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May, 2001, LOS ANGELES - On the first day of April, I boarded American Airlines Flight 140, nonstop from Los Angeles to Paris, France. April in Paris! My spirits soared with the plane as it rose up into the clouds. Where else but Paris, the quintessential city of light and life, to celebrate the beginning of spring.
I landed at Charles De Gaulle Airport in golden sunshine to be told by my Paris friend, Olivier Jalabert, that the sun was a rare and welcome phenomenon. Paris had been inundated by relentless rain throughout the previous month. I revealed to him that this was my southern Californian gift that I brought to Paris in my luggage. He thanked me effusively for my sunny generosity. This was going to be a glorious week.
Seven days in Paris flies by like the sparkle of a transporter. As I write this now, a month away from that dream-like week, the memories seem wrapped in golden haze. I'm still savoring Sunday brunch under a Tiepolo ceiling in the grand dining salon of the Musee Jacquemart Andre. This was the great town mansion that served as Louis Jordan's Paris estate in the classic film, "Gigi." Glowing memories of dining on Duck a'la Orange at the fabled Tour d'Argent with a glorious view of Notre Dame below. Ambling down the Champs Elysee on a Sunday afternoon together with aluminum wrapped Paris marathoners who had just finished the grueling run at the Arc de Triomphe. Strolling across the classic beaux arts bridge, Pont Alexandre, at night when -- precisely at 10 p.m. -- the Eiffel Tower begins to explode in an effervescence of sparkling lights. Glowing, luminous memories.
Some of my best Parisian experiences were serendipitous -- accidental discoveries or chance happenings. On a previous visit, we just happened to be at the basilica of Sacre Coeur, one of the highest points in Paris, on Bastille Day to learn that fireworks would be set off that evening. We laid down on the hillside grass and waited until the darkened sky turned into a Miro painting of exploding, swirling cascades of colored lights. Singularly Parisian serendipity.
On this trip, we saw the River Seine as we had never seen it before. As Olivier had told us, it had been raining heavily in Paris and the Seine had turned into a torrential force of nature. Those charming pedestrian footpaths alongside the river, where old men snooze with their fishing poles and lovers meet under the willow trees, were completely flooded over. The willow trees looked like long-haired maidens in distress clinging on for dear life bobbing against the oncoming assault of the flood. The tourist boats that cruise up and down the Seine had to be temporarily cancelled.
Our last evening in Paris was a convivial dinner hosted by Olivier, who is manager of Album, an intriguing collectibles store on Boulevard Saint Germain. The dinner was in a rustic restaurant called Les Bouchons. Among his guests was Alain Carraze, a witty television talk show host. I visited on his show and had a wonderful time chatting with him about my Star Trek experiences. Alas, it had to be in English. I speak only tourist French, but, fortunately for me, he spoke delightful English. The evening was congenial with good conversation and great food. I think it's impossible not to eat well in Paris. And at Les Bouchons we ate well surrounded by history. The heavy timbered restaurant was in a centuries old, pre-revolutionary structure on a narrow, cobbled street called Rue d' Hotel Colbert right off the Seine.
In exchange for my gift of California sunshine, I came home laden with another collection of glowing memories. Au revoir, Paris and merci boucoup, Olivier.
Almost immediately after returning from Paris -- before I could even shake off my jetlag -- I was on a Japan Air Lines 747 to Osaka, Japan. My mission was the opening of the Japanese American National Museum's traveling exhibit "From Bento to Mixed Plate" at the National Museum of Ethnology in Osaka. This was the second venue for the exhibit after its first opening in Japan last November in Okinawa.
I landed at the beautiful Kansai Airport built on a man-made island on Osaka Bay. Kansai is the most well-planned airport that I've had the pleasure of passing through. There is excellent traffic flow, smooth passport control, good signage, efficient taxi, train and other transportation connections, a fine hotel, restaurants galore and all the services a traveler would need. The only problem is that the island is sinking. Apparently, the engineers' calculations were a bit off. The airport is slowly descending back into the waters of the bay. But until that time, Kansai will be my favorite airport.
