Tag Archives: daleks

Bigger, better and Daleks – Invasion Earth: 2150 A.D. (1966)

These days, the gap between TV and films is not as great a divide as it used to be. Production standards have risen to the point where TV programs increasingly look and feel like films; only the grandest of Hollywood blockbusters have a scale and scope that TV can’t emulate.

But come back in time with me, to September 1966. If you were looking to watch Doctor Who, BBC TV was offering The Smugglers, a charming if hokey historical adventure, recorded at Riverside, black and white, a 16th century power struggle between smugglers, pirates and revenue men. But the cinema is offering Daleks. Loads of them, all sorts of colours, spaceships, explosions, the whole deal. Will Captain Avery’s treasure be found. Who cares? There’s a Dalek invasion happening just down the road at the Odeon!

If further comparison be needed, compare the punctuation mark heavy Daleks – Invasion Earth: 2150 A.D. with its TV ancestor, The Dalek Invasion of Earth. The TV show had pie tins for spaceships. Its Robomen had clunky helmets which had to be balanced precariously on  extras’ heads and looked faintly ridiculous. By any production based measure, the film is a superior product. No wonder when Chris Acheillos came to produce the cover art for the novelisation, he turned to the film to copy the bloated art deco looking spaceship and the impassive, black vinyl clad Robomen. The film was the definitive product.

The two Aaru Dalek films are not widely celebrated by fandom, not just because they deviate from the TV series established history but also because they are a little cheesy. We look back on them now as dated Sixties artifacts, but I think that neglects what a revelation they must have been at the time. Your favourite show, but in colour, on the big screen and with something it had never had before… a decent budget!

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Daleks – Invasion Earth: 2150 A.D. was clearly trying to shake off Doctor Who. The film’s trailer makes no mention of the Doctor (Peter Cushing, “in his most thrill making role!”, less doddery than in the first movie) or the TARDIS. Shh, don’t mention the TV show, it seems to be saying. We’re slightly embarrassed by it, and besides, we might want to make Dalek only movies in the future.

And the film itself feels no pressure to stick to the original story. Dr. Who and the Daleks made only rudimentary changes to characters and left The Daleks plot more or less intact. Daleks – Invasion Earth: 2150 A.D takes liberties with both: our schoolteacher chums Ian and Barbara are done away with and replaced by policeman Tom (Bernard Cribbins) and Louise (Jill Curzon). Resistance fighter Jenny is done away with completely. The basic structure of our friends being separated and then making their different ways to Bedfordshire stays is kept, but who goes with whom, and by which route is rejigged.

The story’s showcase moments are kept, though. Driving a van through a phalanx of Daleks. The destruction of said van via aerial laser attack. The disastrous assault on the Dalek’s saucer, the treacherous women in the hut and the Dalek emerging from the Thames all survive. But other, perhaps less successful, elements of the TV show are lost. The rubbery Slyther is nowhere to be seen. Susan’s sewery adventures with baby alligators is gone and so too is her romance with resistance fighter David (thankfully, as in this film, Susan is about 8 years old).

The film’s biggest innovation though, is the injection of humour. The Dalek Invasion of Earth was pretty grim stuff, and there weren’t many chuckles in it. Think of the Robomen, basically the walking dead with transistor radios. In a family film, there’s a need to lighten the tone.

Enter the young male lead. In the first film, it was variety performer Roy Castle. Here it’s actor and comedian Bernard Cribbins, and so he gets put on the pratfalling duties. He gets a whole routine with the Robomen (not so much creepy cadavers as madcap marching troupe) where he can’t fit in with their jerky robotic gestures, and later gets a rerun of Lucille Ball’s conveyer belt schtick. We fans might not like this concessions to slapstick, but I gotta tell you, Master Spandrell cacks himself at these bits.

This mix of humour and action would gain more prominence in the Troughton era. It’s another of this film’s quiet claims to have influenced the series. For instance, isn’t this film’s title sequence the first use of the a spiralling tunnel, now so associated with Doctor Who as to be a visual cliche? This particular influence even extends to the show’s 21st century incarnation.

When looking at Dr. Who and the Daleks, I couldn’t help but notice the influence that film had had on Steven Moffat and his version of the show. And you can see it in the second film too. In the very first scene, Constable Tom fails to stop a smash and grab when he stumbles into the departing Tardis. In the last scene, Dr. Who returns him to a slightly earlier point in time so that he can foil the crime. Well, blow me down if time can’t be rewritten.

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September 1966 at the cinema is all well and good. Still, that’s not how most of us came to these films. Most of us would have watched them on telly.

Come back in time with me again, this time to regional NSW in the 1980s. Here, the two Dalek films were occasional Saturday afternoon treats, popping up at random on the schedules of regional network WIN TV.

Even in this unexpected place, they garnered some admirers. One not-we I know, when the conversation turns to Doctor Who, always nominates “that movie with all the different coloured Daleks” as his favourite. Meanwhile on ABC TV Tom Baker reruns go as disregarded as The Smugglers.

Sure, this is Daleks – Invasion Earth: 2150 A.D. But also 1966 A.D. And 1986 A.D. And 2010 A.D. And on it goes.

