Friday 23rd August 2013

Last night, went to an event called The Space in Brighton. This is a semi-regular event in which various industry types (usually two per evening) have an informal chat in what's usually quite intimate surroundings. It's always a good night, even if (sometimes, especially if) you haven't heard of one of the guests. I try to get along to it whenever I can (and fancy myself as a possible interviewer - not quite as overbearing as James Lipton of Inside The Actors Studio). At previous events, guests have included Mark Gatiss, Frank Skinner and Barry Norman, as well as many more. 

Last night, the first guest was Dennis Kelly, writer of Utopia, Pulling (along with Sharon Horgan) and the musical of Roald Dahl's Matilda (with Tim Minchin). Somehow, I've managed not to see any of his work, despite all things being on my to-see list for quite some time. Because I've never followed him as a writer, it was somewhat startling to see these apparently diverse things being created by the same person. I'm sure there are probably connecting themes if you look hard enough for them (good people can be dicks, for instance), but I imagine that there's not a stand-out text that you could point to and say that's a Dennis Kelly story. This was spoken about in a roundabout way as part of the interview when he spoke about not 'having a voice'. Many writers, at the start of their career, are advised to 'find their voice'. It makes some kind of sense. If nobody knows who you are, then if you want to get your next gig, then there's a certain logic in being easily identifiable to whoever it is that might give you your next pay cheque - 'oh, let's get the guy who does the Richard Curtis style rom coms .. who is that? Oh, it's Richard Curtis,' Kelly rails against that, and quite aggressively so. I can get on board with that idea. A 'voice', surely, runs the risk of being restrictive, of suggesting that you can 'only' write a certain type of story. Stephen King speaks of the warning that his agent delivered to him when he offered up Salems Lot for publication (the second book after Carrie) - the very real danger that with two bloody books in a row, he was going to be forever pigeon-holed as a horror writer. He decided that he was OK with that (and his success has meant that he's managed to smuggle a decent amount of very good books in under the radar that can truly be described as 'horror', even if they are still a bit bloody). I wondered if that's somewhat the case with Kelly. Although what he's written has been very successful (even if hardly anyone actually saw Pulling, it's highly regarded by those that did), his name isn't really on the public's radar yet, which means that he's allowed to follow the story, whatever story interests him, even if it bears no relation to what he's produced before. A certain amount of anonymity can be a blessing. I remember the creators of The Blair Witch Project being asked what their next film was going to be (this at the height of Blair Witch's success). They replied, in all seriousness, a romantic comedy. As far as I'm aware, that film never surfaced. 

The second guest of The Space was Phillip Hinchcliffe, who has had a wide and varied career, bringing many interesting and sometimes even risky projects to the screen ... but will always be remembered as a producer for Doctor Who. It helps that the era that he oversaw was just about the most successful in the show's history. Russell T Davies credits the Hinchcliffe era with igniting his passion for wanting to revive the show, even going so far as to say that the only reason he started writing for television in the first place was so that he could revive Doctor Who- and, in turn, the only reason he wanted to was because of his memory of the stories that were produced by Hinchcliffe. It's true that there's a very impressive wealth of stories under his tenure that are genuine classics that more than stand up today, and would be good gateway drugs for anyone who hasn't yet seen an episode of the original series, among them Genisis Of The Daleks, Terror Of The Zygons, Planet Of Evil, Pyramids Of Mars, Brain Of Morbius, Seeds Of Doom, and The Talons Of Weng-Chiang. 

Hinchcliffe comes across as a gracious and generous person, very often deflecting praise to others, (particularly Robert Holmes, who does indeed deserve much praise), but I get the impression that as a producer he didn't suffer fools gladly, and that he was straight-arrowed and focused. That certainly comes across in the stories of his era. While he didn't write or direct them, and is quick to bestow the praise for the 'Gothic' shades of those years back to Holmes, there's a focus there that is absent in the latter Pertwee years, and wobbles a great deal in the Tom Baker era after Hinchcliffe leaves. Indeed, most of the 'pantomime' criticism that is delivered at classic Doctor Who really begins as soon as he's left. We spoke about this, about the idea that a producer of a show can have 'authorship' on a programme, even more so than the director or even, ironically, the author. In many ways, it's directly opposite to the avoiding 'finding a voice' that Dennis Kelly was speaking about earlier in the evening. 

