Eight episodes in.
Two episodes in a row with no real story engine.
And episode eight might be the clearest example yet of Starfleet Academy mistaking screen time for substance.
This is trying to be a character-focused episode. An emotional one. A reflective one.
Instead, it’s an hour where very little happens — and what does happen feels stretched thin, like butter scraped over too much bread.
Grief… Again. But Longer
We open with cadets struggling after the losses in episode six.
Which — fine. That’s good material, when written properly. Star Trek takes loss seriously. It should examine how trauma affects readiness, leadership and confidence.
Besides poor writing here, there’s another problem – We already did this last week.
Episode seven’s cold open was rain-soaked melancholy. People staring at the floor. Captain Ake drinking whisky.
Here? It’s the same emotional beat — just stretched out painfully over the full runtime.
Cadets are sad. Cadets fail drills. Cadets are withdrawn.
There’s no escalation. No philosophical debate about duty versus grief. No ethical dilemma. No tension between compassion and mission readiness.
Just vibes.
It feels like the show pressed pause on plot and decided to sit in a puddle of emotion without asking what that emotion is for.
And that’s where my next comparison becomes unavoidable.
Why Deep Space Nine Did This Better
Because I’ve been rewatching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine lately — as I often do when modern Trek disappoints me — and the difference is staggering.
Take the episode “Blaze Of Glory”, which I rewatched a couple of days ago.
On paper, it’s mostly conversations in rooms and on a Runabout.
In execution, it’s electric.
You have Sisko and Eddington — two men on opposite sides of ideology — locked in dialogue that’s layered with resentment, betrayal, political conviction, and personal pain. There’s a scene in the Runabout where Eddington challenges Sisko’s morality, reframing the Federation as some sort of empire, and casting himself as the rebel hero.
Sisko doesn’t shout. He doesn’t posture.
He counters with controlled intensity — the kind that makes you lean forward. The kind that tells you he believes every word.
The camera doesn’t need tricks. The lighting isn’t moody blue gloom. The weight comes from performance and the writing.
Then, whilst I’m thinking about it, there’s episodes like “For The Uniform”.
Sisko chasing Eddington. Eddington comparing himself to Jean Valjean from Les Misérables, with the reading of the story weaved into the episode. That’s how you incorporate historical drama. It’s not a drama class exercise — it’s thematic layering.
When Sisko poisons a Maquis colonies atmosphere to force Eddington’s surrender, the moral tension is palpable. You feel the cost. You feel a line is being crossed.
No one stares longingly at each other under pop music.
The conflict is ideological. Ethical. Dangerous.
Or take the episode “Duet”.
Almost the entire episode is Kira and Marritza in an interrogation room.
Just words. Just faces.
But the emotional stakes are seismic. Kira’s hatred. Marritza’s guilt. The reveal that he isn’t who he claimed to be — that he wants punishment because someone has to answer for the atrocities.
It’s theatre, yes — but not because a character enrolled in drama class.
It’s theatre because the writing is that strong.
And then there’s the episode “The Visitor”.
Jake losing his father.
Years passing.
The quiet devastation of regret.
There’s a scene where older Jake admits he let go of his writing — something Sisko nurtured in him and encouraged — because his life became defined by his grief. You feel it. It’s earned. It’s restrained. It trusts silence.
That’s character work.
That’s emotional storytelling.
Now, Starfleet Academy wants to be all that.
Sadly, it isn’t even close.
Sylvia Tilly And The Theatre Experiment
Silvia Tilly returns from Star Trek: Discovery, instantly bringing with her modern slang and a cadence that feels rooted in 2020s Earth, not the 32nd century.
And she’s teaching theatre.
I can almost see the pitch meeting for this episode:
“Picard loved Shakespeare. Let’s make drama part of command training.”
But here’s the difference.
When Picard quoted Shakespeare in Star Trek: The Next Generation, it wasn’t a gimmick. It reflected culture, education and philosophy. It revealed who he was.
Here, theatre becomes a device to externalise teenage angst.
We literally funnel Caleb and Tarima’s romantic tension into a dramatic play.
It’s not profound. It’s cringe.
Sam: The Hologram With Selective Physics
Let’s address Sam in one go here, because her storyline tries to be central, but she is deeply inconsistent.
