When I heard the news on the radio
(and quickly confirmed it with a Facebook check) that Leonard Nimoy, better
known to most as the original Spock on Star Trek, had finally passed away, I
can’t exactly say that I felt an explicit sadness. There was simply a weight, a sense of being
borne down to the ground by a pressure felt on my shoulders, and in my
chest. A new void had opened up within
me, and it was being filled with solid lead.
And I knew, as illogical as Spock would find such a reaction to be, that
I was about to have a moment of silent grieving.
But is that really so illogical,
after all? To grieve? To embrace and love the moments that made a
person’s life meaningful to one’s own, and yet regret that there will be no
more moments to come in the future? I do
not know. Perhaps it is, and it is only
my own human failings that prevent me from seeing that. Or perhaps it is a sign that we have truly
lived, when we can admit our emotional responses to life’s inevitable end.
For many Trekkies, especially
younger ones in and around my generation, Leonard Nimoy seemed like one of
those figures from a strange and distant past that will be there forever,
unmoving, immutable. And in a sense he
was, and is- although it is too soon to tell, the figure and legacy of Spock
may very well continue to be one of the most culturally influential and
recognizable symbols of 20th-century storytelling. Few have not encountered his trademark Vulcan
hand gesture of peace, and heard its accompanying mantra, “Live long, and
prosper.” He made pointed ears cool long
before Peter Jackson had even picked up a camera. His moment of singular and definitive (unfortunately
so) artistic genius was one of the primary genesis moments of modern
sci-fi/geek/nerd culture, and remains one of its greatest pillars today. That is not about to change within the
foreseeable future.
Leonard Nimoy was, of course, far
more than a green-blooded Vulcan.
Although his musical recordings from the 70’s will never top anyone’s
“Best of the Decade” list, there was a classic huskiness to his voice that
worked well for such standards as “If I Had A Hammer.” His additional forays into the realms of
photography and poetry reveal a broad, expansive mind, eager to pursue his
ideas of beauty and artistic significance wherever he found the chance.
Of course, he was always an actor and
director above all else, and a fearsomely dedicated one at that. Even before I had really delved into the Star
Trek classics, I was well-aware of the now-itself-classic horror remake Invasion of the Body Snatchers, where
Leonard Nimoy appears as a blindly calm therapist unconvinced of the main
character’s suspicions. It is as intense
and committed a performance as any other on his resume, Spock included. However, he was also never one to only use
his acting abilities when on-screen.
William Shatner included a telling anecdote to this effect in his
excellently-written book Star Trek
Memories- with everyone in the cast and crew overwhelmed by how sweltering
their backlot studio tended to get in summer, Nimoy requested that a fan be
installed in his changing room. When the
tight-fisted studio refused, he told his secretary to come into the room, lay
down on the floor, and act like she had passed out. He then proceeded to call in security in a
panicked voice, all the while trying to “revive” the “poor lady” who had
obviously been overwhelmed by the heat and humidity. In no time at all, air conditioning was up
and running in his room, much to the amusement (and probably also jealousy) of
the rest of the cast.
That said, for all the remarkable
breadth and variety of his works and accomplishments (including one I only
recently uncovered, a photography series primarily of overweight women) it
will, of course, be Spock that defines his legacy and reach into popular consciousness. His absolute dedication to crafting every
facet of a character’s person, history, and mannerisms made Spock such a unique
artistic creation that it overwhelmed or subsumed all else he tried to do in
his life, leading to the somewhat-exasperated title of his first autobiography,
“I Am Not Spock.”
That is, of course, very true-
Leonard Nimoy was not Spock. But he also
very much was. That is the strange
paradox lived out by all who gain lasting public recognition and fame,
especially actors. True acting is the
full realization of self- even though, clearly, no single character or role
performed by an individual is the person itself, if it is a truly great
performance, it will contain a large dose of the performer’s pure, undiluted
human essence, giving us a glimpse into their minds, and in the greatest
performances of all time, their souls.
So we are at a crossroads at the
passing of a great, wonderful person, someone who has touched the lives of so
many. Which do we honor more, his part
in a magnum opus that has defined a whole realm of sci-fi for several
generations, or the person he was as a whole, warts, makeup, pointy ears, and
all?
For what’s worth, I vote both. Leonard Nimoy was a great man, and like with
many others who has passed on in recent years, the void he leaves is
particularly unfillable. He was himself,
always himself. But he was also Spock. And we are Spock as well, in our own
ways. We are bound to him, and he to us,
eternally, through a fictional character that, for all the ways he is so unlike
us, somehow also managed to embody the best in us, and all the possibilities our
lives afford us the possibility of embracing.
May God bless and keep you
Leonard. We will miss you, and we will
not forget you, as illogical as that may seem.
-Noah
Franc
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