I reposted my Hartnell stuff from Timelash II pretty much as it originally appeared. I’ve rejigged the following Troughton stuff a fair bit, however, so you’d better read it all over again very carefully, in case you miss a syllable of my searing insight and sage wisdom.
‘The Underwater Menace’
I could easily tear this story to pieces, yes? And feed the pieces to my pet octopus, yes??? But this story has sense of humour! I too have sense of humour!!!! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!
Look, if you think this story is any more silly than any other Doctor Who story… well, it isn’t.
Look at the amount of thought that went into the costumes and sets. Polly spends a lot of the story with a detail from a doric column on her head! Look at the detail in which Atlantean society is depicted. There’s a throne room, a temple, a lab, a hospital, a market… there are priests and acolytes, beggers and traders, slaves and workers, guards and orderlies… there are intimations of popular dislike for the forces of the state… Look at the variations in the personalities. Look at the way people change – from the king to the sadistic doctor to the disillusioned priest… And our heroes team up with two marooned sailors and a brave servant girl to form a little multi-ethnic band of rebels who instill industrial action… a strike that wins! And helps to bring down the government!
Yeah, I know… it’s daft. But it’s no dafter, fundamentally, than ‘The Caves of Androzani’. Yes, ‘Caves’ is infinitely better in many ways… but that’s not the point.
This has been called the Doctor Who version of Plan 9 From Outer Space… which is wrong, wrong, wrongarama. We laugh at Ed Wood movies because they’re badly made. This isn’t badly made. Actually – if you look at the verve and pace of Episode Three, the detailing of the designs and costumes, the wit of the dialogue, and the technical achievements – it’s rather superbly made!
The great underwater strike ballot ballet is amazing for the time, given that they probably made it in the cupboard at Lime Grove in 14 minutes on a budget of 2 shillings and fourpence. Yeah, you can see the strings a couple of times… but so what? Would you’ve thought it was all real but for those glimpses of wire? Is it really – I’m saying REALLY – any more fake looking than the CGI in most Hollywood blockbusters? Does that really – I’m saying REALLY – look REAL? Nope, of course not. And in addition to looking unreal it looks plastic, computery, synthetic… whereas the fish people’s underwater stuff looks physical, looks touchable, looks human. It’s like Ray Harryhausen animation. It’s obviously fake, but it has a beauty and a reality that goes beyond mere realism. It looks like its happening underwater! There are even bubbles! Yeah, they’re some form of obvious effect – but they look fantastic anyway! And the amazing, defamiliarizing music! It’s spooky, weird, discomforting. It screams MODERN in a sublimely 60s way… and I’m not talking about the naff version of the 60s that we’re all supposed to laugh at now. I’m talking about the 60s way that still screams of daring and iconoclasm. This stuff was made by eccentric geniuses using old bits of tape! Give me this over all the boring, bombastic, synth-emo, film score pastiche, bow-wow bombast that Murray Gold can belt out. A thousand times, I say this.
Also, we laugh at Ed Wood movies because the deluded no-hopers who made and starred in them had no sense of the irony of what they were doing. Watch Episode Three (tragically, the only surviving episode) and tell me the cast didn’t understand the irony of what they were doing… except that makes it sound like they’re sniggering up their sleeves. And they’re not. The disillusioned priest sounds genuinely disillusioned. The Doctor sounds genuinely appalled by Zaroff. Zaroff sounds genuinely mad. They’re playing it straight, but within the confines of the outlandish, outrageous, daft, way-out adventure serial mode. The cast are pitch perfect. Also, they’re clearly enjoying themselves. Watch the scene where Ben and Jamie pretend to interrogate the disguised Doctor in the market. How can you not share their pleasure at what they’re doing?
Yeah, this recycles all the tropes of the Flash Gordon style B-serial… but without the glibber-than-glib characterisation, the swaggering jingoism, the cheaty cliffhangers. It does that B-serial thang… but with people who seem to think and feel, albeit within the confines of utter nonsense. But what is inherently trivial or stupid about nonsense? I reject that idea utterly. Nonsense can have integrity. ‘The Underwater Menace’ has oodles of integrity. The integrity of delight. If you can, without delight, contemplate Anneke Wills in a surgical smock, indignantly saying “you’re not turning me into a fish!” to Colin Jeavons with huge fake eyebrows, then… well, may the wrath of Amdo engulf you.
