Seven of Nine: Tension and secrets on set of Star Trek

Jeri Ryan may have been cast for her striking appearance, yet Seven of Nine emerged as one of the most compelling characters within the entire Star Trek franchise.

Observing her navigate the corridors of Voyager in her form-fitting suits was undeniably captivating; however, her character’s complexity was equally intriguing.

Interestingly, she faced a hidden adversary on set.

The journey behind Jeri Ryan’s rise to prominence
When Jeri Ryan joined the cast of Star Trek: Voyager in 1997, the series was at a critical juncture. With declining ratings and mounting pressure, the producers recognized the necessity for a transformative element. This is where Seven of Nine entered the scene.

As a former Borg drone liberated from the Collective, her character embodied a blend of icy detachment and repressed humanity, presenting a multifaceted enigma.

Upon her introduction in the fourth season, the impact was immediate. Viewership surged by an astonishing 60%. The network had placed its bets on her captivating presence to attract audiences, and it proved to be a successful strategy.

However, what they may not have foreseen was the depth of her talent. She was not merely a striking figure in a tight uniform; she was an actress of profound capability. Rather than simply portraying Seven, she fully inhabited the role, revealing layers of vulnerability beneath a hardened exterior.

One particular episode remains memorable—where Seven, overwhelmed by a multitude of personalities, transitions rapidly between identities. This performance was deserving of accolades, showcasing her exceptional skill that transcended the confines of the science fiction genre.

They sought her to revitalize Voyager, but what they received was far beyond their expectations.

The reason she declined the role multiple times
Jeri Ryan, originally named Jeri Lynn Zimmermann and born on February 22, 1968, in Munich, West Germany, relocated to Los Angeles after completing her education to pursue a career in acting.

In 1997, she was relatively obscure when the creators of Star Trek: Voyager identified her for the role of Seven of Nine. Remarkably, Ryan rejected the offer not once, but on four separate occasions.
However, what was the reason for her reluctance to participate? In a January 2020 interview, Jeri Ryan disclosed that when the producers initially approached her regarding Star Trek: Voyager, she had not previously watched the series. Out of curiosity, she chose to view an episode, only to quickly regret her decision, describing it as “the worst hour of television” she had ever experienced.

“They provided me with a copy of First Contact, the film, so I could at least understand what a Borg was. Additionally, they gave me a copy of the comprehensive Star Trek encyclopedia to enhance my knowledge of the franchise,” Ryan elaborated.

It was only after persistent encouragement from executive producer Jeri Taylor that she ultimately consented to assume the iconic role of Seven of Nine, a Borg drone liberated from the collective consciousness of the Borg.

The conflict that went unseen by the camera
Jeri Ryan sensed it even before the cameras began rolling — a tightening knot of anxiety in her stomach at the mere prospect of sharing a scene with co-star Kate Mulgrew. This was not mere nerves or stage fright; it was a deeper, unarticulated tension that lingered in the atmosphere whenever they collaborated.

Most of the Voyager cast had observed this dynamic. The friction between them was not merely gossip; it was a tangible reality that remained unresolved for years. Ryan, as the newcomer, had been thrust into the limelight as Seven of Nine, the striking former Borg drone. Mulgrew, the show’s established lead, had dedicated years to developing Captain Janeway as a strong, independent character, resisting all attempts to force her into a romantic narrative. Suddenly, the focus shifted to Seven.

For Mulgrew, it was not a personal issue — at least, not initially. She aimed to steer Star Trek away from overt sexualization, emphasizing intellect, leadership, and exploration instead. However, the network had different intentions. They introduced Ryan, a character who was both beautiful and overtly sexualized, to boost the show’s ratings. And indeed, it proved effective.

The tension between them persisted for years, resembling a silent tempest beneath the surface. Ryan maintained a low profile, consistently delivering one impressive performance after another, while Mulgrew grappled with her own feelings of frustration.

However, over time, a shift occurred. With the benefit of reflection, Mulgrew began to perceive the broader context. She eventually acknowledged her resentment, recognized the challenges she had imposed on Ryan, and accepted her role in their strained relationship.

In a surprising turn of events, she offered an apology.

“You performed exceptionally well in a challenging role,” she expressed to Ryan. The past was behind them. The animosity, the icy glances, the unvoiced grievances—those were now in the past.