LINK TO The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit: big pits reaching down into the centre of the planet!

NEXT TIME: Three of ’em! I’m fairly sure that’s The Three Doctors.

 

Inflexibility, impossibility and The Day of the Doctor (2013)

Fans sometimes talk about Doctor Who‘s infinitely flexible format. This is the show which can go anywhere and do anything. When an anniversary year comes around though, we discover this isn’t as true as we might like to think.

It’s all the fault of The Three Doctors really. It laid down a template for anniversary stories which ever since has been too good to resist. Multi Doctors, uniting against one enormous threat. Then The Five Doctors took it even further. Returning Doctors plus returning companions and lots of returning monsters.

The reunion episode is a TV staple, and on any other show, you could do it as often as you like. On ordinary shows, characters can age, and you can pick up with them years after their last TV appearance. You find out what ever happened to them, you try to guess which ones have had plastic surgery, it’s all good fun.

But Doctor Who can’t do that because each of the Doctors is meant to be ageless. We saw each of them turn into another of them, before they got old and creaky. Reunion shows doomed forever. Flexible format, my foot! The Day of the Doctor is bogged down in a format it inherited from Old Who and which was, by 2013, almost impossible to use.

Because here’s the problem. What other possible shape could the show’s 50th anniversary episode take? It’s very difficult to imagine it not being a multi Doctor story, because that’s what Doctor Who anniversaries are. And it’s inconceivable that it wouldn’t at least acknowledge each actor to play the title role.

Steven Moffat knew this. More than that, he wanted this – and more. He wanted every single Doctor joining forces to save Gallifrey from the Daleks. It’s testament to his ingenuity and determination that he made this happen. Despite three Doctors being dead, four looking significantly different to their Doctorly prime and one flatly refusing to participate.

But that Moff is clever. He takes an impossible format and makes it work. How did he do it?

First, he makes this a story about the Doctor and the biggest day of his life. Think of how different an approach this is to The Three and Five Doctors, where the multiple Doctors simply come out to play, just to have an adventure. Setting this story on the last day of the Time War, gives it an event worth watching, not just a chance to rival Doctors squabble. It’s an event big enough for this biggest of episodes.

Secondly, John Hurt. Every anniversary story’s been short its full quota of Doctors, and each has come up with inventive ways around the problem. But Moffat’s is the most audacious. Without Christopher Eccleston, he needs a Doctor upon whom to shoulder the story’s moral core – the redemption of the Doctor post his Time War atrocity. At a pinch, it could have been Paul McGann. But in search of a marquee name to hang out the front his 50th anniversary, the Moff creates an entirely new and hitherto unheard of Doctor and has him played by a movie star.

Think the Doctor is a tough role to play? Pah, step aside children. Hurt is instantly right in the part, creating, as McGann did 17 years earlier, a fully formed Doctor in about an hour. There’s a lovely bit somewhere in all the associated behind the scenes material about this story, where Doctors Smith and Tennant giggle like naughty schoolboys about their own acting deficiencies compared to Hurt. Smith says he’s busy pulling faces like mad, when all John Hurt has to do is look, and the shot’s in the can.

It would have been great to have Eccleston back. But if he hadn’t said no, we wouldn’t have got Hurt. And it gives The Day of the Doctor the chance to say something new about its lead character; that there was a time when he strayed from the path and became everything a Doctor shouldn’t be.  It’s another way in which Moffat breathes life back into the anniversary show format, by asking that question he loves to ask: Doctor Who? Who is this man and what has shaped him? It’s more introspective than any other multi-Doctor stories to date.

Finally, he plays fast and loose with the structure of a Doctor Who story. You’d be well within your rights to expect a villain of some sort to turn up in the biggest Doctor Who story ever. You might be wondering where the final showdown is, with the Doctors squaring off with some big arse Time Lord baddy, as per Three and Five. Instead Moffat gives us two alien invasions – the Zygons on Earth and the Daleks in the skies above Gallifrey- but boldly keeps these on the sidelines. The main question posed is not, “will the Doctors win?”, but “can the Doctor heal himself?”

The answer turns out to be, “yes, but only if we completely retcon the new series”. Moffat is unafraid of such bold, sweeping moves. In The Big Bang, he completely reverses the whole of Series 5. In The Wedding of River Song, he negates an alternative timeline. He’s used to travelling back to a crucial point in history, and just changing it. Time, remember, can be rewritten.

So in one fell swoop, he changes the outcome of the Time War, saves Gallifrey from destruction and absolves the Doctor of his crimes. It’s a resetting of the show along the lines of the classic series. The Doctor’s no longer a war criminal, Gallifrey’s in the heavens and all’s right with the world. Plus he manages to rope in all thirteen of the Doctor’s to help, in a smorgasbord of archive footage, vocal impersonations and impressive eyebrows.

Oddly enough though, here he’s on much more traditional anniversary story ground. The Three Doctors ended with the end of the Doctor’s earthly exile. Reset! The Five Doctors ended with the Doctor on the run from his own people again. Reset! And here, a new start, unburdened by the weight of the Time War, which the series has dragged around since 2005.

