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THE PILOT
"I cannot let you go, schoolteacher. Whether you believe what you have
been told is of no importance."
When does Doctor Who stop being science fiction? There's this old straw
that Doctor Who is not and rarely ever has been science fiction, that it's
"space opera" or "telefantasy" or some such other term. I myself tend to
refer to it as "space fantasy," using the trappings of the genre to tell
fantasy-adventure stories. Legions of British fans and you'd think
they'd know, right? insist that the show cannot be science fiction,
because they hate science fiction, and besides which, that would mean
they'd have to give the Trekkies the time of day. Well, here's the
interesting thing: we're all wrong. Me. Them. Everyone.
The problem is that when we think of Doctor Who as science fiction, we
think of Christopher Bidmead and his obsession with very hard science
fiction, totally technology-based, with lots of technical explanations and
science experiments and string theory. It's a subsection of the genre that
really begins with Jules Verne, who adored filling pages up with lengths
of engines and sub-species of fish, and continues on today with people
like Stephen Baxter and David Brin. It's beloved by engineers, scientists
and, yes, computer columnists. And Doctor Who has basically never been
about that, except during one nine-month period where it starts babbling
on about "charged vacuum emboitments" and "block transfer computation" and
how the TARDIS actually works. But then
the original Star Trek isn't like
that, either (it's a Western), and neither is Star Wars (it's a
mythological hero quest). And Doctor Who, at its very inception, is far
more science fiction-based than either of those.
I'm sure Christopher Bidmead has thought about how Jules Verne inspired
Doctor Who, and I'm sure in his mind, it has something to do with those
verbose blueprints-in-words that are all "scientific." The truth is a lot
simpler: it's about the exploration and acceptance of or resistance to the
unknown. In between all those sub-species of fish, Verne's constantly
talking about the leap you have to make into unknown, and unsafe,
territory; it's why he's bothering to do all that documentation, to give
the reader something concrete to hold on to. And the pilot episode of
Doctor Who is the absolute prime example of this in televised form. The
entire episode and especially the second half is a modernized
reworking of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. The formula's right
there: modern, everyday intellectuals (whom we trust and relate to) follow
their curiosity in search of some "unearthly" subject; they find a
"living" ship that can masquerade as something it is not; the mysterious,
foreign captain of that ship takes them onboard and tells them he will
never let them free, because they might reveal the great wonder they've
seen, but ho-ho, he can show them even scarier things than that. Cue the
scary music and cue the adventure. The Doctor and Ian's entire debate,
both in this script and that for episode two of the serial, reflects the
debate between Captain Nemo (an alias meaning "No Man," which is curiously
close to "Who") and protagonist Pierre Aronnax, one the arrogant voice of
progression (and, importantly, amorality), one the resistant voice of
tradition. It might even be worth noting that in some TV adaptations of
Verne's novel, in an attempt to humanize Nemo, he's given gee whiz an
exotic, teenage daughter. Sometimes she's even from Atlantis, and looks a
bit funny. Sound familiar?
What's interesting is that you have to take Ian's (and Barbara's) side in
this version of the first-episode script, because the Doctor and Susan are
just so damn creepy. There's one look Carole Ann Ford gives William
Hartnell in the console room that is straight out of a horror movie. It's
why I've always preferred this version to the one broadcast: here,
Hartnell's intelligence and cunning is absolute, no doddering or flubbed
names or little bits of comedy. Nothing's going to get in this man's way,
and his decision at the end could well lead to Ian and Barbara's death.
Even Susan isn't completely "safe" (she keeps looking like she alternately
wants to hug Barbara or take a bite out of her shoulder). I've often
wondered whose decision this was, to make them so definitively alien I
have my suspicions it may be David Whitaker, because he holds on to some
of the harsher elements in his novel Doctor Who in an Exciting Adventure
with the Daleks including, notably, an even more blunt version of the
Captain Nemo threat (with the Doctor implying he'll either have to kidnap
or kill the two strangers). Whoever it is, Sydney Newman clearly disagreed
and for the purpose of a long-running series, it's probably best. Still,
even in the transmitted version, you get the same tension between what is
known and unknown, what these two teachers are willing to accept
culminating, in both versions, with that surreal musical break over the
extended title sequence footage. It's this conflict of worldviews that is,
to my mind, the very heart of classic, literate science fiction.
It's not as if that's about to stop anytime soon, either. The Daleks and
The Edge of Destruction both share a great deal in common with H.G. Wells'
The Time Machine (one the film version, and one the book), while Marco
Polo and The Aztecs revolve around plot catalysts for science fiction
novels from Wells on up. Planet of Giants is practically an Outer Limits
episode, and The Dalek Invasion of Earth
well, we all know that one.
It's official then: Doctor Who, at least at its roots, is science fiction
after all. From the get-go. Day one, minute one. No getting around it.
AN UNEARTHLY CHILD: AN
UNEARTHLY CHILD (23 Nov. 1963)
"This doesn't roll along on wheels, you know."
