Television Review: The Outrageous Okona (Star Trek: The Next Generation, S2X04, 1988)

The Outrageous Okona (S02E04)

Airdate: December 12th 1988

Written by: Burton Armus
Directed by: Robert Becker

Running Time: 46 minutes

Star Trek, for all its lofty philosophical inquiries and high-stakes galactic drama, has never been entirely devoid of levity. Moments of wit, character-driven humour, and outright whimsy are woven into the fabric of the franchise, providing essential respite from the weight of command and cosmic threats. However, episodes dedicated wholly to this lighter fare have always been a rarity, a calculated risk. When executed with finesse, as in the immortal The Trouble with Tribbles, such ventures yield some of the franchise’s most cherished and enduring classics. Regrettably, The Outrageous Okona, the fourth episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation’s second season, represents the other end of the spectrum: a serviceable, occasionally amusing diversion that ultimately dissolves into the ether of forgettable Star Trek fluff, lacking the narrative depth or comedic genius to leave a lasting impression.

The episode unfolds within the Omega Sagitta system, where the USS Enterprise-D navigates the delicate space between the planets Atlec and Straleb. These worlds, inhabited by humanoid species locked in a centuries-long, precarious peace under the Coalition of Madena compact, provide the stage for the Enterprise’s encounter with the Erstwhile, a dilapidated interplanetary cargo vessel. Its sole occupant, Captain Thadiun Okona (a pre-Rocketeer Billy Campbell), presents himself as a charming rogue with a faulty guidance system. Despite Counselor Deanna Troi’s immediate and prudent warning that Okona’s reputation precedes him as an untrustworthy scoundrel, Captain Picard, ever the diplomat, offers assistance. Okona’s arrival on the Enterprise swiftly validates Troi’s caution. Effortlessly embodying the archetype, he seduces not one but two female officers: the vivacious transporter chief, Lieutenant B. G. Robinson (a young Teri Hatcher, soon to be Lois Lane), and the uncredited but equally smitten Lieutenant Diana Giddins (played by uncredited Gates McFadden's stand-in Lorine Mandel). His swagger, amplified by a costume deliberately echoing Han Solo’s iconic look, is undeniable.

This flirtatious interlude is abruptly shattered when two warships converge on the Enterprise. Captain Debin of Atlec arrives, demanding Okona be handed over for the unspeakable crime of impregnating his daughter, Yanar (Rosalind Allen). Simultaneously, Captain Kushell of Straleb arrives, accusing Okona of stealing a priceless family jewel. Both captains brandish their primitive weaponry, threatening dire consequences should the Federation starship refuse their demands. While Picard is visibly unimpressed by their technological posturing – the Enterprise’s capabilities render their threats utterly hollow – he recognises the genuine risk of igniting a full-scale interplanetary war between the fragile Coalition partners. Driven by a mix of diplomatic duty and personal curiosity, he beams both captains and their aggrieved parties aboard to mediate. Okona, initially flustered and even suggesting a hasty marriage to Yanar as a solution, eventually reveals the farcical truth: he merely acted as a go-between for the star-crossed lovers, Yanar and Benzan (Kieran Mulroney), Kushell’s son. The real conflict stems from the ancient feud between their families, not Okona’s antics. With the truth exposed, the two houses agree to a peaceful resolution, allowing the perpetually unrepentant Okona to slip away, his reputation as a rogue intact.

Running parallel to this planetary farce is a subplot centring on Data’s earnest, yet profoundly misguided, quest to understand humour. Spurred by Okona’s offhand remark, the android becomes fixated on mastering comedy as a key to humanity. Seeking guidance from Guinan in Ten Forward, he then retreats to the holodeck. There, he engages a holographic comic named "Comic" (a rather unconvincing Jerry Lewis impersonator portrayed by Joe Piscopo, already a fading star in late 1980s). Data’s attempts at stand-up comedy, delivered with robotic precision and utterly devoid of timing or relatability, are painfully awkward. The jokes are uninspired even by the era’s standards, failing to land with either the holodeck audience or the viewer. This subplot hinges on the audience recognising Piscopo’s specific comedic niche and Lewis’s style, knowledge that was already somewhat esoteric for a global audience of late 1980s and feels utterly alien today, rendering the entire endeavour narratively inert.

The fundamental weakness of The Outrageous Okona lies precisely in these dual narratives. Screenwriter Burton Armus constructed two plots, each so inherently thin that deploying either as the sole focus would have been unbearable. The primary Okona storyline is a stock comedy of errors, a romantic entanglement resolved through mistaken paternity – a plot device familiar to ancient Greek theatre and countless sitcoms since. Its resolution, while mildly unpredictable in its specifics, feels contrived and lacks genuine stakes; the threat of war evaporates far too easily once the truth is spoken. The Data subplot is arguably worse. It doesn’t just rely on poor jokes; it fundamentally misunderstands Data’s character arc. His journey towards understanding humanity is usually compelling precisely because it’s grounded in observation and logic applied to complex emotional phenomena. Reducing it to a quest for punchline delivery, using such a poorly realised comedic reference point, feels reductive and lazy, squandering Brent Spiner’s consistently brilliant performance.

What ultimately prevents The Outrageous Okona from sinking entirely into the abyss of TNG’s weaker moments is the sheer charisma of its performers. Billy Campbell embodies the "lovable rogue" archetype with such infectious, roguish charm that one almost forgives the character’s narrative thinness; his performance is the episode’s undeniable engine. Brent Spiner, as always, elevates the material, making Data’s clinical bafflement at humour genuinely endearing despite the weak writing. Teri Hatcher, though her role is frustratingly brief due to significant post-production editing (she later successfully petitioned for her name’s removal from credits over the cuts), makes a strong impression as Robinson. Yet, even these strengths cannot compensate for the episode’s core deficiencies. The Okona plot is a well-worn farce lacking originality or meaningful consequence, while the Data subplot is a baffling detour into obscure comedy that adds nothing to his character and actively detracts from the episode’s cohesion. The Outrageous Okona is a curious footnote in TNG’s history – a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt at pure comedy, proving that charm alone, however outrageous, cannot sustain a truly memorable Star Trek adventure. It is pleasant enough viewing but evaporates from the memory long before the next stardate, a serviceable trifle utterly overshadowed by the franchise’s genuine comedic triumphs.

RATING: 5/10 (++)

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