Running Through Corridors: Rob and Toby's Marathon Watch of Doctor Who (Volume 1: The 60s) (8 page)

January 8th

The Roof of the World (Marco Polo episode one)

R:
Our first missing episode! And it’s hard, when you listen to the soundtrack of Marco Polo, and look at the telesnaps, and pore over the gorgeous colour photographs, not to feel cheated – that of all the stories to be wiped, this is Doctor Who’s first casualty. After two episodes stuck inside the TARDIS jumping at shadows, this adventure sounds sumptuous – and you want to see the pictures
move.
And there’s an irony of sorts, I think, in that following a story that purported to be
about
the TARDIS, we have here a story in which the TARDIS is the pivot around which the plot turns. The Edge of Destruction featured a TARDIS that was revealed as sentient, that was trying to communicate with its travellers, but it’s this episode that makes it seem
especially
magical and mysterious. It’s a flying caravan, a piece of Buddhist wonder and the key to Marco Polo’s freedom.

And after the fairly simplistic portrait of goodies and baddies on the planet Skaro, it’s refreshing to have an episode in which the threats that the TARDIS crew confront are somewhat more ambiguous. The warlord Tegana is clearly shown to be the story’s villain – but he is an enemy purely because of cultural difference, not because he is intrinsically evil. And Derren Nesbitt plays the role so subtly – just listen to him. Swarthy Mongol with an earring he may be, but there’s nothing in his voice which marks him out as a caricature, nothing which suggests that Tegana doesn’t see himself as a heroic patriot. The scene where he encounters the Doctor and friends, and gives orders for them to be killed as evil spirits, is all the more startling because Nesbitt makes the argument sound eminently reasonable. In his discussion later with Marco Polo, you almost find yourself warming to Tegana’s point of view, until you catch yourself realising that he’s coolly advocating the murder of our heroes. In any other story, too, Marco Polo would be presented simply as an obstacle to be thwarted, but Mark Eden makes him so affable and courteous that, again, you can appreciate his reasons for stealing the TARDIS. And it’s extremely clever the way that writer John Lucarotti uses the poignant scene in which Susan talks about her not having a home, to make us sympathise more with Marco Polo’s position. He has not seen his home for 18 years, and fears he will be killed at court upon Kublai Khan’s death.

And William Hartnell continues to be a joy. Irascible at one moment when he realises the TARDIS is broken, charming with Ping-Cho whilst eating her soup... and, best of all, overcome with delighted hysteria when he realises he’s lost his only means of travel through time and space, and has no idea what to do next.

T:
The TARDIS might be a space/time vessel, but it’s no sanctuary – if something simple goes wrong with the Ship, even the snowy environment in which our heroes land becomes as palpable a threat as any robot or cyborg. If they don’t do something quick, they’re going to die of hypothermia, and not even the “magical” TARDIS interior can save them.

What’s funny is that although we know
now
that this story is a historical, it’s at first played as if it’s science fiction. Something as simple as a footprint is used to generate menace, and Barbara thinks that a beast or creature – which is finally revealed as a fur-dressed Marco Polo – is stalking them. The longer pace of sixties TV allows the mood and suspense to build up in a manner that wouldn’t be countenanced today. Similarly, I love the narrative device of Marco reciting his diary entries – it’s a very nice flourish that’s not seen in any other Doctor Who story, and the uniqueness of this makes me realize just how much modern shows can be bloody hidebound by format or concept. 24’s raison d’etre relies upon a “real-time” gimmick that necessitates the unlikely conceit of something dramatic happening on the cusp of every hour, and a protagonist who appears to have had a bladderectomy and owns a mobile phone with a limitless battery. Doctor Who, however, will dispense with such gimmickry in one episode, then try something new next week. It’s the only prime-time British TV show that dares do such a thing.

