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Notes from The Buffer Zone:
Kristine Kathryn Rusch
For the first time in my life, I cried through a superhero movie. I should probably say, in fairness to me, that I'm a pretty easy crier, especially when faced with stories or something particularly heartwarming.
When I was a typically moody tween, I even declared to friends that I would consider no movie good unless I cried during it.
I now have different standards. In fact, on the nights when I want to escape reality, I often go for the shoot-em-up, Explosions R Us movies rather than anything that's heavy, intellectual, or tear-inducing.
Except Star Trek. I'll be honest: I'm such a big Star Trek fan that when the Chris Pine reboot happened, I was adamantly against it all. (James T. Kirk is perhaps my favorite media hero—in more ways than one. Confession: all of my notification ringtones are from classic Star Trek. All of them.)
I was convinced that no one besides William Shatner could play James T. Kirk, and I figured that no reboot of classic Trek would ever meet my exacting fannish standards. So . . . …the film opens, with Chris Hemsworth's George Kirk, saving the day in delightfully Kirkian fashion—just as baby James T. was being born—and okay, I cried. Those were happy tears. They came straight from my fannish heart, pleased that there would be more classic Star Trek in my future.