As in Turn Left so many years later, the absence of the Doctor – the fact that the most the regular cast can do at this stage is to point at Kembel on the scanner screen – defines how powerful he is. Without him, the Daleks run riot and seem like a credible political force. The Nazi allusions are at last complete; Cory’s associate Gordon Lowery (and by implication, humanity in general) can’t see the harm in the Daleks occupying lots of other planets, so long as they’re far away from home. And the Varga plants are horrific too; the very idea that they turn people into savage plant-creatures – meaning that even after you’re dead, you lose your humanity completely and become a walking vegetable – is a terribly repulsive one. It’s the perfect synthesis of the Robomen and the Fungoids, and a good deal more unpleasant than either. So the “heroes” in this story face destruction of their very identities, as an alliance forms behind them to destroy the entire galaxy...
... seems to me like it’s time for the TARDIS to touch down in ancient Troy.
T: For all that Mission to the Unknown might seem like a “filler” story, it’s a gutsy melodrama. The stock music ups the tempo, and Edward de Souza, playing Marc Cory, gives a biting and unsentimental depiction of a pragmatic professional. (It’s a bit over the top, though, when Cory says that he’s “Licensed To Kill” – come on!) And the Varga plants are a chilling concept, evoking those horrid wasps that later inspired the Wirrn in that they consume your body and use that succour to propagate themselves. It’s such a frightening proposition, it overcomes the way the Vargas themselves look like a massive candyfloss.
But you’ll have to forgive me if I indulge in a bit of high geekery, because Mission to the Unknown features that marvellous array of alien delegates – a group made all the more tantalising because despite all the documentation we have on the 60s stories, it remains one of the Great Doctor Who Mysteries as to which delegate has which name. It’s a question that has vexed all sorts of Doctor Who historians over the years, and re-experiencing this story now, the anal-retentive side of me has to speculate on this a bit, as I’m still not convinced by the most popular hypotheses about the delegates’ identities...
We know from the paperwork that the uncredited performers are Ronald Rich as Trantis, Sam Mansary as Sentreal and Len Russell, Pat Gorman and Johnny Clayton (he was Reg Cox, the guy who dies in the first episode of EastEnders, you know!) as the Planetarians. Now, it’s generally accepted that Trantis is the small spiky delegate who looks like the character with the same name in The Daleks’ Master Plan, but... we’ve already seen Ronald Rich on screen when he was Gunnar the Giant in The Time Meddler, and he’s massive, whereas Mr Spiky is clearly the tiniest delegate of the bunch. I’d therefore venture a guess that Rich must be the tall white spacesuit man or the big black Christmas tree. (Perhaps Douglas Camfield rejected the latter costume for Trantis because it looked like an overgrown chess piece, and used one of the other design ideas instead; only Malpha is formally identified at this point, so it’s not like Camfield was tinkering with established continuity.) Also, given that Len Russell was a diminutive Optera a few weeks back, I’d suggest that he is Mr Tiny Spikeface. And surely, Sentreal is the space-helmet chap, as Sam Mansary is the only black actor in the cast.
I realize that not every fan cares as much about this as I do, but I do love that there are a few issues about Doctor Who that we’ll never have a definitive answer for, no matter how much Who scholars debate them. (Even if this episode were recovered and we could finally see it, it’s doubtful that we’d be much more clear on which delegate is which.) Piecing things together and postulating is so much more fun and engaging than just being handed answers on a plate (it’s what makes history and archaeology so fascinating), and it just reinforces my belief that Doctor Who is so complex and has so many forms, it’s so very, very hard to get bored with it.
Temple of Secrets (The Myth Makers episode one)
R: Donald Cotton’s script for Temple of Secrets is very clever. It starts off sounding earnest and melodramatic enough, aping the ancient classics – and then, the characters begin to drop their battle cries and posturing, and reveal themselves as ordinary bored people with the same irritations about love and life as the rest of us. Achilles may know the right lingo when he’s waving a sword about, but he’s really just a man desperate to prove he’s worth taking seriously. No-one does, though, with Odysseus clearly believing the only way Achilles could have defeated Hector in battle would be had he worn him out by running away for long enough. And the scenes between brothers Menelaus and Agamemnon are especially rewarding – they behave not as great kings from Greek literature, but as brothers getting on each other’s nerves; the way that Menelaus keeps on whining about the ten-year war, and how he’s glad to be shot of Helen in the first place, brings a modern outlook upon ancient history that pre-empts Blackadder by over 15 years. And William Hartnell, of course, always relaxes when he gets to play with comic lines – we can’t see his reaction to Achilles worshipping him in the guise of an old beggar, or to Agamemnon inviting him to eat a ham bone, but we can still hear that his timing is spot on.