Strangely enough, by the end of the episode, the biggest threat to the crew – the person who forcibly takes the TARDIS, their most prized possession, and announces his plan to trade it away to end his exile – is actually a very affable and reasonable man. This puts the audience in a strange position: after spending just 20 minutes in Marco’s company, you
want
him to get home, but also know that if he gets his wish, our heroes are scuppered. This is subtle, clever and brilliant character work. We love Marco’s intellect and reasoning, but at the same time must acknowledge that from the Doctor’s perspective, Marco is also something of a savage.

The Singing Sands (Marco Polo episode two)

R:
I think it’s really rather terrific that the most alien thing we’ve yet encountered in Doctor Who hasn’t been found on some remote planet, but on Earth; the singing sands are genuinely eerie. And it’s a reminder that at this point in the series, much of the true wonder comes from history rather than just science fantasy. When Susan looks up at the sky and bemoans the fact they’re not exploring distant galaxies, it sounds almost odd and irrelevant, quite rightly so – and within minutes, she’s marvelling at the beauty of the Gobi desert.

And it’s this push-pull effect of Lucarotti’s writing – that he invites us to stand back and be a slack-jawed tourist one moment, then realise how much danger we’re in the next – that gives this instalment its edge. It’s an episode about nothing more grand than sand and water – swords are drawn, but only in jest, and a king is killed, but only on a chessboard. And yet, there’s such an earnestness to the real-world threat of thirst that the closing minutes, in which Ian persuades Marco to gamble all on a sprint to a distant oasis, are brilliantly tense. What’s so remarkable about the confidence of this story is that, only two episodes in, it feels so tonally different from what we’ve seen before, so much more magisterial somehow. Doctor Who has become a road movie of sorts, and, set as this story is to run for seven episodes, you can somehow sense that this adventure could be the basis for the
entire
series. Had Sydney Newman come up with the idea of a group of contemporary people travelling not through time and space in a police box, but journeying to Cathay alongside Marco Polo, then I think the premise would have sustained itself for quite a while.

William Hartnell has only one line this episode, but you hardly notice his absence because Mark Eden (playing Marco) and William Russell effortlessly take on the lead roles. (I love the explanation for the Doctor being missing from the action – he’s usually unconscious or captured in stories to come, but here it’s because he’s sulking, which is delightful!) Carole Ann Ford is very good this week too. In this story alone does a writer think back to that strange girl in the classroom who didn’t quite add up – the one who knew the future and was a scientific genius, but still danced to John Smith and the Common Men on her transistor radio. The portrait of Susan as a mixed-up kid who can fantasise about the metal seas on Venus, but so desires an identity that she’s fallen in love with sixties England, has been rather left by the wayside; she’s been reduced somewhat to a girl who’ll scream for her grandfather. But it’s really very endearing here that she’ll dig that crazy desert in her sixties slang. It all sounds unreal and self-conscious, of course, just as Ace did with her toecurlingly unlikely eighties yoof speak 25 years later – the difference here being that it’s
meant
to be.

T:
The marvellous soundscape created for the titular sandstorm is reminiscent of the Radiophonic Workshop’s unnerving crepitations in Quatermass and the Pit (the only programme to have
ever
rivalled Doctor Who in my affections). It’s uncanny the way the elements themselves become the threat, and the consequent moaning, roaring, screeching aural assault suggests something alien and dangerous just as much as anything we encountered on Skaro. Ian’s line that “it sounds like all the devils in hell are laughing” is wonderful, and underlines my previous assertion that John Lucarotti is cleverly making the past not so much another country as another planet. Fandom has always considered Lucarotti as a writer of evocative historicals, but he’s far more sophisticated with the brief than is generally accepted.

No, there’s not an awful lot of incident in this episode, but it still works because Lucarotti is cunningly engaging in an exercise in mood. The manoeuvring of the chess game between Ian and Marco, the lurking shadows in the threatening night-time, the horses acting uneasy – all of this builds up the sense of menace and impending doom magnificently. I’ll take this over any badly orchestrated fight scene or a randomly generated piece of jeopardy involving a pesky space door, because the writing is so skilful and the characters are so real.