All delivered in 3D, in cinemas and a guest appearance by Tom Baker. So hats off to the Moff. Upon being told there were no toys left in the toybox, he held a kickass party anyway. And rewrote Doctor Who along the way. Yeah, that’s how he did it.

LINK TO Resurrection of the Daleks: the Dalek invasion of Gallifrey threatened in Resurrection finally happens.

NEXT TIME: The Beast and his armies shall rise from the Pit to make war against God. We do the Devil’s work with The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit.

Dialogue, Sawardese and Resurrection of the Daleks (1984)

Could you pick a Doctor Who story’s writer from watching it with its credits lopped off? Well, you and I could of course, because we’ve got honorary PhDs in Who from Murwillumbah TAFE. But if for some reason, a new, unseen script fell through a vent in the space-time continuum, without its writers credit, could you pick the author?

I think I could do it with Eric Saward, script editor and writer throughout the 1980s. And his 1984 action fest, Resurrection of the Daleks is written in pure Sawardese. I thought I’d pull out a few examples, as part of my post Doctoral research at Wagga Wagga Institute of Technology. So here are:

Seven Saward Signature Dialogue Tells.

  1. The short, heavily laden question.

Saward has a particular prose style which can be brutally efficient, the grammar of which is so at pains to be correct, it’s awkward.  (Not unlike that last sentence.)

Consider his habit of giving characters concise, frank questions to elicit a response from another character. Often these questions try to fit in both a descriptive noun and and active verb. “The escape was prevented?” is an example. The line could be, “everything worked out fine” or “no harm was done”. But in Saward’s style, we find out two things: there was an escape and it failed. In one super efficient question!

Unfortunately, it doesn’t sound like something anyone would actually say. See also, “you have the Doctor?” And “you fear an attack?”. And my personal favourite, from The Mark of the Rani, “you suspect another motive?”

  1. Answer one question with another.

Resurrection starts this way.

STEIN: Which way?

GALLOWAY: Does it matter?

It’s particularly useful when you want to avoid giving an answer.

STEIN: Where’ve they gone?

GALLOWAY: Where’d you think?

But it’s more likely to be used as a kind of sarcastic rejoinder.

STEIN: Is it dead?

DOCTOR: Would you care to take another look?

Here’s a famous example from The Caves of Androzani.

PERI: Doctor?

DOCTOR: You were expecting someone else?

Is this naturalistic dialogue? (You’d venture another opinion?!)

  1. Neither fever.

This one actually doesn’t turn up in Resurrection, which is remarkable because it’s widespread among stories written or script edited by Saward. It’s the habit of characters presenting the two sides a dilemma, with the second line starting with ‘neither’. Again, grammatically correct, but very clunky. The classic one’s in Revelation of the Daleks.

GRIGORY: You can’t rush this sort of thing.

NATASHA: Neither can we hang around here.

Here’s one from Earthshock.

DOCTOR: You must withdraw your men, they don’t stand a chance.

BRIGGS: Neither will we if those things get up here.

Eventually, Saward seems to be narkily correcting the grammar in other people’s scripts. From Planet of Fire:

FOSTER: Sure isn’t Greek.

CURT: Neither is it Roman.

From The Mysterious Planet:

BALAZAR: It would be murder to kill them.

MERDEEN: Neither can I free them.

From Mindwarp:

DOCTOR: They weren’t hanging about.

PERI: Neither did they look very pleased.

I’d written this off as one of Saward’s idiosyncrasies. So imagine my delight when an corker example of Neither Fever turned up in Doomsday.

ROSE: You didn’t need to kill him!

DALEK: Neither did we need him alive!

Who would have thought it? Russell T Davies channeling Eric Saward!

  1. Something, isn’t it?

The go to line of dialogue when a character really has nothing to say. “Big, isn’t it?” is the gem of a line Turlough got to say in The Five Doctors. In Resurrection he gets the equally thrilling, “Dark, isn’t it?” And “Impulsive, aren’t they?”

Lines which mean and add nothing. Pointless, aren’t they?

  1. The awkward way of saying something.

DOCTOR: I must have played truant that day. (Doctor, no one who ever wagged school would say they ‘played truant’.)

TEGAN: He didn’t intend to return. (Or, ‘he knew he wasn’t coming back’. Your choice, Tegan.)

TEGAN: Some other opportunity may arise. (Or, ‘we may find another way to help’. C’mon Teegs, you’re just not trying!)

DOCTOR: However you respond is seen as an act of provocation. (‘Everything provokes them’ would have done.)

STIEN: The Doctor without his companions would be rather incongruous. (Doctor! You’ve abandoned your companions? Incongruous, aren’t you?)

MERCER: Your bile would be better directed against the enemy, Doctor! (Eeeww.)

DOCTOR (mostly the Sixth): I am known as the Doctor. (Don’t get me started.)

  1. Expressing a laboured preference.

In which one person makes an innocent remark and another turns it into a whinge about what they want.

CALDER: Anyone want some tea?

TEGAN: I’d much rather have the Colonel back.

In Earthshock:

BRIGGS: You’ve done well, Mister. You’ll get an extra bonus.

