Revenge of the Cybermen

Dear Gary—

“You’ve no home planet, no influence, nothing. You’re just a pathetic bunch of tin soldiers skulking about the galaxy in an ancient spaceship.”

If Genesis of the Daleks put the scary back in the Daleks, Revenge of the Cybermen takes it out of the Cybermen, turning them into “gold plated souvenirs that people use as hat stands.” Although, truth be told Gary, I never did find the Cybermen of classic Doctor Who very frightening.

As for their Vogan foes, well, their ineptitude against the Cybermen is the only thing giving our cyber villains the edge.

Voga, the gold planet, is singularly pathetic. Here we have an entire planet brimming with the one sure-fire weapon to defeat the Cybermen—gold. Gold, gold, as far as the eye can see; and yet not one glittergun is to be found.

Revenge of the Cybermen brings us full circle from The Ark in Space. The Doctor, Sarah, and Harry have finally made it back to Nerva, and I find this an interesting parallel to that first Ark story from the William Hartnell years. However, whereas the first Doctor returned to his Ark many hundreds of years in the future, this fourth Doctor returns thousands of years in his Ark’s past.

Nerva is not yet an Ark bearing the future of the human race; Nerva is more or less a floating cemetery, its halls littered with corpses. The first few scenes as the Doctor, Sarah, and Harry walk through those dead corridors are unnerving and eerie. However the rest of the story doesn’t match those spine-chilling moments.

Instead we get ineffectual mole-men cowering underground on their mounds of gold with “the philosophy of a cringing mouse,” (they should take a lesson from Sarah: “Well, we can’t just sit here glittering, can we?”) and a handful of Cybermen inexplicably relying on the mercenary nature of a traitorous human and a convoluted plot for their dirty work.

It seems, Gary, that each time the Cybermen appear in early Classic Who stories they have been presumed extinct for centuries. And yet pockets of Cybermen continually resurface to the surprise of all. It also seems as though we are continually to get great chunks of the Cybermen’s rich history thrown at us but never get to witness it. In their first story The Tenth Planet we learn of the Cyberman home, Earth’s twin planet Mondas; in Revenge of the Cybermen we hear of the great Cyber-War, the attack on Voga, and the creation of glitterguns (reminiscent of ‘Polly Cocktail’ back in The Moonbase).  The present story, however, never seems to live up to those fascinating glimpses into Cyberman past.

Convolutions and enigmas abound in Revenge of the Cybermen. Despite the belief that the Cybermen have been eradicated, Vogans have gone into hiding, lurking in terror under the planet’s surface. However, one Vogan, Vorus,”a gambler with a mad thirst for power,” has somehow contacted an equally ambitious human, Kellman, and together they have devised a plan to bring Voga back to glory. Kellman, acting as double agent, is to lure the Cybermen to Nerva with the intent of destroying Voga. Vorus in the meantime has secretly created and built a rocket to destroy Nerva.

The Cybermen, for their part, are using Kellman (“We can trust in his greed; gold buys humans.”) and Cybermats to kill all but four humans on Nerva. The surviving humans are to become living bombs sent down to Voga waiting detonation.

Vorus runs into opposition on Voga; Vogan Militia and Vogan Guardians fire on each other. Kellman transmats down to Voga and is captured by the Militia. Vorus’ rocket isn’t ready. The Cybermen have sent the Doctor and two Nerva crew members down loaded with explosives. Cybermen can’t take the explosives themselves because of the gold, you see. However two Cybermen can transmat down to Voga to stand guard and to threaten manual detonation if the human carriers deviate off course.

Vogans try to shoot the Cybermen but are killed themselves. Again, gold, gold everywhere . . . .

The Doctor is the one constant in all of this. He doesn’t have long, thought out, convoluted plans that go haywire. He is thinking on his toes, working it out as he goes. “Everything’s important,” he says at one point in our story. The Doctor observes everything, misses nothing (hence his first encounter with Kellman: “Who’s the homicidal maniac?”).

“What’s your idea?” the Doctor is asked. “I don’t know yet,” he replies. “That’s the trouble with ideas; they only come a bit at a time.”

The Doctor does the obvious, using gold against the Cybermen. However he doesn’t have a gun to shoot it, he is relying on handfuls of dust against Cyberman strength. It is Lester, the Nerva crewman, who jumps on the Cybermen and explodes his bomb. Now I have to ask myself, did the Cybermen really think this pitiful little bomb was going to blow up an entire planet? Even three pitiful little bombs? An entire planet?  Granted, they weren’t at the core yet, but then doesn’t that render the Cyberman threat of manual detonation useless? Yes, it would kill the humans, but Voga would remain Voga.

Now the Cybermen do the obvious, they pack Nerva with explosives and set it on a course for Voga. Again, I doubt if this would obliterate a planet. It might create a whopping big crater, but obliterate? Not sure it would work. Not if the explosives are as puny as the bomb that killed Lester and two Cybermen.

The Cybermen abandon Nerva as it heads on its kamikaze mission, leaving the Doctor and Sarah aboard. Big mistake. The Doctor, after a bit of Houdini escapism, is able to avert the crash and save both Nerva and Voga. Vorus gets his rocket working and it is aimed at the Cybermen’s ship. (Wouldn’t that have been a better plan all along instead of luring them to Nerva to kill only a handful of Cybermen and an entire human crew, leaving the Cyber ship untouched?)