Since that moment, they have appeared together at Star Trek conventions, sharing laughter, reminiscing, and demonstrating that even the most profound divides can be mended. Observing photographs from recent events, it is difficult to imagine that these two once had a contentious relationship on set.

She burned her own catsuit.
While Seven of Nine’s iconic catsuit appeared sleek and futuristic on screen, the reality behind the scenes was quite different. The corset of Seven of Nine was so constricting that Jeri Ryan found it challenging to breathe while wearing it. Between takes, she often had to lie down to catch her breath before returning to the camera.

The skintight, one-piece design meant that Jeri Ryan required assistance from the costume department to get in and out of it. As the suit lacked a zipper, she had to be sewn into it each time she wore it, making removal a complicated process.

Even a simple bathroom break became a lengthy affair, compelling her to “hold it” for extended periods to avoid delaying filming. What should have been a quick trip to the restroom turned into a 20-minute challenge, leading her to establish her own radio code: “Code Jeri-Twenty.”
Ryan’s dissatisfaction with the costume intensified over the years, and by the conclusion of Voyager, she was left with only one option — to dispose of it permanently. Without a moment’s hesitation, she incinerated the outfit, ensuring that she would never again have to fit into it.

The Invisible Wall of Shame
On the set of Star Trek: Voyager, where the enchantment of science fiction intersects with the absurdity of performance, actors often engaged in the nuanced practice of “force field acting” — a technique that involved throwing oneself against an imaginary barrier and making it appear believable.

Consider the notorious scene in The Gift, one of the early episodes featuring Seven of Nine. With the gravitas of a Starfleet officer confronting imminent peril, the actor was required to propel themselves toward the brig’s force field — which, of course, did not exist. There was no shimmering energy barrier, no tangible resistance, only the stark, indifferent air of a soundstage.

“You find yourself acting to nothing, as there are numerous special effects involved, so you’re performing against a green screen or a blue screen, which means you’re reacting to nothing,” Ryan once articulated.
The outcome? A remarkably awkward display where they lunged forward, only to halt mid-motion, arms flailing and face twisted in feigned agony — while the crew attempted (and occasionally struggled) to suppress laughter behind the camera.

“Force field acting” soon evolved into an inside joke. It was not merely about creating the illusion; it was about maintaining a serious demeanor while being acutely aware of how utterly ridiculous one appeared in reality.

Yet, that is the allure of science fiction. One moment, you are confronting intergalactic dangers; the next, you are hurling yourself at thin air, hoping the CGI team will come through for you.

What did Seven of Nine represent in Voyager?
If you were to inquire with Jeri Ryan herself, she would have much to share regarding the character she came to cherish.
Seven of Nine was not merely an addition to the crew; she represented a catalyst for transformation. Prior to her arrival, Voyager had established a stable routine. The friction between Starfleet and the Maquis had diminished, resulting in minimal internal strife. The crew members coexisted harmoniously, perhaps too harmoniously.

Then, Seven entered the scene. As a former Borg drone, she had been liberated from the collective consciousness and was now grappling with the concept of individuality for the first time. She was more than just a fellow crew member; she was a formidable challenge and a disruptor. Ryan believed this was precisely what the series required.

In retrospect, Ryan has contemplated the significance of her character, not only within the series but also in the larger context of the Star Trek franchise.

“Humanity, in general, was one of the aspects that Seven enabled them to explore,” she noted. “She introduced conflict to the narrative—something that had been sorely missing. Once the Maquis reconciled with Janeway and her crew, it became one large, content family.”

However, it was not solely the conflict that rendered her presence so intriguing. Seven of Nine embodied a quintessential Star Trek archetype: the outsider who compels humanity to reflect on itself. Similar to Spock, Data, or Odo before her, Seven offered a distinctive perspective through which the series could delve into profound philosophical inquiries regarding identity, morality, and free will.

Regarding Seven of Nine’s choice of footwear, one might wonder why she donned high heels aboard Voyager. Fans have long debated the practicality of this decision, but Jeri Ryan provided a straightforward explanation: all the female characters wore heels.

“All the female characters wore boots with heels,” she clarified. “And if you’re going to walk around in a body stocking, I certainly don’t want to see you padding around in flats—it’s simply not going to happen!”