Derren Nesbitt continues to purr his way through his role as Tegana – he lays his nastiness out in the open but stops short of being
too
blatant, almost as if he’s willing everyone involved to accuse him of being a baddie. It’s most beguiling and, strangely, rather civilised. Tegana is a sneaky, manipulative presence who smiles, and murders while he smiles.

I don’t think we’d ever get a story like this now. It’s not a criticism of New Who at all – it’s just that this adventure belongs to its period. But then, I’m not sure I’d
want
them to do it now either – Marco Polo exists (or rather, frustratingly doesn’t on video) as a period piece and a very fine example of its genre. And, indeed, of sixties television.

Five Hundred Eyes (Marco Polo episode three)

R:
I agree with you, Toby, that one of the joys of watching this series in order is how there’s such a strange
variety
of styles on offer. Doctor Who still hasn’t worked out what it wants to be yet. There’s a glimpse here of a road not taken, I think – the series as educational children’s programme. We get a science lesson about condensation, and a story about the Hashashins which almost feels like the sort of insert you’d get in a magazine programme like Blue Peter. What’s great is how
well
these little bits of instruction are dropped in. The demonstration of how water is produced by temperature change is very clever, and the fact that Marco doesn’t respond with the cooing interest of a schoolchild – but instead the fury of a man who thinks that the travellers have tricked him – is spot on. And Ping-Cho’s mime dance is extraordinary, not because Zienia Merton has the grace of a ballerina (if she does, the telesnaps aren’t telling), but because all the action
stops
so the characters can sit about and watch a performance of a history lesson. The Doctor wants to get to the TARDIS with his new key, Barbara wants to tell Ian about her suspicions of Tegana – but then everyone seems to turn to camera and say, “Now we’ll take a short break whilst we have this word from our sponsor, the Education Board.” It’s absolutely splendid, full of charm and only adds to the richness of the setting. It’s as if we’re reading a history book, and are being sent to the back of the volume to read a particularly interesting footnote.

And so it should come as no surprise that the plotting is influenced by children’s literature too. I rather love the idea of Barbara going off to the very caves where all the villains have chosen to meet and chat about their nefarious plots. It’s all so wonderfully Enid Blyton, you can just see the Famous Five getting mixed up in a similar scrape. But that’s where Doctor Who and its strange shifting tone leaps up and bites you – just as you recognise the genre, you cut to a sequence where Barbara is tied up on a cave floor, the painted faces of dead bandits staring down at her, as Mongols giggle about her and mime they’re going to slit her throat. That never happened to the kids on Kirrin Island.

T:
This is, I think, as close to Sydney Newman’s view of Doctor Who as we’re ever likely to get – and Lucarotti here fulfils the brief perfectly, carefully placing the “educational” elements into his script with elegance and panache. One is expected to pay attention to things like plot when reviewing television, but if an episode has
no
plot and yet still manages to entertain, move and excite the viewer, then it’s done its job. The history lessons here aren’t the patronising asides like the safety lessons at the end of Inspector Gadget, but they augment the story and the characters in an interesting way. Marco needs to have the process of condensation explained to him – and so yes, we get a bit of science, but it also informs us about his character and impacts upon his relationship with the regulars. Ping-Cho’s delightful interlude is a triumph – even if I can’t
see
it, experience tells me that the loss of this dance is much more regrettable than that of what may well have been some slightly limp fight scenes elsewhere in this story.

You can get away with not a lot happening if the stuff that doesn’t happen, er, doesn’t happen in an
interesting
way. In that regard, all the elements that make up this jewel of a story come together superbly. I know a number of fans write off the historicals as boring, but I could listen to these performances and savour this dialogue a lot more than any number of routines given by some poor sod with a silly haircut talking about the Bandicoots of Venus or somesuch. There is an intelligence going on here, one that has the confidence to weave the story with subtlety and sophistication, and gently lure us along for the ride (or, rather, meander). I will happily spend further time in the company of these characters on their quest.