A rather disappointing story to follow up Genesis of the Daleks. The Doctor, Sarah, and Harry don’t disappoint, though, and their presence throughout saves this from being a total wreck. In the end, a good Doctor Who story doesn’t necessarily have to be good; it just has to be Doctor Who.

I’ll leave you with that thought, Gary . . .

Genesis of the Daleks

Dear Gary—

Genesis of the Daleks is arguably one of the most seminal serials in Doctor Who. The Daleks put Doctor Who on the map back in 1963 despite the fact that that first story was long, drawn out, and boring. The Daleks captured the imagination of a nation and struck fear into its young audience. Since then the Daleks have returned to the series multiple times, relentless and ruthless.

However, Doctor Who is more than the sum of its Daleks. Other aliens have come and gone; additional arch enemies have emerged to harass the Doctor. The Master, the Cybermen, and the Sontarans, to name a few, rival the Daleks for Doctor Who villainy. A story depicting the origins of the Daleks would not rise to classic stature in and of itself, although it does in and of itself contain the potential.

A story reuniting past Doctor generations has the same landmark potential; however none of those that have been attempted have quite delivered.

Genesis of the Daleks delivers.

That is not to say that Genesis of the Daleks is the best Doctor Who story ever written or even the most entertaining. It is a good story, well written and entertaining, yes, but it is a tad long just like that first long ago Dalek adventure. No, a solid script and outstanding concept alone will not elevate a story in such a way.

Time and again in Doctor Who we are told that “the Dalek menace always remains;” that they are evil; that they are the greatest threat to the universe. Genesis of the Daleks provides the meat for these bare bones statements. After watching Genesis of the Daleks we not only know this as fact, we believe it.

We believe it because of Davros. Davros, this one mutation of a man. Davros, this egomaniacal mad scientist. Davros, this creator of the Daleks. Davros.

Davros: “Evil? No, no, I will not accept that. They are conditioned simply to survive. They can survive only by becoming the dominant species. When all other life forms are suppressed, when the Daleks are the supreme rulers of the universe, then you will have peace; wars will end. They are the power not of evil but of good.”

Doctor: Davros, if you had created a virus in your laboratory, something contagious and infectious, that killed on contact, a virus that would destroy all other forms of life, would you allow its use?”

Davros: “It is an interesting conjecture.”

Doctor: “Would you do it?”

Davros: “The only living thing, a microscopic organism, reigning supreme. A fascinating idea.”

Doctor: “But would you do it?”

Davros: “Yes . . . yes. To hold in my hand a capsule that contains such power; to know that life and death on such a scale was my choice; to know that the tiny pressure of my thumb, enough to break the glass, would end everything. Yes . . . I would do it. That power would set me up above the gods. And through the Daleks I shall have that power.”

This is a truly chilling scene, brilliantly written, brilliantly acted. Davros in and of himself is a masterpiece.

Davros is not alone. The Doctor, too, rises above in Genesis of the Daleks. You know, Gary, that I already have a high opinion of Tom Baker’s Doctor. In Genesis of the Daleks he is superb.

The Doctor is on Skaro at the moment of the Daleks’ creation because the Time Lords have sent him there. The Time Lords, those galactic ticket takers, those champions of non-interference, have set the Doctor on a mission of interference. If there is one thing that Doctor Who has always preached it is that history should never be changed. That seems to be a rule inviolate with Time Lords. Yet here they are blatantly breaking that rule. And all it takes is one word, “Daleks,” and the Doctor agrees.

But that ancient pull of the Time Lords, that philosophy of detachment engrained in him as a boy and that he ran from in his stolen TARDIS, that fixed point mentality has shaped the Doctor in many ways. The Doctor has his own genesis to deal with.

“Have I that right?”

The Daleks, “the most evil creatures ever invented;” the Daleks, that devastating virus about to be unleashed on the world; the Daleks. And yet the Doctor asks, “Have I that right?”

“But the final responsibility is mine and mine alone,” the Doctor reasons. The Time Lords have sent him on this mission, Sarah is urging him to it, the Daleks are before him, “simply touch one wire against the other and that’s it.” And yet he asks, “Have I that right?” This is his decision to make; not the Time Lords’, not Sarah’s, not History’s. His and his alone. “Have I that right?”

The Doctor would not be the Doctor if he did not ask the question. If he did not agonize over the decision.

“Listen, if someone who knew the future pointed out a child to you and told you that that child would grow up totally evil, to be a ruthless dictator who would destroy millions of lives, could you then kill that child?”

Just touch the two wires and no more Daleks.  ‘Just do it, Doctor,’ every fiber in every being screams.

And yet . . . “But if I kill, wipe out a whole intelligent life form, then I become like them. I’d be no better than the Daleks.”

The Doctor must and does agonize over this decision. It is his decision, and his alone.

This is where the story gets in the way.

