It’s thirty years this year since the pilot episode of Babylon 5 was broadcast. That makes this show about as far in the past as the original Star Trek was when it came out; the 1930s Flash Gordon serials with Buster Crabbe are the next three-decade leap into the past (if you want to chart the progress of small-screen science fiction). Babylon 5 provides the amalgam of that episodic television series with the older serials, as well as acting as a precursor to modern serialised streaming shows.
The show begins ten years after an accidental war between Earth and the Minbari, who mysteriously surrendered just as they were at the point of total victory. To avoid future wars, a space station is built by humans with Minbari support to host diplomats from all alien species. The first three attempts are sabotaged, and the fourth simply vanishes without trace – Babylon Five is the last, best hope for peace, but is no more successful than the League of Nations formed after the First World War; instead it becomes the last, best hope for victory in what turns out to be a far larger and older interstellar conflict.
Its five-year story arcs were all planned and plotted out before the pilot episode was made – storylines involving galaxy-spanning conflicts and political dilemmas, all tied directly to the personal (and interpersonal) stories of the principal characters. Every character and every situation finishes in a drastically different place from where they begin; their choices drive the story and the story drives their choices in a clear and understandable way – something which a number of modern writers should take note of!
This isn’t the blog to recap the various plot threads – to do so would be to skip over the building work done by the show’s creator and principal writer, J Michael Straczynski – the setups and well-deserved payoffs, as well as the set-ups created to cope with any possible cast changes (some of which paid off, some of which never needed to be resolved). Every character was written with a ‘trap door’ that would allow them to leave the show without damaging the story.
The human characters are led by Commander Sinclair, a space pilot who unknowingly holds they key to explaining why the Minbari surrendered a decade before and whose destiny lies far in the past; after he departs the station Captain Sheridan takes over and must leave his days as a starship captain behind to become a diplomat, politician, and the leader of something far greater. They are supported by the sardonic Commander Ivanova who usually gets the best one-liners; the irreverent security chief Garibaldi who’s never stuck for trouble to look out for; the overworked, idealistic humanist Doctor Franklin who has to overcome his addiction to stimulants; and telepaths Talia Winters and Lyta Alexander whose loyalties are constantly pulled in different directions.
Of the aliens, ambassador Delenn leads the bald, crested Minbari, a mystical, caste-based society who have been in the galaxy for thousands of years and whose adherence to ancient traditions have led to stagnation and inflexibility (and civil war when change comes); there is Londo Mollari whose centuries-old spacefaring species the Centauri have fabulous hairstyles and offer a parallel to those in resentful, fallen European empires wishing their nations were still all-conquering and powerful (hello Russia, hello Brexit); and G’Kar of the reptilian Narn, recently free from Centauri dominance, who parallel those third-world countries who were colonised and oppressed but are now gaining power and influence.
More exotic are the ancient, manipulative race of Vorlons riding through space in living spacecraft, hidden in encounter suits and speaking through translator devices, seemingly rising above the petty concerns of the younger races – but with their own agenda and their own opposition in the form of the spidery and destructive Shadows, stirring up conflict wherever they can…
The show was groundbreaking in a number of ways – long-form storytelling over several years was rare in television (Blake’s Seven being an example from the UK), and each year consisted of about two-dozen episodes. The storytelling was slow to begin with, and honestly I wasn’t particularly taken with the early, still-episodic nature of the series (alien kickboxing? killer monster? newcomer with a grievance against a main character?).
Bit by bit, the plot threads were established and woven together; the setting changed, and so did the characters, and then the pace picked up. It became compelling, and in the UK it was essential cult viewing – it surpassed the then-current storytelling quality of Star Trek (Voyager was a continuation of the mission-of-the-week nature of the franchise, and Deep Space Nine was late in adopting multi-episode story arcs to properly take advantage of its setting).
By setting the series in a static location, characters’ decisions and events had lasting consequences. By the fourth season (which at the time could well have been the last), the pace was breakneck in order to wrap everything up – and without any waste, each episode kept building towards a satisfying conclusion. (The unexpected fifth season returned to a more episodic nature and slower story arcs before a more drawn-out farewell.) The finite nature of the story contrasted with rambling, meandering, endless mystery shows like The X-Files, or Lost.
The dialogue was sometimes really quite corny (“Get the hell out of our galaxy!”, or the number of lines of exposition beginning “Damn it, …”), but when called upon to deliver a speech or monologue, the writing and acting often excelled. The best interactions were between opponents Londo and G’Kar, whose fortunes swung wildly from start to finish; for the uninitiated, one guy in a fancy wig (Peter Jurasik) and another in a rubber mask (Andreas Katsulas) clearly enjoyed their work together and brought depth and gravitas that raised the drama to an entirely new, high level of quality (especially for science-fiction television).
