The Doctors Who's Who (38 page)

Myths and legends are important to storytelling and incredibly so when it comes to a show like
Doctor Who
. The way vampire myths were blended with Time Lord legend to create a rich and atmospheric story like ‘State of Decay’ is a good example. ‘State of Decay’ is often overlooked nowadays because it is part of a trilogy that comes under the ‘E Space’ umbrella. That said, Tom Baker’s last season as the Doctor had some brilliantly imaginative stories, ‘State of Decay’, ‘The Keeper of Traken’ and ‘Logopolis’ being strong examples, with wonderfully atmospheric sets and excellent acting. ‘Full Circle’ had its moments too, but ‘Meglos’ perhaps overstretched things slightly, despite giving us a classic image in the cactus-faced Doctor.

Having been turned into a long white-haired OAP in the first story that season (‘The Leisure Hive’), Tom Baker certainly earned his money as he prepared to bid farewell to the TARDIS. The same season, Romana and K9 left the show in the poor ‘Warrior’s Gate’ and across four stories three new companions were introduced, thus making the busiest TARDIS crew ever assembled in the Classic Series.

‘The Keeper of Traken’ provided a solution to the end of a Time Lord’s regeneration cycle: by stealing someone else’s body. This anticipated a wonderfully chilling scene in the very next story (‘Logopolis’), when Nyssa realises that the Master has not only killed her father, but destroyed her home planet too. It brought home the reality that the Doctor’s companions felt when confronting the horrors that affected them in each story. People suffer because of the actions of the Doctor, for his longing for
adventure, and is that justifiable? According to Queen Victoria in ‘Tooth and Claw’ years later, no. She saw something unpleasant in the Doctor’s make-up and told him so.

Returning to ‘The Keeper of Traken’, the tradition of the Keeper, his Consoles, the Fosters, the grove and the Melkhar were incredible ideas that seemed plausible and real despite being very alien. From the moment the Keeper appears in the TARDIS, one knows that a very different type of adventure is about to begin. This portent of doom was also most exquisitely delivered at the beginning of ‘Pyramids of Mars’, when Sarah Jane witnesses a projection of evil above the TARDIS console. At first the Doctor doesn’t believe it, but very soon he does. Interestingly, evil is clearly defined in each of these two stories, the manifestation in the TARDIS being the portent of immense power and something more poorly done in ‘Arc of Infinity’ when Omega enters the Doctor’s domain.

‘Pyramids of Mars’ brings in ancient Egyptian gods and archeological expeditions, coupled with the notion that mankind originally came from the stars. To have a Howard Carter/Tutankhamen catalyst for a story was something fans had wished for, and when the story eventually arrived in the middle of the Hinchcliffe years (mid 1970s), it didn’t fail to deliver, so is now accepted as one of the truly great
Doctor Who
stories. With its very characteristic mummies and wonderful Osiren, ‘Pyramids of Mars’ ticks many boxes, not least of which the sub-story of a man trying to win back his brother despite the obvious fact that he had been taken over and was just a shadow of his former self. In that respect ‘Pyramids of Mars’ is a very human story and, perhaps, to complement its title a little more (which it really doesn’t do), has more reason to be longer than its four episodes, unlike other stories throughout the show’s history (such as ‘The Invasion’, which only really started
thrilling the audience from episode four). The ‘Pyramids of Mars’ had so much more to offer.

It is interesting to note that most of the stories listed in the top 50 above are standard-length stories of their day; it is important to note that story content has to hold up for the longer ones. A good example of a story enduring over six or seven weeks are those from Jon Pertwee’s first ever season. ‘Inferno’ was good and introduced the alternative universe; but the moral implications implied by Malcolm Hulke’s ‘The Silurians’ was amazing. Pertwee was always at his best when outraged by small-mindedness, either the Brigadier’s desire to blow things up, or some other official person throwing red tape around and hindering his access to a specific project or location.

There is a marvellous cliff-hanger scene in ‘The Silurians’ where one of the creatures walks through a living-room door behind the Doctor. It is terrifying, not because the Doctor doesn’t see the creature to begin with, but because it has just entered a child’s comfort zone. It has walked into
their
living room.

Hulke continued his reptilian theme with ‘The Sea Devils’, a story that had large scenes shot on location and includes a much-loved shot where the Sea Devils rise from the ocean to confront the Doctor and his companion.