RINGWAY: I’d rather have Vance and Carson alive.

A slight twist in Attack of the Cybermen:

DOCTOR: Merely slips of the tongue.

PERI: I rather think they’re slips of the mind.

Before the most wooden example of all in Revelation:

KARA: Please, accept my apologies.

DAVROS: I would sooner accept your money!

At which point everyone laughs awkwardly, and the big mutant head in a jar trying to crack the funnies.

  1. Lines which conjure peculiarly vivid imagery.

LYTTON: The original plan was to snatch Davros and leave, not dance to his every whim. (Oh no, I much prefer this revised plan. Go on, dance to Davros’s whims! I want to see what they are and see how elegantly these troopers can bust a move in their big Daleky helmets.)

STEIN: With the Bomb Disposal Squad duplicated, the Daleks had people to guard the warehouse who wouldn’t arouse suspicion. (That’s right, because a Bomb Disposal Squad never causes any undue attention! In fact, an old warehouse without a Bomb Disposal Squad would be rather incongruous.)

STYLES: Don’t you get funny ideas? I’d give anything for a glass of cool spring mountain water. (You’ve really thought about that, haven’t you Styles? Between running for your life and taking pot shots at Daleks. Not just water. Not just cool water. Not just cool spring water. But cool spring mountain water. I’m surprised she doesn’t specify which mountain.)

STEIN: I can’t stand the confusion in my mind! (Wow. That’s so strange, ’cause I can’t stand the confusion in my elbow.)

DOCTOR: You’re like a deranged child, all this talk of killing, revenge and destruction. (Look, I’m not here to give out parenting advice, but if you have a child, deranged or otherwise, talking about killing, revenge and destruction, you might want to cut off the red cordial and check their internet history.)

(Or check your DVD collection. They may just be binge watching Saward’s Doctor Who stories.)

LINK TO: The End of Time. Both have flashback sequences! De rigeur for both the Davison and Tennant eras.

NEXT TIME: Geronimo, allons y and Gallifrey stands, it’s The Day of the Doctor.

 

 

 

Random Extra: Old, bold and The Power of the Daleks (2016)

powerdal2

Of all the missing stories, The Power of the Daleks is the one we seem most desperate to piece back together. There have been photonovels and reconstructions and now an animation. I saw this latest version in the same cinema where I’d watched The Day of the Doctor nearly three years ago. That was an experience jam packed with new fans. Power was for a die hard audience of about 20. And it soon became apparent why.

I’ll get to that in a bit. First though… lights dim…   DumdaDum, DumdaDum… Ah, but there is something great about hearing that theme music in cinema quality sound. So exciting when it starts up and that smoky old title sequence looks great on the big screen. It does nothing to help you get over the fantasy that the actual episodes might have magically turned up and the whole animation thing’s been an elaborate ruse. But then the animation starts and you’re watching talking cartoons again. Ah well. Keep looking Phil.

I’ve talked about the animations before. They are labours of love and again the people behind them have worked immensely hard under a punishing timeframe. Power is one of the better efforts but as with all which have gone before, it’s clear that there’s never enough time or money awarded to these things. Glitches have inevitably crept in. Hats, jackets and whole outfits sometimes appear and disappear between shots. At one stage, Lesterson’s arm is sheared by a sharp vertical line. In some shots, Janley’s head doesn’t match up with her neck. And on the whole, faces, limbs and bodily movement are restricted to a few variations on templated norms, and thus regularly show up the limitations of the piece.

It can’t seriously compare with the standards of broadcast animation you’d expect on TV, let alone in the cinema. But it does have an advantage in the Daleks. Their geometric design and their smooth, gliding motion are made for animation. When it’s just them on screen, the whole thing bristles with greater confidence.

But even those animation friendly Daleks can’t help the problems involved in matching up to a 50-year-old mostly missing adventure. Yes, we have scripts, telesnaps and publicity photos to help animators fill the gaps, but seeking for verisimilitude with the original doesn’t always help. Power, like all drama, has frequent moments of silence. In the original, these which would have been filled by actorly and directorial flourishes. But in the animation, these moments often feel static and awkward.

There are numerous instances of this, but by way of, um, illustration, here’s one. In Episode 1, the Doctor walks across Lesterson’s lab and into the Dalek capsule. In the original, Patrick Troughton and director Christopher Barry would have conspired to make those silent seconds suspenseful and intriguing. Here, it’s just a cartoon figure wobbling from one side of the frame to another. It’s dull and it goes on too long. And that drag in pace happens over and over again. So many close ups held too long on a solitary face. Too many two-shots stretched out until the next line of dialogue. Too many shots with nothing happening, then something, then nothing happening again.

It happens because the production has made no edits to the original audio, which they might have been tempted to do to pick up the pace. Fine, many will say. We want Power to be complete as possible. But can’t we trim a static scene a little here? Can’t we top and tail a few seconds of incomprehensible silence there? Can’t we take out that telltale sound of Dalek casters rolling on wooden rostra, and let them float in eerie silence? Can’t we – just as a general rule – edit the audio to make this an easier experience to watch?

