The Romans

Dear Gary—

What a refreshing change of pace The Romans is. Like our travelers idling about in an ancient Roman villa for a month, this comic little thrill ride gives the viewer a much needed respite from sometimes overlong and grim adventures of Doctor Who. While there are some harsh realities, the story as a whole is played for comedy, and at times turns to outright farce. Lovely. The William Hartnell era is definitely the most varied and unpredictable, and thus the most rewarding in many ways.

In The Romans we are rewarded with a relaxed crew joking familiarly amongst themselves; a spry Doctor scuffling with a mute; a Benny Hill like Nero chasing Barbara through palace corridors; a wily Doctor pulling a twist on The Emperor’s New Clothes with the lyre; a puckish Vicki playing poison, poison, who’s got the poison; a hunky Ian musing on his scheduled arena bout with an MGM lion. And at no point does a Dalek round up slaves for auction; at no point does a spaceship come crashing through the coliseum; at no point does a Cyberman take up the gladiator’s sword; at no point does a Pyrovile burn Rome.

The events unfolding are deadly serious. Slave auctions. Ship wrecks. Galley slaves. Gladiators.  Plottings. Poisonings.  Assassination attempts. Arson.  And yet we laugh at every twist and turn.

“The adventures come without our looking for them,” Barbara states. How right she is. The Doctor and company have been ‘resting’ (“There’s a great deal of difference between resting and being sort of bone idle”) for nearly a month in the villa when our story begins. A bored Doctor and Vicki head off for Rome while Barbara and Ian remain for a wonderfully acted scene of playful fun before slave traders break in to steal them away, with the aid of Barbara who, in her best sitcom form, accidently hits Ian over the head with a jug.

Meanwhile, the Doctor is mistaken for a lyre player on his way to Nero’s court and he and Vicki are off to see the Emperor. The Doctor is clearly delighting in this new adventure, and William Hartnell is clearly delighting in this comedy role.  The tone is set from the start when the Doctor plays a homophonic game with lyre/liar. The Doctor/William Hartnell deftly dances his way through court intrigue with words and wit.

But it’s not just verbal sparring for the Doctor. At one point he is jumped from behind and wrestles with his attacker. When Vicki comes in and his opponent falls out the window, a disappointed Doctor exclaims, “Young lady, why did you have to come in and interrupt just as I got him all softened up and ready for the old one two?” He goes on, “I’m so constantly outwitting the opposition, I tend to forget the delights and satisfaction of the arts . . . the gentle arts . . . of fisticuffs.” So invigorated by his bout, the Doctor continues to brag on his abilities, claiming to have taught the Mountain Mauler of Montana.

An aside, here, Gary, on the lovable and endearing befuddlement of William Hartnell. He was near the end of his life when playing Doctor Who and dealing with both age and illness.  There were many times when he flubbed lines or lost his way, but he always managed to make this work for the character. That was just the Doctor being the Doctor. None of us in real life have scripted lines. We all lose our way at times. We all misspeak and backtrack and restate.  The Doctor, William Hartnell’s Doctor, is so very human in this way and so very sympathetic. Even in the midst of bragging he can reveal a weakness.

Vicki has her own contribution to the comedy, although hers is a tad more irresponsible. “I think I poisoned Nero,” she states calmly and matter-of-factly.  The Doctor takes her to task: “We’re here as observers. We must not interfere with the course of progress or try to accelerate man’s achievements or progress.”  The resulting death of the poor hapless servant is horrific; and yet we laugh.

Despite the comedy, the story does not get lost. We still care about Ian helplessly chained in the galley and plotting his escape. We follow his course to Rome and the arena. We worry that he will have to kill his new friend in order to save himself. We cheer him on as he sneaks into the palace in search of Barbara.  And we don’t forget about Barbara either, sold as a handmaiden to Poppaea and relentlessly pursued by Nero. Nor do we lose sight of the peril the Doctor and Vicki are in, imposters caught up in a tangled web of conspiracies.

And it is a tangled web that we are following, these separate threads of a story, all striving to one point but somehow never quite meeting. It’s like Barbara scampering down corridors, running in one door and out another, the Doctor popping in just as she goes out, Vicki walking by just as Barbara turns the corner.  All roads lead to Rome, but the travelers on those roads don’t always meet up in the middle.

But we know it will all come right in the end and they will all meet up again in The TARDIS.

The Doctor, after having admonished Vicki for her meddling in the historical timeline, admits to his own minor meddling in having given Hans Christian Anderson the idea for The Emperor’s New Clothes, and now, on his way back to the TARDIS while Rome burns behind him, is chuckling to himself at the thought that perhaps the great fire of Rome was actually his fault. But they must be on their way; no time to stop and ponder on this, Vicki’s first sight of history.

And so our four are reunited at the villa, unaware of the other’s adventures, and after another jocular bit of shared camaraderie they return to the TARDIS (which we learn is capable of taking off from an angle) to resume their journey in the stars.

I wonder, Gary, how you responded to the tone of this story. It certainly has its share of critics. But I think you would have enjoyed the impish quality. All I can do is wonder and send this out and hopelessly wait.