Japan's National Museum of Ethnology is on the grounds of the 1970 World Expo that was held in Osaka. When I arrived at the old Expo grounds, I immediately recognized the giant theme sculpture and some of the exposition buildings from my visit back in 1970. But there had been many new structures built since the exposition, among them the National Museum of Ethnology. The surrounding areas also had become quite urbanized. I thought of the plans the city of Hannover, Germany, has for the grounds of their World Expo just concluded last year.
The opening ceremony for our traveling exhibit was a big success. We were honored to have the Chancellor of Seijo University, Dr. Nagayo Homma, and a colleague of mine on the Japan-United States Conference on Cultural and Educational Interchange, travel down from Tokyo to join us. The reception that followed was convivial and celebratory. Sake toasts followed one after another. The press was great. The exhibit is well launched in Osaka. Its next stop in Japan is Hiroshima.
April was the perfect time to be in Japan. It is the very peak of cherry blossom season. And right outside my hotel, the Imperial, along the beautiful Ogawa River, is the best place for cherry blossom viewing. Sachie Kubo, of the Japan Excelsior campaign, who lives in Osaka, had called and kindly offered to personally escort me on my cherry blossom viewing. She and other fans had given me a wonderful time in Osaka last November when I was passing through on my way back from Okinawa.
I had imagined Japanese cherry blossom viewing to be a tranquil, contemplative, almost poetic, experience. How wrong I was! Cherry blossom viewing in Osaka was the most raucous, congested, massive aesthetic experience I had ever encountered. It seemed as if the whole nation of Japan had turned out to view the cherry blossoms outside the Imperial Hotel. Once we were swept up in the solid, shoving, mass of humanity, free will was gone. One had to go with the flow. There were policemen with bullhorns urging the crowd to keep moving on. But the cherry blossoms were simply breathtaking. I had never seen such variety, the shades of pale pinks and whites. I had never witnessed blossoms in such abundant density. At times, we seemed to be flowing through a heavenly tunnel of pink white clouds. It was gorgeous, almost surreal and absolutely unforgettable. Sachie-san, domo arigato.
I arrived back in Los Angeles to be greeted by a script for a new television series titled "Chronicle." The series is about a New York tabloid newspaper and its crew of journalists that cover paraphenomenal events. My guest starring role in the episode titled, "Here There Be Dragons," scheduled to air this summer on the Sci Fi Channel, was that of a Chinese immigrant father whose daughter, it is suspected, might be involved with a dragon inhabiting the sewers of Chinatown. The drama is played with straight-faced seriousness. I thought it might be fun. But I was baffled by the location. It was to be filmed in San Diego, California! A New York story on location in palmy, balmy San Diego? Now, that is paraphenomenal. I phoned my agent to find out why but he couldn't explain this mystery of Hollywood either. Oh well, I thought. After all the jetting about I'd been doing this month, a quick relaxing train ride down the coast to San Diego would be much preferable to another long cross country sit on a plane to New York.
Arriving in San Diego, I was picked up at the Santa Fe Train Depot and taken directly to what the driver called, "the studio" for my wardrobe fitting. There the mystery was cleared up. "Chronicle" is produced by Stu Segall, an entrepreneur who had indeed developed a studio complex in San Diego consisting of six soundstages with all the necessary support facilities. The series was keeping film activities humming at his facility. For exterior shots, sections of downtown San Diego, with clever camouflaging of palm trees, was passing for dense, gritty New York City. How fitting for a show dealing with paraphenomena.
The week in San Diego was the perfect antidote to a month of globe girding air flights - back in make-up and in front of the cameras. The regulars on "Chronicle," Chad Willett, Rena Sofer and Reno Wilson are bright, talented and personable young performers and it was a pleasure working with them.