(The funny thing is, the strict commitment to re-presentation of the original audio, doesn’t extend to the pictures. Director Charles Norton says on the supporting featurette, Destination: Vulcan, that the finished result is about a 50% shot-by-shot recreation of the original. So it’s surely the less faithful 50% which includes visual references to Magpie Electronics, from the 21st century’s The Idiot’s Lantern. It’s a fun reference. And it shows that the animators aren’t wedded to absolute adherence to the original pictures. So why the audio?)

I can guess the response from the purists, though: where do you stop? Start trimming the story back, and why not edit out some of the duller scenes? Why not add a subplot or other characters (perhaps even a third female character)? Why not, gasp, rewrite the whole thing? You’d have to recast the voices, but that’s possible… right, Big Finish?

It would be heresy to some. But do we want a version of Power which is only of interest to purists, like the 20 die hards in the cinema with me? Or do we want one which a general audience might warm to?

I’ll stick my neck out: we need to be brave. Let’s cut these old stories up. Remix them. We weren’t always so precious about these things; look at the sixties Dalek movies. New versions of old stories in new mediums for new audiences. We’ll reimagine Shakespeare and the Beatles… why not Doctor Who?

If they’re going to recreate further missing Doctor Who episodes, be they animated or live action (and frankly, the latter could make a cracking digital only series for the BBC), I hope they will be bolder. If they stick with animation, the obvious candidate is The Evil of the Daleks with Doctor and Dalek character designs already done. Rassilon knows, there’s a story which could do with a little restructuring. If they do turn to Evil, I hope they make the best version they can, not the most reverent version they can.

After all, that’s exactly the approach Russell T Davies took. When reinventing the program, he didn’t treat Doctor Who like it was made of glass. He knew it wouldn’t break. The same rule could by applied to missing episodes, and if they aren’t coming back, they’ll have to be remade to be seen. Which would be great for us long term fans but also for new fans – because these are at heart, great stories. But make them new. Just like the best Doctor Who, such as The Power of the Daleks, always was.

NEXT TIME… normal service is resumed with The Faceless Ones.

Hedging bets, playing dumb and The Power of the Daleks (1966)

powerradioThese days we’d call it a soft launch. When Doctor Who first changed its lead actor, it made no big deal about it. The publicity for his debut story story barely mentioned new Doctor Patrick Troughton. The Radio Time story focuses on familiar elements: Ben (Michael Craze), Polly (Anneke Wills) and the Daleks. They didn’t change the title sequence. The message being sent is this is business as usual. No need to panic.

Last random, we saw how you change a Doctor with utter confidence. The Power of the Daleks shows no such bravado. It’s not making a fuss, just in case it all goes wrong and in a few weeks they have to ask Hartnell to come back. Not only do the production team soften the new Doctor’s appearance with a return of the show’s most famous monsters, they also bring back a team of old hands to work behind the scenes; writers David Whitaker and Dennis Spooner were the series’ first two story editors and director Christopher Barry worked on the very first Dalek episodes. Bets have never been so hedged.

In fictional terms too, how and why the Doctor has changed is kept very vague, in case it has to be retrofitted later on. The new Doctor refuses to give a straight answer to a question, babbling about change and renewal. Nothing there which couldn’t be revised later on, should this whole risky experiment go wrong.

Of course, it didn’t go wrong. It went spectacularly right. Not only has regeneration become a mainstay of the series and an essential element of its lasting appeal, Troughton was a brilliant success in the part. These days, we’re well acquainted with the second Doctor and his mischievous, child-like ways. It’s hard to imagine just what a shock it was watching The Power of the Daleks and seeing this, well, clown, leapfrogging boulders, tootling on a recorder and ripping door knobs of walls. “It’s little things like this,” says Ben “that make it difficult to believe that you’re the Doctor.”

It’s clever of Whitaker and Spooner to vocalise the audience’s doubts through Ben, just as it is to give their counterpoints to Polly, who far more readily accepts that this newcomer is the same man, just changed. She seems entirely convinced by the time the new Doctor indulges in some playful tongue twisters. “Lesterson listen. Exercises the tongue. Try it!” he urges, and she joins in. If anything indicates that the old Doctor has gone for good, it’s surely this scene, which Hartnell, famously shaky on his lines at the best of times, could never have pulled off.

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The Daleks have also undergone a change. Having crash landed years ago on the colony planet Vulcan, they are being slowly awakened by starry eyed scientist Lesterson (Robert James). Rather than adopting their usual modus operandi of killing everyone within reach of a sucker arm, they instead adopt the pretense of working for the human colonists.

Various Vulcans see the Daleks as a way to further their own personal goals, whether it be scientific advancement like Lesterson or revolution and conquest like rebel leaders Janley (Pamela Ann Davy) and Bragen (Bernard Archer). Though you’d have thought the obsequious way the Daleks keep insisting to be everyone’s serrrr-VANTS! would have raised a few suspicious eyebrows. Not to mention that one almost gives the game away when it says, “a Dalek is bett…is not the same as a human!”

