Skin of Evil (S01E23)
Airdate: April 25th 1988
Written by: Joseph Stephano & Hannah Louise Shearer Directed by: Joseph L. Scanlan
Running Time: 45 minutes
In the storied history of Star Trek, there existed a fundamental, almost sacrosanct rule: major characters, particularly those gracing the bridge of the flagship vessel, were effectively immortal. The franchise thrived on the safety net of its heroes, ensuring peril was thrilling but ultimately consequence-free for the core ensemble. Star Trek: The Next Generation, especially during its notoriously uneven first season, seemed poised to uphold this tradition. Yet, within the very fabric of its initial run, an event occurred that shattered this unspoken covenant – the permanent, unceremonious death of a principal cast member. Skin of Evil, the twenty-third episode of Season One, stands as that watershed moment. While undeniably burdened by the production limitations and narrative stumbles characteristic of TNG’s early days, it transcends these flaws through the sheer, brutal weight of its central event.
The narrative commences with the Enterprise-D diverting to the desolate, rocky wasteland of Vagra II. A shuttlecraft carrying Counsellor Deanna Troi and Lieutenant Prieto (tRaymond Forchion) has crash-landed there following a conference. Though the atmosphere is breathable, the planet appears utterly devoid of life. The shuttle is buried under debris, preventing a straightforward beam-out. Captain Picard dispatches an away team – Commander Riker, Security Chief Lieutenant Tasha Yar, and Lieutenant Commander Data – to retrieve the stranded officers. Almost immediately, the team encounters the planet’s sole inhabitant: a sentient, viscous entity resembling sentient black oil, coalescing and reforming on the barren surface. Identifying itself as "Armus" (played by Mart McChesney, voiced by Ron Gans), the entity swiftly demonstrates its terrifying power and profound malevolence. Without preamble or apparent motive beyond cruelty, Armus unleashes a potent psychokinetic blast. The effect is instantaneous and devastating: Tasha Yar is thrown backwards, lifeless, before the horrified eyes of her comrades. She is beamed directly to Sickbay, but Dr. Crusher’s frantic efforts are futile; the diagnosis is swift and final – Yar is dead.
Faced with this crisis, Captain Picard himself beams down to Vagra II, determined to resolve the situation and extract his remaining personnel. Leveraging Counsellor Troi’s empathic abilities proves crucial. Through intense, psychologically taxing interactions with Armus – who delights in tormenting the crew with its nihilistic pronouncements – the away team gradually uncovers the entity’s origin. Armus is not a natural phenomenon, but the literal embodiment of pure evil; a sentient residue of hatred and negativity deliberately discarded by a powerful, long-vanished civilisation who deemed such darkness unworthy of their ascension. Left to fester alone for millennia, Armus embodies unadulterated malice. Its sadism is palpable as it toys with the crew, yet Troi perceives a critical vulnerability: Armus’s own emotional volatility – its rage and frustration – momentarily weakens the forcefield-like barrier protecting its core. Seizing this infinitesimal window, Picard orchestrates a retreat, successfully extracting Troi, Prieto, Riker, and Data. The Enterprise departs, imposing a strict quarantine on Vagra II. The episode concludes not with triumph, but with profound grief: a moving memorial service held within the holodeck, where Picard and his subordinate meet holographic projection of Yar delivering her final message.
The permanent departure of a regular character was not entirely unprecedented within Star Trek lore, though it carried immense weight. The Original Series infamously sidelined Yeoman Janice Rand after the first season’s midpoint, her character vanishing without explanation – a narrative dead end only clumsily revisited years later in The Motion Picture purely for fan service. More significantly, Spock’s death at the climax of The Wrath of Khan was a seismic event. However, the overwhelming, visceral backlash from fans ensured his resurrection became the driving force of the very next film, The Search for Spock. Spock’s demise was always intended as temporary, a narrative device to explore themes of sacrifice and friendship, ultimately reinforcing his invincibility. Tasha Yar’s death, in stark contrast, was presented as irrevocable. This permanence was revolutionary for Star Trek. For the first time, the franchise forced its audience to confront the genuine possibility of loss for a core character within the series’ own continuity, shattering the illusion of safety that had long protected the bridge crew. It was a moment Trekkies had simply never experienced before – a death with no escape clause.