It's quite clear that, for better or worse, Doctor Who was essentially 'just another job' to Hinchcliffe. That's understandable: with genre TV or film, the story on screen is almost always going to be a helluva lot more important to the viewers than those who made it - they've already made the next three jobs, after all - but it always makes me curious and even uneasy at events like this. I imagine fan conventions are even worse. Exactly how many times can you answer the same question about bubblewrap monsters? Can you really relate to men in their forties who probably have an unhealthy fixation with Sophie Aldred, and are dismayed when you acknowledge that you don't actually know who Sophie Aldred is? Plus, you get people like me who are fans, but try to act casual about it, and absolutely refuse to ask questions about bubble wrap - which, I suspect, is equally annoying. 

Both men were inspiring, full of energy, intelligence and verve (and Kelly said 'fuck' an impressive amount). As a writer, though, it's always worth keeping in mind what other (successful) writers speak about when they are talking about what works, and what doesn't. It's always in slightly different words, it's sometimes eloquent, it's sometimes basic, but it's essentially the same message, a thousand times over. The only way to write is to get your arse on that chair - and write. 

Doctor Who at 50: The Tribe Of Gum

And so here we are, at the remaining three episodes of the very first Doctor Who adventure, sometimes known as An Unearthly Child, occasionally called 100,000 BC, variously referred to as The Tribe Of Gum, and more commonly thought of as the story that hardly anyone bothers to watch once they’ve got past the iconic first episode.
For a series that returns so often to certain time zones (Victorian London at Christmastime, for instance), it’s perhaps odd that The Doctor and his crew have only really bumped into cavemen just the once, in the very first story. Sylvester McCoy’s Doctor does actually meet another caveman much later, but that doesn’t really count, since the caveman is out of his own time – which just so happens to be Victorian London.

The templates for the early series are formatted right here. It doesn’t matter that the show itself will go through a fair amount of personality changes before the year is out – all out sci-fi, US style Saturday afternoon serial, and at one point, something very close to Argento – the cast already know the parts they’re meant to play: The Doctor is the strange alien, Susan is a slave to her emotions, and Barbara is the one that expels a great deal of energy into keeping everybody sane. In addition, we have Ian as the resourceful hero. It’s a role that doesn’t always do him favours, however: Because he’s so entirely practical, he isn’t quite able to cope when things don’t go his way, or when he doesn’t understand what’s going on (like being transported hundreds of thousands of years before his birth, for instance). Barbara, for all her careful composure, is much more skilled at simply reacting – bending to the will of events that threaten to entirely demolish Ian’s comprehension.