There is a story unfolding around these moral dilemmas and philosophical discussions. It’s a decent enough plot. Back in our first Dalek serial from 1963 we saw the results of the devastating war on Skaro leaving the Thals as scrounging nomads, mutations lurking in swamps, and Daleks holed up in their metal city. At that time we learned that the Daleks had evolved from a race called Dals. In this story we learn they are actually Kaleds. I don’t worry too much about this discrepancy though, Gary.  I figure that the nomadic Thals who had been carrying around their history for thousands of years after the ravages of war were bound to have inaccuracies.

Genesis of the Daleks takes place at the end of this war between the Thals and the Kaleds, and we have some interesting socio-political dynamics going on and several fascinating characters if we had the time to explore them, but as it is they serve merely as an enriching backdrop to the action. Although I do want to make special mention of Nyder. His fanatical devotion to Davros would make for some absorbing study.

The action consists of some straightforward combat, political intrigue, betrayals, plotting and counter plotting, captures and escapes, chases, and explosions. In the midst of all this Sarah gets conscripted into working on a rocket for the Thals and leads a failed escape attempt while Harry steps in a giant, mutated oyster (“Why is it always me that puts a foot in it?”).

Right when the Doctor is having his momentous battle of conscience the plot collides with him. He does not need to blow up the Daleks he is told. Kaled scientists and military elite have banded together against Davros and he has agreed to alter the genetic engineering of the Daleks to give them a sense of right and wrong. Easy out.

Of course Davros won’t give up that easily. This is merely a plot of his own to lull his detractors before turning on them: “Do you believe that I would let a lifetime’s work be ended by the wills of spineless fools like you?”

And so the Doctor must make his decision after all, only now he has no time to think. No more standing with the two wires almost touching, wondering about the right and the wrong of it. No more questions. No more hypotheticals. With Daleks patrolling the corridors and Thals prepared to blow up the tunnel, the Doctor must act. And he does (with a little help from a Dalek).

In the end, his act will only delay the Daleks, not defeat them. The Daleks are never defeated. But that doesn’t distress the Doctor: “Out of their evil must come something good.”

This is, after all, the genesis of the Daleks, not the demise. Born out of the chillingly maniacal brain of Davros, these creations set themselves, not Davros, above the gods: “Our programming does not permit us to acknowledge that any creature is superior to the Daleks.”

Genesis of the Daleks makes us believe, not just know, that the Daleks are evil. And when they turn on their creator; when they turn on one of the most unsettling villains in Doctor Who; when they turn on Davros with no compunction, we feel the icy terror in our veins.

“Pity. I have no understanding of the word. It is not registered in my vocabulary bank. EXTERMINATE!”

They might be pepper pots and “wee salt-shakers,” but these cold, pitiless words would make me cower behind a couch any day.

But like the Doctor I am not disappointed that the Daleks are only delayed and not defeated. Out of their evil comes much good Doctor Who viewing.

And so I am settling in for a nice long run of this fourth Doctor, hopefully with a Dalek or two, and I hope this finds you somewhere out there, dear Gary . . .

The Sontaran Experiment

Dear Gary—

The Sontaran Experiment is a fascinating two part case study. Styre is the Sontaran of our title who has lured a group of astronauts down to the deserted Earth in order to make an assessment of human strengths and weaknesses. The Doctor, Sarah, and Harry use the Space Station Nerva transmat beam and land in the midst of this experiment, allowing us to make our own assessment of the Doctor, his companions, and the Sontarans.

“Are you coming or going; or going or coming?” the Doctor asks as Harry flickers in and out before materializing completely.

“I feel a bit like a Morse message—slightly scrambled,” Harry replies. And that is Harry--losing his shoes, pushing the wrong button, falling down crevasses: “You know it’s absolutely typical of Harry . . . how anyone in his proper mind could fall down a whacking great subsidence . . . .” But Harry is perfectly capable of getting himself out again. He is only slightly scrambled; most of the time he is competent, brave, reliable. He spends much of our story gathering his own intelligence on Styre and rendering assistance to Styre’s victims.

Sarah in The Sontaran Experiment is in a transition stage between her independent, liberated woman reporter role of her early stories and her endearing, girl in peril role of future serials. Sarah bristles at Harry calling her “old thing” and uses her investigative instincts to reason out that they are not alone on the planet and that all is not right with the stranded astronauts. She rescues the Doctor from the astronauts and even recovers his invaluable sonic screwdriver. “What would I do without you,” the Doctor tells her. She also gets herself captured by Styre, and through it all she is absolutely adorable in her yellow rain slicker and knit cap.

Then there is Styre, our experimenting Sontaran. Due to the similarity in appearance, Sarah mistakes him for Linx from The Time Warrior. “Identical, yes; the same, no,” Styre replies. But he is just as enjoyable a villain to watch as Linx was.

“Your opinion of my looks is of no interest to my program,” he tells Sarah. Insults on his appearance do not faze him. He is logical, methodical; he is a Sontaran.

“Why do you make that disagreeable noise,” Styre asks when Sarah screams. He is on Earth to gather intelligence, and Sarah, “as a female is far more interesting,” than the “moron” he had already studied and found of no further use. His assessment of the female of the species: “would appear to have no military justification; offensive value therefore nil.” He is logical; methodical; he is a Sontaran.

 “That is my function, I am a warrior,” he tells Sarah when she protests his killing Roth. And when Sarah claims to be from Earth when Styre knows Earth to be uninhabited he replies, “You are a mistake and must therefore be eliminated; according to my data, you should not exist.” He is logical, methodical; he is a Sontaran.