The weekend there was pure tonic. I went to the award winning regional theater, the Globe Theater, and enjoyed a wonderful production of "Dinner with Friends." Taking the title to heart, I had dinner with friends - Sam and Lydia Irvine at their son Ken's fabulous restaurant, Chez Loma in a charming Victorian house on Coronado Island.
The month began in Paris dining on extraordinary French cuisine with friends and concluded with superb California cuisine with friends on Coronado Island. April was a magnificent global banquet table with friends.
June, 2001, LOS ANGELES - What an undreamed of invitation -- the Kentucky Derby! I had been to Kentucky many times before. My niece, Akemi Takei, the broadcast journalist in the family, had worked at a television station in Lexington. So I had visited her when she was there. And, of course, there had been many Star Trek conventions in Kentucky. I like the lush and gracious landscape and the warm hospitality of the people of Kentucky. But I'd never expected to actually be at the legendary Kentucky Derby at fabled Churchill Downs. This was fantastic!
Before departing L.A., on my way to the airport, I swung around to Twentieth Century Fox studios. I was squeezing in a quick voice-dubbing gig on another episode of "The Simpsons." It didn't take much time. I was off to the airport and Louisville, Kentucky, in about an hour.
On the flight, seated in the row just behind me, I recognized actor Bill Brochtrup from "NYPD Blue." In conversation with him, we discovered that we were guests of the same host, Michael Berry of the Kentucky Derby Festival. We would both be riding in the Kentucky Derby Festival's Pegasus Parade and going to the same Derby festivities. This was going to be great fun.
Immediately upon arrival, we were swept up into a whirlwind of activities - lunches, dinners, parties galore, and, on the Thursday before the Derby, the Pegasus Parade. The parade's Grand Marshal was none other than the second man to walk on the moon, astronaut Buzz Aldrin. I had met Buzz and his lovely wife Lois before -- at a charity fund-raising event at Paramount Studios. Our paths seem to have a way of crossing in the most interesting ways, in fiction as well as in fact.
In the parade, our vehicles were, unlike the futuristic crafts with which Buzz and I are associated, handsome treasures from the past. Buzz's car was an elegantly restored antique that I couldn't identify and mine was a classic red Corvette. The crowd was wildly enthusiastic and I shouted myself hoarse. That night, we recovered over dinner at Jicama Grill, a trendy restaurant that serves delectably exotic Latin American cuisine.
Kentucky Derby day was sunny and hot. But the dress, we were told, was sports coat and tie. As we boarded the air-conditioned luxury bus that was to transport us to Churchill Downs, I couldn't help but be taken by the elegantly dressed women who, almost without exception, wore enormous confections of feathers, flowers, silk or gossamer on their heads. The practicality of a large hat on a sun-scorched day was contradicted by the preposterous creations that almost covered their faces like some fantastical umbrella balanced over their heads. But as the bus approached Churchill Downs, I noticed that the mass of people surging toward the grandstand carrying their picnic baskets and aluminum lawn chairs, wore tank tops, halters and practical wide brimmed straw hats. There was clearly a two-tier dress code.
Indeed, when the bus parked, we were escorted directly to a bank of elevators that swiftly lifted us up to the sixth-floor clubhouse. It was air-conditioned, well provisioned with a beautiful buffet and a panoramic glass window that provided a spectacular view of the sun drenched racetrack below. In this cool and luxuriously coddled setting, the colossal hats seemed even more wacky. Friends greeting the behatted women couldn't reach them under those massive canopies - all they could do was blow friendly air kisses toward the faces hidden under the huge hats.
They told me that you have to have a strategy in the betting process. I had never bet on horses before. I knew nothing about racehorses. What was I to do? The Kentucky Derby itself was the eighth race of the afternoon. I decided to prepare by observing the betting process during the first race. People were talking about the lineage of each horse, their track records, how they looked in their warm up runs the morning before. They might as well have been speaking in Swahili. I knew then that I was on my own. I would have to depend on sheer luck. Nevertheless, I would try to craft a strategy.
