Monthly Archives: February 2014

The Tides of Time 37, November 2013

Tides37_colourcoverTime to mention the Doctor Who fanzine with which I’ve been associated most consistently over the past two decades and more, The Tides of Time, published by the Oxford [University] Doctor Who Society and edited by a succession of people since 1990. I’ve uploaded a selection of articles to over the last few years, as well as several entire issues. Readers can follow the evolution of the largely student membership’s tastes, from the discovery of previously inaccessible old episodes of the programme, through some intense and verbose literary and sociological analysis, to today’s smaller zines with their computer game reviews and personal reflections on experiences of the Who phenomenon (which, it strikes me, is a very 1970s phrase. Didn’t TARDIS once call itself ‘The Doctor Who phenomenon newsletter’? But I digress).

I’ve uploaded issue 37 today, and (if you passed earlier and were put off by the large file size) resized it to 5Mb. Read and enjoy. Contents include:

  • Editorial by John Salway
  • Crossword – Fifty Years of Villains
  • Return to Earth. Review of the Wii video game, by Adam Kendrick
  • The Eternity Clock. Review of the game for PC, PS3 and PSVita, by Graham Cooper
  • Rusling the Isis. The second part of a look at Russell T Davies’s Oxford University media career in the 1980s, by Matthew Kilburn
  • Fifty Years, Fifty Moments. The scenes which encapsulate Doctor Who‘s Doctor Who-ness, compiled and written by Graham Cooper and Sara James, with Thomas Keyton, Matthew Kilburn, and Jonathan Martindale
  • Doctor Who and Philosophy. Jonathan Martindale reviews the 55th volume in the Open Court Press series ‘Pop Culture and Philosophy’, which turns its attention to Doctor Who.
  • Lost in Translation? Sara James reports on the status of Doctor Who in Germany with particular regard to pronouns!

Skaro, (5.)13, summer 1997


Art by Brian Hudd for the front cover of Skaro, issue 13, summer 1997

All good things come to an end, and like the first run of Doctor Who, sometimes with only the obliquest of warnings that this is the case. When the editorial team for most of the second series (formally, for its early issues, the fifth volume) of the long-running Doctor Who fanzine Skaro ended their editorial with the words “We look forward to Issue 14”, those of us who read it did not realise that this was Skaro‘s equivalent of Sylvester McCoy’s Doctor’s “There are worlds out there…”. There were no BBC1 executives lurking in Bath seeking to stamp out the title, but like a lot of voluntary projects, employment and new commitments took over for Skaro‘s editors and it has not been seen since. The memory survives in occasional eBay listings and retrospectives like this.

Skaro chronicled Doctor Who fandom’s awareness that it was at a crossroads. The period from 1990 to 1996 was dominated by a steady professionalisation of fan creativity through Virgin Publishing’s New Adventures, Missing Adventures and associated titles, as well as the continuing openness of Marvel UK’s Doctor Who Magaazine to new voices under editors who for the first time had participative experience of Doctor Who fandom. Writing Doctor Who for the BBC had been a near-impossible goal for fans in the 1980s, though the emergence of maturing literary voices in active Doctor Who fan circles, together with greater numbers and familiarity with the broadcasting industry might suggest that, had the BBC continued to produce Doctor Who in-house after 1989, Ghost Light‘s Marc Platt would have been the first of many fan writers to bash out a three- or four-parter. The disappearance of Doctor Who from the television firmament was something to which many had difficulty acclimatising themselves, for reasons rooted deep in personal experience. Fandom was more self-aware, with the age profile of the active fan, whatever their method of participation, shifting ever so slightly higher. Without a new series to focus on, fans of the early 1990s were looking around themselves like the survivors of a cultural purge (and being a Doctor Who fan in the late 1980s was for various reasons a torturous experience) and working out what they had in common with other enthusiasts and why they loved Doctor Who so much. Available resources changed too, with access to good photocopiers being largely superseded by the advance of lithography. Skaro‘s colour covers, all by Brian Hudd, managed to catch the mood of changing times as well as demonstrating just what depth could be achieved with a limited colour palette.