If there’s a problem, it’s only that all of Cotton’s wit doesn’t yet give the rest of regulars an awful lot to do – after the pedestrian plotting of Galaxy Four, and their absence from Mission to the Unknown altogether, it does feel rather a long time since Steven and Vicki got a moment in the spotlight. Vicki doesn’t even get to leave the TARDIS at all, still nursing a bad ankle she picked up two weeks ago! (Ailments lingering on between stories is something of a theme this year, with sword wounds and toothaches still to come.) But it’s hardly a crime that a writer has come onto the scene who is so clearly delighted with his background characterisation – we haven’t seen anything as rich as this since The Crusade.
And I love the gag about Odysseus interpreting Cyclops’ mute gestures to him in such accurate detail. I only hope that the rest of the cast reacted to it in suitable deadpan.
T: It’s wonderful how Doctor Who keeps reinventing itself so often. Last week, we had a rather grim space adventure, with everyone behaving with requisite gravitas. Now, the crew witness a fight and the Doctor is whimsically blasé about it, noting that the jousters are doing more talking than fighting (which is to say: the Doctor’s as in on the joke as we are). And it’s particularly interesting that in some ways, this is a reversal of what happened in The Aztecs – in that story, Barbara being mistaken for a god was handled very dramatically, and you were never in doubt that her mere presence was a matter of life and death for those around her. But here, Donald Cotton’s tongue is firmly in his cheek as plays on the Doctor’s vanity, with the old chap rather chuffed when he’s assumed to possess divinity. The suggestion that he’s Zeus is justified, hilariously, by Achilles mentioning that the father of Mount Olympus once disguised himself as an old beggar – which to look at the Hartnell Doctor is a priceless thing to say. The secret of great comedy interaction is to have at least one good straight man, and so credit must be given to Cavan Kendall for not lampooning Achilles, but instead playing him as the sincere soldier he thinks he is, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Much of this story’s charm, though, lies in the fact that Cotton doesn’t seem to favour either side in this conflict. It looks initially as if he’s more accommodating to the Greeks, in that Hector is cocky, patronising and a hammy posturer whilst Achilles seems to be quite brave. But then Achilles’ famous victory over Hector is depicted as the result of cowardly opportunism, and it’s clear – as you’ve mentioned, Rob – that Achilles’ allies see his heroic bluster as the braggadocio of a self-promoting halfwit. Such a stunning manipulation of dramatic mores would be completely lost on any kids in the audience (who, in all likelihood, would be happy enough with lots of fighting and shouting), but this turnabout is there to allow the adults their own take on the story. You mentioned Blackadder, and I’ll raise you The Simpsons.
All of which means that Temple of Secrets couldn’t be further fr
om Wolfgang Peterson’s Troy if it tried – and that it’s about ten times more entertaining. Peterson’s version was awash with humourless musclebound hunks being drearily honourable, but this episode entails the likes of a bellicose Ivor Salter (as Odysseus) guffawing his way through proceedings with a drunken swagger and a fantastically dirty laugh. Doctor Who is all about creating worlds, and I feel as though ancient Troy in Donald Cotton’s hands has been made by taking fragments from classical literature and applying a contemporary eye for characterisation, thereby creating a comedic tour de force. The guest cast very much seems on the same page as this – as Hector, Alan Hayward gives what I presume is a deliberately OTT performance that mocks the conventions of the historical epic (which is a pretty sophisticated acting choice for someone who’s on screen just long enough to get slaughtered). And back in Agamemnon’s tent, Jack Melford’s put-upon Menelaus is delightful, and Francis De Woolf (as Agamemnon) is far more subtle and deadpan than the mad growling he doled out as the would-be rapist Vasor in The Keys of Marinus.
