Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The Talons of Weng-Chiang

Dear Gary—
“Mister Chang. Wonderful, wonderful. Words fail me, sir. Words fail me.”
Words fail me. Words fail me. I have struggled with this one. I have started and stopped. I have finished and scrapped. Words fail me.
The Talons of Weng-Chiang is probably the pinnacle of the Tom Baker Era, if not of Doctor Who. Since Robot, serial after serial has been outstanding, culminating in The Talons of Weng-Chiang. This is the last pairing of the dynamic duo of producer Phillip Hinchcliffe and script editor Robert Holmes and they go out on the highest of high notes.
Perhaps that is why, along with Mr. Jago, words fail me.
How can I do justice to this classic of the classic?
“We don’t want to be conspicuous.” I’ll start with the Doctor. The Doctor and Leela. The Doctor and Leela emerging from the TARDIS onto the foggy streets of Victorian London. The Doctor dressed in his best Sherlock Holmes (sans scarf), and Leela, not in her traditional skins, but in a proper Victorian boy’s outfit.
“Doctor, you make me wear strange clothes, you tell me nothing, you are trying to annoy me.”
“I’m trying to teach you, Leela.”
The promise of the Professor Higgins/Eliza Doolittle relationship of this duo comes to life in The Talons of Weng-Chiang.
But it is Pygmalion set in a Sherlock Holmes/Jack the Ripper/Phantom of the Opera/Fu Manchu mystery thriller.
Words fail me.
Which brings me back to Mr. Jago, so maybe I’ll start there. Mr. Jago, Li H’sen Chang, Mr. Sin, Casey, a Victorian London music hall with a Chinese ventriloquist/magician and a ghost in the cellar. And the missing Emma Buller. “Don’t come the cod. She’s disappeared. Nobody’s seen her, not since she come here last night, so what about it, eh?”
So what about it? So much set up in the first few minutes.
And then we have the Doctor and Leela tussling with a gang of murderous Chinese thugs (Tong of the Black Scorpion) in an alley.
Atmosphere and mystery and characters abound and we’ve only just begun.
“On my oath, you wouldn’t want that served with onions. Never seen anything like it in all my puff. Oh, make an ‘orse sick, that would.” The unfortunate cabby in search of his missing wife Emma Buller, recently departed from the theater with his accusations against Li H’sen Chang ringing in Mr. Jago’s ears, has turned up dead in the river.
So what about it? So, bring in the Doctor and Leela as witness, bring in the one member of the Tong of the Black Scorpion who did not escape (“When I got here, he was being strangled with his own pigtail”), bring in Li H’sen Chang as interpreter.
“Show us a trick,” says the Doctor upon recognizing Chang from his music hall poster. Immediately the Chinese prisoner falls dead. “Very good, very good,” the Doctor applauds.
Bring in Professor Litefoot to perform the autopsy. “It’s been jolly interesting, wouldn’t you say? Most of the corpses around here are jolly dull. Now I’ve got a couple of inscrutable Chinks and a poor perisher who was chewed by a giant rat, having been stabbed by a midget.”
This brings up a valid criticism of The Talons of Weng-Chiang, Gary, and that is the racism that runs throughout. However, I have to point out that you cannot have a story set in Victorian England dealing with Chinese Tongs and make it feel authentic without using the epithets and attitudes of the time.  Li H’sen Chang himself is a counterpoint to the racism. “I understand we all look the same,” Chang tells the Doctor who is trying to remember where he has seen him before (“I haven’t been in China for 400 years.”). Li H’sen Chang, for all his villainy, is nobly realized.
As are all of the characters in The Talons of Weng-Chiang, from the unfortunate Casey up to our title character Weng-Chiang. I haven’t even mentioned Weng-Chiang yet. Weng-Chiang, our phantom lurking under the Palace Theater. Weng-Chiang, Chinese god of abundance. Weng Chiang, aka Bent Face, aka Magnus Greel.
Weng-Chiang provides the science in our Pygmalion/Sherlock Holmes/Jack the Ripper/Phantom of the Opera/Fu Manchu fiction. Weng-Chiang, aka Magnus Greel, “the infamous Minister of Justice, the Butcher of Brisbane” from the 51st Century who used a time machine based on zigma energy and fell from the sky like a god upon the peasant Li H’sen Chang. Weng Chiang, aka Magnus Greel, falling apart before our eyes, having to drain the life essence from young girls to keep himself alive.
Weng-Chiang brought with him Mr. Sin. Sin, posing as Li H’sen Chang’s ventriloquist dummy but in reality the Peking Homunculus, a cyborg toy with the cerebral cortex of a pig that was made for the children of the Commissioner of the Icelandic Alliance about the year 5,000 and that almost caused World War Six. (The Doctor knows all of this, having been “with the Filipino army at the final advance on Reykjavik” at the time.)
“I say, I may have had a bang on the head, but this is a dashed queer story,” Litefoot says upon hearing this preposterous history.
Dashed queer story, perhaps. Preposterous, perhaps. But intelligent, witty, entertaining, engrossing, and fun.
Words fail me.
“My dear Litefoot, I’ve got a lantern, a pair of waders, and possibly the most fearsome piece of hand artillery in all of England. What can possibly go wrong?”
Words never fail the Doctor. The Doctor has confidence, and Jago has supreme confidence in the Doctor. Henry Gordon Jago, one of the best Doctor Who characters ever created. He could have easily fallen to caricature but never does.
Henry Gordon Jago, proprietor of the Palace Theater, has the utmost trust in the Doctor, believing him to be in high standing with Scotland Yard, solving half their cases himself. “It stands to reason,” he explains. “I mean, they’re policemen. We all know they’re solid, sterling fellows, but their buttons are the brightest things about them, don’t you agree? Now the Doctor’s a real detective.”
The scenes early on between Jago and his Irish stagehand Casey, the “pixilated leprechaun” (“You’ve been drinking.” “Not a drop, sir.” “Well, it’s time you started.”), set the stage for his later pairing with Litefoot. Jago and Litefoot are a true Charters and Caldicott duo that saw life beyond The Talons of Weng-Chiang in the form of an audio series from Big Finish Productions. I’ll have to look into those one of these days, Gary.