‘The Sea Devils’ was an ambitious story to pull off and indeed the Royal Navy stepped in to provide some assistance. With quality location filming, eerie music, and some fun moments with Roger Delgado’s Master, it is one of the highlights of Jon Pertwee’s tenure as the Doctor and certainly not overlong.

Malcolm Hulke’s stories always had a high moral tone to them and in the novelisations of his work he was keen to
expand upon the characters to make them appear more realistic. A good example of this is in ‘The Doomsday Weapon’ (based upon the Pertwee story, ‘Colony in Space’). The opening chapter includes an ancient Time Lord, approximately 1,000 years old and nearing the end of his life. To write with such sensitivity about a trivial supporting character provided a rich start to an action-packed adventure novel and showed how much the writer cared about the development of his stories.

Sometimes an audience can get so much more from less. One of the very best examples of this is ‘Midnight’. The story works on the premise that there is something hostile outside the ship and, although we cannot see it, we know that it’s there.

‘Midnight’ is a very clever tale as it builds tension with an eerie wonder. We see the hinterland, we know there’s something out there, but we can’t see what it is, we can’t feel it, we can’t communicate with it; but it kills us all the same, so we are hopelessly lost. We are terrified, we are out of our depth, and so much behind the ‘superior’ being that we are humbled. Indeed, is the being ‘superior’? What is it? Could we befriend it? Probably not; but it’s the not knowing, and that’s the way it ends.

The thing disappears. Suddenly we realise that we’ll never know any more about the entity that conspired against the vessel. We have to carry on as normal, with no answers, no explanations, nothing, apart from the fact that there are forces in the universe we know nothing about, that are far greater than us, and that we will never be allowed to learn from. ‘Midnight’ is indeed a humbling story; it tells us not to take things for granted and, perhaps as importantly, not to be scared of the unknown. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’ Shakespeare tells
us, and ‘Midnight’ perfectly showcases the meaning behind this quotation.

Not since William Hartnell and Patrick Troughton’s day has there been such foreboding from a story. In the surviving episode of ‘The Abominable Snowmen’, we have ancient powers locked deep in a monastery, the flickering flames and shadows in black and white; in ‘The Web of Fear’ we have the dark and gloomy London underground with the Yeti skulking through; we hear ancient chanting in the deserted monastery from ‘The Time Meddler’ and an evil creature that lurks in the caves and visits the spaceship in ‘The Rescue’. All these things speak of an otherness, and evoke a deep foreboding, that uneasy place that we as human beings dare not let our senses go, not willingly; but we enjoy those feelings of fear, we wallow in them while sitting in our living room, waxing lyrical like the most self-assured armchair football supporter. But in the comfort of our living room we can explore many themes in quiet security, especially the fear evoked by a horror film or science fiction show, because those feelings are an essential part of being human, and if
Doctor Who
allows us to enjoy those feelings in the secure environment of our living room – behind the obligatory sofa or cushion – then so be it. That is the reason why we watch, it is this very feeling that makes us love
Doctor Who
.

On the subject of more from less, there is a story in which the Doctor hardly appears but is hailed one of the greatest
Doctor Who
stories ever, and that is ‘Blink’. The story of the Weeping Angels and how Sally Sparrow and her friends try to thwart them with the Doctor is legendary. It’s a great lesson in
Doctor Who
scriptwriting: pace, scare factor, good character development is what it’s all about. Sometimes the Doctor isn’t needed, but usually he is, to release the tension, to explain
things and reassure in a ‘timey-wimey’ sort of way. He is the crackpot professor, the stranger that rides into town to sort things out (a Clint Eastwood anti-hero-like character). Simply, he is the Doctor who makes people better – but in what way better? Because surely some die due to his dabbling?

The Weeping Angels provide a very emotional farewell to Amy and Rory, two of the 11th Doctor’s most loyal companions (‘The Angels Take Manhattan’). Carving their names on a gravestone and sentencing them to life in the past, the Doctor destroys a ‘happy couple’ to the extent of destroying their opportunity to live in their own time. Some companions have died as a result of their time with the Doctor, most notably Adric at the end of ‘Earthshock’ in an extremely powerful farewell, but sometimes a fate worse than death ensues. Witness the plight of Peri, who had her body taken over by an evil creature and her mind and spirit destroyed.

