to giving Gordon a Bro to hang out with, develops into one of the show’s more intriguing and entertaining individuals as we discover that he’s been downplaying his vast intellect because he’s intelligent enough to realise that, more so than ever in a post-currency culture, only fools and horses work. He’s more into boobs and beer than respect and responsibility.
If you need further evidence of the show’s credentials, then just take a look at its first-season’s supporting stars and production team. There’s a Trek family feel with the likes of Penny Johnson Jerald (Deep Space Nine’s Kassidy Yates-Sisko) and Robert Picardo (Voyager’s EMH) frequently popping up on screen, The Next Generation’s Jonathan Frakes and Voyager’s Robert Duncan McNeill behind the camera calling the shots, and even First Contact co-writer and Enterprise co-creator Brannon Braga contributing scripts and direction. There are some mainstream superstars too: Rob Lowe’s (Wayne’s World) loveable yet marriage-wrecking Darulio makes “Cupid’s Dagger” a comic highlight of the season, while Victor Garber (DC’s Legends of Tomorrow) gives the Union’s top brass some wonderfully lifelike cuts and dents, and Charlize Theron’s apparently marooned miner lends the time-travelling shenanigans of “Pria” a deliciously seductive quality. Even Liam Neeson (Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace) has a walk on.
The Orville’s first season is available to download from iTunes in 1080p HD for £14.99 (sorry, the £4.99 deal ended on 29th January!) Season 2, which is next on my hit list, is the same price, and there is also a two-season box set for £24.99. There is no Blu-ray release in the UK.