It’s a small thing, but nobody points out that the TARDIS has travelled in space as well as time, (albeit a few thousand miles, rather than several light years) somewhat giving the impression that the Tribe Of Gum’s cave is in the rough location of Coal Hill School as opposed to, say, Africa. The Doctor’s muttering about the chameleon circuit not working – that the spaceship is still in the shape of a London Police Box – actually raises more questions than it answers. You wonder what The Doctor and Susan were doing in 1960’s London for six months. Remembrance Of The Daleks will attempt to suggest that he’s busy burying the Hand of Omega, but this doesn’t really make sense for a being that’s apparently on the run from the Timelords in a spaceship that he has a) stolen, and b) cannot fully control. And, indeed, why is it in the shape of a Police Box? If the whole point of a Chameleon Circuit is to blend the TARDIS into its immediate surroundings, then it has failed on every level: in the previous episode, Ian takes time to remind us that Police Boxes aren’t found in junkyards, that they’re more commonly glimpsed in the streets. Which prompts the reasonable (if Reading-Into-Things-A-Bit-Too-Deeply) question here: why the hell is the TARDIS disguised as a Police Box? It brings to mind the rather odd possibility that the TARDIS initially landed elsewhere, and The Doctor, needing to park it elsewhere but not trusting his own piloting skills enough to keep them on twentieth century Earth, having to resort to some heavy lifting with Susan down a Sixties high street. It’s also fascinating to note that The Doctor keeps all the TARDIS ‘codes’ in a notebook. He’s got one of the most advanced modes of transport in the universe, but he only knows how to use it because of some pencil-scrawled notes.
But meanwhile, the gang are being ganged up on by a tribe of remarkably well-spoken cavemen. (although, it’s equally likely that the TARDIS translation circuits are simply altering the tribe’s grunts into well-mannered English, because that’s the language that Ian and Barbara speak, and will therefore understand more readily. It’s presumably why most of the characters in the seventies adventures talk like energy conscious vegetarians, and a high percentage of the girls since 2009 are very flirty and self assured. While we’re on that, if the TARDIS has immediately begun to translate for Ian and Barbara, it means that either The Doctor or the TARDIS itself has already decided to trust the humans (which makes The Doctor’s line in The Snowmen – ‘I never know why, I just know’ even more poetic). It also suggests that The Doctor himself isn’t actually speaking English – which, in turn, indicates that Susan has to learn English on order to survive a term at Coal Hill.
It could go terribly wrong for the show at this point, to have the main villains a bunch of grunting men in animal skins. But the delay on any kind of futuristic environment will make Skaro even more shocking when it does eventually show up, and this racing around prehistoric caves works much better as a bonding exercise for Team TARDIS than The Daleks would (where, being on a futuristic planet inhabited by aliens would mean that Ian and Barbara would feel the need to defer much more to The Doctor, and if the first story had been Planet Of The Giants - as originally intended - then the humans would have likely spotted a lot more quickly that they had never actually left Earth, meaning that the power balance would have then shifted too far back in their direction.

It’s also a clever piece of scripting that, despite what fan memory might suggest, the TARDIS crew don’t actually invent fire for the tribe: brilliantly, the tribe have already created fire, they simply have lost the skill. It’s reasonable to assume that the tribe would have re-discovered fire without Ian’s help: what the ship’s crew actually give to the savages is the concept of liberty and grace. As this story is pretty accurate in terms of the era it is set in - literally, 100,000 years ago - we can be confident that the TARDIS crew are witnessing modern man arrive. And – more importantly than anything to do with fire – may have been responsible nudging modern man into existence.

And it’s worth pointing out again that The Doctor here, calculating, unemotional, panicky, incapable sometimes of furthering the plot and saving everybody, is probably a lot closer to his true character, and not like the one he will constantly strive to be. After all, Tennant’s Doctor will be at pains to remind us that what he has truly done is ‘run away,’ and Eccelston’s Doctor, in one of his first adventures, will simply shut his eyes when faced with danger, and wait to be killed. Here, however, it’s the proximity to two humans that force him to deal with some higher emotions and feelings. We know that Ian and Barbara are not the first humans he’s come into contact with (not if we believe that he’s a regular tea drinker at Mike’s café, anyway), but they are the first that he seems to have the time for. The first story in this series is understandably always sold as a tale of wonder for two disbelieving humans, but viewed within the scope of a fifty year series, it’s as much a tale about The Doctor barely managing to keep up with the surprising and amazing human beings he’s got himself involved with. There’s lots of debate as to whether The Tribe Of Gum really works as the first Doctor Who story, whether or not everybody wouldn’t have been better off if the action had immediately jetted off to Skaro. For my money, it’s actually a great benefit to throw the TARDIS kids off at the deep end in a story that has not much story apart from grim, mud-smeared survival. The very final story of the classic series will take that word as its title, and it’s all the crew will be able to think about for the next couple of weeks. While their attention is diverted elsewhere, they’ll discover that they have – almost accidentally – become friends.

Next time, we’re off to a Dead Planet, to meet some Nazi Dustbins who call themselves The Daleks.