I decided to dive in on the second race. I studied the list of horses on my program. The third horse on the list was named Lake Pontchartrain. It reminded me of the delicious Blackened Red Fish from Lake Pontchartrain that I enjoyed when I was in New Orleans. Aha! I had a connection with that horse. This strategy should be as good as any. I bet $2 on Lake Pontchartrain to win. The race began and the horses were off and running. They were all bunched together. I couldn't make out which horse was Lake Pontchartrain. A batch of horses came thundering in with one nosing out all the others. I couldn't tell which one that was. We all waited for the scoreboard to show the final result. At last, the board lit up with the name of the winner. It said Lake Pontchartrain! I had won on my first try! Astoundingly, my $2 bet won me $32!!! Lady Luck was definitely with this beginner horseplayer.
But she is a fickle lady. She left me for others for the next five races. My $32 was reduced to $22. Now the big one was on us - the Kentucky Derby. I studied my program. There it was - the twelfth horse - seductively beckoning out to me. Startac! This was such an obviously clear message. Could anything be closer to Star Trek? But there also was another horse with the word star in its name -- Balto Star. Not as close as Startac, but it still had the word star in it. And if you dropped the B from Balto, you would have alto, which in Spanish means "high." Star Trek soars high. This too could be telling me something a bit more subtly. I decided to bet $10 on both Startac and Balto Star.
The gates opened and horses were off and running. The announcer's booming voice narrated the race. "Balto Star is second," he intoned. The crowd and I cheered. "Come on Balto Star," I shouted. Thank goodness I covered my bet with two horses, I thought. But after the second bend, Balto Star began to fall behind. "Come on Balto Star! You can do it!" I urged. But that horse continued to fall back. Then the booming voice announced, "Startac is passing Balto Star." My gosh, I still have a chance! "Go Startac," I yelled. But Startac wouldn't move ahead. It continued to maintain its place in the pack. "Go Startac. Go," I pleaded. Suddenly, out from nowhere - literally from the back of the pack - came an incredible horse. It galloped past every one of the others and was thundering toward the finish all by itself. "Monarchos is ahead by four lengths," the announcer's voice bellowed excitedly. It was an awesome sight to see. A magnificent animal moving with powerful grace dashed across the finish line. "Monarchos has won the Kentucky Derby," the ecstatic voice announced. It was later declared that Monarchos' time, 1:59.97 minutes, was the second fastest in the Kentucky Derby's 127-year history. The fastest was Secretariat with l:59.4 minutes in 1973. This was an awe-inspiring experience - but I was poorer by $20. Startac came in tenth and Balto Star was fourteenth. My $32 winning from the second race was reduced now to $2 - the very amount I first bet on Lake Pontchartrain. At least I broke even. Thank you Michael Berry and all the wonderful people of Kentucky for an unforgettable - and not too costly - experience.
Two days after returning to Los Angeles, I dove into another major event - this one, a binational conference called the Japan-United States Conference on Cultural and Educational Interchange at the Japanese American National Museum. As well as serving as the Chairman of the Board of the Museum, I am a member of the Japan-U.S. Friendship Commission, a non-governmental federal agency. So I was doubly invested in this conference. It turned out a great success. Our panelists from throughout the U.S and senior officials from the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Education, distinguished leaders from academia, business and culture were in accord that this conference in Los Angeles was one of the best ever held in its forty-year history.
I had another quick voiceover gig before flying off again. This one was the popular "Jackie Chan" Saturday morning animated series. I was the voice of a wise and benign Buddhist priest. Jackie Chan was voiced by a versatile young actor named James Tse. Then, I was off to Atlanta, Georgia, for Vulcon, another Star Trek convention.
The lucky bonus with this trip was that my good friend, gifted writer Peter David, was getting married to his love, Kathleen, a stage manager, puppeteer, editor and all around renaissance woman, in Atlanta on the same weekend as the convention. What blessed serendipity! I arranged with Joe Motes, the organizer of the convention, so that I could manage both the wedding and the convention. He was most cooperative.
