One contemporary television show that I have become unexpectedly enamored with is Seth MacFarlane’s The Orville, a comedy-drama about the lives and adventures of crew members on an exploratory spaceship, the USS Orville, set a few hundred years in the future. I initially did not think much of the concept, as I am neither an avid viewer of science fiction nor a caring fan of MacFarlane’s other TV works; but one day last year, I casually watched an episode with a friend who liked the show, and to my pleasant surprise, I found appeal in its novel, genuine mix of everyday charm and epic adventure. Over the course of its two seasons, The Orville has quickly became one of my favorite current series, standing out as the only other-worldly tale amongst the handful of real-life-based comedies and dramas that I watch.
Many of The Orville’s episodes focus on traditional, epic science-fiction scenarios like extraterrestrial exploration and outer-space battles; but other major storylines, in a more toned-down, slice-of-life fashion, deal with social topics like love and sex and the workplace. I enjoy both of these types of narratives, though I gravitate towards the latter ones, due to how they provide much of the show’s humorous relatability and emotional groundedness. But it is this fusion of genres still that is important in making much of The Orville’s plotting work: it presents humanistic allegories through a fantastical lens, able to examine and deconstruct societal and cultural conventions through the unique inclusion of non-human civilizations.
My favorite episodes are those that explore the peculiar, or queer, if you will, nature of relationships in this futuristic setting. The aforementioned chapter I started with was season one’s “Cupid’s Dagger,” in which a male member of an alien race becomes sexually involved with both the crew’s captain, Ed, and commanding officer, Kelly. This being my first impression of the series, I was attracted to the quiet, unquestioned portrayal of queer intimacy, a small yet significant representation of fluidity that I appreciated. Another beloved installment of mine is season two’s “A Happy Refrain,” which explores the burgeoning courtship between the ship’s human doctor Claire and engineering officer Isaac, who is an artificial, robot-like lifeform purportedly incapable of emotion. Though such a bond is unusual, the episode allows it to develop organically with poignant intricacy and authenticity, as the two, like any couple, navigate the complexities of dating, romance, and even sex. I applaud The Orville’s eagerness to tell these simple but affecting narratives about differently-appearing relationships, utilizing the framework of science fiction but maintaining honest, meaningful sentiment.
Outside of these love stories, The Orville’s most noteworthy storylines are those that put up the harshest lens to real-life politics—and those revolve around the species from the planet Moclus. The Moclans are ostensibly a male-dominant species due to the rarity of female births, a fact first examined early in the first season when second officer Bortus and his mate, both Moclan males, bear a female child. The subsequent episode, “About a Girl,” involves a legal trial on Moclus to determine whether the infant will undergo sex reassignment surgery, divulging in further detail the Moclans’ superiority bias against females. The subject is expanded upon in season two’s “Deflectors,” which reveals that being attracted to females is a punishable crime on Moclus; such an idea so easily flips our world’s standard of heteronormativity on its head, illustrating what discrimination against heterosexuality looks like. Moclus’s culture is finally blown wide open in the later chapter “Sanctuary,” which reveals the existence of an entire colony of Moclan females on a hidden world, making for a compelling, universally-echoing political episode revolving around cultural traditions and prejudices, unjust laws and oppression, and the fundamental rights of living beings. More so than its ability to tackle ubiquitous topics like love and relationships, I admire The Orville’s ambitious and, I believe, successful execution of conveying such rich sociopolitical themes that resonate immensely with current issues in human society.
Between the above instances, its endearing and well-developed characters, and also some truly magnificent cosmic action scenes, The Orville manages to hold a place in my heart as a very special, extraordinary piece of entertainment. From a broader standpoint, the show is not perfect: at times, the writing can be questionable and distasteful, and the sillier gags can feel at odds with the weightier narrative material; and in the reviewing space, inevitable comparisons, positive and negative, are made to predecessors in the science-fiction genre, particularly Star Trek. But regardless of these challenges, I give credit to The Orville for the value it brings in this present era of human history: in the face of continually-thriving conservative ignorance, the series examines society with an open perspective, questioning what is customary and proposing freer, kinder images of existence. More fictional stories in entertainment ought to follow this model, as such is the true power of media: to not merely show what life is, but rather what it could and should be.