Sci-fi's A Smash: From A Klingon Wedding To A Visit From Quark, Droves Of Fans Get Together And Play Along
| News Media Commentary | |
|---|---|
| Title: | Sci-fi's A Smash: From A Klingon Wedding To A Visit From Quark, Droves Of Fans Get Together And Play Along |
| Commentator: | Leah Eskin |
| Date(s): | July 23, 1993 |
| Venue: | |
| Fandom: | Star Trek |
| External Links: | page one page two |
| Click here for related articles on Fanlore. | |
Sci-fi's A Smash: From A Klingon Wedding To A Visit From Quark, Droves Of Fans Get Together And Play Along is a 1993 article in the "Chicago Tribune" by Leah Eskin.
The focus, in very typical fashion, is science fiction conventions and the WEIRD fans who attend them, and pretty much one reason reporters should 1. get some imagination 2. gain some skills 3. stay away from fans.
Some Topics Discussed
- weird obsessed fans
- science fiction conventions
- a Klingon wedding
- fans and profit
- fans' gullibility regarding merchandise
- fans' childishness
- science fiction fans choosing to "hole up" like animals in dark rooms rather than go out into the sunny outdoors
- fans' difficulties in fitting in with mainstream situations: "'The basic philosophy of the show is very positive," says Eric A. Stillwell, advertising and promotion director for Creation Entertainment. "It attracts a lot of people who may feel disenfranchised in life. 'Star Trek' accepts everybody. It was (one of) the first shows in the '60s with an interracial cast. It said to people: In the future you're going to have a place. People are going to appreciate your differences'."
Excerpts
So, under the eaves of a white tent and the watchful eyes of friends with pointy ears, long canines and powerful foreheads, bride and groom pledged to honor the ship, the Empire and their new "consorts," (each other) in what may well have been the first Klingon wedding on Earth.
It was a match made in deep space. After meeting Gail at a biker bar, Stephen introduced her to "Star Trek: The Next Generation" and the Klingon Assault Group, a club for fans who fancy themselves kin to the TV show's hirsute craggy-craniumed warrior race. So when it came to planning their wedding, the couple decided to do it twice. Once in white at a Lutheran church the day before. Once in black among Klingons.
"We did it for the planet," said the groom hours before his other-worldly wedding. "Now we have to do it for the Empire."
In the tradition-bound ceremony (traditional, that is, according to the "Star Trek" books Stephen consulted), the couple strode under an arch of armed Klingons perched on chairs. Over crashing waves of the theme from one of the "Star Trek" movies, all Klingons in attendance took turns marching to the center of the standing-room-only tent, sounding off name, rank and ship (stumbling more often than not on all the K's and H's of their assumed names) and declaring, "I approve of this bonding."
Then, grasping what appeared to be a spark plug, each ceremoniously struck a metal washer that was dangling, along with a sprig of evergreen, from the tent top, then ceded to the next alien-wannabe. "Kinda gets ya right here," sniffed John Johnson, 35, of Elmhurst, a guest and member of Stephen's bike club.
This is the moment, one imagines, the couple will one day have to explain to their children. But such mundane [1] matters don't seem to trouble science fiction fans. These are the people who pick the sunniest day of the year to hole up in a hotel room and build Martian landscapes out of red Jell-O. The people who spend hundreds of dollars on latex foreheads and split-hooved boots, and hundreds of hours sucking down reruns of "Star Trek," "Lost in Space," "Dr. Who" and "2001: A Space Odyssey." These are the folks who hang out the at The Bridge, a cocktail party that only exists on-line, the ones who page through the 10,000 titles at The Stars Our Destination bookstore in Chicago. These are the folks who put the "fanatic" back in fan.
In their fantasies, fans escape to distant planets, galaxies and time periods. In reality, they escape to suburban hotels. Nearly every weekend of the year a science fiction convention is taking place somewhere on Earth.
It may be a slick, star-powered mob scene like the Dreamwerks convention featuring six members of the original "Star Trek" cast, which opens at the Ramada Hotel O'Hare in Rosemont on Friday (for a three-day weekend pass, call Dreamwerks at 407-488-2822; for Saturday or Sunday tickets, call Ticketmaster at 312-559-1212).