And Zaroff is utterly priceless. I love the bit when the Doctor asks him (in a wonderfully patient voice) why he wants to blow up the world and he responds “you as a scientist ask me why?” as if the Doctor has asked him a self-evidently ludicrous question… and then there’s the hysterical laugh that infuses his voice as he says “you demand? You demand?” at King Thous. It’s a great performance. Of course, Zaroff is *just* a mad scientist. But so is Davros. So is Sharaz Jek.
I’m happy to read stuff into Who. It’s one way in which I enjoy the texts and I refuse to apologise. But I’m quite happy to enjoy the supposed trash on this level too. Why not?
This story shows that even at its silliest, Doctor Who literally cannot help itself. It cannot help noticing the complications involved in how people feel about religion, socially useful myth though it may be. It cannot help noticing the contradictions involved in the scientific project in a world of power structures and apocalyptic weapons arrays, divided between a “West” and an “East” that blame each other for everything. It cannot help noticing that it is the product of an impoverished backwater that used to be an empire and still can’t move on. It cannot help itself noticing oppression, tyranny and the power of people to combine to escape and/or defeat the rulers (though, sadly, the King survives and tritely mends his ways). It cannot help itself noticing the colour and texture and freedom of communal social life. It cannot help noticing the irony of its own status as a text. It cannot help itself being wonderful.
I adore this story. There, I’m out and I’m proud.
‘The Macra Terror’…
…is, in its adorably schlocky way, a jumbled statement of the anxieties of mid-60s Britain. A world of holiday camps where the working classes went for sojourns consisting of enjoyable humiliation and cheerfully-totalitarian regimentation. (Thanks to Miles and Wood for saying smart things about the Butlins vibe.) A world in which a new generation were questioning the friendly platitudes of an older set who seemed, at times, like a benevolent and philistine dictatorship. A world conscious of prosperity built on North Sea gas, full of politicians appealing to “the spirit of Dunkirk”, i.e. the paradoxical appeal to freedom through conformity, and prosperity built on the burning of toxic substances.
‘The Macra Terror’ is also the precursor to The Prisoner. Now, The Prisoner is altogether more radically odd and suggestive… and The Prisoner probably wasn’t influenced by ‘The Macra Terror’… but they’re both expressions of similar things that were aloft in the cultural air… and, the fact is, ‘The Macra Terror’ got there first.
‘The Macra Terror’ is also the precursor to ‘Gridlock‘, which is still the masterpiece of nu-Who. ‘Gridlock’ doesn’t just slot in the monsters from the old story, it actually develops the ideas and ambitions of the older story. ‘Gridlock’ is a statement of the anxieties and absurdities of its times, just like ‘The Macra Terror’. In both stories, the Macra are germs in the social wound, parasites on industrialisation, parasites on human effort and cultural malaise, embodiments of repressed knowledge.
It’s telling that nu-Who is at its very best when also being most thematically faithful to the classic series. Both Macra stories illustrate that the show is at its best when it tries to do things that you don’t see anywhere else, when it gleefully dives into semiotics, when it gives itself freedom to indulge in satire and metaphor, when it is unabashedly political and when it free-associates with language and ideas.
The Colony, unlike most of the bog-standard Troughton-era bases, is an entire world in miniature. The authority figure is not gruff and unstable… he’s the soul of calm and courtesy. He’s in just as much ‘denial’ as, say, Jarvis or Robson… but, in this story, so is everyone else. The base is under seige but, as Simon Kinnear once put it, everyone has decided to pretend it isn’t happening.
The only man who admits what’s going on is labelled a lunatic and subjected to trippy brainwashing. When somebody tries to defend him from the authorities, they insist that he’s “as cheerful as any of us!” (not sane or harmless) as though cheerful acceptance is the only test of social acceptability.
Even those who see the Macra remain unsure about what they are, almost as if they can’t bring themselves to see them properly. Are they insects, crabs or giant bacteria? Or all three? Even their name – evidence of real, free-associating thought on the part of the creative team – could be a riff on “macroscopic” or on Macrocheira Kaempferi (which is the latin name for the Japanese Spider Crab, the largest known arthropod). Of course, the latin for crab is “cancer”… which is kind of what the Macra are, a cancer in the body politic.