The Doctor is also logical and methodical, but he is not a Sontaran. He is a Time Lord. He is the Doctor.

“Nerva . . . transmat beam . . . Earth. It’s as simple as that. Why don’t you believe me?”

The Doctor has explained to his captors his presence on Earth calmly, logically, straightforwardly. When the stranded astronauts reject this, the Doctor asks his perfectly reasonable question. “Why don’t you believe me?”

The Doctor remains calm and respectful while at the same time trying to penetrate the thick heads of the astronauts: “I’m sorry to keep contradicting you . . . .” The Doctor does not get frustrated. He does not get angry. He does not get flustered. He answers his captors frankly and honestly despite their disbelief and inanity. When he explains that the Nerva alarm clock had stopped, they dismiss the whole space station aspect and simply ask him if he is a clock expert. The Doctor, ever polite, replies, “Horologist actually, and chronometrist. I just love clocks: atomic clocks, wall quartz clocks, grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks . . . .”

When asked if he has any proof of his claims he replies, “Well, no; but then I didn’t expect to meet anybody.”

He is logical and methodical. He is calm and straightforward. While those around him become emotional, annoyed, distrustful, the Doctor simply states what to him is the obvious.

But he is not a Sontaran. He is a Time Lord. He is the Doctor.

Finding the terrorized Sarah, the Doctor’s moral outrage bursts forth as he lunges at Styre accusing, “You unspeakable abomination.” The storm beneath the calm.

The Doctor’s waters run deep, unlike the Sontarans.  “The Sontarans never do anything without a military reason.” The Doctor, on the other hand, does everything with anything but a military reason. His logic and method are untidy and cluttered.

A stray piece off of Nerva’s rocket that he has tucked away in a pocket saves the Doctor’s life. Harry calls this fortuitous, but the Doctor corrects: “Foresight. You never know when these bits and pieces will come in handy. Never throw anything away, Harry.” There is method to his madness and madness to his method.

In the end, the Doctor’s method defeats the Sontaran’s. Names might never hurt Styre, but question his bravery and be prepared for a fight. As the Doctor points out, Styre is strong but unwieldy and unused to Earth’s gravity. All the Doctor has to do is wear him out enough so that he must return to his ship to reenergize. The Doctor has sent Harry to sabotage this ship, and the result is that rather than feeding on the energy the energy feeds on Styre.

This, Gary, is the one point that bothers me about The Sontaran Experiment. The Doctor seems a bit callous in killing Styre in this rather grim fashion, but I suppose the Doctor doesn’t have the same affection for Sontarans as I do.

And so, dear Gary, I come to an end of The Sontaran Experiment, but my slow path experiment is far from over . . .

The Ark in Space

Dear Gary—

The Ark in Space is not the first time the Doctor has landed on an ark in space. Interestingly, both mark the first full TARDIS adventure for a new companion, Dodo back in The Ark and Harry in our present serial The Ark in Space. Both take place on a ship sent from a dying Earth full of representatives of humanity along with flora and fauna of the planet. However, that is where the similarities end. The Ark in Space is a story unto itself, and quite remarkable at that.

The TARDIS lands off of its mark of the moon, apparently due to the clumsiness of Harry who pushed the wrong button in flight. I believe I had described Dodo in The Ark as a floppy sheepdog getting under foot, loveable but exasperating. Harry is similarly endearing, but in his own way. He is a tad old fashioned, always well-intentioned, and prone to mishap. He goes through most of the story in his stocking feet because he loses both of his shoes, and he mentions his dislike of sliding doors ever since he got his nose trapped in one.

But Harry is game, accepting the fact that they have traveled many thousands of years into the future and ready to face any danger. “Oh, I say, we’ve gone,” is his fist reaction as he steps out of the TARDIS. “I’ve gone mad,” is his conclusion. But he quickly adapts in his typical British “simple sort of chap” way.  When the Doctor leaves him in charge of resuscitating the sleeping  human cargo on the ark using the advanced medical technique he only observed once, Harry calms Sarah’s doubts by claiming, “dead simple, really; medicine by numbers.” Harry might push the wrong buttons at the wrong time and step out of his shoes, but the Doctor can count on him in a pinch.

“Your mind is beginning to work,” the Doctor tells Harry, but then qualifies, “it’s entirely due to my influence of course; you mustn’t take any credit.”

Harry has quickly settled in as a companionable companion.

The Ark in Space is not only Harry’s first TARDIS adventure, but Tom Baker’s as well. His first story, Robot, was a UNIT adventure taking place on Earth. The Ark in Space is his first foray into space and time.

“There’s a mystery here, Harry.” The Doctor has always loved a good mystery to solve, and my impression of the fourth Doctor’s quick wittedness in Robot continues here in The Ark in Space. More than any previous generation, this fourth Doctor inspires confidence that his mind is always working, always several steps ahead of anyone else, always unraveling the mystery as easily as he untangles sabotaged wiring.

Sidestepping questions is a Doctor Who tradition. The first Doctor couldn’t be bothered; the second Doctor ran; the third Doctor simply reversed the polarity. With Tom Baker’s Doctor we realize that the questions just don’t matter, we know that the Doctor has the answer and that’s all that counts.