Jago: “Well, I’m not awfully . . . . Well, I’m not so bally brave when it comes to it. I try to be but I’m not.”
Litefoot: “When it comes to it, I don’t suppose anybody is.”
Jago: “Well, I thought I ought to tell you anyway, in case I let the side down.”
Litefoot: “You won’t, Henry. I know you won’t.”
And neither one does.
Litefoot, for his part, is as good a character as Jago. Litefoot, the Dr. Watson/Pickering to the Doctor’s Sherlock Holmes/Professor Higgins. Litefoot, complete with a Mrs. Hudson as housekeeper, is priceless in his delicate dealings with the savage Eliza Leela (“found floating down the Amazon in a hat box”). When Leela bypasses the plates and cutlery as she dives into the buffet, Litefoot gallantly picks up his own leg of lamb to gnaw on. But he draws the line at using the tablecloth as napkin.
Leela is no slouch herself in The Talons of Weng Chiang. Diligently trying to absorb the intricacies of tea (“it’s very complicated”), Leela is more at home with a knife in her hand or at the throat of her enemy. There is no ‘Eek, a mouse’ moment for Leela. Trudging through the rat-infested sewers she says of the rodents, “They don’t look very dangerous.” She does run upon encountering the giant rat, but who wouldn’t, without a weapon and in one’s soaking underclothes? Even if the giant rat is the one unconvincing element in all of the six episodes of The Talons of Weng-Chiang.
“Spawn of evil, now I destroy you,” Leela exclaims as she jumps upon Weng-Chiang. Even faced with imminent death she remains defiant: “Kill me any way you wish. Unlike you I am not afraid to die.” And she continues, “I shall not plead. But I promise you this: when we are both in the great hereafter I shall hunt you down, Bent Face, and put you through my agony a thousand times.”
And she would, too. In a Doctor Who alternate time line I could very well see the huntress Leela stalking the cowering Magnus Greel.
But the Doctor rushes in at the last moment to save her.
Like Jago, I have every confidence that the Doctor will save the day. It is interesting, though, Gary, that Leela does not whimper companion-like in the face of death, calling for the Doctor. She faces it. She relishes it. She lays her plans for it.
But she needn’t.
“I owe you my life, Doctor. Thank you.”
Simple. Direct. She does not expect the Doctor to save her. She does not rely on the Doctor to save her. But when the Doctor does save her: “I owe you my life, Doctor. Thank you.”
Neither Leela nor the Doctor has let the side down.
“The list of your failures is growing.” Li H’sen Chang, on the other hand, has let Weng-Chiang down.
The Li H’sen Chang/Weng-Chiang relationship, like tea, is complicated. Li H’sen Chang is not your typical Doctor Who sycophant or groveling disciple or mercenary. Li H’sen Chang is not motivated by your typical villainous greed or lust or vengeance. Li H’sen Chang truly believes he is serving the cause of a god. And when his “list of failures” grows too great, Chang offers himself up to the giant rat as sacrifice.
But it is more complicated than that. Li H’sen Chang was a simple peasant. Magnus Greel came down upon him as a god—as Weng Chiang. Li H’sen Chang nursed him, protected him, saved him. Now Li H’sen Chang serves him. Weng-Chiang is his god.
But it is more complicated than that. Weng-Chiang has given Li H’sen Chang powers. Li H’sen Chang is a magician, a ventriloquist, a music hall favorite. Simple peasant Li H’sen Chang: “Next month the great Chang would have performed before the Queen Empress at Buckingham Palace. I, the son of a peasant.”
Now the simple peasant Li H’sen Chang, raised to theatrical prominence, has sunk to the depths of a sewer rat charnel house; has dragged himself, half dying and legless, to an opium den; has been shamed by his “false god.” Li H’sen Chang: “I believed in him. For many years I believed in him.” Li H’sen Chang: “Until he shamed me. I lost face. The whole theater saw my failure.”
Li H’sen Chang relied on Weng-Chiang. Weng-Chiang has failed him.
Weng-Chiang/Magnus Greel is an experiment in failure. He is surrounded by failure. He is a failure. Just don’t tell him that.
Doctor: “The zigma experiments came to nothing. They were a failure. Nothing came of them.”
Greel: “No! No, they were a success. Why, I used them to escape from my enemies. The first man to travel through time.”
Doctor: “Hmmm. Look what it did to you.”
Greel: “A temporal distortion of my metabolism. It can be readjusted.”
You can’t argue with delusion. But a midget pig-brained cyborg Peking Homunculus sidekick who is manning a death ray can be convinced that the zigma experiments are a failure and a last attempt to use the time cabinet will cause a deadly implosion.
“This is mutiny, Sin!” Surrounded by failure, set upon by mutinous pig-brained midget followers, Magnus Greel, aka Weng-Chiang, hasn’t a chance. Leave it to the Doctor to finish him off in Greel’s own catalytic extraction chamber; hoisted by his own petard.
The dust has settled. Magnus Greel aka Weng-Chiang has disintegrated, Mr. Sin the Peking Homunculus has been defused. All that is left is for the Doctor and the Leela to take their leave of Jago and Litefoot.
I am sorry to see the end of this, Gary. I was prejudiced going in knowing this was a six parter; normally I cringe at anything longer than four. But I almost wish The Talons of Weng-Chiang was longer. I could do with some more of Jago and Lightfoot. I could do with some more of Weng-Chiang and Mr. Sin (the Peking Homunculus). I could do with some more of Li H’sen Chang. I could do with some more of the foggy streets, the sewers, the theater, the opium den, and the House of the Dragon. I could even do with some more of the giant rat.
But it is the end. The end of The Talons of Weng-Chiang. The end of the Hinchcliffe/Holmes era. However, as the Doctor says, “sleep is for tortoises,” and this is no time for sleep. It is time to look forward not time to reflect. There is much more of the Doctor and Tom Baker and I need to put this behind and get back on track.
And yet, Gary, words still fail me . . .