Further evidence of the linguistic cleverness is to be found in the name of the Colony’s leader – he’s “the Pilot”, as though he’s descended from the pilot of the ship that brought them, or the captain of the ‘ship of state’. Of course, pilots just steer; they’re not navigators. In the same way, the Pilot of the Colony doesn’t decide for himself, he obeys Control. Which brings me to the near-constant riffing on the word “control”. The word is used in all its senses – as a location (i.e. the Control room), as a state of being, as political power, as control over ones own mind, sanity, perceptions, etc. Sometimes each sense is used in the course of a single scene. And lets not forget that “control” is something you do to infections and infestations and pests.
Medok is the most Doctor-like character (hence his name?) in a story that sees the Doctor – gloriously – become a kind of instinctive, anti-authority troublemaker. Troughton’s Doctor is at his most bewitchingly, lovably mischevious in this story. He walks into a world of neatness and insists on staying scruffy. He stays awake at Sleep Time. He breaks the rules on principle. He teases authority at every turn. He makes disobedience a point of honour and wisdom, stating his inherent distrust of all power as a kind of manifesto. He’s an expert in confusion.
This story contains one of my very favourite Doctor-moments in the whole series, old or new. The Doctor, upon hearing some horribly happy little totalitarian work-ditty, groans and says “Did you hear that rhyme? The man who wrote that should be sent to the danger gang, not us!” It’s utterly delicious. The Doctor as an ironic, sardonic enemy of both tyranny and the ugly aesthetic banality that accompanies it.
‘Tomb of the Cybermen’
Here’s what I wrote about it elsewhere:
I’m very conflicted over this one. The political subtext is reactionary bordering on offensive… which put this into my list of top 10 hates.
But… I’m very tempted to feel that everything else about the story is so bad it goes all the way round and comes out at good again. The Quarks are so ridiculous they become charming, the Dominators are so extravagantly unpleasant and stupid that they become an unwittingly great pisstake of all fascists (using the term loosely, in the manner of Rik from The Young Ones), the Dulcians are so hilariously rubbish they become endearing, the plot is so aimless and repetitious that it starts to look like a deliberate tactic to make a statement about the futility of all action. So bad it’s good? It’s almost so bad it’s Sartre!
And – perhaps best of all – we have a heroic, brave, inquiring, sardonic, witty guest hero… who is tubby and balding, has a stupid name and is shown to fail with girls.
Even the politics can be viewed another way, if you squint determinedly. One way, it’s a sneering attack on pacifism and any notion that rational debate and humane scepticism is how to confront aggression… another way, it’s about fuddy-duddy oldsters who sit back and let fascism win while the kids fight it out. Totalitarian militarism confronts bourgeois complacency and the two tesselate perfectly… meaning that only the youngsters throwing stones can save the world.
I’m confused now.
(A poster at Gallifrey Base – who goes by the semi-accurate handle of ‘Mickey the Idiot’… his name really does appear to be Michael – posted this interesting observation about this story:
Yet another poster at Gallifrey Base raised Gareth Roberts’ famous and ‘controversial’ comments about this story and asked – rhetorically, I imagine – what those who dislike this story’s politics think should be done to combat people like Al-Qaeda.
Personally, I think this is a rather tenuous analogy. I mean, I must’ve missed the bit in the televised story where it comes out that the Dulcians had been arming and funding and training the Dominators for years in order to set them against a rival planet. Maybe it’s in Ian Marter’s novelisation which, I confess, I haven’t read for ages.)
‘The Mind Robber’
Just one of the best things ever, this story is a gloriously trippy metafictional journey into Doctor Who‘s own status as a text.
‘Robber’ picks up the Troughton era handbook for writers, stamps on it, scrawls insulting and anarchistic slogans upon its pages, rips it up and sets fire to the pieces. There is no isolated base, no croaky computer, no catalgue of disposable characters who are laser-beamed to death, no unstable authority figure, no creeping infiltration, no standard fight sequence for Jamie, no scene where someone goes into a bonkers tirade and storms out of a control centre… instead we have a deeply trippy ride through sheer weirdness; a totally unpredictable variation of content, style and pace from episode to episode; an intelligently created elllision of symbolism and literalism; a classic surreal quest narrative drawing on Wizard of Oz and Alice in Wonderland yet beholden to neither.
The Doctor and his friends leave their universe and enter a non-spatial, non-temporal buffer zone… and this buffer zone is a world of fiction. An empty nothingness until imagination works upon it, it soon fills with robots and unicorns and princesses and forests of words.
