I'm not sure whether watching the documentary Trekkies, which showcases rabid Trek fans in all their glory, made me feel better or worse about my borderline-Trekkie status. On one hand, I was relieved to find I wasn't nearly as dorky as some of those people. I haven't remodeled my house to resemble the Bridge of the Enterprise, and I don't--yet--own a bat'leth. On the other hand, it occurred to me, maybe those people all started with one fan script and a couple of action figures, thinking that wasn't so bad . . .

What I can tell you is that I enjoyed Trekkies immensely. The film's very funny, but never gives you the feeling that it's looking down at its subjects. It presents them baldly, with no narration, allowing you to judge them on your own terms. Denise Crosby, Tasha Yar of Next Generation fame, hosts, and she appears genuinely appreciative of the fans who send her needlepoints and charcoal drawings (some of them R-rated) of her character.

At times, the movie can feel lightweight. Other than a few nods to the rise of the space program, no serious attempt is made to delve into the sociological or psychological roots of the Trek phenomenon. (One guy does ask why it's considered weird to wear a Star Trek uniform out of the house when you can go anywhere in a football or basketball jersey and no one will think twice about it. He's got a point.) Perhaps because it's put out by Paramount, owner of the Star Trek franchise, the film steers away from troubling material, preferring instead to dwell on fun stuff, like shots of Klingons chowing down on Hardee's hamburgers, or interviews with a dentist who has a Star Trek-themed practice.

That's a shame, because there's much fruit for speculation here. Why do people identify so strongly with Trek characters that they're willing to risk social ostracism by dressing up like them in public? What's so unsatisfying about their lives that they devote so much time to role-play? And, yeah, why is Trekdom geeky whereas sports are cool?

And then there are those fans shown in the film whose obsession with Trek tips over into the pathological. Like the woman who wears Star Trek insignia to work and has her colleagues address her as "Commander." ("That's my rank, Lieutenant Commander.") Or the man who's contemplated getting his ears surgically altered to resemble Spock's. Or the self-described "Spiner femme" who is a couple of bad days away from turning stalker. ("I can see the hill Brent Spiner [Data]'s house is on from my balcony. Sometimes when I'm stressed I come out here and stare at it. I call it my 'Brent break.'") No one asks these folks the hard questions that would illuminate why they live they way they do, like "Do you feel you're avoiding reality?" or "What do your family and friends think?" or "Do you consider yourself normal?" As a result, it's hard to tell whether they're just quirky individualists who have decided to make Star Trek part of their identity, or whether mental illness may be involved.

Most of the fans in Trekkies, though, are fully aware and even proud of their geekery. In a way, they're inspiring. They could care less if the rest of the world thinks they're strange for learning to speak Klingon or going to the supermarket wearing Vulcan ears; what's more, their fandom is wholly without destructive irony. They're not in the least self-conscious about something that matters to them, and that, in itself, is pretty cool.