The show was also groundbreaking in its use of computer-generated effects, giving the show a distinct and vivid look, from the realistic physics of Earth vehicles and flying debris in space battles, to the more fantastic alien designs and backgrounds that could have come directly from book cover art.
The costumes and makeup made each species unique and recognisable; John Iacovelli’s sets were built with a theatrical sensibility (sometimes, pools of light in inky blackness were all that was required); and Christopher Franke’s music boosted the mood at the right moments – with its swoops and stings and motifs, this wasn’t the restricted musical palette the composers of Star Trek had to work with. Each season had its own different opening credits and theme tune to reflect where the story was at.
The style of the show was bold and memorable.
Shows that deal with politics and philosophy – albeit dressed up in the trappings of space fantasy – can seem prescient, but simply reflect both the times they were made, as well as certain recurring features of human cultures.
The show’s depiction of affluence and poverty, interstellar corporations, and problems with funding and budgeting the space station (especially when it becomes cut off from contact with Earth) lend it a good deal of verisimilitude; it is not the post-scarcity utopia of Star Trek. They also ground the show in its origins in our late-stage capitalist culture. The militaristic aspect comes from 20th century science fiction’s influences in two world wars and the recently-ended Cold War.
The Earth-based storylines show the best and worse of humanity: on one hand, an ability to form groups for co-operation; on the other hand, a cautionary reminder that xenophobia and authoritarianism are not simply part of Nazi history but an ever-present danger – Earth is, as usual, a parallel to the USA, and the idea that it could descend into fascism seemed fanciful in the Clinton-era 1990s but not so much when viewed after the Bush-era “war on terror” or Trump’s attempted coup (yes, it could happen there!).
The telepathic Psi Corps set up to monitor and control the newly-found telepaths question how society responds to minority groups and how they police themselves (and for whose benefit?). Questions of purity and loyalty (to a group or cause) are always relevant, whether left-wing or right-wing.
The Minbari civil war, with its blend of religious fervour and attempted military takeover, could have been inspired by any number of similar events in history, never mind its echoes in the then-current conflict in the countries of former Yugoslavia (coincidentally, Mira Furlan who played Delenn came from Croatia), or more recently across the Middle-East and North Africa.
The more ancient conflict between the Vorlons and Shadows was comparable to the Cold War – two superpowers fighting through proxies – with each side insisting on a different philosophy: the Vorlons wishing to shepherd and control and steer the younger alien races with apparently benign intentions (out of their encounter suits, they appear like angels); the Shadows insist that growth comes from surviving adversity and conflict (they ask what the younger races want and take advantage of their greed and debt to help spark wars between them). The ancient, epic, mythical fight of angels against devils is also one between authority and order against selfishness and desire (communism against capitalism?).
All of this was debated online in the early days of the internet (Usenet, Genie, and other groups) where J Michael Straczynski (“JMS”) took part and interacted with fans, answering questions without spoiling future storylines, going off on whimsical flights of fancy (his essay on alien food ‘spoo’ is something to behold), and explaining what it took to bring the show to life. This was all curated and posted on The Lurker’s Guide To Babylon 5.
There were, of course, some things that could not be shared at the time.
Michael O’Hare left the series as the lead actor due to mental ill health, returning only for a handful of episodes to conclude Commander Sinclair’s story; this was kept confidential until after his death in 2012 at only 60 years old. Sadly, a large number of the cast also died too soon: Richard Biggs who played Dr Franklin (2004, aged 44); Andreas Katsulas as G’Kar (2006, aged 59); Jeff Conaway as security officer Allen (2011, aged 60); Jerry Doyle as security chief Garibaldi (2016, aged 60); Stephen Furst as Centauri aide Vir Cotto (2017, aged 63); and Mira Furlan as Delenn (2021, aged 65).
Babylon 5 left a mark on television, although most tv audiences won’t realise: it was a limited, focused, serialised story that introduced extensive computer effects to a weekly audience; it showed that with taut, fast-paced episodes, the audience would keep coming back; that there could be a demand for smart, complex, thoughtful political dramas (in space too); that the episodic formula of Star Trek wasn’t the only one that could succeed.
Many of these things are easy to take for granted in the 21st century with shows being streamed and binge-watched instead of broadcast, but when it began, there was no guarantee of success. Hell, it took me a while to get into it, but when I did I was rewarded for it. It had no shortage of people predicting its failure, yet somehow it succeeded.
Babylon 5 is the little show that could.
“Dedicated to all the people who predicted that the Babylon Project would fail in its mission. Faith manages.”
~ final words on screen, s4e22 ‘The Deconstruction Of Falling Stars’
Observaterry 