And yet, for all that this episode might seem like a comedy – for all the opening sword fight, for instance, is accompanied by parping music to let us know straightaway that this is a bit of a romp – the setting itself provides a bit of necessary jeopardy. Call this a “comedy” if you like, but there’s also a gory on-screen death (that we can’t see because the video is lost, sadly) and threats of tongue removal – so it’s not all frivolity on the fields of Troy, is it? It’s best to keep this in mind as we consider the next three episodes.
This is bloody fantastic, and quite unlike anything the show has yet served us. The production team weren’t wrong when their press release heralded these scripts as the most sophisticated yet seen in the series – I had a ball “watching” this episode.
February 14th
Small Prophet, Quick Return (The Myth Makers episode two)
R: Isn’t Barrie Ingham fantastic? I found him rather anaemic in Dr Who and the Daleks as Alydon, but here he gives a performance that’s laugh out loud funny, doing his turn as Paris by way of Bertie Wooster. His (whispered) calls to Achilles so he can do the proper thing and take revenge for Hector, his eagerness for praise when he brings to the Trojan camp both the TARDIS and then Steven, and his boyish attempts to chat up Vicki are all utterly delightful.
It’s a very funny episode altogether – but the tone is only deceptively light. There is a flippancy towards death which is quite striking; Priam treats the power he has over Vicki’s life so affably, as does Odysseus with his over Steven, and both regulars give a similar response: “That’s very comforting!” This new, jaded look the TARDIS crew take to their life-threatening adventures is something we shan’t see again until Tom Baker. What makes it quite chilling is that the soldiers in both armies share this jaded reaction; it’s been a ten-year war, and matters of life and death have become trivial. Paris is surprised when Steven suggests he be taken prisoner rather than killed after he loses a duel: “But that isn’t done!” Odysseus’ macabre speculation that the Trojans may or may not take prisoners of war depending what mood they’re in is extremely funny, but also says a lot about the way both sides regard the other as being essentially without values or humanity.
Max Adrian is lovely as Priam, playing him at once as a doddery old father who despairs of his children, and also as a king who is perfectly at peace with his ability to command death. And Frances White is great fun as the doomsaying Cassandra, pitching it just enough over the top that the bored reactions of the Trojans who listen to her are hilarious.
This historical is one of the most intriguing experiments of the third season. For the first time, the TARDIS lands in a historical era where it is impossible to distinguish legend from fact, making the Doctor’s knowledge of the time unreliable at best. Ordered to find a way to end the siege of Troy, he dismisses the Trojan horse as a fanciful invention of Homer’s. It’s a far cry from The Time Meddler, where William Hartnell is able to reel off in detail the events leading up to the Battle of Hastings. And it’s an experiment which will be used to more dramatic effect later in the season, where both the characters’ and the audience’s unfamiliarity with the events of The Massacre only contributes to the suspense.
T: The title of this episode is a great gag. It’s so great, in fact, that I mention it in Moths Ate My Doctor Who Scarf – which, by a curious coincidence, I’m performing at the convention tonight. I’ve found that this joke provides a nice bit of funny info for my audiences, which ordinarily aren’t composed of hardcore Doctor Who fans. But tonight it’ll be different, and I’m interested to see what happens if I tell about 600 fans something they already know. Will they laugh anyway?
Turning our attention back to ancient Troy, we continue to get a comedy of manners that’s juxtaposed with the trappings of a completely different genre. It’s almost entirely dependent upon the dialogue, and the actors all rise to the challenge with aplomb. You’ve mentioned Barrie Ingham, who strikes me as Hugh Laurie in Blackadder – he’s the jolly public schoolboy you can laugh at and still love. But I also enjoy Frances White as Cassandra – her colourful foreboding is a dramatic device, but the story’s knowing treatment of her inherent ridiculousness serves a comedic need as well (just look at Priam’s assessment that Cassandra’s doom-mongering, for all its lofty dramatics, is really just a means of her hedging her bets).
But as with the previous episode, there’s some jeopardy in spite of all the hi-jinks. The cliffhanger entails some Trojan guards advancing on Vicki and Steven, whom they believe are spies for the Greeks. As the “next episode” header promises “Death of a Spy”, surely one of them is due for the chop? Unless, of course, the writer does something very clever – and on the evidence of what we’ve seen thus far, I have no doubt that he will.