Peter and Kathleen were married in a charming chapel on the picturesque campus of Emory University. It was a lovely ceremony. But it was the reception that really captured the spirit of the couple. The venue was a converted former warehouse now called the Shakespeare Tavern. It is a theater patterned after the old Globe Theater of Elizabethan London. So eminently appropriate. Both Peter and Kathleen are theatrical people - she literally and Peter in every sense of the word. His personality, if anything, is colorfully theatrical. His bountiful talent is of the theater as well as literature. Indeed, he even looks like he could play Shakespeare's Falstaff. To top off the theatricality of the reception, the best man at the wedding also became the master of the revels of the reception. He was none other than literary lion, incendiary raconteur and volcanically outspoken convention speaker - Harlan Ellison. He was touching in his fondness of the couple; he was hilarious with anecdotes about their relationship; he was ribald with his jokes; he was inexhaustible and never-ending. Finally, Peter broke in. Peter too is an expert raconteur. The afternoon became a bountiful banquet table of words, words, words as well as good food. Among the guests was Bill Mumy, who you might remember as young Will Robinson in the television series, "Lost In Space." We laughed, we ate and we drank - much too much. It was a fantastical wedding reception - as it should be for Peter and Kathleen. May this marriage live long and prosper.
July, 2001, LOS ANGELES - Tom Brokaw called them the "greatest generation" -- the men and women who served in the U.S. military during World War II. They fought against the forces of fascism defending the ideals of our democracy. We as Americans are deeply indebted to that generation.
I have a profoundly special debt to an extraordinary collection of men and women of that group of remarkable Americans. They are the Japanese Americans of the World War II generation.
Two events occurred last month on both coasts of this country that underscored the importance of my debt.
In Los Angeles, we commemorated the second year of the dedication of the "Go For Broke" Memorial.
This giant black granite cylinder, angled toward the southern sun, has the names of all Japanese Americans who served in the U.S. military etched into it. The "Go For Broke" name of the memorial comes from the motto of the all Japanese American unit, the 442nd Regimental Combat Team. "Go For Broke" was their battle cry. They went "for broke" as they fought on the battlefields of Italy. They faced the fierce resistance of the Nazis in the Rhineland campaign in France and went "for broke." Their "Go for broke" determination helped crack the Gothic Line in the mountains of Apennines. The 442nd suffered the highest casualty rate and was the most decorated unit in military history. They gave it their all. This "Go For Broke" monument is also a tribute to all Japanese Americans who served in the U.S. armed forces -- in the Military Intelligence Service, in the 100th Infantry Battalion as well as with the 442nd. They are all amazing American heroes.
What makes their gallantry so extraordinary is that they served despite initially being classified as "enemy non aliens" by their own government simply because they "looked like the enemy." What makes them so amazing is that they wore the same uniform as that worn by the soldiers guarding over their families incarcerated behind the barbed wires of American concentration camps back in the U.S. What makes my debt to them so profound is that their valor under these incredible circumstances transformed America for me and my generation. These men and women unquestionably added another dimension to the meaning of Americanism. President Harry Truman, greeting them on the White House grounds on their return to the U.S. stated, "You not only fought the enemy but you fought prejudice -- and you won."
After the commemoration ceremony of the "Go For Broke" Memorial, I chatted with the veterans, proudly wearing their Veterans of Foreign Wars caps. Many were now unsteady in their steps. A few were in wheelchairs. Their thin and reedy voices had few words. They were modest in receiving our gratitude. The passage of time had altered the robust soldiers they once were. But I could see their pride beaming from their faces.