Monday, February 18, 2013

Robots of Death

Dear Gary—
I can’t get over the high quality of the show, story after story, during this stretch. They just keep coming, one after the other. Robots of Death is no exception.
“To the rational mind nothing is inexplicable, only unexplained.”
The Doctor has begun his education of Leela.
Leela, the Eliza Doolittle to the Doctor’s Professor Higgins. Leela the primitive with limited learning but with an open and curious mind. And a mind with an eye for the practical.
“That’s silly,” is her reaction when the Doctor tries to illustrate with different sized boxes at different distances how the TARDIS can be bigger on the inside than on the outside. She knows which box is bigger, even if it looks smaller—“That’s because it’s further away.” She knows. “That’s silly.”
“That’s transdimensional engineering, a key Time Lord discovery,” but the Doctor hasn’t time to pursue this further for the TARDIS (the silly, bigger on the inside than on the outside TARDIS) has materialized.
Doctor: “This is the exciting bit.”
Leela: “What’s exciting?”
Doctor: “Well, seeing what’s outside.”
It’s not just an education; it’s an adventure.
What’s on the outside—the adventure—is the outstanding Robots of Death.
Our first glimpse of Robots of Death sets the tone for this adventure. It is Art Deco sumptuous automaton. (I want to aside here, Gary. Art Deco has been used before to great effect in The Black Cat—the Karloff/Lugosi classic. There, too, Art Deco enhanced harsh, stark cruelties.)
It is not just the cruelties that are harsh and stark in The Robots of Death; so too is the landscape. “It’s beautiful,” Leela says as she peers out at the arid desert before them.
However the sandminer vehicle in which the TARDIS has landed and which is extracting minerals from the surface of this desert planet is another story, as are the occupants thereof. These miners are not your average underground, dirt and grime, hard hat miners. Nor are they your typical uniformed space explorers. I like how each uniform is highly individual and hints of rank and caste and ancestry woven into this rich tapestry of costumery. The interplay between the cast of characters, too, hints of multiple threads—this is a soap opera in the making.
And then the dead bodies start piling up. Now we have an Agatha Christie Ten Little Indians mystery going on.
The Doctor and Leela materialize in the middle of this Art Deco soap opera murder mystery with robots.
We know that the robots are responsible for the killings. The Doctor knows the robots are responsible for the killings. The human occupants, the Art Deco soap opera miners, do not.
“Shumf! All over in two seconds.” Our first victim, Chub, probably would have known. But he is dead. All over in two seconds. Shumf!
Robots, everybody knows, have a prime directive: “Robots can’t harm humans.” But Chub knows: “They go wrong, my friend. It’s been known.” Leela knows too: “The second principle is that humans can’t harm robots. I know. I tried and they don’t bleed.”
Our Art Deco soap opera miners, however, take some convincing. (“You know, you’re a classic example of the inverse ratio between the size of the mouth and the size of the brain.”)
A word, Gary, about our Art Deco soap opera miners. Another superb cast depicting deeply characterized roles. Unfortunately many of them get killed off—one, two, three—Chub, Cass, Borg (and Karril who is only seen as a corpse). And then there is Zilda. Zilda is part of the underlying soap opera from a family of wealth and power that has lost both, suspicious of the captain and mourning the tragic loss of her brother. A story told in seconds of looks, tones, throw-away dialogue. Zilda, however, provides the one sour note in this symphonic tapestry. The climactic scene towards the end of episode two when she accuses the captain over the intercom, to my mind, is rather overdone. But she is killed and that is the end of that.
Now we are left with the captain Uvanov, with Toos, with Poul, and with Dask. Our last remaining Little Indians. And the robots. The Robots of Death.
One of these four remaining, we know, has reprogrammed the robots, is Taren Capel in hiding. Taren Capel—the human brought up by robots. Taren Capel the mad, or as the Doctor puts it: “Right now he must be a happy little maniac.” Taren Capel must be on board. (“Oh that’s dim. Even for a Dumb, that’s dim. You realize he’s almost certainly on board.”)
Uvanov was the obvious red herring, with hints of Zilda and her tragic brother accusing him surreptitiously and then outright. Uvanov, the mercenary miner with zelanite rather than blood running through his veins. Uvanov with secret longings of his own.
Toos would have been a master stroke, but Toos is too valuable as she is.
Poul is eliminated early on—Poul who goes mad with ‘Robophobia’ or ‘Grimwade’s Syndrome’ when he realizes that the robots really are to blame.
That leaves the obvious Dask. Dask/Taren Capel. Our villain. Mastermind of the robot revolution, of the robots of death.
I’m not sure why he chose a lonely sandminer vehicle on a desert planet for his master plan, but since this is Doctor Who, who cares?
“Kill, kill, kill.”
“Kill the Doctor. Kill the Doctor. Kill the Doctor.”
Murderous robots. ”Kill, kill, kill.”
Taren Capel. Murderous robots. Kill, kill, kill.
Robots are single minded. You program them to kill, they kill. Kill, kill, kill.
Humans have nuances:
Uvanov: “You have cost me and the company a great deal of money and you have killed three people. Can you think of any good reason why I should not have you executed on the spot?”
Leela: “No, but you can, otherwise you’d have done it.”
Humans do not kill, kill, kill. Humans kill with reason. Humans kill with purpose. Robots, when so programmed, kill, kill, kill.
That is why they are so easily defeated. True, you can reason humans out of killing, but humans are unpredictable. You never know exactly what your human opponent is thinking. Machines, computers, robots—they are all the same, they are all predictable. You know what they are thinking: “Kill, kill, kill.”
And machines, computers, robots—they are all so literal. One comma out of place, one “mouse in the wainscoting” and it is all over.
“All good things come to an end.”
Taren Capel/Dask is dead. The robots are decommissioned. Uvanov, Toos, and the deranged Poul survive.
And the education of Leela continues.
Leela: “Sometimes you talk like a Tesh.”
Doctor: “Thank you.”
Leela: “It was not well meant.”
Well . . . it continues with qualifications. Leela has an open mind and is willing to learn. But don’t give her double talk. Don’t talk down to her. Don’t talk above her.
And so, Gary, we leave these “creepy mechanical men” behind with a “Kill the . . . kill the . . . kill the . . .” echoing back from the Doctor’s time swirl, and the Doctor and Leela enter that loveably unreliable TARDIS (Leela: “You mean you can’t control this machine?” Doctor: “Well, of course I can control it—nine times out of ten. Well seven times out of ten. Five times . . . look, never mind . . .”) and we look forward to the next adventure/lesson.
All good things must come to an end . . . Shumf!