Issue 13 was unusual because of its timing: it dealt with a year’s reaction to the 1996 Doctor Who television movie (henceforward ‘the TVM’), not just among fandom, but among a wider public. Viewed after nearly nine years of the Russell T Davies/Steven Moffat series, the articles display a range of levels of prescience and ideas about what the TVM experience did to Doctor Who fan assumptions about the programme and its place in British television culture. Michael Haslett’s article ‘Even better than the real thing’ opens the issue, expressing a level of mock-perplexity at the possessiveness which British ‘normal folk’ suddenly displayed over Doctor Who when faced with a feature-length episode made in North America which looked as if it had money spent on it. Whether or not people really pined for Doctor Who as ‘a rotten old BBC programme filmed in a local sandpit’ is another matter (though arguably this is what they have been lapping up since 2006), Haslett’s argument really hinges on the idea that Doctor Who‘s integrity was found in ‘a moral depth and a classic dramatic range’ shared by Jackanory Playhouse and Dad’s Army but not by The Persuaders! and thereby anticipates a host of articles or book chapters over the next eight years which would argue or assume that Doctor Who could not be recreated or perpetuated by British television in a filmic age. This isn’t Haslett’s conclusion, merely his explanation for what some parts of the audience seemed to find lacking from the TVM, and he concludes that Doctor Who will eventually return, even if not in the form the TVM envisaged. Daniel O’Mahony’s ‘The American Way’ placed the programme in the American SF genre field and suggested Babylon 5 rather than Lois and Clark or The X Files had most to offer a future Doctor Who series. This anticipated both the budget-aware and writer-led nature of the post-2005 BBC series, but also the advantages and disadvantages of the story arc. It could be argued that latterday Doctor Who has never successfully negotiated between the need for arc storylines to offer closure, and Doctor Who‘s ability to deny this by regenerating its lead character and itself. Michael Laycock’s ‘Paradigm Rift’ interprets the story of Doctor Who fandom as one of increased fragmentation as the number of source texts proliferate and diverge, with a McGann-led, American-produced series likely to have divided the existing fanbase further by overlaying a new mainstream populist audience upon it and, if successful, changing what ‘fan’ means in a Doctor Who context. 

With hindsight, there are lots of missing elements in the appreciation of the 1996/7 context. The internet was already growing in influence as a medium for the exchange of enthusiasms and the build-up to McGann’s casting had already been exhaustively followed on newsgroups and early news sites. From the point of view of most literary-minded British fans, perhaps this was marginal stuff, the chattering of a few thousand science and technology professionals and students; or perhaps we didn’t know, yet, how to write about it. I had been a contributor to Skaro since 1993, and though I was also a reader of the Doctor Who newsgroups, I didn’t quite know how to assess their importance, even though they had been used by Philip Segal to promote his Doctor Who venture, and by other Doctor Who professionals, such as Christopher H. Bidmead, Johnny Byrne and Jean-Marc Lofficier, to engage with fans and occasionally promote new initiatives. So with ‘Independence Day’ in Skaro 13, I concentrated on what I knew, the student Doctor Who society at my university. The TVM was a liberation, even though in the short term it was only a part-liberation from thinking about Doctor Who within the confines of the traumas of the 1980s.

Other articles are already playing out tensions to come. Tim Munro’s ‘Beardless in San Francisco’ takes Eric Roberts’s Master as his starting point and while comparisions with Anthony Ainley were inevitable these are overshadowed by his embrace of a ‘grandiose’, broader conceptualisation for Doctor Who. Tat Wood’s ‘In Bed with William Hartnell’ is mainly about what the discovery and publication of John Cura’s telesnaps of many of the missing Hartnell and Troughton stories mean for fandom’s hitherto audio-led conceptualisation of the missing stories, but towards the end refers to “our programme” being taken from “us by Segal and Worldwide” – but this, like the content of the article (which invokes a narrower fan experience than many readers of Skaro will have shared) raises unanswered questions about who ‘we’ are.

