Applying spanking new mythology to characters that millions of fans have embraced to their space-bosoms for the past several decades is, to say the least, a daunting task. Abrams - the creator of ABC’s endless labyrinth of a TV series, “Lost” - has won a big gamble. His “Star Trek” is a tightly constructed action picture that even the diehards seem to be accepting, and I enjoyed it myself, in extended fits and starts. It’s an unquestionably beautiful film, with sleek neon effects that shimmer and blur across the screen, and the script serves up a at least one jaw-dropping twist in the key characters’ relationships.

Although the actors seem too baby-faced to operate a bad set of rockets like The Enterprise, their performances are uniformly fine, if not particularly memorable. If the original series had anything going for it outside of camp appeal, it had to be the big personalities of actors like William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForrest Kelly, so Abrams’ less quirky casting might be considered his only significant blunder.

It takes a little getting used to the idea that Kirk (Chris Pine) looks like he just finished cleaning the pool at Melrose Place, and that Uhura (Zoe Saldana) is now a slinky “Solid Gold” dancer. But you get over it quickly enough…especially in Uhura’s case, because she’s now a slinky “Solid Gold” dancer. However, I did feel a little sorry for Zachary Quinto, who plays the new Spock. Although Quinto manages valiantly, that Moe haircut and the snap-on ears could make anyone look like a kid dressing up for Halloween, regardless of the budget. I kept expecting him to whip out a bagful of mini Snickers.

From where I’m sitting, Abrams could have dropped the ball in two ways, I mean to the point that I literally wouldn’t want to watch. My biggest fear was that the screenplay would be heavy with hushed religiosity dialogue (see the trying-too-hard opening of “Superman: The Movie,” and just about every verbal exchange in the most recent “Star Wars” episodes) or that sly references to the original text would leave pockets of movie-goers in hysterics while the relatively uninitiated sit there wondering why that mention of a photon accelerator, or whatever damn thing, was so funny.

Neither of these missteps, I’m happy to say, mar the proceedings, although there was a smattering of smug applause when Nimoy suddenly showed up in the form of…well, I’ll just let you see who he plays. Nimoy’s grandfatherly presence goes a long way toward explaining the younger versions of characters who we’ve already seen turn into dumpy senior citizens. But don’t let your mind wander to your popcorn once he starts talking or you’ll never figure out what the fuck is going on.

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Abrams opens with a rousing prologue that details the sacrifice James T. Kirk’s father, an officer on a doomed starship, made at the exact moment his wife was giving birth to their son. It seems silly to argue the sequence is contrived. The synchronization of two such monumental family events is small potatoes in a movie where a planet actually gets injected with a black hole, then collapses in on itself.

In this opening sequence, Abrams reaches just far enough toward a messianic moment to give fan-boys the shivers while cueing non-believers to the significance of what they’re seeing. Then he moves on to Kirk’s childhood and early adulthood, where, it turns out, the future Captain is a brilliant screw-up, stealing cars and getting into fistfights while trying to ignore his father’s heroic legacy. He might be the future action Messiah, but he certainly doesn’t have a halo hanging over his head, and that’s where a lot of fun in the movie comes from. His heroism enters through the back door.

Kirk’s growing up is crosscut with Spock doing the same thing way up on Vulcan, where the kids are schooled in mathematics the way the Chinese train gymnasts. Spock and his cool logic will stand in stark conflict to Kirk’s charismatic gusto for the better part of the story, again, to a much more pronounced degree than it has in the past.

You can’t help but chuckle when some bigger Vulcan kids bully Spock because he’s half human— Vulcan kids can be so mean. But the duality of Spock’s nature, the battle between his Vulcan and human ancestry, is clearly established, then deftly woven into the narrative, rather than having the character's anxieties dropped in like a single lump of bitter sugar, the way Tim Burton did it in his genuinely lousy "Batman" movies. This split persona is played out to such an extent that Spock eventually, and quite literally, has to give himself a good talking to.

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