Harry: “Doctor, I haven’t the foggiest notion what you’re on about.”

Doctor: “Never mind. It just means that Sarah can’t be far away. All we’ve got to do is find her. Come on.”

“Never mind." He would explain and sometimes does, but why when the explanation would be so far above everyone’s head? (“He talks to himself sometimes because he’s the only one who understands what he’s talking about.”) Simply put it in practical terms (“It just means that Sarah can’t be far away.”) and act (“All we’ve got to do is find her. Come on.”).

And then there are philosophical questions that have definite answers (“yes”) but that have deeper meaning.

Vira: “Is she of value?”

Harry: “Of value? She’s a human being like ourselves. What sort of question is that?”

Doctor: “The answer is yes.”

Vira: “Your comrade is a romantic.”

Doctor: “Perhaps we both are.”

The “she” in question is Sarah Jane who has been accidentally placed in cryonic suspension. The Ark in Space goes beyond the question of the value of a single human being, however. The Doctor has always had an affinity for the human race and in this story he admits this interest plainly: “It may be irrational of me, but human beings are quite my favorite species.”

The Doctor is a romantic, he has a sense of wonder and awe fostered in him by his aged mentor on that long ago Gallifreyan mountainside. The Doctor sees Mankind as the “daisiest daisy.” But the Doctor can say it far more eloquently:

“Homo sapiens—what an inventive, invincible species. It’s only a few million years since they crawled up out of the mud and learned to walk. Puny, defenseless bipeds. They’ve survived flood, famine, and plague. They’ve survived cosmic wars and holocausts. And now, here they are, out among the stars, waiting to begin a new life; to upset eternity. They’re indomitable . . . indomitable.”

The poetic soul of the Doctor brings beauty and meaning and life to the Time Lord vision of limitless time and space.

This romantic nature manifests itself in practical terms: “Never mind me, Harry; there’s a man in danger.”

I’m sorry for rambling on, Gary, but it has been a while since I have been as inspired by the Doctor, and I am excited to learn that my youthful affection for Tom Baker’s Doctor stands the test of time. I truly do find this fourth generation Doctor to be the most interesting and complex.

This new Doctor is serious and playful at the same time; calm and intense; logical and nonsensical; arrogant and humble.

“When I say I’m afraid, Sarah, I’m not making jokes.” In the same way, when playing with a yo-yo he is really taking a gravity reading. The Doctor has many layers; what you see is not always all that it seems. A joke is not always a joke; a yo-yo is not always a yo-yo. The Doctor has depths deeper than his endless pockets (in which a yo-yo, cricket ball, and jelly babies are found in this story).

The first Doctor stated he never did get his medical degree; the second Doctor at first claimed to remember getting his degree but then later in his run said that no, he was not a medical doctor; the third Doctor when asked about his title often replied that he’s a doctor of “practically everything.”  Now with the fourth Doctor we learn: “My doctorate is purely honorary.” This Doctor has a certain humility about him, despite his arrogance (“Mine is exceptional,” he says of his brain).

And of course there is that wonderful scarf, almost as endless as his pockets. It gets an end scorched off in this story: “Pity about the scarf. Madam Nostradamus knit it for me; witty little knitter." Yet it seems to remain as long as ever. Good thing since the Doctor says he’ll “never get another one like it.”

I’m definitely rambling, Gary, and I haven’t really said anything about the plot, which has a complexity of its own. The fact that the inhabitants have been in suspended animation and overslept their alarm clock by several thousand years is compelling enough. Add the horrific fact that an alien insect has invaded while they slept and laid its eggs in one of the humans and that the entire human race is in danger of being absorbed by the newly hatched creatures, and the story becomes riveting.

Like the Doctor, the plot finds humor in the horror. I especially like the character of Rogin. “We’d have been happily dead by now,” he grumbles upon waking to find himself thousands of years off mark and in danger of becoming an insect (Wirrn).

At first I took Rogin to be your typical malcontent trouble maker, but he is anything but. Yes he complains, but he is heroic in his actions, sacrificing himself to save Mankind. “We’re all safe now, Sarah, thanks to Rogin’s bravery.”

I really should wrap this up, Gary. The Wirrn explode (more sacrificial bravery on the part of Noah who has been taken over by the Wirrn) and the Doctor and his companions use the Ark’s transmat system to beam themselves down to Earth to look around while Vira revives the rest of humanity. It’s a rather nice flow into the next story, which I am really looking forward to as I remember it to be a short but sweet Sontaran story.

“Well,” says Harry, “the Brigadier did tell me to stick with you, Doctor, and . . . ah . . . orders is orders.”

I’ll stick with you, too, Doctor.

So I send this out, dear Gary, hoping it finds you out among the stars, waiting to begin a new life; to upset eternity . . .

Robot

Dear Gary—

“If the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum on the other two sides, why is a mouse when it spins?”

Aaaah . . . yes . . . that is one of the many reasons I love Tom Baker’s Doctor. He has a touch of Ish Kabibble about him (by the way, what exactly is the difference between a duck?).

“A new body is like a new heart; just takes a little bit of time to settle in.”

Tom Baker has no problem settling in to the role of the Doctor: “You may be A doctor, but I am The Doctor; the definite article you might say.”