I’ve talked before about Whitaker’s idiosyncratic take on the Daleks, but its worth saying again that what he does is to personalise the Daleks by giving them a dose of human foibles: lying, deception and scheming. Lesterson even sees them as humanity’s replacement, although he says so once he’s gone doolally. “We understand the human mind,” one of them grates, and they do demonstrate an ability to psychologically manipulate those around them, by appealing to their greed. Still they haven’t entirely got us sussed. When Bragen orders one of them to kill the colony’s Governor (Peter Hensell), it ponders “why do human beings kill other human beings?” It’s played nicely too, as much as a ring modulator can convey emotion. The sense is not so much of a poignant Dalek reaction to death, but more a surprised reaction to how easy this conquest of the colony has been. #Trump.

The Doctor spends the whole story warning everyone about the Daleks, to no avail. If anyone watching still shared Ben’s doubts about this newcomer’s identity, it’s this suspicious attitude to the Daleks which shows he’s the same bloke as the white haired geezer he saw in the mirror. The audience knows he’s right too – as early as Episode 3 it’s clear that a Dalek can’t change its bumps. It’s another clever plotting trick of Whitaker’s, to put the audience on the side of this new Doctor. Even though he looks different and won’t answer a straight question, we know he’s right about the Daleks, so we’re on his side.

The power politics of the Colony and how the Daleks aid and abet it take up five episodes, and make for interesting enough listening. Episode 6, though, turns things up a notch. It starts with the Daleks finally articulating their true plan, to annihilate all humans, and then methodically setting about the task. The episode is almost entirely made up of the Daleks mercilessly mowing down humans, rebels and loyalists alike. It’s as grim as sixties Doctor Who gets. At one stage, a desperate Ben and Polly can do nothing but hide in a cupboard and hope to survive.

The Doctor’s plan comes worryingly late in the day. It’s to use the Daleks’ own power supply to blow their domed tops off. To make it happen, the Doctor has to resort to desperate measures. He has to use Bragen’s guards as a distraction, to allow him time to lash the set up together. It works, but the death count is Sawardesque.

Not everyone is grateful. The Doctor’s solution destroys the colony’s power supply, ensuring months of hardship. But there’s something even more worrying; an indication that the Doctor’s motivations are far from clear.

POLLY: Mind you, he wasn’t very convincing when he was trying to explain it to Valmar and Quinn and everybody.

BEN: No, he wasn’t, was he?

POLLY: Doctor, you did know what you were doing, didn’t you?

(The Doctor laughs softly)

What’s the suggestion here? That the Doctor deliberately botched his own attempts to explain the danger presented by the Daleks, so that he might play some long game of his own? A game which left scores of people dead?

One thing’s for sure, this is no longer business as usual. It might now be time to panic.

RANDOM QUESTION: when the Doctor tells Ben and Polly to go away and amuse themselves for a while, what do you think they get up to? I hope they had fun. Maybe in one of the empty rocket rooms.

LINK TO The Twin Dilemma: Doctory debuts.

NEXT TIME… It’s a flying beastie! We’re sticking with Troughton to face The Faceless Ones.

BUT BEFORE THEN: an random extra post, on The Power of the Daleks animation.

Renovation, nostalgia and Remembrance of the Daleks (1988)

Remembrance

New Doctor

Between seasons 24 and 25, the Doctor regenerated but didn’t change his face. Between them, script editor Andrew Cartmel and lead actor Sylvester McCoy sought to change the seventh Doctor from the fun and frothy version we met in his opening year, to the more serious, thoughtful and mysterious version that makes his debut in Remembrance of the Daleks. Prior to this, Doctors had gradually evolved, not made sudden character u-turns. Never before had there been such a tacit admission that a Doctor’s performance was, for whatever reason, not what the show needed and that a major re-think was required.

McCoy is no passive participant here; he embraces this new approach. In his first year, he looked for and accentuated any opportunity for comedy. Here, he looks for and relishes the quiet, pensive moments, the lines where he harshly points out unpalatable truths and where he can hint at his character’s hidden motives. It’s a distinctly different performance to the one he gave previously. A renewal, we might say.

For Cartmel’s part, he pulls off a corresponding renovation of the Doctor’s character in the scripted word. Remembrance is the first story where the Doctor is positioned as a planner and a manipulator of people and events, in order to gain the outcome he wants. For the 24 years prior to this, the Doctor had simply bumbled into events and made things up as he went along. Now, the Doctor has an agenda. And goddess help you if you happen to be on the wrong side of it.

New Companion

Appropriately enough, this new Doctor comes with a new companion. The previous one, frankly, wouldn’t fit with this secretive schemer. Bright and sensible Mel, as played by Bonnie Langford, was too much of an organiser. She’d want to infiltrate the Doctor’s plans, make them more efficient, plot them on a spreadsheet. It would never have worked.

Instead, we have teenage tearaway Ace (Sophie Aldred). Mel was all reason, but Ace is all instinct. She works with this Doctor because she’s someone who simply reacts to whatever he’s planned. They are opposites in this regard: grand planner alongside gut instinct. She also comes looking for trouble. Like previous companions Jamie and Leela, she carries weapons. But unlike them, she’s packing home made bombs and a baseball bat. Which makes sense, because a grand planner wouldn’t walk into a situation unarmed.