About a year ago, I ran this episode as part of my Halloween Movie
Marathon, followed by the full, two-part The Empty Child. That's not my
usual technique typically, if I want to get someone into Doctor Who, I
go with the Trekkie-friendly The Ark in Space but I wanted a quick,
one-episode entry that explained the basics of the show before jumping
into a story that hits the ground running. In retrospect, I probably
should have run the pilot (I suspect "I was born in the 49th century" put
me off that idea), but it's interesting: all of my friends sat and watched
it, in an interested fashion, without complaint. The one critical comment
afterward was that "it seemed like a play on TV." But is that really to
the detriment of something like Doctor Who?
I have to admit that I enjoy much of the theatricality of this episode.
The meat of the episode, to me, is the Doctor facing down the two
schoolteachers in the TARDIS little more than a ten-minute conversation,
shot multi-camera. Yet it's totally riveting because of the performances
on the screen. Hartnell and Russell, particularly, are absorbing in their
two sides of the argument, put forth almost completely in close-ups and
medium shots. This is the sort of confrontation you never see in
television these days: now, you'd need some sort of action (a fight, or
Ian slamming the Doctor up against a wall), it'd be trimmed by seven
minutes, and there would be constant music instead of the persistent and
otherworldly TARDIS hum. The fact that it feels like a play, to me, makes
it more "real." I believe that these people are standing in this alien
room, just as much as I believed they were standing in a school classroom
ten minutes earlier. (Sadly, the "exterior" shots don't fare as well; it's
terribly obvious, in the worst possible way, that Hill and Russell are sat
in a prop car.) The fact that we are allowed to absorb that through a
long, dialogue-heavy sequence actually immerses us further in the
secondary reality: we have time to take in and "believe" in this new
location, and any hint of artificiality is much the same as the
artificiality that has come before. It's all of a piece, and it feels
continuous if different from the 1960s world we've just left behind.
This is the strength of good theatre: the ability to relocate our minds in
another place, despite a subconscious knowing it cannot be real. You get
that across chiefly through acting, through story, and through pace.
Television has a couple of other tricks up its sleeve (more on that with
the next episode), but mostly what we see here conforms to the stage
model. It's interesting to compare this to any future pilot or
pilot-functioning episode for the show: in Tomb of the Cybermen and the
TVM, both, it's the TARDIS interior that is established as the comfort
zone first. How quickly things change, eh?
AN UNEARTHLY CHILD: THE
CAVE OF SKULLS (30 Nov. 1963)
"Well, there you are. New world for you."
Six minutes, forty-five seconds. Just over thirty minutes into this new
program. That's how long it takes for the creators of Doctor Who to
provide us with the money shot: the doors of the TARDIS opening and
revealing the alien landscape outside. How many kids in 1963 were thrilled
with excitement to see that this strange, police box-shaped, space-time
machine actually worked?
I call attention to this moment for two reasons: one, because it
absolutely sells the reality of the show. It's an ingenious move, and even
looking at it 45 years later, restored to a sharpness it may never have
had before, the transition still looks great. The set goes on far enough
beyond the TARDIS doors to see Jacqueline Hill step outside,
partially-obscured, and look around at the mountainous landscape with the
sun above. Instant magic! It's practically taking a note from The Wizard
of Oz, and on the level of weekly television, it's just as successful. The
other reason to focus on this moment is to reflect on how rarely it is
ever repeated. To my knowledge, 1980s Doctor Who never featured a
through-the-doors shot. When 1970s Who (rarely) attempted it, we got an
unpleasant blurry outline of yellow CSO. Even the new series took two full
seasons to attempt anything similar, and we've still not seen a shot from
the console room out to an actual landscape; it's always some outer-space
shot, which is pretty, but doesn't play with your head in the same way as
an actual, planetary "outdoors."
It's not perfect, of course; by the time Ian and Susan step out on to the
world, we see that the TARDIS is clearly supposed to be set at an angle,
which betrays the previous shot just a tiny bit. Still, it's a great
example of Waris Hussein's incomparable, and very lively direction
throughout An Unearthly Child. I mentioned, last episode, the engaging
qualities of that first TARDIS scene. The acting certainly has a lot to do
with it, but watch Hussein's camera, too: he's got some deep shots, as
with Ian and Barbara looking on, terrified, at the plotting Doctor and
Susan in the foreground; he tilts the camera up to give the Doctor more
presence, and to reveal the little-seen ceiling of the console room set;
in the pilot, there's a great, imposing shot of the Doctor and Susan
standing like guards with their backs to the console. Later, in episode
four, the fight sequence between Kal and Za will be totally unlike
anything we'll see again in the series shot on film, with the flickering
light of the campfire, and much of the drama carried completely by
close-up reaction shots. It's a far cry from, say, the moronic "let's poke
each other with sticks" fights in The Time Meddler. Hussein has an amazing
grasp of televisual language, and this is perhaps the greatest shame of
the loss of Marco Polo. People talk about how it would never live up to
expectations but I think, somehow, it just might. Imagine if only the
audio existed for this half-hour episode: would you ever expect them to
have actually shown the landscape outside the Ship?