I have to say, Gary, that I was a bit apprehensive about Robot; I was concerned that I had built Tom Baker up too much in my mind and I would find I was disappointed, especially since the last time I viewed Robot I recall finding it a touch boring. Not to worry. Both Robot and Tom Baker fire on all cylinders, or as the Doctor says, “Of course I’m fit . . . all systems go.”

Ish Kabibble aside, the Doctor is still the Doctor; and what impresses me about Tom Baker’s portrayal in Robot is that he can quickly and easily go from “People never can see what’s under their noses above their heads” nonsense to “Assuming I’m right, and I invariably am,” and we have every confidence that he is.

Everything about Baker’s Doctor is quick witted; he flows seamlessly from gibberish to reasoned logic, all at lightning speed. The Doctor has always been intelligent; with Baker we see his intelligence. From his examination of the pulverized dandelion to his study of the list of stolen equipment, we can see the wheels turning, calm and steady and ordered, even while the non-stop string of banter flies unchecked.

Tom Baker’s Doctor illustrates the “lateral thinking” of Jon Pertwee’s. This is lateral thinking at full tilt.

Tom Baker is not the only star of Robot. Nicholas Courtney, John Levene, and Elisabeth Sladen as our regulars, the Brigadier, Benton, and Sarah Jane, are stellar as ever. The Brigadier has always been a standout for me; his lines and his delivery are consistently spot on. Robot contains one of his classic lines that is so apropos of Doctor Who: “Just once I’d like to meet an alien menace that wasn’t immune to bullets.” And when he boldly declares, “Just for once we’re not going to need the Doctor,” only to have his plan backfire, he takes the resulting disaster with his usual nonplussed but stoic restraint.

Then there is Benton, who we learn has rightfully been promoted. Benton quietly goes about his job, mostly content to remain in the background, but always on hand. It is Benton who thinks to remove the disintegrator gun from the hands of the immobile robot; it is Benton who recalls the professor’s claim that the robot is made of a living metal. Benton: the unsung hero of Doctor Who.

And of course there is Sarah Jane. Sarah is still the independent reporter, going out on her own seeking the answers and more often than not coming up with them. Sarah leads the Doctor to the Institute, Professor Kettlewell, the SRS, and the robot. But she is more than the liberated woman of ‘70s stereotype. She is a woman of warmth and understanding and compassion; the “sort of girl who gives motor cars pet names.” Sarah forms a bond with the robot that is far more effective than the Brigadier’s bullets.

Finally we are introduced to a new regular—Ian Marter as Harry Sullivan (shades of Ian Chesterton of old). Harry isn’t given much to do in Robot, but he is on hand for the following:

Doctor: “Never cared much for the word ‘impregnable’; sounds a bit too much like ‘unsinkable’.”

Harry: “What’s wrong with ‘unsinkable’?”

Doctor: “Nothing; as the iceberg said to the Titanic.”

Harry: “What?”

Doctor: “Gloop, gloop, gloop, gloop, gloop, gloop, gloop.”

Harry provides some nice fresh blood to our Brig, Benton, Sarah mix.

With a crew like this it is acceptable that the supporting cast is rather too wild-haired absent-minded professor and stock Nazi-wannabe caricature. In fact I think it preferable. Robot is a story for the regulars to shine. The supporting cast is there for just that—support.

Shining above all, of course, is the Doctor. Fourth generation Doctor. William Hartnell-Patrick Troughton-Jon Pertwee-Tom Baker. It is quite a kaleidoscope. William Hartnell, the citizen of the universe and gentleman to boot; not a doc and not a god. Patrick Troughton, the hobo; the adventurer; the clown. Jon Pertwee, the dandy; the action hero. Tom Baker, a whirlwind of all the generations in one; both the eye of the storm and the storm; the calm and the chaos; all rolled into one extraordinary being.

“In science, as in morality, the end never justifies the means.” A statement that could have been made by any one of the Doctor’s generations.  That underlying, unifying element that makes each Doctor the Doctor. And when the odds of defeat are enumerated, the Doctor, any of the Doctors, can and does say, “I know, but we have to try.”

The Doctor. The same. The Doctor. Different.

“That, Mr. Benton, is the Doctor.”

“You mean he’s done it again?”

Yes, he has done it again. He is the same and yet different. Perhaps not as abrasive or rude as past generations, but still firm and decisive; with a dash of buffoonery and a splash of sleight-of-hand. And so when he meets the evasive Professor Kettlewell he disarms him with his interest and knowledge before hitting him with his demand for answers. And when confronting the SRS he beguiles them with dance and tricks before calling in the troops.

And he does it all with his pockets bulging. The Doctor has always pulled surprises out of his pocket; fourth generation Doctor’s pockets seem to be bottomless. Not only does he carry jelly babies (first produced from the second Doctor’s pockets), but he empties out a scroll from Skaro, a pilot’s license from the Mars-Venus rocket run, galactic passport, and honorary membership in the Alpha Centauri table tennis club. Deep pockets indeed.

The Doctor’s long-standing dislike of computers is yet another constant: “The trouble with computers, of course, is that they are very sophisticated idiots,” he says as he averts another Doctor Who constant, the ominous count down. However he achieves this by overriding the programming rather than past generational solutions of smashing or re-wiring.