What they did over half a century ago had transformed this nation. Because of their incredible gallantry, their immigrant parents could, for the first time, become naturalized American citizens; their sons and daughters today are able to rise as far as their abilities could take them; live wherever they could afford to live and participate fully in the life of America. What they did on the battlefields of World War II gave substance to the campaign to win redress for Japanese Americans for their incarceration during that war. They indisputably made this nation a better democracy for all Americans. They did this with their courage, their blood -- and the lives of their buddies. The gratitude we felt was as big and as solid as the great granite memorial that stood in front of us.
I walked up to the monument and found the name of the U.S. Senator from Hawaii, Daniel Inouye.
He left his right arm on a bloody battleground in Italy. Last year, I attended the White House ceremony where, together with 21 others, he received a much belated Medal of Honor from President Bill Clinton for his heroism of over 50 years ago. Also on the monument I found the name of my mother's late cousin, Kay Kashiwabara. I touched their names with my fingertips and felt the grainy earthiness of the engraving. I stepped back to view the whole massive expanse of names etched onto the granite -- hundreds and hundreds of Japanese American names. Some died in battle. Some carried their wounds of battle throughout their lives. All served as Americans under the most incredible of circumstances. Staring at all those names, I whispered a silent "thank you."
The other event happened in our capitol, Washington, D.C. It was the commemoration of another monument to Japanese Americans, the National Japanese American Memorial. It is located on a triangular plaza just north of the Capitol. I could not be there in person for this ceremony, but I most certainly was there in spirit.
The granite wall of this memorial bears, not only the names of those Japanese American soldiers who perished in battle, but, as well, the names of all ten U.S. concentration camps scattered throughout the country from California to Arkansas where Japanese Americans were incarcerated during the war. The wall also carries quotations from distinguished Japanese Americans such as Senator Inouye, Cabinet Secretary Norman Mineta, and Congressman Robert Matsui.
The Memorial also holds a quote from the controversial wartime Executive Secretary of the Japanese American Citizens League, Mike Masaoka.
His is a stirringly patriotic quote. In part, it reads, "I am proud that I am an American citizen of Japanese ancestry, for my very background makes me appreciate more fully the wonderful advantages of this nation. I believe in her institutions, ideals and traditions; I glory in her heritage; I boast of her history; I trust in her future." He wrote this in 1940. It was a time of limited opportunities for minorities; educated Japanese Americans were working at fruit stands. It was a time of restrictive housing covenants that gave rise to the Little Tokyo and Japantown racial ghettos. And it was a time when the dark cloud of the internment of Japanese Americans was looming ominously on the horizon. Indeed, when Executive Order 9066 ordered the internment, Masaoka was so eager to "prove" his loyalty that he cooperated with the government in the mass removal of Japanese Americans. The anguished irony of his super patriotic words heightened the angst and the division that the internment order wreaked on the Japanese American community.
Masaoka's tortured patriotism had a balancing counterpart of bold Americanism. They were the young men who took a courageous stand on the fundamental principles of this nation. When they were ordered to serve in the U.S. military while interned, they took the position that they would serve willingly if they could report to their hometown draft boards and with their families back in their own homes.
But they refused to go from behind the barbed wire fences of incarceration leaving their families behind in U.S. concentration camps. It was an audacious stand. For this principled stance, they were tried in court, found guilty of draft resistance and sent to federal penitentiaries. After the war and after they were exonerated, many of them served with honor in the Korean War. Although these patriots' names are not on the Memorial, by the inclusion of Mike Masaoka's ironically extravagant quotation, I am reminded of and honor the gutsy integrity of these young men who resisted military service on very American principles.
I owe my America to all these men and women whom we honor with the two memorials on both coasts of this nation. I take my inspiration from their contributions together with all those who have contributed to the making of this country. The greatness of this nation is that it is a constant work in progress guided by the core ideals of our Constitution. The challenge of this nation is that we all can and must contribute to this great work in progress to make it a better and truer democracy.