Viewed strictly through the lens of its narrative mechanics and production values, divorced from Yar’s death, "Skin of Evil" is undoubtedly one of Season One’s weaker entries. The planet Vagra II, realised through cheap, plasticky rock formations that wouldn’t look out of place on a 1960s TOS set, fails utterly to convey the necessary sense of alien desolation or menace. The central antagonist, Armus, while conceptually intriguing as pure evil, suffers from a severe lack of development or complexity. He is a one-dimensional force of malice, lacking the layered ambiguity or intellectual challenge posed by Q. The episode’s dialogue, particularly Armus’s repetitive pronouncements of evil, often veers into the ponderous and clichéd. Yet, certain elements possess a surprising resilience. The practical effects used to realise Armus – the bubbling, oozing, coalescing tar – remain remarkably effective, avoiding the pitfalls of excessive CGI that would plague later Trek eras. Similarly, Ron Jones’s synthesiser-heavy score, very much of its 1980s moment, effectively underpins the scenes with a palpable sense of dread and unease. Furthermore, the intense exchanges between Armus and Troi provide Marina Sirtis with rare early-season material that allows her to showcase genuine dramatic range and emotional depth, a stark contrast to the often underwritten Counsellor of the first year.
Crucially, the context surrounding Yar’s death is inseparable from Denise Crosby’s own decision to leave the series. Dissatisfied with the show’s early quality, the writing for her character, and convinced TNG lacked a future – a view reportedly shared by some cast members initially – Crosby approached Gene Roddenberry mid-season to be released from her contract. Roddenberry, respecting her decision but recognising the narrative opportunity, orchestrated her exit with remarkable narrative integrity. Unlike the cliffhanger finales common in other shows, Yar departs during what appears to be a routine, low-stakes away mission. As a security officer, her role inherently placed her in harm’s way, making her death tragically plausible, echoing the expendability of the infamous "redshirts" but applied to a bridge officer. The execution is brutally efficient: her death occurs roughly fifteen minutes into the episode, swift and sudden, with no melodramatic last words or futile, extended medical heroics from Crusher – just the chilling finality. The crew, like real people facing sudden loss, have little immediate time for overt grief; duty must continue. It is only in the poignant, understated holodeck memorial scene, Picard and his subordinates are addressed by Yar’s holographic image, that the full emotional weight is allowed to land. This scene was also a rare, meaningful utilisation of the holodeck concept beyond mere period-piece costume drama, demonstrating its potential for genuine emotional resonance.
In hindsight, Denise Crosby’s decision to leave TNG appears profoundly misguided. While the first season was undeniably rough, the series rapidly matured, evolving into one of television’s most acclaimed and enduring sci-fi sagas. Crosby, like her colleagues, possessed talent could blossom alongside the improving scripts and character development. The show did learn to live without Yar, introducing Worf as Chief of Security, but the void she left was palpable for fans. This enduring sense of loss necessitated later attempts to revisit the character – first through the fascinating alternate-universe "Yar" in Yesterday's Enterprise, and subsequently via her Romulan daughter, Sela, played by Crosby herself. These returns, while welcome, only underscored what the original series had lost prematurely.
Ultimately, the true legacy of Skin of Evil lies in the seismic shift caused by Yar’s death. Roddenberry and the TNG producers, by embracing Crosby’s departure and handling it with such stark realism, demonstrated a willingness to break Star Trek's most fundamental rule. They proved the series could take genuine risks, that no character was inherently safe. This single act of narrative courage fundamentally altered the stakes for the audience. Suddenly, every away mission, every confrontation, carried a tangible weight of potential consequence that had been previously absent. It forced Star Trek to mature, moving beyond the comfortable predictability of its broadcast television peers and edging closer to the complex, character-driven storytelling that defined its later golden age.
RATING: 7/10 (+++)
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