Tom Baker is the definite article.

“There’s no point in being grown up if you can’t be childish sometimes.”

That, Gary, sums up the Doctor.

And I think, Gary, that it just might give a key to the lateral thinking; to the Ish Kabibble factor.

I remember babysitting for Robert when he was very young and we were watching Robot. “Why is that car yellow?” he asked and Cindy and I laughed at the absurdity of the question. Why not yellow? What difference does it make? Because that is the color it was when it came off the assembly line. Why ask? Watching Robot now, though, it struck me—yellow Bessie is leading a long line of army green vehicles. All the cars are green except Bessie. Why, Robert’s young mind was asking, is the one yellow when all the rest are green?

It was the same frustration my childish mind wrestled with when I once asked Mom while we were driving at night what the towers with the blinking lights were for. “So the planes won’t hit them,” was her reply. They built the towers so that planes wouldn’t hit them? Why not just not build them? She of course thought I was asking what the lights were for when what I really wanted to know was what the towers were for.

And so, dear Gary, “Why is a mouse when it spins?” might not be such a nonsensical question after all. We might have to look at the world upside down and sideways and through the mind of a child before we can make sense of it, but there is sense, even if it is nonsense.

I hope, Gary, that somewhere out there in the Doctor’s time swirl you are able to ponder these questions, and perhaps you do know why is a mouse when it spins, and maybe even what’s the difference between a duck. (I know, Gary . . . . One leg is both the same.)

Jon Pertwee

Dear Gary—

“I wonder why he’s wearing fancy dress.” Jon Pertwee has taken William Hartnell’s “citizen of the universe . . . and a gentleman to boot,” to the next level. His velvety jackets and ruffled shirts are always colorfully coordinated and refined. People might inquire, “Going to a fancy dress party?” but the Doctor is no fool. Jon Pertwee’s Doctor is more than ready to enter the fray; he just wants to look good doing it.

And Jon Pertwee’s Doctor is indeed ready for action. He has taken Patrick Troughton’s penchant for running and turned it into high speed chases in motor boats, helicopters, hover crafts, motorcycles, cars—just about any mode of transportation available. And when he catches up with his man he is ready for hand to hand combat, fencing, Venusian karate (or aikido); Pertwee’s Doctor is well equipped for a fight.

Yes, it is that time, Gary. Time to reflect back on Jon Pertwee’s long run as the Doctor. I see from my original rankings that I placed him a rather dismal eighth. I am tempted to move him up at least one notch, just above Davison, but that might be only because he is freshest in my mind, so I am going to reserve judgment.

I started out my Jon Pertwee experience by discovering that I disliked him more than I thought, but I ended by learning I liked him more than I thought. Jon Pertwee began his generation ill-tempered and rude, perhaps as a result of his exile. Jo Grant eventually softened him and a more tender side of the Doctor emerged.

However I still have a sense of detachment from this third Doctor. Perhaps this, too, is a result of his exile. Hartnell and Troughton were wanderers, hobos, adventurers; but they both had their TARDIS, their home base. Pertwee is stationed on Earth for most of his generation; he has stability with UNIT; he is in familiar territory. But this stability, this familiarity is foreign to him; it is not of his own choice. Perhaps this is why he seems more distant and inaccessible.

What we do get with Pertwee more than with the previous two is action. But perhaps this, too, creates a barrier to our (or my) affection. High speed chases are exciting; however they don’t do much in the way of character development.

That is not to say, Gary, that Jon Pertwee’s Doctor has a lack of character development. Indeed, this third generation goes a long way in enriching the legend of both the Doctor and the Time Lords.

For the first time with Pertwee we not only learn that his home planet is Gallifrey but we have brief glimpses of this planet as well. We meet several Time Lords, most prominently the Master (although I have to say that the Master was a bit overused), and we get more insight into the Time Lord philosophy of non-interference (although they have no problem interfering in the Doctor’s life) and as “galactic ticket inspectors.”

With Pertwee we learn of the Doctor’s affection for Venusian culture, not just their martial arts but their philosophy and lullabies. We learn of his old boyhood mentor who gave him the secret of life, and we even meet this wizened Time Lord in Pertwee’s final serial. And let's not forget his beloved Bessie; although the Doctor seems to forget her in favor of his more modern hover car during the end of his reign. Jon Pertwee's Doctor does enjoy tinkering with gadgets.

The Jon Pertwee era also ushered in some new enemies for the Doctor, most notably the Master, the Silurians, and my favorite the Sontarans. And it expanded on the role of old friends; without Nicholas Courtney as the Brigadier I’m not sure I could have made it through the Pertwee years. The sonic screwdriver and use of the name John Smith, both introduced by Patrick Troughton, were also expanded on with Pertwee.

Jon Pertwee has made the role of the Doctor his own. He has explored elements of his predecesors and taken them to new levels, and he has forged new territory. One side note I would like to make that always rather bothered me, however--William Hartnell's Doctor was always keen on admonishing people for calling him 'Doc.' Pertwee never seems to mind this; multiple characters throughout his run get away with it. "Not a doc and not a god" seems to have been forgotten.

If I were to pick my favorite Pertwee story I would probably say The Time Warrior. Inferno is also great fun and Colony in Space and TheMutants are examples of strong scripts enhanced by some inspired casting.