Friday, February 15, 2013

The Face of Evil

Dear Gary—
“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”
The Doctor’s own voice, echoing, repeating, reverberating. The Doctor’s own face, larger than life and multiplied before him.
“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”
Circling around him in a symphony of insanity.
The Face of Evil.
The Mandragora Helix in the Masque of Mandragora let the Doctor off the hook. The Face of Evil does not. The Face of Evil confronts the Doctor with huge depictions of himself in various forms—cut in rock, floating projections, images on a screen—giant, accusatory faces. The Doctor has been here before.
“I must have made quite an impression.”
When the Doctor first emerges from the TARDIS with, “I think this is not Hyde Park,” (“Could be a nexial discontinuity.”) he is alone. Sarah Jane has been left behind, as has Gallifrey. Companionless, the Doctor begins talking to the camera, which I find rather jarring (although not unprecedented—William Hartnell wishing the audience a Merry Christmas during The Feast of Steven). Almost immediately, however, he meets up with Leela, and the hints start piling up that he has been here before.
“The Evil One,” Leela exclaims upon first meeting the Doctor.
“Well, nobody’s perfect, but that’s overstating it a little,” the Doctor replies and offers her a Jelly Baby, to which Leela retorts, “They say the Evil One eats babies.”
The Evil One, The Face of Evil. The Doctor is not going to be let off the hook on this one.
The Doctor starts putting the clues together when he encounters the Sevateem, a primitive tribe from which Leela has been expelled for heresy. Their ritual hand motions, the Doctor realizes, are the gestures used when checking the seams on a Starfall Seven spacesuit, and their holy relics are relics from a long lost space mission. “The whole place is littered with their equipment, their weapons and tools,” the Doctor explains. These Sevateem are not what they seem.
Eventually the Doctor pieces together that the Sevateem are descendents of the Mordee Expedition, and he recalls having helped this expedition by repairing their computer.
The Doctor has long held computers in disdain, and he has had several run-ins with computers gone amok (WOTAN and BOSS among the more memorable). Now he has Xoanon to contend with. Xoanon, made in his own image. Xoanon, worshiped as a god. Xoanon, schizophrenic engineer of a eugenics experiment gone awry. Xoanon.
“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”
The Doctor is not being let off this hook. The Doctor is the cause of this mess. The Doctor is the creator of this world (a world, curiously enough, with only one Eve).
“Gods don’t use transceivers.” The Doctor must put this mess right, and he begins by cutting through the ceremonial trappings of superstition and stating facts.
This is where Leela is so brilliantly conceived.
Leela has grown up with this ceremony. Leela has been instilled with this superstition. But Leela has an open and curious mind. Leela rejects the ceremony. Leela rejects the superstition. Leela is just waiting for the Doctor to arrive to fill in the answers for her. Or more accurately, to guide her to seek her own answers.
Leela: “Do you know the answer to everything?”
Doctor: “Yes. Well, no, no. Answers are easy. It’s asking the right questions which is hard.”
But the right questions often lead to uncertainty:
Leela: “I don’t know what to believe any more.”
Doctor: “Well, that sounds healthy, anyway, Leela. Never be certain of anything. It’s a sign of weakness.”
Being certain is what has weakened the Sevateem and the Tesh. The Sevateem—the survey team of the original Mordee Expedition, gone out to explore the planet surface. The Tesh—the technicians of the original Mordee Expedition, left behind in the rocket. Divided by a barrier created by Xoanon, the Sevateem have developed in body while the Tesh have developed in mind. And each, the Sevateem and the Tesh, is certain in their beliefs. Certain in their myths. Certain in their superstitions. And each, the Sevateem and the Tesh, is weak.
I find it interesting, Gary, that the Sevateem—the tribe of the body, the tribe of brute strength, the tribe of survival instinct—has produced more rebels, has produced more flexibility of thought, has produced more open minds. The Tesh, on the other hand, the think tank of Mordee, is rigid and intractable.
It is easy to look at Leela and Tomas and Calib of the Sevateem to prove the point, but let’s look to Neeva vs. the Tesh Jabel. These are the two true believers. The two spiritual leaders. Let us look to them.
Neeva: “The gates of Paradise shall be opened to the people of Xoanon and his dwelling place revealed.”
The ancient litany is coming true.
Tomas: “We’ve outgrown the old superstitions, Neeva.” Tomas has never believed—he has always been a doubting Tomas—but he was more coward than rebel and never voiced his doubts to the tribe as his friend Leela had.
Neeva: “But it is there, isn’t it Tomas?”
The ancient litany IS coming true.
Neeva (continuing): “We start getting proof and we stop believing.”
The ancient litany is coming true. It is right there, isn’t it? Right there before them. Xoanon’s dwelling place revealed just as the litany spoke. The proof of the litany is before them. Stop believing just when the litany is coming true?
Tomas: “With proof, we don’t have to believe.” Doubting Tomas never believed, but he now has the proof before him and no longer needs any ancient litany to tell him what he can see in front of him.
But it is not the proof of the litany that shakes Neeva’s faith. That started with the Doctor. The image of the Evil One with the voice of his god. The litany was true—the proof is before them. It is Xoanon who was false.
“I underestimated that man,” the Doctor says when Neeva acknowledges that it is the Doctor and not Xoanon speaking to him through the holy relic. The Doctor has been laying bare Xoanon’s lies since his arrival. It is the Doctor who has revealed Xoanon’s dwelling place. Xoanon has betrayed them. Xoanon has betrayed Neeva. The Doctor has cut through the ceremonial trappings of superstition and stated the facts. Confronted with these facts, with the proof, Neeva understands the true nature and betrayal of Xoanon.
Now let’s look at Jabel.
“Welcome Lord,” Jabel says upon meeting the Doctor. The Doctor has the face, not of the Evil One, but of Jabel’s god, the face of Xoanon.
“I do you honor, Lord of Time. We’ve waited long for your return,” Jabel intones as he kneels before the Doctor.
Here is his god personified: “You and he are as one. You will show us the way.”
But when the Doctor contradicts Jabel’s litany: “You are not the Lord of Time come again to save us!”
Concentrating on building strength of body, the Sevateem are able to accept truths outside of their belief system. Concentrating on building power of mind, the Tesh are not.
Doctor: “The very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common: they don’t alter their views to fit the facts, they alter the facts to fit their views, which can be uncomfortable if you happen to be one of the facts that need altering.”
The Sevateem have altered their views. The Tesh have not. The Doctor is a fact that needs altering. (Interesting parallel to the Time Lords in The Deadly Assassin who saw the need for fact altering, but that is another line of thought that hasn’t room at the present.)
But it is not the Sevateem and it is not the Tesh that the Doctor needs to confront. It is himself. It is Xoanon. Xoanon is he and he is Xoanon. “You and he are as one. You will show us the way.” Jabel was right in that.
The Doctor had been there before. He had fixed the Mordee Expedition computer.  “And I thought I was helping them,” he says.  “I misunderstood what Xoanon was,” he adds. Xoanon is not a mere computer; it is “a machine that’s become a living creature.” A living creature with the Doctor’s personality print in the data core, resulting in a split personality—the Doctor’s and its own.
“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”
A question repeated over and over, echoing and reverberating and circling endlessly.
“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”
“And I thought I was helping them.” Or did he?
“Or did I really forget? I forget if I forgot.”
Did the Doctor forget to wipe his personality from the data core?
“It may have been my own egotism.”
The Doctor is not letting himself off the hook on this one.
 “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?” The endless question. And the answer? “We are Xoanon.” Except: “And I am the Doctor.” “No!” “I’m the Doctor.” “No!” “I am the Doctor.” “No! No! No! No! No!”
“Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”
A living, sentient, computer being with a split personality.
Doctor: “Is that clear?”
Leela: “No.”
Doctor: “Well, come on then.”
Wiping his personality from the data core, the Doctor restores sanity to Xoanon the god/fiend and the dual personalities of the planet, Sevateem and Tesh, come together as one.
Well, it’s not quite as simple as that. At odds for so long with drastically different world views, these two tribes are not ready to mix and mingle just yet. Bickering over who is to be leader, the Doctor ducks out on these two newly reconciled factions of the same lineage, and Leela ducks out with him.
Leela: “Take me with you.”
Doctor: “Why?”
Leela: “What? Well, you like me, don’t you?”
Doctor: “Well, yes, I suppose I do like you. But then I like lots of people and I can’t go carting them around the universe with me.”
Dodging past the Doctor and into the TARDIS, we hear, “Don’t touch that! Don’t touch . . .” as the TARDIS dematerializes.
The Doctor has a new companion.
The Face of Evil is a richly layered story, Gary; one that I have grown to appreciate more with each viewing. And a perfect introduction to Leela. I was sorry to see Sarah Jane depart, but Leela is a worthy successor.
Who am I? A question that echoes through the universe. An answer for which many of us search in vain. Who am I?
I hope, Gary, that you have found your answer . . .