AN UNEARTHLY CHILD: THE
FOREST OF FEAR (07 Dec. 1963)
"Oh, we're never going to get out of this awful place! Never, never,
never!"
It's the first Doctor Who story, and yes, it's the first episode of
padding. The episode begins with the crew escaping the aforementioned Cave
of Skulls, and ends with them captured at the edge of the eponymous Forest
of Fear. (You must wonder what all the cavemen have named: is there a Lake
of Cold or a Land of Sand?) What the episode lacks in raw plot, however,
it makes up for in a number of rather nice character moments. The Doctor
is still playing a self-absorbed opportunist, ready to abandon the
teachers at the drop of a hat, and Ian is still the level voice of sanity.
What's interesting, though, is that those two characters are really only
situated to be a sort of Greek chorus in this episode. It's the women who
do all the work.
Think about it: the Old Woman provides the travellers' means of escape
from the Cave of Skulls; Hur discovers their disappearance; Susan leads
the way through the forest; and Barbara is the one who forces the others
to help Za after he is wounded. There are some interesting relationships
developing here. If Ian is the one who manages to seem in control for the
benefit of others, Barbara is the one who actually swallows her fear and
does something; she was the first one to accept the TARDIS, she was the
first one to accept their new surroundings, and now she's the first one to
accept the humanity of these prehistoric people, and the need to help
them, despite the danger. It's the first big step (after a few tiny hints
in the first episode) of Barbara as "the compassionate one" nothing too
outrageous for a female character in the 1960s, but a significant leap
beyond the screaming fear-mannequin Susan is already deteriorating toward.
And while we're on that subject, I'm still questioning whether it is
Jacqueline Hill or Waris Hussein who so badly mistimed Barbara's reaction
to the dead boar her almost manic response is probably supposed to
indicate how edgy and frightened she is, but it doesn't actually make any
sense for the character they're beginning to develop.
That one little misstep aside, these characters are coming along nicely
and it's a level of characterization that makes it hard to dismiss these
later episodes just because of the (admittedly forced) cavemen dialogue.
There are even some good performances going on there, it's just hard to
see under the endless repetition of claims about Orb, Za, Kal, fire and
"many skins." (Not to mention that Howard Lang, playing Horg, reminds me
rather persistently of comedian Will Ferrell, making it impossible not to
chuckle at his attempt at "caveman gravitas.") Alethea Charlton is
particularly effective, half cunning and half totally innocent; she'll be
back for a different, but similarly polished performance in The Time
Meddler. Doctor Who is already proving its worth as a sandbox for good,
strong acting and that makes up for a few rough teething pains along the
way.
AN UNEARTHLY CHILD: THE
FIREMAKER (14 Dec. 1963)
"I will speak to them. I must hear more things to remember."
All right, children, gather round. What have we learned today? Well, we've
learned not to follow strange 15-year-olds into junkyards, not to berate
creepy old men, not to be mysterious about your origins, not to lie when
you've killed an old woman, and not to smoke (or you'll be whacked over
the head by a caveman). Seriously, though what's the lesson here? The
closest we come to a moral is the Doctor's little miniature sermon in the
last episode: "Fear makes companions of us all, Miss Wright," and so on.
There's certainly a subtext that advocates compassion, whether that be
Susan's for her teachers, Barbara's for Za, or even Ian's for the Doctor.
Otherwise, though, we're left with the idea that it's perfectly acceptable
to drive a man out of a group - potentially, to his death for having a
knife with some blood on it. (Note, if you will, that the Doctor has no
concrete evidence that Kal killed the Old Woman.)
Okay, so it's just an adventure story. But at this particular time in
Doctor Who's history, with its remit to "entertain and educate," you do
wonder a little why Sydney Newman approved this particular storyline to go
out first. As thirty years of fan debates have shown, it's not as if they
even bother to definitively date the TARDIS' location in either space or
time; the Doctor makes an inference to it still being London, only far,
far in the past, but that hasn't stopped some fans from surmising it's
actually set on another planet. There's no real historical benefit to this
quest, then, nor a particularly significant moral one. Is it really worth
three episodes just to show some character development?
From an adult point of view, there are some interesting parallels to the
first episode but intriguingly, the Doctor's original position seems to
be justified. "Primitives" are to be ignored, avoided, or killed: if
Barbara hadn't forced the others to help Za, they could have been back to
the Ship half an episode earlier, and got away in plenty of time. If Ian
hadn't helped Za make fire for his tribe right away, they wouldn't be
forced to use subterfuge to get away. Only the Doctor has made an
immediately useful contribution: he betrayed Kal, which not only saved the
travellers from their deaths, but (ultimately) led Kal to his own fate.
Interesting, isn't it? So much for compassion
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Hartnell-a-thon