Death of a Spy (The Myth Makers episode three)
R: In future years, we’re going to get a lot of this – the Exiting Companion Suddenly Falling In Love motif. If you thought Susan taking a shine to David Campbell was a bit out of the blue, that’s nothing to this – which is based on Vicki going goo-goo eyed at Troilus within a few minutes of airtime! (And you can tell it’s important, because in her neighbouring cell, even Steven has noticed she’s got a boyfriend – relationship stuff must be written in big lettering if another regular acknowledges it; even Barbara’s dalliances were never deemed worthy enough of actual comment.)
This ought to be rubbish, of course – but it really truly isn’t, because Donald Cotton is playing a clever game with his audience. For a start, anyone watching when Priam renamed Vicki “Cressida” last week should have felt their inner alarm go off – and once more, as Toby would say, there’s an expectation that the viewing public will have heard of Troilus and Cressida and know what that represents. It’s impossible to imagine that taken on trust nowadays. But although Cotton seems to be setting up a relationship, because he’s subverting the audience’s understanding of who all these classical characters are – Odysseus as a boor, Achilles as a loser – it’s just as likely that when Troilus pitches up in the story, he’ll be as attractive as a Drashig.
So we get this lovely scene of flirtation between Troilus and our new Cressida. And it teases the audience, that we know how this love story is supposed to work out, but we also realise that nothing that we think we know about these legends is working out as we’d expect. To underline the point, we’ve got the Doctor rubbishing the Trojan horse gambit, and then resorting to it when he needs to break the siege and can’t come up with anything better. As a result, we don’t need to be moved or touched by the romance taking place here – we’re asked instead to consider whether or not it’ll be resolved as an intellectual puzzle. It’s as abrupt as Leela, say, running off to have Time Tots with Andred – but it’s far from being as stupid. It’s brilliant sleight of hand plotting. We accept what’s happening because it’s playing off the myth – but we’re not obliged to see Vicki’s exit next week as inevitable, and by the time it happens, it’s n
ot a bit of awkward plotting but the resolution to a literary joke.
Still, with romance in the air for Vicki, it’s ideal to be listening to this on Valentine’s Day. (Hmph. I miss Janie. You’ve got your K with you here at the convention, but I’m lacking my J.) Not that the literary jokes involved are all that sophisticated, of course – this is probably the only time in the series’ history that we’re catapulted into a cliffhanger by the threat of a groan-inducing pun, as Paris says, “I’m afraid you’re a bit late to say whoa to the horse, I’ve just given instructions to have it brought into the city.”
T: It is Valentine’s Day – the very day that I’ve been booked to do my show. A cynic might say that my performance was slated for tonight because most Doctor Who fans won’t have an awful lot else to do – but that would be cruel (not to mention very unfair). Anyway, you may not have your beloved here, but I’m a bit nervous, and so can’t pay mine much attention as the hours tick away towards the gig.
I first have to comment on the resolution to the “Death of a Spy” business, as it here turns out that Odysseus’ agent – a mute man named Cyclops – is killed by one of Paris’ soldiers. As far as I recall, Donald Cotton elaborated on the backstory of this in his terribly witty chapter in The Doctor Who File, in which he said that some wet-behind-the-ears BBC type imposed the title on him. As a result, he had to contrive the Cyclops’ demise, and thus lose out on calling the episode Is There a Doctor In the Horse? (Though episode one’s lost title, Zeus Ex Machina, is the one I regret the most.) The mute’s execution does seem arbitrary – but then again, the seemingly random violence reminds us that despite all the merry banter, our heroes are caught up in events where life is cheap.
Amidst the ongoing frivolity (including the way Priam says that the dungeons are nice, and that he hangs about in them when it all gets too stressful), it’s intriguing how Cotton redefines the Doctor. He’s here depicted as a dotty improviser at odds with a witty and wise opponent – Odysseus, who actually knows what a paper aeroplane is and consistently outsmarts our hero. This would come across as a betrayal of the Doctor’s character in less skillful hands, but here it just works. And what a rude line Odysseus gets, when he tells the Doctor that he’s feeling as “nervous as a Bacchante at her first orgy”. Glorious!
Running Through Corridors: Rob and Toby's Marathon Watch of Doctor Who (Volume 1: The 60s) Page 27