They’ve landed in a metaphysical space instead of a physical one, and the threats they encounter are metaphysical too – they run the risk of being translated into other identities, of losing their faces, of being turned into bit players in other people’s stories, of being made into fiction themselves (which, as this story constantly reminds us by constantly saying the opposite, they already are).
They are stalked by the ultimate variety of faceless, functional, baddie goons: toy soldiers. As if to swipe at the mechanical nature of so much scriptwriting, these goons have got dirty great wind-up keys sticking out of their backs. In this story, the ultimate threat is to become the functional plaything of the desperate hack writer. The soldiers not only hunt our heroes, they also represent what our heroes are threatened with (both literally and figuratively): being clockwork cyphers who just ‘go’ when the lazy writer winds them up and sets them off.
And this is the central threat, even of the somewhat contrived Earth-invasion plot that surfaces towards the end. Mankind would become fiction. Ironically enough, via the creative imagination, we’d all be stripped of our free will. We’d be crushed inside the pages of a book by a domineering Master Brain that controls even the writer with a stentorian bark that is channelled through his own mouth. That’s what it would be like to be a character in someone else’s book, or a fact pushed around by someone else’s editor, or a mortal pushed around by a god (which is exactly what a writer looks like from the point-of-view of a character).
This is Doctor Who investigating its own nature as part imagineering stream-of-consciousness fantasy, part lumbering and mechanical genre hack-work. This is Doctor Who investigating its own origins in myth and legend, in children’s fiction and historical romance, in satire and allegory. The Doctor wanders around in a pseudo-Narnia. The Doctor solves the kinds of puzzles to be found in kid’s annuals. The Doctor becomes Perseus. The Doctor co-writes a face-off between a succession of heroes and villains who are part historical reality and part fictional confabulation (Blackbeard, Cyrano, etc). And the Doctor meets Gulliver.
It cannot be an accident that Gulliver is one of the Doctor’s own antecedents in fiction: a restless traveller who finds himself banked on foreign shores where he encounters strange people and uncanny creatures representing human foibles and political follies. Swift’s story is often mistaken for pure escapism for kids, but is packed with the bitterest and darkest satirical comments on human politics and behaviour… very much like Doctor Who, though ironically enough not for most of the Troughton era up until this point.
Perhaps, above all, the thing to admire most about ‘Robber’ is that it triumphantly makes the best of its behind-the-scenes problems. An extra episode needed at the last minute? Just get Derrick to write a new Episode 1 featuring only the regular cast! Result? One of the most unusual and sinister openings of the show’s history. Frazer’s got the lurgy? No trouble, just write a temporary change of actor into the script! Result? One of the most amusing, memorable and strangely unsettling events ever depicted by the series.
Now that, we must surely all agree, is the sheerest of sheer class.
It occurs to me that ‘The Mind Robber’ can also be read as being about aliention and reification in the Marxist senses of those words.
The Master of the Land of Fiction is clearly offering the Doctor a job when he asks him to take his place. He even refers to it as a “responsible position”. He (the Master) is clearly the servant or employee of the Master Brain. He was also a paid employee of Ensign magazine, churning out thousands and thousands of words for them to print and sell. In other words, he was (and still is) a worker. He toiled to produce a product, was paid a wage and (presumably) watched as others pocketed the profits. Whatever the Master Brain (and the power it represents) gets out of running the Land of Fiction, the Master clearly doesn’t see any of the coin.
You can argue about whether writing stories constitutes “socially necessary labour” (I’d say that it does, personally… human culture is in many ways based on stories and it’s pretty clear that we need them in order to be fully human… they’re part of what the young Marx called our “species-being”… which is something that the Land of Fiction implies by its very existence) but clearly the Master spends much more time than he really needs to churning out all those words. His labour creates a surplus which is pocketed by the publishers… or a profit of some kind that is taken by the Master Brain.
Moreover, the necessities of the market demanded that he write a certain type of story, commercial adventure stories which may not really express his full creativity. (Certainly, the story as a whole strongly hints at a feeling that trite adventures involving handy swords and with-one-bound-he-was-free endings are highly unsatisfactory. It hints at this in an ironic and self-aware way, as it must.) Similarly, in the Land, the Master tries to construct a story about the Doctor and his friends that pleases the power he serves… a story that the Doctor resists being a part of, partly by rejecting handy swords.