I am more than ready, though, to say goodbye to Pertwee and am excited to begin the Baker era.

As the Brig would say, Gary, “Well, here we go again . . .”

Planet of the Spiders

Dear Gary—

“Never mind the dratted coffee; what about the spiders?”

Planet of the Spiders is yet another Doctor Who example of everyone involved taking the production so seriously that the ridiculousness of it all does not overwhelm. This has always been one of the strongest points of Doctor Who. No matter how cheap the production; no matter how cheesy the costumes, the props, the sets; everything is acted as though it is all real. The actors believe; the audience believes.

Planet of the Spiders almost makes me want to revisit The Web Planet. Maybe I can finally overcome the cheesiness of that story too.  But as I remember, The Web Planet didn’t have strong enough acting or storyline to carry it. What The Web Planet does have, though, is affection for character which I don’t quite have to the same degree with this third Doctor. And I should not have thought of that, Gary, because it takes Planet of the Spiders down a notch in my thinking; the acting and story, although a step above The Web Planet, is not quite up to many a Doctor Who serial.

But back to the spiders. The spiders, I feel, actually elevate this story. Yes they are rather weak in terms of monsters. I mean, just step on the thing and be done with it. And yet they speak with such confidence and authority with their thin and gangly voices. And the infighting and intrigue—oh what a tangled web. I find myself fascinated by this glimpse of political spider machinations.

Spider, spider, burning bright.

I find the human plotters, however, to be far less effective. This nerdy group of middle aged accountant and salesman types sitting cross legged on a cellar floor chanting “Ohm” over and over lacks a certain fearful symmetry.

Lupton is the only member of this nerd pack who has any sense of purpose, and even that is rather sketchy. Like most Doctor Who monster collaborators, Lupton is after power. I’m not sure, though, how he figures on getting this power, or how he has convinced his cohorts to go along with him on his rather vague and incoherent plans.

The humans on Metebelis Three are equally unimpressive. These descendants of a crashed spaceship live in a primitive state; obviously their ancestors taught them nothing of their technology or gave them the common sense to realize that if the blue crystals on the planet could develop super spiders it could do the same for humans.

Planet of the Spiders, however, is less about the story and more about the third Doctor. This is Jon Pertwee’s final serial and Planet of the Spiders provides a nice wrap up. The sense of curiosity and wonder of the first and second Doctors has grown to a self confessed “greed for knowledge; for information;” and that greed has caught up with him.

To begin, the Doctor’s insistence on experimenting with a reluctant clairvoyant results in the death of this psychic. Early in Pertwee’s run as the Doctor he was similarly responsible for the death of Barnham in The Mind of Evil. At that time he became defensive; now he takes responsibility for his actions.

The events in Planet of the Spiders are all triggered by the Doctor’s action of stealing the blue crystal from Metebelis Three back in The Green Death. Jo has returned the crystal to the Doctor, having been warned of its evil aura. (I can’t help wondering, Gary, how different the spiders’ reception might have been in the depths of the Amazon forests.) Now the spiders of Metebelis Three have come to Earth through the channel of the chanting accountants in search of this crystal.

After some extended chase sequences in various modes of transportation (“Yes, of course we’re flying”), the Doctor revisits Metebelis Three (“the TARDIS may be a little erratic” at times, but the Doctor has wired Metebelis Three coordinates into the programmer).

“I had to face my fear,” the Doctor explains. Back in The Mind of Evil his greatest fears were revealed to be fire and past monsters. It has never been hinted that the Doctor has arachnophobia; I’m not sure what fear he was confronting; perhaps it was his own mortality.

Although mortality, much like time, for a Time Lord is relative. For the first time we get the term ‘regeneration’ used to describe the Doctor’s metamorphosis. “When a Time Lord’s body wears out he regenerates; becomes new.”

The Doctor is not the only one to regenerate in this story; in another nod to the past, the Doctor’s old hermit mentor from Gallifrey (first referenced in The Time Monster), makes an appearance in the form of K’anpo, Abbot of the Tibetan monastery that is home to the chanting accountants.

“The recognition of friends is not always easy,” K’anpo tells the Doctor as he reveals himself. And in another Time Lord revelation, he explains that the monk Cho-Je is in reality a projection of his future self; when K’anpo’s body dies, he does regenerate as Cho-Je. (This forward projection of a Time Lord’s soul will be utilized in the fourth Doctor’s regeneration.)

Speaking of old friends, Mike Yates redeems himself in this story after his acts of betrayal back in Invasion of the Dinosaurs. And there are a couple name droppings by the Doctor (“Next to Mrs. Samuel Pepys you make the finest cup of coffee;” and “Harry, err, what was his name? . . . Houdini!”). We have the letter from Jo, and of course the old standbys Benton, Sarah Jane, and the Brigadier. And let’s not forget the TARDIS (“I always leave the actual landing to the TARDIS herself; she’s no fool you know.”).

The Doctor has faced his demons and now he is amongst friends. “I got lost in the Time Vortex; the TARDIS brought me home.” Home. Amongst friends.

Jon Pertwee fades away and Tom Baker takes his place.

“Well, here we go again.”

Yes, here we go, Gary . . .