Monday, February 11, 2013

The Deadly Assassin

Dear Gary—
“Through the millennia, the Time Lords of Gallifrey led a life of peace and ordered calm, protected against all threats from lesser civilizations by their great power. But this was to change. Suddenly and terribly, the Time Lords faced the most dangerous crisis in their long history . . .”
Scrolling across the screen ala Star Wars (several months before Star Wars was released), the above prologue, voice-over narration by Tom Baker, sets up The Deadly Assassin as something unique in Doctor Who history.
As a unique chapter in Doctor Who, The Deadly Assassin is quite good, but I am glad it is one of a kind.
At the end of The Hand of Fear the Doctor received ‘the call from Gallifrey’ and therefore left Sarah behind. The Doctor arrives on his home planet alone, his only companion being the trusty TARDIS, identified in The Deadly Assassin as a Type 40 and obsolete. (“Twaddle. Take no notice my dear old thing,” the Doctor affectionately reassures his faithful friend.) Castellan Spandrell is the closest to a companion role in the story, but for the most part the Doctor is uncharacteristically on his own.
He is on his own and he is home. Home. Gallifrey. But we never get to see the burnt orange sky or silver leaved trees we have heard about. The Deadly Assassin never leaves the Citadel, a rather cold and barren place. The Time Lords, it seems, are not much for art, although they do go in for lots of pomp and circumstance.
The Deadly Assassin is all about the Time Lords, filling in details of their long and storied past. And the details would be disappointing if I didn’t already have a dismal view of these ‘galactic ticket inspectors’ from the few glimpses we have had of them during the course of the show. The Doctor is clearly the cream of the crop and there is a reason why he ran away from their society all those hundreds of years ago.
“Through the millennia, the Time Lords of Gallifrey led a life of peace and ordered calm . . .”
“They live for centuries and have about as much sense of adventure as door mice.”
The Deadly Assassin plays this well. The myth of the Time Lords. The lore of the Time Lords. The mystique of the Time Lords. It is all there, hints of a glorious past. But the reality stands before us in the person of Runcible, “Runcible the fatuous;” in the person of Goth, the power-mad, gullible stooge; in the person of Borusa, the truth-bender. Dry and feeble; petty and doddering; cynical and sadistic; stunted and stilted.
The Doctor, we learn, is of the Prydonian chapter of these Time Lords, color coded scarlet and orange. The Arcalians are green whereas the Patrexes are heliotrope. Much pomp. Much circumstance. These Time Lords stand on ceremony.
“. . . protected against all threats from lesser civilizations by their great power.”
Previously we met Omega, now we learn of Rassilon, the long ago heroes of the Time Lords, the architects of Time Lord time travel technology. We learn of the Eye of Harmony, the Sash of Rassilon, and the Great Key. All of the ancient symbols and relics of the Time Lord’s mythic past and sources of power. Such power. Time travel; endless life. Power on a massive scale. “And of course,” Engin explains, “it was long before we turned aside from the barren road of technology.” (Apparently in favor of the barren road of politics.)
Time Lords have great power, but they are not above the baser instincts of humanity. Just look at some of the Time Lords gone wrong the Doctor has encountered in the past—Omega, the Master, Morbius, the Meddling Monk. Such power in the hands of a Time Lord run amok is good enough reason for the Time Lords to have devolved, to have invested the powerful relics with nothing more than ceremonial symbolism, to have cut themselves off from any involvement in the universal struggles, to have become mere ‘intergalactic ticket inspectors.’
“But this was to change.”
The Doctor escaped from this wasteland of a society; so too the Master. Now the Master, at the end of his twelfth and final regeneration, has come home to wrest control of all that latent power, and he has brought his old enemy the Doctor (“so despicably good; so insufferably compassionate”) home as well, bent on ultimate revenge (“Only hate keeps me alive.”).
Interesting that the Time Lords have so far removed themselves that they no longer recall the Doctor or the Master. The Doctor’s trial back in The War Games is forgotten. The Time Lord’s directives to the Doctor to deal both with the Master and with the Daleks in stories past have been forgotten. At least by these far-removed, pomp and circumstance, by-the-book Time Lords. For the first time we hear of the CIA (Celestial Intervention Agency), and perhaps it is this enigmatic agency that has covertly worked with the Doctor in the past. Intriguing detail that does not get completely filled in. And if the CIA has been involved in the Doctor’s life in the past and interested in the Master’s activities, why are they not present in this our story, The Deadly Assassin? Or perhaps they were the ones to make that initial call to the Doctor back at the end of The Hand of Fear. Perhaps they have yet again steered the Doctor on a course of intervention and are now standing back to let the Doctor take charge.
“Suddenly and terribly, the Time Lords faced the most dangerous crisis in their long history . . .”
I’m not entirely sure about that—the Omega threat back in The Three Doctors was a fairly dangerous crisis in their long history as well. However this threat is occurring right on their own doorstep, within the walls of their own Panopticon. And of course the Master is always an ultimate threat, even though he is so easily outwitted in every meeting.
Roger Delgado was so masterful as the Master, but he tragically died during the Pertwee years and his character has not been seen since—until now, until The Deadly Assassin. Emaciated and dying, the Master has co-opted Chancellor Goth to do his bidding with the promise of the Time Lord Presidency as his reward. Why he wants to be President of this do-nothing society is beyond me, but perhaps that would have made an interesting alternative time line for Doctor Who—the Presidency of Goth as he returns Gallifrey to galactic glory. But alas, it is not to be, and it is just as well because I have serious doubts that Goth could do much of anything, President or not. (Just an aside, Gary, but every time I see this actor—Bernard Horsfall—in Doctor Who I can’t help but see him as Gulliver from The Mind Robber.)
No, this is not so much a crisis for the Time Lords as it is another crisis in the long history of the Doctor. Another Doctor/Master confrontation, this time with Goth as the surrogate for the incapacitated Master, but with the Master calling the shots nonetheless.
And what a confrontation it is, this most dangerous crisis—The Most Dangerous Game. (And I’m so very sorry, Gary; I hate to ruin the suspense and tension of this most thrilling story, but I can’t think of this scenario without thinking of the Gilligan’s Island take on it, just as I can never think of Hamlet in the same way due to the Gilligan’s Island musical version—“I askto be or not to be . . . .”)
But it is a dangerous game the Master and the Doctor are playing, all taking place within the virtual reality of the Matrix, the Time Lord electronic neural network. The hunter and the hunted. Stark, surreal, nightmarish. From samurai to crocodiles, from hypodermic needles to gas masks, from train tracks to battle fields. “I deny this reality. The reality is a computation matrix.” But it is a computation matrix with a sting. It is the Master’s (Goth) reality, and the Master’s (Goth) reality takes precedence. The hunter and the hunted. But when the hunted is the Doctor, no amount of bullets and drowning and poison can stop him. “The Doctor is never more dangerous than when the odds are against him.”
If the Master had been at full strength, if the Master did not have to rely upon the intermediary Goth, how different the outcome might have been. I’m sure the Doctor would still have won, but at what cost? As it is, the cost is Goth’s life. And seemingly the Master’s, who concedes defeat. But we know him better than that. Even on the last breath of his last regeneration, we know him better than that. Even after his last and final confrontation with the Doctor, we know him better than that. And so too does the Doctor: “Are you suggesting he survived?” “No, no, I hope not, Spandrell. And there’s no one in all the galaxies I’d say that about. The quintessence of evil.”
This most dangerous crisis is over.
“Somehow, Cardinal, I don’t want to stay.” The Doctor, seeming victor, wants to leave this do-nothing society behind him once and for all. He has fought yet another battle for them, a hard-fought battle. In return the Time Lords place their revisionist spin upon events: “We must adjust the truth.” Goth is proclaimed a hero: “If heroes don’t exist, it is necessary to invent them. Good for public morale.”
But this was to change? Little, it seems, has changed.
“Somehow, Cardinal, I don’t want to stay.”
I wouldn’t either. Now if the Doctor had materialized out on that mountain where his guru sat, under the burnt orange evening sky with the bright silver leaves around him, perhaps he would have stayed. Perhaps he would have found peace and ordered calm.
No, with the scarlet and orange mantel of the Prydonian chapter about his shoulders, with the inane echoes of old schoolmates in his ears, with the admonitions of past teachers reiterated (“You will never amount to anything in the galaxy while you retain your propensity for vulgar facetiousness”), the Doctor can only proclaim, “Vaporization without representation is against the constitution!” and invoke Article 17 in his defense as he wends his way through this most stratified and stringent of societies on his way back to the TARDIS and out of this world, back to his wayward wanderings.
Yes, The Deadly Assassin is unique. No companion and steeped in Time Lord tradition it is unique. But I can’t help but be glad that the Doctor has left it all behind, and I look forward to the more traditional fare of Doctor Who.
And so I send this out on its wayward way, Gary, and hope . . .