The Weeping Angels have had successful stories since their first appearance, but part of their success – scare factor – is because they do not communicate face-to-face: they do it indirectly. Their voice is not their own, it is the voice of their prey and they speak in persuasive tones, like the lure of the Devil, which is both sinister and unsettling. This is done to remarkable effect in their second story, ‘The Time of the Angels/Flesh and Stone’.

Sometimes
Doctor Who
wallows in darkness, a gothic horror that deals with tried and proven legends, and this enhances the mystique of the show. Stories such as ‘State of Decay’ are under-rated in the
Doctor Who
canon. ‘State of Decay’ deals with exploitation, corruption, traditional values and legends. The very idea that a castle could be a spaceship and simultaneously a giant stake is ingenious to say the least. Another great gothic story that falls within this category is ‘The Daemons’, from the
Jon Pertwee era. An ancient barrow is opened and a creature not unlike the Devil released to cause havoc.

Jon Pertwee rated ‘The Daemons’ as a personal favourite, and with its beautiful location, sinister demons and devils – as well as the Master and UNIT – it ticks many boxes, proving you don’t need the biggest budget to tell a great story, you just need a great script and a dose of eeriness.

There are two stories that go even deeper within the gothic realm and place the Doctor way out of his comfort zone. Only very occasionally do we see him covered in mud, his clothes ripped, his knees scraped. Rarely do we see him actually bleed but in ‘The Caves of Androzani’ and ‘The Deadly Assassin’, we get plenty of this, and an exciting story ensues.

With ‘The Caves of Androzani’ the Doctor actually gives his life to save that of his companion. Effectively, he loses, but because he is a Time Lord, he escapes to fight another day, the proverbial cat with nine – thirteen? – lives. He regenerates.

‘The Caves of Androzani’ is also suspenseful because of the deranged masked man who hides down below the Citadel; he is, like the wicked master in ‘The Talons of Weng-Chiang’, a
Phantom of the Opera
-like creature. But what ‘Androzani’ has over ‘Weng-Chiang’ is gothic romance. Peri (the Doctor’s companion) becomes the Phantom’s (Sharaz Jek) love interest, and the Doctor doesn’t just have to save her from the madman but he must also save both Peri and himself from a killer disease. In the end, it all becomes too much for him and he passes away to his next regeneration.

In ‘The Deadly Assassin’, the Doctor is again at full stretch. Powerful mind games send him into a schizophrenic limbo world, where he is shot at, partially drowned, blown up, run over by a speeding train and just generally terrified. For me, ‘The Deadly Assassin’ is the best
Doctor Who
story ever for sheer
imagination and gothic appeal. It is the Doctor alone on his home planet, pitted against the Master in his new more sinister incarnation, with the Time Lords seemingly against him too. At one stage, the Master is thought to be dead, but he has only drugged himself and comes back to kill and destroy all that he surveys. The High Council of the Time Lords puts the Doctor on trial and tortures him, believing him to be the murderer of the President himself – the Assassin; but the whole thing is a set-up by the Master. Ingenious, brutal and incredibly imaginative, ‘The Deadly Assassins’ showcases some of the best scares
Doctor Who
has to offer, not dissimilar to the gothic horror of rats, disfigured madman and bleeding dolls in a foggy Victorian London, as seen in ‘The Talons of Weng-Chiang’.

Both ‘The Deadly Assassin’ and ‘The Talons of Weng-Chiang’ come from an era in the Tom Baker years known as the Hinchcliffe Years, where Philip Hinchcliffe was the producer and brought a more sinister, gothic edge to the stories, not unlike Steven Moffat promised in the new-look
Doctor Who
of Matt Smith (indeed, he had vampires, Weeping Angels and a host of other great foes to draw on in his very first season).

Another impressive story from the Hinchcliffe Years is ‘The Robots of Death’, run-of-the-mill
Doctor Who
fodder, but great Saturday-night entertainment.

‘The Robots of Death’ worked Isaac Asimov’s laws of robotics from
I, Robot
, not dissimilar to how ‘The Daemons’ played with Arthur C. Clarke’s devil creatures from
Childhood’s End
. Sometimes classic SF does influence current SF, inasmuch as it encourages good practice.