August, 2001, LOS ANGELES - I grew up listening to radio dramas. As a child, I memorized and recited the cheery jingles from children's shows like "Happy Theater." As I grew older, I thrilled to the adventure on shows like "Bobby Benson and the B-Bar-B Riders" and "Sergeant Preston and His Yukon King." The big city kid in Los Angeles listening only to the sound of actors' voices coming out of a box was transported to the dusty excitement of the old West by "The Lone Ranger" and "The Cisco Kid." I listened to film dramatizations on "Lux Radio Theater" to relive movies that I had enjoyed before or to "see" those that I had missed. Radio was my magic transporter. And my conjurors were the actors that brought the stories to life - with only their voices, accompanied by sound effects, they magically took me to another place, another time and new sensations. I loved radio.
Radio was wonderful story telling. It was the ancient tradition of sharing a tale around the campfire - except that my campfire was a radio in our living room. It was the technological campfire of the times. The whole family gathered around the radio to be chilled by thrillers like "The Shadow."
Vocal storytelling still exists today. But it's not all on radio anymore. It's called "books on tape." There are superb readings of novels on audio tape. For those who commute long distances in their cars, it's a great way to "read" a novel as they drive. People taking public transportation can listen to them on their way to work. Hospitalized people can listen as they recuperate. I love audio tapes as I used to love radio dramas. They keep alive the wonder of spoken storytelling. And now that I am a professional actor, I am among those storytellers. I've enjoyed reading many novels onto audio tape. Of course, there are the Star Trek novelizations, but I've also read onto tape such classics as the "Sherlock Holmes" novels. I particularly enjoyed reading my own autobiography, "To The Stars," on tape. I'm happy that there is a medium where the simple sound of an actor's voice can stimulate the imagination and vicariously take the listener on fictional as well as autobiographical journeys.
After the cancellation of the "Star Trek" television series, we worked on the voices of our characters on the animated version of "Star Trek." It became another unexpected extension of the "Star Trek" phenomenon. I must confess, however, that working on the cartoon version was not as satisfying as acting in the television version because the scenes weren't read with the other actors. I did the voice of Sulu solo without my colleagues to bounce off of. It wasn't as much fun. But it was still using our vocal tool to give life to our characters. Actually, voice acting could be more challenging because that tool alone -- with only the rather stiff animation as the visuals -- had to tell the story. I'd like to think that the voice of the actor is still essential to the recounting of a good story.
Indeed, accelerating advances in technology have shot up the use of the vocal tool for Star Trek storytelling to amazing heights. For the last few years, I've been working with Interplay Entertainment Corp. on a series of Star Trek CD Rom games called Starfleet Command and another called Klingon Academy. This is no longer sitting around the old campfire merely listening to a story as it is told. CD Rom games suck the listener directly into the narrative as active participants in Star Trek adventures. And there I am as Captain Sulu, blazing across astoundingly real galaxies blasting away at Klingons - and the "listeners" are right there engaged with me as wily adversaries or full, decision making partners. My next one for Interplay, "Star Trek: Shattered Universe," will have Captain Sulu on the USS Excelsior caught in the mirror universe from the television episode, "Mirror, Mirror." My vocal chords are already aching to become the viciously scarred Sulu and then the heroic Sulu that we all know and love. The vocal challenges will be bracing.
This medium of work also provides the relief of greater scheduling flexibility than does acting on film or television. Voice work has granted me the blessing of maintaining my career, and, at the same time, managing the unpredictable needs of my mother's continuing illness. If problems should crop up at home, recording calls could be rescheduled without causing too much inconvenience to too many others. With film or television work, rearranging shooting schedules would be well nigh impossible. So, over the past month, I've been able to do voice work on Disney's new CD Rom game, "Freelancers," and animated shows such as "Team Atlantis" and "Samurai Jack." Yet to air are such animated shows as "Jackie Chan" and another episode of "The Simpsons."
From the kid listening to that radio so long ago in Los Angeles and transported to adventures in the old West to the professional actor who now transports fans soaring into galactic explorations, the sound of the human voice has always been my charmed vehicle of transport.