Friday, February 8, 2013

The Hand of Fear

Dear Gary—
“Eldrad must live.” For better or worse, Sarah Jane Smith will always be known for these words.
Eldrad, the hand of fear. Eldrad, the she that is a he. Eldrad. Eldrad must live.
I can’t talk about The Hand of Fear, Gary, without talking about Eldrad. Eldrad is obliterated to begin our story. Obliterated. But Eldrad must live; and Eldrad does live. For 150 million years Eldrad’s hand survives, fossilized, buried deep in the Earth, until Sarah finds it in a quarry. Eldrad and his/her ring bearing her/his genetic code. Eldrad.
Eldrad undergoes several transformations in The Hand of Fear, beginning as a fossilized, four fingered hand but quickly re-growing its fifth finger and gaining flexibility it becomes a crawling hand straight out of horror films. Next Eldrad grows a body—the body of Judith Paris in a form fitting, crystal encrusted costume to dazzle the eyes. But Eldrad is not done. Eldrad must not only live, Eldrad must regenerate.
“Why is she a he?” Good question. The seemingly crushed Eldrad emerges from the regeneration chamber in the body of Stephen Thorne.
Eldrad must live. For 150 million years the obliterated Eldrad survived and was reformed. After 150 million years “Eldrad lives and shall again rule Kastria;” but “Hail Eldrad. King . . . of nothing.” The Doctor has refused to break the laws of time for Eldrad and will only return him/her to Kastria in present time, to a Kastria that has been dead for 150 million years. Kastria did not have the same imperative to live.
And so Eldrad, Eldrad who has survived obliteration, Eldrad who has lived 150 million years, Eldrad who has escaped deadly traps laid out for him/her on Kastria, Eldrad who re-grows from a hand, Eldrad who cheats death with regeneration, Eldrad is tripped up by the Doctor’s scarf and falls into an abyss and we are to believe he/she is dead? And the Doctor throws Eldrad’s ring down after the body, Eldrad’s ring containing Eldrad’s genetic code? Eldrad must live.
Like Eldrad, The Hand of Fear undergoes several location and casting transformations of its own. The story begins in a quarry and then hospital where we meet Dr. Carter. It next moves to a nuclear power station where we meet Professor Watson. Finally it arrives on Kastria where we meet King Rokon. Each section is unique and compelling in its own right.
“This isn’t South Croydon.” No, the Doctor and Sarah have landed in a quarry right at the moment of a planned detonation. However the two remain inexplicably unaware of the imminent danger; as alarm bells blare and strangers wave them off, the Doctor rather nonchalantly practices his cricket throws. It’s an effective scene, despite their uncharacteristic thick-headedness. The relaxed companionability of the Doctor and Sarah juxtaposed against the hard rock quarry and the audience’s sense of impending doom. The resulting explosion, the Doctor’s frantic search through the rubble, and Sarah’s reaching out to grasp the stone cold hand of Eldrad are all heart racing.
An unconscious Sarah is taken to the local hospital where the Doctor, with the aid of Dr. Carter, begins his Sherlock Holmes phase of investigation into the mysterious hand. Determining it to be a silicon based survivor of an explosion from millions of miles away and millions of years ago, he finds it intriguing. Sarah, meanwhile, finds it (or rather its ring) mesmerizing. Under the hypnotic influence of the ring, Sarah steals the hand and makes for the nearest nuclear power plant.
Now begins our ‘China Syndrome’ phase of the story. It is unnerving to see a glassy-eyed Sarah making her way through the plant, zapping workers who get in her way, and then settling herself down with the crawling hand in the reactor, again juxtaposed with the brightly colored ‘Andy Pandy’ jumpsuit she is wearing. More warning sirens blare as the plant braces for a meltdown.
“I want this damn racket stopped!” The director of the plant, Professor Watson, establishes himself as the nerves of steel, no-nonsense authority that the Doctor can turn to in this crisis, at least for the moment. There are two separate emergencies during our time at the nuclear station, and Professor Watson stands up well throughout. And I like how these early Whos take the time for quiet little scenes like that of the director phoning home as the plant has been evacuated and he remains in what could very well be his last moment, giving his love to his family. Another unnecessary bit to our plot, but necessary nonetheless.
Too bad that Watson takes leave of his senses later on, running around madly with a hand gun and actually thinking that mere bullets can stop Eldrad when the absorption of massive radiation and nuclear missiles have failed.
“Listen, you owe your regeneration to this man—remember that,” the Doctor admonishes Eldrad as Eldrad holds Watson in a deadly gaze. Despite Watson’s mental lapse, his character continues to be treated with dignity. (Speaking of mental lapses—ordering a bombing raid on a nuclear power plant?!)
Explosions, radiation, bombs, bullets—“I think we should try much older weapons,” says the Doctor.  “Speech, diplomacy . . . . Conversation.” Communication. “How? With hand signals?” The Doctor gives Eldrad the benefit of the doubt; Sarah, no longer under the ring’s influence, remains skeptical.
“Why must he help you? You’re destructive,” Sarah exclaims to the reconstituted Eldrad. But the Doctor is reminded of an old Time Lord pledge “to uphold the laws of time and prevent alien aggression.”  However, “only when such aggression is deemed to threaten the indigenous population. I think that’s how it goes,” the Doctor adds.
Just an aside here, Gary. Upholding the laws of time, yes. I can see that. But preventing alien aggression, even if threatening the indigenous population? No. I can’t see that. Not with the do-nothing Time Lords. The Doctor, yes. The Time Lords, no. Perhaps long ago, before the standoffish nature of the Time Lords became the rule. But not now. Not in the Doctor’s lifetime. That is the reason he left Gallifrey in the first place.
But back to our story and on to Kastria. Kastria is the weakest link in our story. I find it hard to believe that the Doctor is so hoodwinked by Eldrad. Especially after the destructive events on Earth, as Sarah has pointed out. Especially after Eldrad attempts to turn on them in the TARDIS, only to learn that weapons won’t work in the TARDIS: “In a sense, you see, we don’t exist while we’re in here, so you can’t hurt us and we can’t hurt you.” Especially after Eldrad’s own people have gone to such lengths as to lay traps against Eldrad’s improbable return. Although I guess I can buy the Doctor’s argument that he is simply getting Eldrad away from Earth, and at least he is taking Eldrad back to present Kastria and not turning back time 150 million years as Eldrad had requested.
I rather enjoy Stephen Thorne’s raging lunatic take on Eldrad, though, upon emerging from the regeneration chamber. But really, were the Kastrian’s so useless that they couldn’t figure out how to repair the solar barriers? And were they really so desperate as to commit mass suicide rather than to risk the most unlikely return of Eldrad? They obviously had the technology for space travel as evidenced by the obliteration pod they sent Eldrad off in. Could they not travel out into the universe if they couldn’t repair the barriers or face life underground on their own planet? They clearly had the means to create deadly traps to waylay Eldrad upon his doubtful return, couldn’t they lay the same traps without having to commit self-genocide? Surely they could prepare themselves to defeat Eldrad if he ever were to return; they had imprisoned and executed him once before after all. And that last ‘gotcha’ hologram from Rokon—really? They would rather face extinction so they could send a posthumous raspberry to Eldrad just in case he/she beat all the odds and came back? Why would Eldrad want to rule such a pathetic people?
And then the anti-climatic trip down the abyss. “The gravity of the law finally caught up with him.” I don’t know. Eldrad must live.
“Eldrad must live.” Words, for better or worse, that Sarah Jane Smith will always be known by.
Sarah Jane Smith. I cannot talk about The Hand of Fear, Gary, without talking about Sarah Jane Smith.
There is a telling little moment near the beginning as the Doctor rushes back and forth between the quarry and the pathology lab, when he stops and affectionately adjusts the Do Not Disturb sign on Sarah’s hospital room door. It is one of those quiet little pools of calm that characterizes the Doctor’s and Sarah’s relationship.
“I worry about you,” Sarah tells the Doctor as she sneaks back into the power plant when he goes to confront Eldrad.
“Yes but . . . I worry about you,” the Doctor replies.
There is a warmth between the Doctor and Sarah Jane that shines through in every serial they appear in together.
The Doctor has said goodbye to many companions up to this point. His departure from Susan, Ian and Barbara, and Jo Grant are among the most memorable. His parting from Sarah Jane is as heartfelt as any.
“I’m going to pack my goodies and I’m going home.” We know, of course, that Sarah Jane doesn’t mean it. The Doctor is ignoring her as he works on the TARDIS, asking for the astro-rectifier, multi-quantiscope, mergin nut, ganymede driver, zeus plug, and sonic screwdriver. Sarah goes along, handing him what he asks for as she complains, “I’m sick of being cold and wet, and hypnotized left right and center. I’m sick of being shot at, savaged by bug-eyed monsters, never knowing if I’m coming or going . . . or been.” We know that she is sick of it all, we know that she just wants “to feel human again,” but we also know that she really doesn’t mean it. All she really wants is the Doctor’s attention. When Victoria left she voiced similar complaints, but we knew that she meant it. Not Sarah.
The Doctor has his childish snits, and so too does Sarah. “I’m going to pack my goodies and I’m going home.” To show him she’s not fooling she does pack her goodies. But she is fooling. She only wants him to notice.
“How did you know?”
“Look, I was only joking. I didn’t mean it.”
Yes, we know. She didn’t mean it. She was only joking.
“Oh, come on. I can’t miss Gallifrey.”
Gallifrey. The call from the Time Lords. “I can’t take Sarah to Gallifrey.”
Those do-nothing Time Lords. Those meddlesome Time Lords.
“You’re a good girl, Sarah.”
So much said, and yet so little said.
“Don’t forget me.”
“Oh, Sarah. Don’t you forget me.”
 “This isn’t Hilview Road. I bet it isn’t even South Croyden. Oh, he blew it.”
No, still not South Croyden. Not even a quarry full of danger.
Freeze frame on Sarah. Freeze frame on Sarah looking up to the stars, looking up to her Doctor.
Don’t forget me . . .