On Earth, his stories would have risen up to confront him as a vast block of printed type, as piles of magazines, as things outside of himself or his control… that’s what happens when workers make things under capitalism. They are not expressions of his creativity exercised for its own sake; they are not the produce of an unexploited person and a free producer… unless the person happens to be lucky enough to be a financially independent artist or something like that. Similarly, the work he does in the Land is not an expression of his unalienated self-expression. He works for the Master Brain and works to produce the effects it desires. (You could almost see the Master Brain as a personification – thus a reification, in the Marxist sense – of the market itself, which is so often treated or spoken of as a kind of infallible god which should be allowed to rule society for our own good.)
In short, the Master fits (broadly) the Marxist picture of the worker who is alienated from his species-being and from the products of his labour.
He is clearly a slave to the Master Brain. As such, he’s really as menaced by the Land of Fiction as the Doctor. He is confronted by products of human intellectual labour in the form of books, characters from books, characters from folklore (the telling and retelling of legends is a human production as much as anything else), wind-up soldiers, etc. In the Land, words (themselves human productions) confront humans as things outside of human control, as trees and forests. Books – commodities produced by labour – attack and threaten to swallow you. If that isn’t a way of depicting alienation, of humans estranged and menaced by the products of their own labour, then I don’t know what is.
Capitalism materialises the labour of humans into commodities with use-values and exchange values (i.e. books and magazines), thus reifying human labour time. The Land of Fiction takes it further, continuing the process of reification until the characters (themselves commodities and products of labour) are fully materialised, to the point where they walk about and speak for themselves. Again, alienation is depicted when the product of human labour materialised in the form of the Karkus attacks the Doctor and Zoe.
Alienation appears in another way when Zoe and Jamie are “turned into fiction” and appear before the Doctor as blank, empty cyphers who get stuck in the grooves of their dialogue. They’ve been alienated from their human nature by being made into a commodity (fiction being a commodity, remember). They start behaving like stuck records, like people on an assembly line suffering from line hypnosis.
All this might seem like a helluva stretch… but you have to bear in mind that all the books alluded to, all the legends invoked, all the proverbs cited, all the characters who appear in the story… they’re all products of human labour of one form or another.
Easily the best ever televised Cyberman story, because it largely sidelines the Cybermen and concentrates on a human villain who is both well written and well acted.
The implication that the Cybermen fit neatly into Vaughn’s worldview because he’s capitalist who believes in standardisation, technology and quasi-fascist leadership (and a megalomaniacal psychopath) is kind of prescient of the modern analysis of the corporation to be found in the work of people like Joel Bakan. Again, Simon Kinnear said some very clever things about the corporate way in which the Cybermen behave in his article ‘Money, Money, Money!’ (DWM 410).
Vaughn is almost a personification of the corporation. He controls politicians, puts computers to work answering phones, exploits the labour of scientists, employs muscle when necessary (in the real world, corporations don’t need private armies… they’re quite happy to use the public-funded armies of the nation states in which they live as their hired muscle), smiles and charms and lies his head off. Moreover, he has neither body to punish (bullets don’t hurt him) nor soul to damn.
Sadly, this story continues the trend of having the Doctor cosying up to human establishment figures. Also, Isobel is absolutely hateful. Still, nothing’s perfect.
Very good, on the whole. This is Troughton’s version of ‘The Savages’, only less po-faced. Mind you, Bob Holmes hasn’t quite found his leavening wit or his gift for characterisation yet… but he’s already showing an instinctive grasp of what makes the show tick.
‘The Krotons’ is a politico-mythic fable with a satisfying mix of adventure and high-concept ideas. Crystalline aliens that can dissolve into a liquid suspension – how cool is that?
David Maloney’s direction is excellent, filled with imagistic concepts that heighten the drama and enrich the ideas. The dot pictures that resolve into the Doctor’s face; the fish-eye lens; the moment when the chain snaps, etc.
This is a very 60s production concerned with themes of obedience or rebellion against authority, the control of education, the rationing of knowledge, student revolt, the utilisation of talent by power that views humans as resources and nothing more. It’s easy to see why, in 1969, someone with satirical and political sensibilities would be writing about angry students rebelling against faceless authorities that control information and ruthlessly supress dissent. It is this very satirical and political sensibility that will, once melded with an emerging feel for characterisation and dialogue and humour, see Holmes emerge as the greatest Who writer.
For now, ‘The Krotons’ is probably the most direct engagement with the revolutionary mood at the end of the 60s yet found in Who… of course, ‘The War Games’ is not far away…….