Watching Ace join the series when Dragonfire was broadcast, I remember wondering how this new companion was going to work out. She was so different to companions past, I couldn’t quite envisage how her relationship with the Doctor would play out. When Remembrance screened, it was instantly clear. She was as truculent and bolshie and emotionally fragile as you’d expect a teenager to be. Although fiercely loyal, she wasn’t going to go quietly along with what the Doctor wanted. The Doctor’s relationship with Ace was vibrant and stimulating in exactly the way that the Doctor and Mel’s wasn’t.

Looking back on Ace now though, there is something inherently false about her. She’s altogether too polished and perfect to be a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. And the Eliza Doolittle aspect of her relationship with the Doctor seems a tad patronising. But on the other hand, here’s a companion allowed to fire an anti-tank rockets, leap through windows and bash up Daleks. A compelling, though unconvincing mix she might be, but she’s an important element in Remembrance‘s campaign to do nothing less but reinvent Doctor Who.

New Daleks

The Daleks are as old as Doctor Who itself and as I’ve mentioned before, it’s hard to find new things for them to do. Writer Ben Aaronovitch’s solution is to set two factions of them at each other, and have them fighting over an ancient Time Lord artefact. We’ve seen Dalek vs Dalek before, in the recently randomed The Evil of the Daleks, but there it was because some had learned to question their orders, since being injected with the Human Factor. Here, they’re not just ideologically different, but biologically different. As Ace puts it, one set of blobs hate the others for being bionic blobs with bits added.

It’s the genetically modified imperial Daleks, who have decided to experiment with their species’ very form. They’ve created a Special Weapons Dalek, basically a cannon on casters. And when the Emperor Dalek turns up not only is it a big TV Comic style bauble, it springs open to reveal Davros (Terry Malloy) who is sporting many coils of wires and is descending into complete mechanisation. When compared to the traditionally shelled Renegade Daleks, we have a clear contest between conservatives and disrupters.

Tinkering with Dalek design is dangerous territory, as Victory of the Daleks proved. No-one had dared do it since Dalek creator Terry Nation breathed life into Davros in Genesis of the Daleks, and before that when Dalek midwife David Whitaker gave us the original Emperor in Evil. Remembrance gives us no less than three new takes on the Daleks, but while staying faithful to the original design.

So with all this new stuff going on, what exactly are we meant to be remembering?

Old Times

There’s no story reason why this story’s called Remembrance of the Daleks. (That’s hardly the worst crime – there’s no strong reason why the last three Dalek stories were called Destiny, Resurrection or Revelation of the Daleks.) Like so much in this story, the title is self-referential. The remembrance in question is not within the fiction of story, but commenting on the story itself.

It’s about remembering television. Not just remembering Doctor Who‘s past, although there’s loads of that on offer, far outweighing that often derided continuity-fest Attack of the Cybermen. It’s not just the many links to An Unearthly Child, and numerous Dalek stories. The presence of a kind of proto-UNIT with a faux Brigadier, his scientific adviser and a sneaky officer called Mike, brings to mind the days when the Doctor would regularly hang out with the military. “Do you remember the Zygon gambit with the Loch Ness Monster? Or the Yetis in the Underground?,” sighs the Doctor at one point. “No,” the casual audience member says, but “yes and yes” say his loyal fans. (The Doctor only ever wants to remember the classics. He never says, “Do you remember when London was invaded by unconvincing dinosaurs? Or when the Master stole Concorde?”)

Alongside these references sit shoutouts to Quatermass and Grange Hill. Ace talks about watching TV in the future and sits down to watch vintage BBC programming and just misses watching a new science fiction serial. The army has a surveillance rig disguised as a TV detector van and when the Doctor confronts Davros at the story’s climax, he does it via an old television. Not to mention that when that Dalek glides totteringly up those stairs at the end of Part One, it’s putting to rest an old joke perpetrated by years of television tradition, from sketch shows and comedians’ bits of yore.

What this story beautifully evokes is our memories of watching classic TV. That’s where the remembrance lies – in the viewer’s own experience. It’s an odd but exhilarating mix of brave innovations and pure nostalgia.

LINK TO In the Forest of the Night: both are harking back to An Unearthly Child.

NEXT TIME: You intellectual microbe! You asinine cretin! It’s something devious and overcomplicated in The Mark of the Rani.

Whitaker, wiles and The Evil of the Daleks (1967)

evil1

Whenever the Doctor arrives in 1966, it’s time to hit the town. In his last incarnation, he hit London’s hottest nightspot. The second Doctor’s tastes are more sedate. He and Jamie (those buddies the Trought and the Fraze) content themselves with a coffee bar. Still, there are miniskirted girls there for Jamie to flirt with and a rocking soundtrack consisting of The Seekers. Wow, what a groovy trip, man!

But enough of such frivolity. Revisiting The Reign of Terror and now The Evil of the Daleks in quick succession has got me thinking about David Whitaker, story editor of the former and writer of the latter. (Spoiler alert: he’s my LINK between these two stories).

