The waiting is over and we’ve finally seen what Star Trek looks like in the hands of Sci-Fi wunderkind J. J. Abrams. Abrams is a fitting choice to revive the series, as he’s nearly single-handedly awakened a Sci-Fi renaissance in popular culture. His resumé reads like “Seminal Works of Modern Science-Fiction”, with Lost, Cloverfield, Fringe, Alias… and Felicity.

This last entry is especially important to note as it explains his artistic trajectory. While he may surround his characters with photon-torpedo hurling starships, uncharted time-traveling islands, or 50-story monsters ravaging New York, they all manage to remain character-driven dramas. Felicity is perfectly at home.

This human approach brings much-needed gravitas to a series that has long since jumped the Tribble. While the story remains semi-plausible plot and contains twists enough to keep it moving, it’s the dramatic arc of the characters that really captures out attention. Abrams knows that showing vulnerability and intimacy, like a fun exchange where Kirk and Spock reflect upon their troubled relationships with their respective fathers, creates contrast and allows acts of heroism that much more weight. Perhaps Shatner’s Kirk had these moments of doubt but 60s-era culture disliked showing men (Captains, especially) anything less than capable, therefore they occurred off-camera.

However, the Star Trek reboot cements a troubling trend of this new generation of Sci-Fi. Science-Fiction has long been called the “Literature of Ideas” or “Thinking Man’s Fiction”. In fact, Robert Heinlein, author of classics like Starship Troopers and Stranger in a Strange Land, preferred to call it “Speculative Fiction”. All of these titles reinforce the understanding that the genre was about concepts first, characters second.

The great Science-Fiction was still character-driven in plot, but this new generation ascends to character-driven in concept. Abrams’ own Lost is perhaps a hallmark example, but the contagion has spread. Fans of Heroes (whose big bad, Sylar, is also played by the new Spock, Zachary Quinto) frequently complain that plot development seems arbitrary if not mercurial. Writers of the acclaimed reboot of Battlestar Galactica, despite assurances at the beginning of every episode that the menacing Cylons “have a plan”, admit that their conceptual choices were driven by character drama:

[T]hat’s sort of how the show has always been, it’s been about taking leaps and seeing how things fit in together…. It felt like all the pieces would make sense and that it would be a satisfying thing.

Yes, satisfying unless you expect the basic realities of a world to be based on more than what would be most shocking for a particular character during a particular episode.

What we gain from character-driven concepts is relatability. Even those utterly uninterested in the intermingling of identity and freewill brought up by Philip K. Dick in everything from Bladerunner to Minority Report to A Scanner Darkly can appreciate the humanity in characters like Cloverfield’s protagonist—who simply wants to reunite with his ex-girlfriend.

What we lose is the inspirational role that excellent Science-Fiction can play in society. Star Trek is legendary for the “show don’t tell” ideas it has provided us; inventors of technological innovations from cell phones to flat-screen televisions have all thanked Star Trek. Beyond devices, the original Star Trek was landmark in many ways that we forget in the 00s. It would be difficult task to find a more multicultural hang-out than the bridge of the Enterprise. Even ignoring that the first interracial kiss on television was Kirk and Uhura, there was a frickin’ Russian in control of the weapons. The characters in the reboot, while all true to the original (Karl Urban’s McCoy is a stand-out, slinging down-homey aphorisms that make DeForest Kelley seem a refined gentleman), fall short of conveying a world as-it-could-be… although the tongue-in-cheek nod to Sulu being gay was outstanding, if comic.

No doubt, it’s all a difficult balance to strike. Concept-driven Science-Fiction that ignores character lacks punch, just as character-driven Science-Fiction that ignores concepts ultimately lacks relevancy. But it’s not an impossible task. An example in recent years to wed the two approaches successfully is Wall-E. The basic realities of the world inform the development of the characters, which then drive the plot. As a result, Wall-E manages to inspire both an emotional and intellectual response from its audience.

And now I’ve used up all my hyphens, so I’ll stop.