The Gunfighters

Dear Gary—

Even the great ones are allowed their misses. As much as I love Fred Astaire and Cary Grant, Yolanda and the Thief is a shambles of a movie and Kiss Them For Me has no reason to be. And so I must make allowances for Doctor Who and The Gunfighters.

I don’t know what annoys me more about this story: the gratingly phony American accents the actors attempt or the inane refrain sung throughout the entire four episodes. I think it’s the song. The first two lines sung at the beginning of the first episode are OK. It should have stopped there. But no, it goes on and on and on, repeating the same lines over and over and over. Will it never end? No. Not until the bitter end of this story.

And it is all Cyril’s fault. Cyril from The Celestial Toymaker and his bag of sweets. The Doctor takes this sugary souvenir and the next thing we know he has a toothache. You would think he would know better than to look for a dentist in the Old West, and in fact he does: “Fat chance I’m going to find a dentist in the Middle West.” He looks anyway, tut tutting the suggestion that he find some pain killers in the TARDIS, and Saloon Song Sally’s song goes on.

It’s not just the accents and the song, however. I also don’t like how this story turns Steven into a clown. “Why can’t you wear inconspicuous clothes like I do?” the Doctor admonishes Steven as he emerges from the TARDIS in his “ridiculous” outfit that makes him look like Tom Mix. The outlandish costume and atrocious accent he dons trying to mix in with the locals are bad enough, but the Don Knotts buffoonery in dealing with the town toughs is demeaning to the actor, the character, and Doctor Who.

At least the Doctor gets to wear a dapper black hat that Dodo puts on his head. “Most suitable.” And surprisingly the Doctor has guns aboard the TARDIS, with Steven taking one that the Doctor says, “belongs to my favorite collection.” Despite stating “I certainly disapprove of violence,” the Doctor accepts a gun from Doc Holliday and even displays a bit of gun spinning wizardry. However later he says, “People keep giving me guns; I do wish they wouldn’t.”

Saloon Song Sally keeps singing; I do wish she wouldn’t.

The Doctor goes to Doc Holliday to cure his toothache and gets mistaken for the Doc. Wyatt Earp (or Werp as the Doctor calls him) and Bat Masterson take the Doctor into custody for his own protection (from the Clanton boys and Johnny Ringo). Dodo is kidnapped by Doc Holliday and his paramour Kate. Steven strides around in his rhinestone cowboy suit. And Saloon Song Sally won’t stop singing.

What’s not to hate about this story?

More Earps (Werps) show up, a couple people get shot, Doc Holliday drags Dodo back and forth between towns, Steven gets taken by the Clantons. Tombstone. The Last Chance Saloon. The O.K. Corral. And Saloon Song Sally just won’t shut up.

Editorial comment, here, Gary. For a show that keeps pounding home that one should not tamper with history, The Gunfighters takes all kinds of liberties with history. And Saloon Song Sally just won’t stop singing about it.

As long as I am asiding here, Gary, and to take a break from Sally’s relentless song, I do rather enjoy the Doctor in all of this. He seems above everything. He knows that the action around him is unnecessary and irrelevant and tut tuts it all. With his proclamations (“I certainly disapprove of violence.” “I never touch alcohol.”) he rejects. With his introductions (himself as Dr. Caligari, Steven as Steven Regret) he mocks. And his final commentary on this story: when leaving he tosses away the one souvenir offered him. Fittingly it is a Wanted Poster. The Doctor doesn’t want it.

And one final aside. We have another inside joke of a reference to the Doctor. After referring to himself as Dr. Caligari: “Doctor Who?”  “Yes, you’re quite right.”

And with that, Gary, I am going to leave behind Saloon Song Sally, because I just can’t abide her anymore. Doctor Who—quite right. Saloon Song Sally—quite wrong. The two just don’t mix.

I hope, Gary, that this finds you somewhere in the echoes of time.