I’ve been doing some Googling and I’ve realised how little we actually know about him and his career. There’s only one interview for DWM before his death in 1980 at the shockingly young age of 51. Most of his other TV and film work either pre-dates Doctor Who so is probably long lost, or is not much remarked upon. Frustratingly for me, his TV work undertaken while resident in Australia is documented only by credits on IMDB. The producers of An Adventure in Space and Time omitted him completely.

How can we know so little about the man who crafted so much of our favourite show’s crucial first year? The man who introduced Patrick Troughton’s Doctor? And who wrote, as he and the show’s producers expected it to be, this random story, the one they intended to end all Dalek stories?

I think it’s because he feels more familiar than he is. That’s because of the sheer number of episodes he wrote (33, not counting the written-by-committee The Ambassadors of Death) which are mostly well regarded, and he wrote those two stellar novelisations of The Daleks and The Crusade. We (or at least, I) have taken this man for granted.

All this gets me around to saying that I have to guess at David Whitaker’s take on Doctor Who, because despite being a key creative force at the series’ genesis, I don’t really know what he thought made the show tick. But I would suggest that he was very proud of his connection to the Daleks, perhaps almost to the point where he felt some shared authorship of them. Certainly, he has an indelible link to that first Dalek story, having story edited it (and I suspect writing large chunks of it, if we’re to believe Terry Nation’s reputation for writing sparse scripts), written the novelisation, and contributed to the movie version. Plus he wrote the Dalek stage play, and the Dalek comic strip and when tasked with writing the Daleks out of Doctor Who, he returns the Doctor to their city on Skaro, the place where all this mania began.

What strikes me about The Evil of the Daleks, is how different Whitaker’s take on the Daleks is from Terry Nation’s. In Nation’s serials, the Daleks are plain speaking, declaratory bad guys. They are simple; they wish to enslave and exterminate. There’s no nuance; what you see is what you get. On casters. But the Daleks of Whitaker’s stories, first The Power of the Daleks and then Evil are very different. Because Whitaker’s Daleks are deceitful.

In Power, Whitaker’s Daleks convinced the gullible inhabitants of the Vulcan colony that they were obedient household help. “I am your serv-ANT!,” they chanted on that occasion and it fooled everyone except the Doctor. In Evil, they go one further and this time manage to deceive the Doctor into thinking they are making him work out the distinctive characteristics of being human, when in fact they are working out the distinctive characteristics of being a Dalek. (They needn’t have got to such elaborate means. I can tell them what the Dalek factor is: shouty, cross, bin-like.)

Evil is inherently about mixing up what’s human and what’s Dalek, and it’s this which seems to interest Whitaker most. In this story we see Daleks become like human children, and a human – chief nutbag Maxtible (Marius Goring) – become like a Dalek. But more subtly, it’s the ability of Whitaker’s Daleks to deceive, to cajole and to inveigle which makes them seem more human and therefore more interesting than Nation’s Daleks. They mimic humanity’s traits as never before. The most telling example is when a particularly wily and genuine Dalek pretends to be one of the humanised versions in order to gain the Doctor’s trust. (The Doctor’s not fooled, and in show of intelligence and cunning to match the Dalek, shoves it off a cliff).

Whitaker also introduces an almost seductive element to the Daleks (yes, you read that right), highlighting their ability to convince humans to become their unwitting allies. In Power it was Lesterson, who almost fawned over the creatures in an attempt to further his knowledge. In Evil, it’s Maxtible whose arrogance leads him to believe he’s a ‘colleague’ of the Daleks and not their hapless crony. Both speak in reverent, hushed tones about the Daleks, as technological wonders. This allure is quite different from the cold political convenience that Mavic Chen (Nation’s take on a human ally of the Daleks) saw in them.  Whitaker’s Daleks have an almost magical influence over people. In Evil, we have the first example of a human under Dalek mind control in Arthur Terrall (Gary Watson) and a number of characters speak about people coming under ‘the power of the daleks’.

It’s telling that given the opportunity to write the Daleks out of the series, Whitaker pulls out all the stops. Back in his days as story editor, serials were set in either the past, present or future. Evil is set in all of them.  We revisit the settings of The Daleks by returning to Skaro, and if Whitaker’s initial ideas had got off the ground, the Doctor would have made friends with a caveman, recalling the show’s very first story. This is a rare example of a sixties era story mining the show’s own past. And why not, as Whitaker was an architect of that past.

But he doesn’t rest on his laurels too long. There’s the Emperor Dalek, the biggest, baddest of them all and a civil war with Daleks fighting Daleks. All this plus time travel by mirrors, metal turned into gold, an impossible antique shop and a mute Turkish wrestler. No wonder Evil has maintained fans interest over the years, long after it was junked. There’s so much in it to talk about. But at its heart, I think, is not this juxtaposition of diverse elements, but the desire to make the Daleks as conniving, as darkly alluring and as fascinating as any human villain.

Is this what was going on in Whitaker’s mind? We’ll never know. But it’s been one hell of a trip.

NEXT TIME:  Treeees! Once upon a time, we’ll take a walk In the Forest of the Night.