Sam is glitching again. Her processors are overloading.
For some reason, the Doctor is assigned to help her.
Sam’s issue required engineering expertise, not medicine. She’s artificially created life. Effectively, she was built. She runs on code.
When the Doctor malfunctioned in Star Trek: Voyager, he sought engineers. B’Elanna Torres. Harry Kim. Not medically trained officers treating him like a patient.
Here, we’re told she’s “not a machine” by Captain Ake.
But she has processors, so effectively she is a machine. A living one, but a machine.
The show wants the emotional metaphor — “you’re more than your programming” — without respecting the technical logic.
We visit a new world — a society of photonic life.
That’s fantastic conceptually and could have been explored in so much more detail.
But instead of exploring that world — its culture, its evolution, its politics — the creators of Sam recreate the Athena to make the Doctor feel at home.
I’m sorry, if they scanned his memories, then why not recreate Voyager? Why not his Sickbay? That was his home. That’s where he grew and evolved.
A missed opportunity, if you ask me.
Now, the Doctor’s trauma, that we’ve been building to all season — his holographic daughter from the Star Trek: Voyager episode “Real Life” — is revisited. That’s genuinely strong material. For him, that loss was real. It evolved him.
Picardo did a great job with that material, but it could have been explored with much greater depth by the writers.
It’s all explained rather than felt.
Also, when on route to this world, Sam is told to rest.
She then enters sleep mode.
Why does a hologram need sleep?
The Doctor was always deactivated.
She also cries and tears fall from her face.
Wouldn’t they disappear, like a hologram stepping out of a holodecks archway?
And she has quarters. A bed. Goes in to bathrooms. She drops Genesis’ toothbrush in the toilet.
She doesn’t need hygiene. She’s photonic.
You could argue she has quarters for social integration — fine. But commit to that logic.
Right now, it feels like the writers forget she’s photonic whenever it’s convenient.
Tarima And Caleb: Tell, Don’t Show
Tarima returns from her time on Betazed recovering from a Coma.
The other cadets are all looking at her and backing away from her. Why? She saved lives in episode six.
They’ve also given her a new evolved inhibitor device, which apparantly works better than the one she had before. It stops her from accidentally harming herself when using her abilities. Can I ask why she didn’t just have this “better” device in the first place?
She also says she’s changed, as a person, but we see no change here.
Just more distance. More staring. More tension stretched over silence.
Why I Love Star Trek (And Why This Hurts)
I love Star Trek.
I grew up with it. It shaped how I think about leadership, ethics and optimism. It made me believe and hope that humanity could grow beyond it’s petty divisions.
DS9, especially, didn’t just entertain me — it challenged me.
When Sisko stands in his office wrestling with a decision, with baseball in hand, you feel the weight of command. When Kira confronts her past, you feel the scars of occupation. When Odo struggles with belonging, you feel the ache of identity.
Those characters felt like real people. Family.
They inspired me to be the best I could be.
Starfleet Academy sadly doesn’t inspire me.
It doesn’t challenge me.
It gestures toward emotion but never earns it.
The show just bores me and doesn’t connect with me.
What This Episode Lacks
There’s no major exploration of a new world. No ideological conflict. No moral dilemma. No character arc that shifts someone meaningfully.
Just grief repeated from last weeks cold open — extended across a full hour.
I felt the runtime and I checked my watch a few times, even pausing it once or twice out of boredom.
Final Verdict
Episode eight is another hour of almost nothing.
It attempts character depth and lands in shallow water.
When held up against the brilliance of DS9 — against episodes like Duet, For The Uniform, Blaze Of Glory, and The Visitor — it becomes painfully clear how far the franchise has drifted from its peak.
DS9 didn’t need longing stares and pop music.
It had well written characters and dialogue.
It had conviction.
It had story.
It explored worlds, cultures, and humanity.
It had writers who understood that ideas are more powerful than aesthetics – writers that had fresh takes and new or bold ideas.
Starfleet Academy sadly has none of the above.
Reshoots Required Score: Major Reshoots Required
Two episodes left, folks.
And I’ll be honest — I’m far more excited to return to DS9 era Bajor than spend another two hours in the dimly lit corridors of the 32nd century.
Kurtzman, please, it’s time to end your run.
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