Monday, February 4, 2013

The Masque of Mandragora

Dear Gary—
Following on the heels of such brilliant stories as Pyramids of Mars and The Brain of Morbius, I find The Masque of Mandragora rather mundane. It has a promising start, and I’m not just talking about the TARDIS intro scene, which is quite good. I am talking about the idea of the living Helix energy entering the TARDIS and then being let loose by an unsuspecting Doctor out into the world. There are so many possibilities there, and I feel that the resulting story does not do them justice.
Let me return, however, to the opening TARDIS scene for a moment. The Doctor and Sarah are shown walking through the halls of the TARDIS. From the very first Hartnell episode we have always known that the TARDIS is bigger on the inside than on the outside, but “how big is big?” to quote the Doctor. Periodically we have seen other rooms than the control room, but for the first time we get a sense of the enormity of it. “There are no measurements in infinity,” the Doctor tells Sarah after a peek into his “boot cupboard” that looks more like a lounge with a single pair of boots in the foreground. “You humans have got such limited little minds; I don’t know why I like you so much,” he continues. (“Because you have such good taste.” “That’s true, that’s very true.”) Ultimately they end up in a new control room—a secondary control room, or perhaps it was the original—all brown and wood and studyish, rather Sherlock Holmesian—with some nice touches of previous Doctors like the second’s recorder that Sarah plays and the third’s ruffled shirt that the Doctor uses as a dust rag.
With this nice set up we get an intense scene as the Mandragora Helix energy attacks and pulls them in. Arriving in the unknown, the Doctor steps tentatively out of the TARDIS (“It’s bigger than my boot cupboard”) and a glowing red ball of energy swoops down, entering the TARDIS unbeknownst to the Doctor. (I do find it rather hard to believe that the Doctor would have been so careless as to have left the TARDIS door open and that he doesn’t realize that the energy ball has entered, but then we wouldn’t have a story, or maybe would have a different story.)
Suddenly the action shifts to 15th Century Italy. The Doctor and Sarah arrive and the energy is unleashed and the potential is wasted.
What follows is a very good story, solidly written and solidly acted as usual, but to my mind it just doesn’t match up with the start.
The plot of the power struggle between Count Federico and his nephew Giuliano is all very Shakespearean, but it has nothing to do with the Helix. The Doctor arrives at this pivotal time in history, between the Dark Ages and the Renaissance, and is pulled into a petty family squabble; meanwhile the Helix is out there waiting to wreak its havoc. The plot tries to tie it together with Hieronymous the court astrologer who is siding with the Count and who has been contacted by the Helix, but to my mind it just gets in the way. Helix Hieronymous is not truly working with the Count; his schemes are above local politics; the Count, therefore, becomes superfluous, as does the power struggle.
It’s a pity, because under other circumstances the Count would make a great Doctor Who villain (“Only the dead fail to stand in my presence”), but as it is he is sidelined. The political wrangling between the Count and his nephew serve only to throw up roadblocks for the Doctor. Now if the Helix had contacted the Count, or if Hieronymous had truly been working on the Count’s behalf, this would have all tied up more neatly.
But Hieronymous is an independent agent who has wormed his way into his position and into the good graces of the Count all in preparation for the power he believes will be his through the Helix.
Which brings me to another disappointing aspect of the story. Apparently the Helix has laid plans for this particular takeover for quite some time. This was not some random entering of the TARDIS and random arrival in 15th Century Italy. This was planned. If it had not been for the Doctor, the Helix says, some other space/time traveler would have carried the Helix to its destination (some other space/time traveler!?). To me the interesting premise of the story was that the evils that result are directly due to the negligence of the Doctor. Similar to The Ark, I was expecting the exploration of what happens when the Doctor’s travels, no matter how innocent, result in time altering chaos. But the Mandragora Helix lets the Doctor off the hook.
And so we get a superfluous power struggle as the central plot point while the Doctor tries to reason with everyone that it doesn’t really matter “because you don’t have a future if you don’t listen to me.” Meanwhile the Helix is treated more like the superfluous element and shunted off to some conventional cultists chanting in stereotypical robes and catacombs and planning the predictable sacrifice of Sarah Jane.
All of this is cloaked in a reason vs. superstition/Dark Ages vs. Renaissance argument. This too is a promise unfulfilled because it all gets rather muddled. Giuliano is planning a masque in honor of his accession to the Dukedom, and all of the enlightened elite of the time (including Leonardo da Vinci whom the Doctor is anxious to meet) are invited (“You’re going to hold a dance?”). This is a bit of a red herring, really. Presumably we are to believe that all of these figures assembled at one place will be annihilated when the Helix obtains full power thus plunging the world back into the darkness. But that is moot—when the Helix is unleashed, according to the Doctor, all sense of purpose will be drained out of the world—“the ability granted to every intelligent species to shape its own destiny.” So what difference if they are all gathered as one? Their fate is sealed regardless. They will become, as the Doctor states, “idle, mindless, useless sheep.” And if I’m not mistaken, the guests at the masque are all killed anyway, except for the Doctor, Sarah, the Duke and his overly attentive companion, so does that mean that Leonardo and the rest of the great minds of the time did die, or did they just decide not to show at the dance?
Then there is the Duke Giuliano. He is supposedly an intelligent and enlightened mind, yet he hasn’t figured out that the Count killed his father? He denounces Hieronymous as a fake yet can’t figure out how his prediction of death came true? And the Count, set up as the counterpoint of Giuliano, is not the voice of superstition. He espouses it for his own ends but does not believe. The Count is a brute not a mystic. And Hieronymous is a fake—up until he gets the Helix power his predictions are at the behest of the Count. His followers are your typical dismal cultists, this particular variety, the Doctor points out, was supposed to have died out in the third century. The only real power these pathetic leftovers derive comes from the Helix which is intent on draining ambition not fostering superstition.
 The clincher—the Mandragora Helix has not chosen 15th Century Italy for its arrival because of the momentous point in history, it has chosen it because of the alignment of its constellation (an alignment set to repeat itself, so the Doctor says, at the end of the 20th Century).
Swashbuckling his way through the extraneous plot, the Doctor succeeds with a little bit of wire and a metal breastplate to zap the Mandragora Helix “back to square one.” After all, he says, “it’s part of a Time Lords’ job to insist on justice for all species,” so he cannot allow the Helix to interfere in Mankind’s progress. And just like that it comes to an abrupt end. The Count has already been disposed of back at the end of episode three, the plot recognizing the irrelevant nature of the political intrigues at last, and the cult has been vaporized along with the Helix. Da Vinci must have somehow survived the carnage in the ball room and the Duke and his loving companion are free to carry on their merry way with no apparent repercussions from the masque massacre.
“We seem to have an awful lot of questions,” the Doctor says at one point in our story. “It’s about time we started finding some answers.”
Sometimes, unlike the Doctor, it is best not to think too hard and just enjoy the story for the story. Because despite all of the disappointments, The Masque of Mandragora is a good story. We can take a lesson, too, from Sarah Jane. “How is it I can understand you?” she asks the Doctor when under the influence of Helix Hieronymous. She never bothered to ask this question before, which is a tipoff to the Doctor that she is not herself; like the uninfluenced Sarah Jane, the audience should just accept this gift of the Time Lords and not question it.
And so, dear Gary, I hope you accept this gift . . .