Skaro was remarkable among the major British Doctor Who fan publications of the period for being co-edited by a woman, Vanessa (Ness) Bishop. The female minority in active Doctor Who fandom in the 1990s seem to have taken it upon themselves to offer a broader perspective on the obsessive and very male world of fandom and lighten the tone, as Ness did with her poems in Skaro and her quasi-manifesto in an issue of the glossy David Howe-Mark Stammers-Stephen James Walker fanzine The Frame, ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’. Here, ‘Retirement Blues’ covers ground that Dead Ringers Doctors-at-Christmas sketch will do in 2005, but does it better; but the observational ‘Fans Have Bags’ manages to cover a lot of the convention-going experience on one innocuous hook. Facing down one almost entirely male howl of outrage and despair at a particular oscular connection in the TVM is Liz Halliday and her article ‘French Kissing in the USA’, noting in her conclusion that ‘Very few long running series survive without the sex theme’ and either Doctor Who embraces this reality or is revived in the style of mid-1990s childrens’ series which Halliday can’t sit through. “Doctor Who has to be aimed at an older market to survive more than a season as the kids’ latest craze,” she writes; will a 7pm slot do, I want to ask from seventeen years later.

The successful fanzine is the product of particular personalities and a particular moment. The 1990s incarnation of Skaro had really hit its stride with the ‘Remembrance’ issue (3, 1990), which was dominated by individual recollections of particular moments, particularly from childhood. These were largely the memories of those who had been children when watching mid-to-late 70s Doctor Who and who had reached university in the late 1980s or early 1990s. As Doctor Who‘s audience had reduced in the 1980s, so the pool of new fan writers fell, and those who did emerge often moved straight into contributing to professional outlets. Skaro also benefited from the growth of cultural studies, and the type of criticism it published is now almost invisible between the instant reactions of the internet and the multi-author volumes published by academic presses. The nest for all these factors to flourish, though, was provided by editors Julian Chislett, who provided the link with the old Skaro of the early 1980s, Brian Hudd whose artwork immediately lifted the magazine’s presentation into the first rank, and Vanessa Bishop who gave an embittered post-cancellation fandom licence to enjoy itself again.

I still have a great affection for Skaro, though; it was the first Doctor Who fanzine which I contributed to regularly other than Oxford’s The Tides of Time, and it’s a sign of the strength of its reputation that when the very different Panic Moon launched in 2010, it was hailed by one admirer as the Skaro of the present day. Almost everything printed within its covers still comes across as articulate and the passion of its writers is both comprehensible and involving. Its tone influenced late-1990s Doctor Who Magazine in particular, and Vanessa Bishop brings her freethinking wit to that publication’s reviews to this day.

  • Skaro issue 13. Edited and published by Vanessa Bishop, Brian Hudd and Julian Chislett. Bath, summer 1997.

Doctor Who I.27-31: The Aztecs

Here’s something from the personal files, though already online in another form – a review of a Doctor Who story which I wrote back in 1991 for The Tides of Time, the Oxford University Doctor Who Society fanzine, and published in issue 5 (pictured left, art by Muzibur Rahman). The Aztecs remains a story of which I’m fond, and it keeps on offering further nuances at each viewing. I still think this review by my twenty-year-old self stands up well despite my winces at some of the cliched phraseology. More recently, I’ve provided (most of) the production subtitles for the special edition release of the story on DVD, released in 2013 and available here at time of writing.

