Shatner the Adonis Shatner once quipped that Kirk was just slightly less perfect than himself, a reference to a veneer of perfection that has always been part of Shatner’s image. In one of Shatner’s early films—Incubus (1965), famed for its use of the invented language Esperanto—he plays a good and noble soldier on an island inhabited primarily by demons (one of whom looks a lot like Lane Brookshire’s goat, the film being one of Brookshire’s favourite Shatner performances) and corrupt men, many of whom have come seeking a well that cures all physical imperfections. It makes sense that Shatner’s character would be good, noble, and impervious to the lure of physical perfection, being so close to perfection already. As in the beatific works by Byron Eggenschwiler and Kyle Reed it would not be surprising to find the heavens parted for this man. Russell Walks’ portrait depicts a Shatner similarly perfect except perhaps for a bit of pride. It’s a small fault, one that can be forgiven. In so many roles, Shatner has been perfect but for the smallest flaws, and more often than not, that small flaw is pride. Not so perfect as to be inhuman, but just human enough to be perfect. In a recent episode of Boston Legal, he was asked what he thought God looked like. With a puff on his cigar, he replied that he always assumed that God looked like him. It’s not such an inconceivable thought.
Shatner the Youth We might think of Shatner the way we would a former child-actor; someone who was initially cast for their intrinsic innocence or goodness; then forced to grow up fast, lose that innocence, struggle against themselves, and finally re-emerge as something new. Yet he wasn’t a childactor; his first television role came at the age of twenty, and he wasn’t cast in the role that made him famous until his mid-thirties. And yet for many of us, those years on the Starship Enterprise are synonymous with our youth, and just as we trace our own lives back to an original era of innocence. One of his first major roles was in The Brothers Karamazov (1958), where he played the young, innocent, monastic Alexei. Alexei’s role is for the most part one of observer to the sordid lives of his brothers; there’s a common thread between Alexei Karamazov and James T. Kirk: they are almost childlike in their goodness, both feel that they are placed into the role of an observer (Alexei by his faith, Kirk by the Prime Directive), and yet neither can avoid becoming involved in the action. For children watching Star Trek, Kirk was such an easy figure for us to relate to. Of the artists contributing to the show, almost all of them confess to wanting to be Kirk. As in the works by Jesse Lef kowitz and Renata Liwska, his adventures were ours, as was his wonder and his goodness. We know details of his early life, growing up in Montreal. What lessons would a young William Shatner have learned, had he watched Star Trek when he was growing up? Would he not be richer for the experience? But we can’t feel too sorry for him: while the rest of us as children got to watch Kirk, Shatner got to live Kirk. He learned lessons from the show, as we did. And afterwards, he went through times when he pretended he didn’t like the show, that it was somehow beneath him. And then, as many of us did, realized that it wasn’t so silly and was actually pretty cool. So it seems fitting that Shatner is in his prime now, in perfect step with those who watched it as children.
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