Friday, February 1, 2013

The Seeds of Doom

Dear Gary—
“Welcome to the loneliest spot on Earth.” Doctor Who takes us from the Frankenstein story in The Brain of Morbius to a retelling of The Thing in The Seeds of Doom, at least for the first couple episodes.  I almost expect to see James Arness roaming the halls of the Antarctic station when the Doctor and Sarah arrive in search of a mysterious pod that was found buried deep in the permafrost. Alas, no James Arness, but we do have a rather frighteningly mutated scientist transforming into a plant before our eyes. The pod, or “galactic weed” has opened and infected Winllet, a member of the scientific expedition, and is turning him into a Krynoid.
The story quickly moves beyond The Thing, however, when hired thug Scorby arrives to steal the pod for the private collection of his employer Harrison Chase. No matter that the first pod has already opened, the Doctor has unearthed a second (“They travel in pairs, like policemen”). The scene shifts to England, to the Harrison estate, and the story becomes a fast paced action/adventure/thriller, not my favorite type of story, but the characters, the acting, the writing—all make this a fascinating ride.
“That chap you called in from UNIT, is he quite sane?” The Doctor is, of course, the sanest of all—the most rational, sensible, reasonable, sound, and wise. It is that base of calm underlying the storm of seeming insanity that we can see but others, like Richard Dunbar, cannot. I find it rather odd that Dunbar, of the World Ecology Bureau, questions the Doctor’s sanity, and yet when double dealing with Harrison Chase, who greets him with, “And what is your Bureau doing about bonsai?” and goes on, “Mutilation and torture, Mr. Dunbar. The hideous, grotesque Japanese practice of miniaturizing shrubs and trees.” Mr. Dunbar never sees past his greed to the insanity of Harrison Chase. But the Doctor puts his finger on it—“Greed . . . greed . . . the most dangerous impulse in the universe.”
It is Dunbar’s greed that I find most reprehensible in The Seeds of Doom. Chase is mad; Scorby is mercenary; Keeler is cowardly; the Krynoid is hungry. But Dunbar, Dunbar of the World Ecology Bureau (not the “Intergalactic Floral Society, of which quite naturally” the Doctor is the president), is just plain greedy, not to mention petty and vindictive. He should know better. And he does come to realize this and does atone for his sins, but to my mind it is his initial greed that is the root of all the evil that occurs in The Seeds of Doom.
In the end, it is the common man, the average Joe, the rank and file, that is the most heroic (Cotton in The Mutants) or the most base(Dunbar).
Yet the larger-than-life villains of the piece (Chase, Scorby, Keeler, Krynoid) are more interesting.
Tony Beckley is particularly effective as the mad Harrison Chase. He is not the wild haired, bug-eyed mad of stereotype. He is quietly, calmly, chillingly mad (despite his occasional outburst of “Why am I surrounded by idiots?”). He is rooted in the peaceful green world of his plants, and he comes to his ultimate conclusion: “Yes, yes . . . the plants must win. It will be a new world, silent and beautiful.” However the music he composes (“I could play all day in my green cathedral”) is rather discordant and not at all what I would expect from him.
Now Scorby is everything that I expect from a Doctor Who hired thug, and then some. Vicious and cruel, loyal for a price, looking out for himself, and surprisingly literate. Scorby has been paid to retrieve the pod and will not stop at murder to get it. “He pays well,” Scorby explains to the Doctor of his loyalty to Chase, “and when it comes to money, Mr. Chase and I are of the same religion.” The Doctor, always seeing above and beyond, declares, “Franklin Adams; 1881 to 1960; American humorist.”  “The quotes are over, Doctor,” Scorby replies (although I can’t help noting that the particular quote I believe actually dates from Voltaire rather than Adams).
However, when it becomes evident that Chase is placing everyone in danger, including Scorby, Scorby does not hesitate to switch allegiance. “Scorby, can I rely on you?” the Doctor asks. “For the moment, Doctor,” he replies.  For the moment—Scorby is always for the moment. Practical and self reliant. He has a nice little speech, Scorby does, about how he has always had to rely on himself alone. It congers up visions of a tortured youth, yet I can find very little sympathy for the man Scorby has become.
Neither can I have much sympathy for Keeler/Krynoid. Keeler, botanist in the employ of Chase, uneasy ally of Scorby. He cringes at the thought of violence, but his half-hearted objections to Scorby’s murderous schemes are nothing but cowardly.  Keeler is one of the base orders of common man. His infection by the pod and transformation into a Krynoid is horrifying, but I have little sympathy for him. His pleas for help are heart wrenching, but I have little sympathy for him. He is a victim of his own cowardice.
I see with the Doctor in our story, seeing above and beyond the common place. It is for Sarah to bring the human element to The Seeds of Doom. The Doctor rides above, seeing with the eyes of eternity. Sarah sees with the eyes of compassion and sympathy; Sarah sees with the eyes of reality; Sarah sees with the eyes of the everyday; Sarah sees with the eyes of humanity.
The most compelling example of this is in the tiniest of scenes, the most throw-away of scenes. Back in The Thing section of our story, back when Winllet is our infected Krynoid, back when Scorby and Keeler have not yet revealed themselves as mercenary thugs, back when Chase has not as yet attempted to turn the world into his own personal greenhouse, back when the Krynoid has not yet tried to devour the planet.
The infection is rapidly taking over Winllet’s body. The Doctor can come up with only one solution to save him—to amputate the arm where the infection started. He leaves it to Moberly, the station’s zoologist, to perform the operation.  “But I’m not a surgeon,” Moberly protests. “You must help yourselves,” the Doctor insists. The Doctor stands above, viewing with the eyes of eternity. Sarah sees the practical, the everyday; she understands the Doctor, she understands Moberly; simply and directly she tells it like it is. Moberly must perform the operation. “I’ll do my best,” Moberly concedes. “You’re a good man, Moberly,” the Doctor replies, but what he really should say is, “You’re a good woman, Sarah.”  The whole thing is moot, of course, as Winllett/Krynoid goes mad and kills Moberly before they can proceed, but this small snippet of a scene that ultimately goes nowhere actually speaks volumes.
Throughout our story Sarah serves in this capacity; translating the Doctor to the common man; relating on the everyday level; sympathizing, cajoling, reprimanding, reasoning. “That chap you called in from UNIT—is he quite sane?” Sarah can see the sanity; Sarah can see the calm beneath the storm; Sarah can see through the eyes of eternity with the Doctor, but she sees it with the filter of humanity.
“Have you met Miss Smith,” the Doctor introduces her, “She’s my best friend.” Not assistant, not companion; friend. Best friend. (Having just re-watched Anne of Green Gables, I’d add—kindred spirit.)
“How do you do it, Doctor? You should be compost by now.” Indeed, the Doctor should be compost, and Scorby’s frustration at the Doctor’s seeming nine lives is palpable. How he does it is Sarah—Sarah saves him, and in turn the Doctor saves Sarah. It seems to happen quite a lot in The Seeds of Doom.
“What do you do for an encore, Doctor?”
“I win.”
Yes, the Doctor wins. He always wins. With a little help from his friends.
In this case a little help comes from his friends at UNIT. But it is not UNIT proper. No Brigadier; no Benton. Too bad because this is one time the Brigadier could have blown something up with the Doctor’s approval.
A tad anticlimactic—the blowing up of the devouring Krynoid. But it is an end the Brigadier would have been proud of; poor Brigadier off in Geneva when he really could have had a bang big enough for him.
All in all, Gary, I rather enjoyed The Seeds of Doom more than I remembered. It is a return to the six-part story right when I was enjoying the break from these over-long serials, but in general the fast-paced action justifies the length. The acting, directing, and script are as good as any of this era. The characters are interesting if not sympathetic. It is a bit grim, rather horrifying really. Mocking references to “aggressive rhubarb” and “homicidal gooseberries” aside, the thought of plants turning on animal life is ghastly, and the scenes of strangulation rather gruesome. Even the Doctor is uncharacteristically violent in The Seeds of Doom, in keeping with the dark overtones of the story. And I have to say that the shots of Scorby, the Doctor, and Sarah running through thickets of threatening vines are truly effective, much better than past visions of Susan running in place while branches are slapped in her face as she supposedly runs desperately through a forest.
Yes, a definite A story, even if it is not among my favorites.
I wonder, Gary, what you thought of The Seeds of Doom. I have come this far, and not a word echoes back. I have recently been part of an ongoing quest for answers regarding an old picture—a picture of our ancestors—of our aunts and uncles and parents—a snapshot of the past. We look at these images from years long gone and wonder. Wonder what were they thinking?  What was frozen in that moment so many years ago, a moment no one can remember any more and yet it is there before us, faces smiling and laughing? Why do they have bags on their heads? Why is that bureau in the background known as the Federal Bureau? And who is that mystery person bending down in the center and who looks so much like a relative and yet no one can think who it is?
Time slips away from us. And we are left wondering. Stories left untold.
And I wonder, Gary. I wonder. If we could turn the time back; if we could sit and watch The Seeds of Doom together . . . . I wonder. “Have we been here before . . . or . . . are we yet to come?” I wonder . . . . Welcome to the loneliest spot on Earth . . . .