The Aztecs

To those not au fait with the programme in the mid-1960s, it may come as a surprise that Doctor Who was able to convey the cultivated suspense it was famous for in its heyday without the appearance of monsters such as the Daleks or the Zarbi. Episodes that have received wider coverage than The Aztecs appear to confirm this view: the last three episodes of the first story, admittedly more an ‘anthropological’ than a historical story, can be criticized for their laborious moralizing and the less than creditable performances of some of the cave dwellers. The Aztecs, the second story to be based in man’s recorded past, and the oldest of those to exist in the BBC Archives, helps redeem their reputation. Like many Doctor Who tales, particularly in the early years, the action as far as the travellers are concerned revolves around the problem of the way in which they are going to get back to the TARDIS. An uncharacteristic, but credible burst of kleptomania from Barbara, as she puts on the bracelet of the priest Yetaxa, provides protection for the four as they attempt to explain their materialization to the Aztec priests and warriors attendant on the tomb of the dead holy man in which the ship had landed, but also serves to embroil them further in Aztec culture. Thus the scene is set for four episodes of vintage Who.

One of the tasks that faced scriptwriters during the first two seasons was to dream up new perilous situations for Ian Chesterton to find himself in. John Lucarotti’s story is full of them. Ian successively finds himself challenger to Ixta, the Chosen Warrior of the Aztec people, in the course of which he is nearly poisoned accidentally by the Doctor; he is imprisoned in a secret passage at the base of the Aztec temple; and immediately afterwards he is nearly drowned as it is revealed that the very passage is, in fact, a water conduit. Barbara helps Ian shoulder the danger burden, though, as the Priest of the Sun God, Tlotoxl, who suspects the divinity accorded her by his colleague Autloc, very nearly succeeds in poisoning her.

It has been said that one of the themes of the first two seasons was the humanizing of William Hartnell’s Doctor. As those who have seen An Unearthly Child will know, the Doctor is initially, at least on the surface, often cynical, sometimes malevolent, and almost always manipulative. In The Aztecs he gets his comeuppance when he finds himself engaged to one of the best supporting characters in the series, the lovestruck Cameca, played with total obsession by the excellent Margot van der Burgh. William Hartnell’s splutterings as she accepts his unwitting proposal (over a cup of coffee – not much has changed in six hundred years) are a joy to behold.

In an interview for Doctor Who Monthly in 1981 Dennis Spooner, the programme’s second script editor, remembered how Sydney Newman, then BBC Head of Drama and co-creator of Doctor Who, always insisted that the Doctor should always stay as an observer in the historical situations he was involved in, and never be portrayed as the initiator of events. Here this dictum becomes part of the storyline as the Doctor rigidly enforces the doctrine of nonintervention. Barbara only causes herself embarrassment and her companions danger as she fails to appreciate the integral part that human sacrifice plays in Aztec culture. This point is stressed as the travellers successfully regain access to Yetaxa’s tomb and the TARDIS at the close of the fourth episode, John Ringham’s Tlotoxl proceeding with a sacrifice to reassert the stability of Aztec society that Barbara’s intervention had imbalanced.

The acting in the early, studio-bound, seasons of Doctor Who is often stereotyped as theatrical and subsequently lacking credibility. The former may be the case; the latter is not so. John Ringham’s performance is a prime example. The High Priest walks with a humped back and occasionally a dragging of the foot, but his characterization works because the other members of the cast believe in it. While accepting and to some degree welcoming that actors in recent years have enjoyed appearing in Doctor Who because it is fun to do, it is perhaps valuable to wonder whether or not a higher standard of suspension of disbelief from the cast was elicited in the weekly turnaround.

• Originally published in The Tides of Time issue 5, April 1991, by the Oxford University Doctor Who Society.

Shelves in a blue box

ImageThe image of Peter Capaldi ‘s artwork from 1976 is still being picked up – hello to those of you who have come here from those sites which have carried it, the most recent it seems being I’m busy with work at the moment but hope to write more on Doctor Who curiosities when I have time, or else I might dig out some more old reviews. In the meantime, a photograph of some fanzines.