‘The Space Pirates’
Why is story so often forgotten? Or used as an example of how even Almighty Bob started badly? Two obvious reasons:
1. The only episode we still have happens (natch) to be the crap one. The Doctor’s hardly in it and Caven – the superbly vicious villain – isn’t in it at all. It’s mostly comprised of scenes in which the moronic Space rozzers trade insults with the irritating Milo Clancy. Rubbish American accents abound. Moreover, two of the episodes for which we now only have audio (1 and 6) are highly visual and do not work well on CD, even with Frazer Hines’ helpful commentary. Thank you once again Pamela Nash.
2. No monsters. It’s been the downfall of the reputation of many a good story.
And ‘The Space Pirates’ is a good story. One of the better late-Troughtons in fact, and infinitely more enjoyable than many a highly praised base-under-siege runaround. Compared to the story that came before it – Brian Hayles oddly uninspired ‘Seeds of Death’ – ‘Space Pirates’ shines like polished argonite.
Hermack and Warne are militaristic, organised, square-jawed, macho/camp representatives of officialdom. Like most such people in Robert Holmes’ world, they are clueless dorks. They’re more than just a narrow mickey-take of Star Trek. Apart from anything else, as far as most Brits were concerned, Star Trek hadn’t been invented yet. Even if Holmes had seen it, his Space Corps bods don’t act or speak like Kirk and his mates. In fact, when Hermack (old hammy Brit) booms chummily to “Ian” (respectful American subordinate), it’s more like Picard and Riker… but, tempting as it may be to credit Holmes with the astonishing feat of satirising TNG twenty years before it was created, I don’t think this can be anything but coincidence. No, the Space Corps wallies are prototypes of a classic Bob Holmes riff: the authoritarian control freak who fails to control anything and gets all his guesses wrong. The way in which the representatives of law and order are depicted as dumb time-wasting losers, while all the real thinking and constructive action comes from the Doctor and the raggedy old-timers, is quite delicious.
Is it a space Western? Only partly. In fact, only the character of Milo Clancy bears much resemblance to anything to be found in Westerns. He’s an old-time prospector; he dresses and talks like one. Too much like one, in fact. Supposedly, Gordon Gostelow even changed loads of the dialogue to sound more yee-har, howdy-ma’am, what in tarnation, darn-tootin’ cowboyesque. I’m sure we’re all grateful. If Dudley Foster had gone by the Gostelow Method, Caven would’ve had an eyepatch, a parrot, a wooden leg and would’ve said things like “Ha-harr, splice the mainbrace Mr Dervish, ye scurvy swab, or I’ll send ye down to Davy Jones’s locker!”.
Which brings us to what the story is really about… Pirates! In fact, there’s a fairly big clue to this in the title. All the same, many people miss the fact that this is, fundamentally, a pirate story. Caven is far more like a Blackbeard archetype than a cattle rustler. Argonite might be like Californian gold… but it could just as easily be pieces of ate. The space pirates go about “preying on defenceless cargo ships” rather than sticking up interstellar mail trains or robbing galactic banks. Hermack and the Space Corps are far more like 17th century British Naval officers, patrolling the Caribbean waters on behalf of His Majesty’s Revenue, than frontier lawmen. (Here, I acknowledge a direct debt to Miles and Wood.) By understressing these links to the pirate genre – and by not being as thunderingly literal as, say, Douglas Adams – the story scores big points.
Also, we see in ‘The Space Pirates’ the first twitchings of Bob Holmes’ liking for vast, implied backstories and backhistories. He hasn’t yet got the economy of his later work, in which he can conjure up colossal swathes of off-screen history and context in just a few lines… but it’s a start.
But the best thing about this story, as we might expect from Holmes, is the characterisation. It’s very strong indeed. Caven is brutal and ruthless but also loquacious and cynical. He has some great moments ridiculing the orthodox morality of others. Dervish has been blackmailed into complicity; he has a conscience but lacks courage. Unlike the gutless Fewsham in ‘Seeds of Death’ he doesn’t suddenly grow a backbone when the script requires it. The astoundingly thick, pompous and inefficient Hermack is Holmes’ earliest foray into parodying the sheer uselessness of authority figures… but even he is more than just a caricature. He flirts confidently but unsuccessfully with Madeleine, showing that he was meant to come over as both vain and inept. Milo – though irritating, owing to Gordon Gostelow’s silly performance – is an appealing character: a benign but cantankerous old refusenik who will not respect authority. Madeleine Issigri has believable motives. The scene in which she learns that her father is still alive is highly affecting, as is the scene in which Milo tries to reawaken Dom Issigri’s memories of their shared past.