It may be a more modest version, such as the one staged by Florida-based Creation Enterprises [2], a competing "Star Trek" promoter, in Harvey in June.
It may be a fan-run "con" (convention) like DucKon II, held in June at the Lisle Hyatt, where the weird wedding took place.
It may be a club meeting or a social event like Anti-Mundane night, when average, flat-foreheaded citizens are excluded from Callahan's Retreat, a bar in St. Charles.
But do not delude yourself. Fans and their gatherings are everywhere.
"We're nerds," says Phil Kotula, a member of the Du Page County Science Fiction and Fantasy Society and one of the organizers of DucKon II. "But we've found each other."
At DucKon II, hulking black-caped figures with glowing red eyes stalked the halls along with kids toting dragons, relatively normal-looking guys trailing furry tails, young women inexplicably dressed in swim goggles and duct tape. Pasty-faced fans darkened bright conference rooms to review "Fahrenheit 451." Writers discussed "Bouncing Bad Trek," tips for writing good scripts. Artists displayed their air-brush masterpieces, which concentrate heavily on the classic sci-fi themes of naked ladies and laser-guns.
Participants stuck their heads in virtual reality helmets. Self-proclaimed mad scientists showed off their meteorite collections. Some 500 fans dropping in on belly-dancing workshops, a (real-live) blood drive and various symposia, including "Toasters `R' Us: How to create an android using a Commodore 64, lawnmower, screwdriver, and 2 pounds of weapons-grade plutonium." All for the $30 entrance fee.
The tiniest fans scarfed down Space Krispie Treats while adults roamed the "Hall o'Hucksters" in quest of fangs with a good grip and light sabers with a good zap.
After the masquerade and, of course, the wedding, the big event was the Klingon Love Poetry finals, a tradition adapted from an episode of "Star Trek: The Next Generation" in which Klingon men hurl verse at their consorts, who heave heavy objects back. It's not a sedate event.
Steve Levinson and Barbara Gray of Morristown, N.J. [3], wandered unsuspectingly into the Lisle Hyatt during a recent business trip, only to find themselves sharing the elevator with Batman, a robot and a guy with horns. "I don't know where he was going," said Gray.
While fans of science fiction literature tend to populate the homespun conventions, devotees of TV-land outer space beam into the commercial versions. Creation Entertainment, a California company, stages "Star Trek" conventions 140 times a year, including the one held at the Chicago South Expo Center in Harvey in June.
Paramount Pictures, like a shadowy omnipresent force field, lurks behind every sale, sucking out a percentage of profits. Other worlds creep in to the Star Trek Universe, like tiny wrinkles in time. The NBA World Champion Chicago Bulls Wheaties box. A "Wayne's World" cap. The "Lost in Space" pattern-book. "Star Wars" models. Fan-written "lost episodes" of shows, from plausible to X-rated.
Joseph Davies, 10, of Joliet, spent all $128 saved from his paper route on a "Next Generation" uniform tunic, communicator pin, rank buttons, a case to carry his "Star Trek" action figures, a statue of Captain Jean-Luc Picard, a mug, postcards and a few snacks.
The highlight of the weekend was an appearance by Armin Shimerman, a short, jug-eared actor with a broad forehead who plays Quark, a short, absurdly big-eared sleazy creature with a massive forehead on "DS9," as the "Deep Space Nine" TV show is known.
"Three hours," he announced, as he sprinted on stage to a standing ovation, cameras whirring, flashes popping. "That's always the first question people ask. And it takes another hour to take off."
The audience, at ease in the darkened room, modeled, nearly to a fan, what might be termed couch-potato physique. They fired questions at Shimerman and Lolita Fatjo, script coordinator for the two current shows, who supplements her income by traveling the convention circuit. A tiny girl in pigtails wanted to know how the actors managed to use the bathroom when their uniforms fit so tightly. How can you sell a script to the show? Will Scottie visit "Deep Space Nine"? Is this really the final season of "The Next Generation"? Really? For Sure? Please, not really?
References
- ^ This reporter probably didn't realize the irony of their use of "mundane" here.
- ^ This is not the same "Creation" as the massive one based in California, one the reporter does not explain, though they mention Creation Con later in the article and gives some conflicting info.
- ^ Poor Steve and Barbara. We can only hope they weren't too traumatized.