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Posted by Christopher Waldrop
May 5, 2008 |
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For any actor there’s a danger that they’ll be so associated with a character they play that people will assume they are that character, that it’s a reflection of their “true” self. Few actors represent the dangers, as well as the benefits, of such association as well as Leonard Nimoy. I’ve heard it said that Nimoy hated the character of Spock, and that he wanted to distance himself from Star Trek, although, obviously, he didn’t distance himself for long. Seven years after finishing the final episode of what’s come to be known as “the original series”, or just “TOS” among fans, he wrote I Am Not Spock. In spite of its title, and in spite of the fact that Nimoy gives a small amount of attention to other roles he played before and after Star Trek, Spock dominates the book. Nimoy has occasional dialogues with Spock about the nature of fame, he talks about Spock’s sex appeal, and even includes a hilarious memo written by Spock to the head of the studio. Unfortunately the book, in spite of being less than a hundred and fifty pages, is meandering, poorly organized, and only gives us brief glimpses of how Nimoy felt the popularity of his character was a mixed blessing. The really fascinating part of the book is at its beginning, when Nimoy, who was working as an acting teacher when he was got the part in Star Trek, describes how he developed the character. There is a real sense of pride and craftsmanship when Nimoy talks not just about developing the character of Spock but of creating any character, a process he compares to giving birth.
He returns to the idea of the actor as a craftsman later in the book, but also shares his love of photography, which increased after he left Mission: Impossible. This love led to two books of photographs and poems. (In fact Nimoy has continued publishing collections of his photographs, most recently The Full Body Project.) I’ve always felt there was, in acting, a certain amount of self-loathing which drives the desire to hide behind a mask. Nimoy, in fact, confirms this, when he says,
As an actor I discovered that I was really hiding behind characters–nobody knew who I really was. I’m saying somebody else’s words and, in the most public profession of all, retaining my own privacy…And getting into writing is suddenly a very dangerous and scary experience because it is personal and it is real. It is a naked experience. It’s like saying, “Okay, judge me, this is really me.”
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Originally studio executives were afraid audiences wouldn’t be able to relate to Spock. Not only were they so wrong it’s funny now to imagine they ever thought that, but it’s impossible to imagine Star Trek without Spock. Gene Roddenberry’s original vision was a show that would hold a mirror up to humanity and ask us to look at ourselves objectively, and Spock served as an effective way to do this. This is a theme that runs through not just the original Star Trek but every subsequent incarnation. It’s not surprising that, in Star Trek: The Next Generation, Commander Data became the central character, regularly eclipsing even Captain Picard. When the spinoff Deep Space Nine was flailing, the Klingon Commander 
Worf was brought in to save it, but it was Ferengi bartender Quark and the shapeshifting Constable Odo who rose to real prominence. On Voyager, it was the holographic Doctor and then sexy Seven Of Nine who raised questions about what it meant to be human, although they were competing with a multitude of non-humans (including the Vulcan Tuvok) and the half-human, half-Klingon B’Elanna Torres. After so many years and so many incarnations Star Trek was losing its way. The last spinoff, Enterprise, returned to Star Trek’s roots with a Vulcan science officer and second-in-command, but the show failed to get its footing in spite of a gutsy and well-done third season. Spock, on the other hand, was alive and well.
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