That’s a key success of this story. The central guest characters (beyond the Space Corps buffoons) seem to be people with pasts, with shared histories about which they can reminisce, with emotional links to each other, with memories, with feelings. For once, there is real pathos underlying the usual capture/escape/corridor shenanigans.
Even Zoe is in character this week. She’s a savant from a futuristic technocracy… so she’s as good with science and technology as the Doctor but doesn’t know about candles.
Okay so there are some rubbish lines (“he’s liable to explode like glyceriltrinitrate!”) but there are also some marvellous ones. “You mean I’m disqualified?” sneers Caven when Sorba complains about him shooting a man in the back, “Don’t you want to play anymore?”
The single worst thing about the story is probably the ending. We are denied a tender scene in which Maddy is reunited with her father; instead we get a naff gag and everybody guffaws like they’re on Scooby-Doo. Or drugs. For ages. Of course, these days we’d get a ten minute reunion scene during which Murray Gold would do everything to make us cry short of actually coming round to our homes and squirting lemon juice into our eyes.
My favourite thing about the story? Hermack’s call sign: “V-Master”. I always think it sounds like one of those gimmicky food slicers that are advertised on early morning Sky TV. You know; the ones that people buy for twenty quid, use once and then stick at the back of the kitchen cupboard for a decade before they throw them away. A bit like one of those newfangled solar toasters.
‘The War Games’
Somebody on the DVD documentary calls this a “light anti-war story” or something. But I don’t think its an anti-war story at all. After all, the Doctor is perfectly happy to let Carstairs shoot people all over the place in order to protect the Ambulance, or for the Resistance to fight and kill the guards. His explicit aim is to organise the scattered Resistance groups into an army with which to fight the aliens. But this is not only (usually) self-defence, it’s also revolutionary violence. It’s war against the aggressor and/or against the system that runs the war games. This isn’t an anti-war story; it’s an anti-imperialist story.
Here’s what I wrote about this story as part of a different post:
From bluff Yorkshireman Russell to the defiant black Northern soldier Harper, the kidnapped soldiers are the workers of the world. They’ve been duped and brainwashed by their cynical leaders. They’re pawns on the chessboard of the ‘Great Game’.”
…the ‘Great Game’ that we’re still playing over control of Central Asia, the Middle East and the attendant advantages in access to fuel wealth… as the tortured and slaughtered people of Afghanistan can testify…
But the people see through the conditioning (or some of them do – Lenin would’ve probably called them a vanguard) and form the Resistance. Black and white, all nationalities… even Arturo Villa joins his bandits to the cause. Scared kid Private Moor saves the day by fragging the officer. Jamie and the Redcoat with whom he’s imprisoned join forces despite their natural mistrust and escape together. In the end, the War Games are stopped by this international union of soldiers in revolt.
And when was this made and shown? 1969. The year that the worldwide anti-Vietnam protests reached a crescendo.”
(Wise words from me there.)
The late 60s were indeed revolutionary times. In ’68, the Tet offensive saw American imperialism in Vietnam on the defensive… students tore up Paris, French workers held a general strike and then a wave of workplace occupations… strikes swept Britain… the black American olympians turned their backs on the Stars and Stripes and gave the black power salute… West German students marched with pictures of Rosa Luxemburg and Hungarians rebelled against Stalinism… anti-war protestors lay siege to the Democratic conference…
How does ex-communist Mac Hulke respond to all this? We’ll never know, but it seems possible that his lefty sensibilities infected Terrance Dicks’ story about people put on a game board (one of Dicks’ favourite stories). ‘The War Games’ is certainly the most direct response to the times, after a reactionary run at it in ‘The Dominators’ and an oblique take on student revolt in ‘The Krotons’. It’s also the most radical. Even the Doctor goes back to being (at least partly) the old anarchic trickster (bluffing Gorton, fooling the War Scientist, etc) and then organises a guerilla war against the imperialists!
On tyrants only we’ll make war
The soldiers too will take strike action
They’ll break ranks and fight no more
And if those cannibals keep trying
To sacrifice us to their pride
They soon shall hear the bullets flying
We’ll shoot the generals on our own side.
Some more things I wanna mention:
Smythe keeps his evil, secret, alien communication screen behind a portrait of King George. Von Weich keeps his behind a portrait of Kaiser Wilhelm.
“I believe they call it the ‘war to end wars'” says the Doctor. The same dishonest rationale is hinted at by the War Chief later in the story.
The fog of war. The soldiers get engulfed by a fog or mist when they try to stray beyond their set boundaries. It causes them anxiety, befuddles and confuses them.
The semiotics of spectacles. Distorted eyes, distorted vision of the world. Desk-bound bureaucratic murderers like Himmler. Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four in which he describes the party man with the spectacles that catch the light and make him look like he has blank discs for eyes.
Court Martials like the one Smythe conducts actually happened. A lot.
Jamie teams up with a redcoat… but goes back to attacking them on sight once the Time Lords have wiped his memory. He has lost the things he learned through struggle. And the Doctor laughs. Mind you, the English bastard does try to shoot him in the back… and Jamie has the right to chase the invader out of his country.
Ransome. His big gripe with war is the paperwork. And the subalterns who don’t fill in the forms. “Do you realise,” he tuts, “in the last push, we lost 10,000 shovels.” I wonder if they ‘lost’ anything else in the last push?
As a depiction of imperialism… isn’t it all a bit conspiratorial? Vulgar Marxism? Well, as someone said, vulgar Marxism explains most of what happens in the world. And Rumsfeld’s “stuff happens” is an even less acceptable diagnosis of reality.
Rumsfeld wore glasses, didn’t he. And Cheney. Might explain Hitchens. Brainwashing. “You heard the evidence my dear, it’s all proved… I’m afraid he has got WMD and is in league with bin Laden.”
The vertigo of anachronism. Romans charge you… and it’s scary because you can’t wind the car up fast enough.
The scene where Smythe and Von Weich play Risk with counters and a board, laughing as they joke about turning each other’s flanks. Of course, they’re laughing about sending men to kill and die. But then, people like that do.
The anti-imperialist struggle even involves in a lecture to Pancho Villa about the equality of women.
The Doctor bursts into the op-art Hell of the Interrogation Room and says to the guard “Don’t you point that thing at me!” Outrageous, glorious little bastard!
We really should see the human soldiers team up with some alien guards who realise that they are exploited too.
Beyond all this metaphor stuff, nice though it is, the end of this story makes you think to yourself “…but they’ll end up back in the wars they came from when they get sent back home…” which leads to the further thought “…so are the people sending them to fight the real wars any better than the War Lords?… or the Time Lords?”
The Time Lords are utter hypocrites to mindwipe Jamie and Zoe (and, by implication, Carstairs, Russell, etc). They’ve condemned the “brutal methods of mental processing” used by the War Lords, but then proceed to mentally process people themselves. But the liberals are always the murky reflections of the fascists… and imperialism is the process within (or effect of) capitalism that reveals the fundamental connection between them. At the Nuremburg and Tokyo tribunals, where “liberal” and “progressive” and “democratic” values passed judgement on the relics of defeated fascism, Nazi or Japanese war criminals were absolved of guilt (or simply not charged) over crimes that the Allies had also committed, i.e. horrific bombing of civillian population centres.
We run into problems for the anti-imperialist theme precisely because the Doctor’s ultimate aim in the story is reformist, i.e. to put things back the way they were but with the worst excesses curbed, for which he needs to collaborate with Power. The abducted humans can’t simply take over the War Lord’s planet and rule it themselves (for some reason), so they need to be restored… but, of course, this means restoring them to the world that was sending them off to kill and die, the world that resembles the War Games near exactly. Reformism in a nutshell. But, by the end, the Resistance has won by itself. It has stopped the war and taken over the control centre… though the logic of the story makes this a coup by a small band rather than a mass movement. All the same, it always seems to me that the humans would probably be better off staying put than going home. But that doesn’t get Troughton regenerated, does it?
You could interpret the Doctor’s plea for the Time Lords to get involved and help people as being congruent with the position of the “humanitarian interventionists”, you know, people like Nick Cohen and Hitchens who think you can expect British and American imperialism to work for humanitarian ends… but for that analogy to work, the Doctor would have to be making his plea to the War Lords, not the Time Lords. See the problem? Stitch that, Euston Manifesto.
The first new face the Time Lords offer him appears to be Karl Marx.
That is all.
Vive la Resistance!