Running Through Corridors: Rob and Toby's Marathon Watch of Doctor Who (Volume 1: The 60s) (63 page)

With all of that in mind, this is still a fantastic episode in many ways. Jamie gets to act like a real grown up – he has to be physically restrained from going after Victoria, is curtly dismissive about the Doctor’s tinkering and throws himself into the action whilst being scornful of Evans. Frazer Hines gives a more hardnosed performance than usual, and it suits him. And I think I’ve found evidence of how Camfield made the web seem effective in the tunnels – many of the telesnaps show that he’s shooting from
inside
the web, meaning there’s some cobwebby stuff in front of the camera and the audience has to glimpse the characters through it. It’s a simple trick, but works very well.

April 10th

The Web of Fear episode six

R:
There’s an awful lot of effort made to disguise the fact that the ending is a bit anticlimactic. Right up until the last moment, we’re still unsure who the “traitor” is – and the reappearance of Chorley, and that wonderful scene where Arnold gently voices all our suspicions about how he’s managed to live so long, pull us in the wrong direction at a time when most stories working less hard would be content to tell us the truth. (That really is a wonderful scene, isn’t it? And all the more once you understand that Arnold himself is the traitor. There’s such a cruelty to it, taking Chorley’s terror and using it against him, making him feel so paranoid that he’ll even himself doubt why he has survived. And yet it asks the exact question that, directed against Arnold himself, would tell us all who the Yeti’s inside man is. It’s very clever stuff.)

Had the resolution really been a matter of the Doctor sitting under a helmet and draining the Intelligence, it would have been very simplistic. Had the resolution simply been that one of the Yeti turned on its fellows, it would have been simplistic
and
overfamiliar – it’s been the ending for stories such as The War Machines and The Evil of the Daleks already. But because the story does them
both
, it somehow all works – and that’s because the latter gets in the way of the former. The Doctor is so furious that his plan to defeat the Intelligence has been compromised by
another
plan to defeat the Intelligence, that for a moment we might even believe he’s having a childish strop and that something adverse has happened to his brain after all. Either ending would have seemed a bit trite on their own; together, they give the illusion this has all been rather complex, and that a story which up until the final few minutes suggested that the Doctor had lost maintains its tension as long as possible.

That’s in part thanks to Douglas Camfield, of course. The scene in which Evans is merely
captured
by a couple of Yeti is a bit disappointing on paper – killing the comic relief would have been more logical. But Camfield directs it so tensely, with Derek Pollitt making desperate jokes to the Yeti as they turn on them with their brute force, that it packs a punch all the same. The Web of Fear is the sort of story that’s rather sneered at nowadays by some fans, the ones who complain that the shocks and thrills it offers are all fairly obvious. It’s true; it’s not an experimental work. But the military set adventures of the 1970s, and the monster in corridor romps of the 1980s, all look back to this and the genuine atmosphere it conveyed. And for moment to moment fear and suspense, not one of them did it better.

T:
No, no, no, no, no! Hang on! I
hate
that Arnold is the traitor! Actually, I should restate that – I don’t mind that Arnold is the traitor, but I hate that the Intelligence reveals that it was just animating his lifeless body, and that the Doctor postulates that he was probably one of the first to go missing. What a disappointment – Jack Woolgar has been so convincing and likeable as this no-nonsense (but not unpleasant) professional soldier. Even this late in episode, Arnold berates Evans and is suspicious of Chorley – is the Intelligence
that
convincing an actor? I’m pretty sure that in the book, it’s revealed that Arnold was only occasionally under Intelligence’s thrall, and that he was otherwise his normal brave and likeable self (as with Padmasambhava, whose most effective moments occurred when his humanity struggled against the evil invading his person). Furthermore, I’m certain that Terrance Dicks added in the book that if the Doctor had been allowed to see through his plan, Arnold would have survived. I’m aware that I’m criticising this story for not being something I thought it should be after reading the book, but I still find it a bit regrettable.

Other than that, I agree with you completely – I had no idea that some fans have sneered at this, and where I’ve offered disapproval about this story, it’s mainly because I expect and desperately want it to be perfect. It’s been such a terrific adventure, and whilst I won’t embrace its rather basic ending (which entails the Doctor crossing some wires, whilst his companions don’t listen and pull him out of a Perspex machine) as you do, I’ll forgive it precisely because of everything that’s brought us here. If so much of The Web of Fear has become over-familiar with time, watching the series in order makes you realise
why
this was deemed a template for so much of what’s to come. And as you say, from where I am at the moment, and even allowing that I may have tunnel vision, I don’t recall any subsequent, similar tales being done quite so well as this.

Absolutely stunning.

Fury from the Deep episode one

R:
If there’s one thing doing this diary has taught me, it’s that context is all. Stories from Hartnell’s tenure that I may have dismissed before, like The Gunfighters or The Time Meddler, seem much more purposeful and surprising when seen as a contrast to what was going on beforehand. But it cuts both ways. And though Fury from the Deep has a reputation as a scary Troughton shocker – from this episode alone, it seems in context familiar and drab.

We’ve been here before. All of it. The regulars on a beach! (They did this two stories ago.) They get shot at, then taken prisoner, by suspicious guards. (That’s par for the course.) They’re within a scientific base (as ever), staffed by people of different nationalities (at least John Abineri’s Dutch accent is a variation on the theme), and run by an angry authoritarian figure (whose name, Robson, is only one letter different from the chap who ran the moonbase).

I can see why it’s so popular. It feels purpose-built Troughton. This ticks
all
the boxes. It even has the regular crew romping about in the foam, having a bit of a giggle, and showing us all the happy rapport between the cast. Watching it on its own, it probably comes across as definitive. But after months and months of this sort of thing, you look in vain for anything that’s distinctive. Robson is played by Victor Maddern as a man who hates
everybody.
His bile isn’t just directed at the TARDIS crew, but at his second in command, at his engineer, at some poor chap who only appears in the background on a monitor screen. Cutler, Hobson, Clent – at their respective introductions, they were all left with somewhere to build. Not here; it’s the sort of character you usually see at the start of one of those Agatha Christie adaptations – a man who has to give, in only a few minutes, every single character different motives for stabbing him in the back. It might work if there was some other tension – but there’s actually no jeopardy in the episode whatsoever. There’s some foam, and some seaweed, and they make a heartbeat noise, but they do nothing to cause anybody any legitimate concern. Victoria’s screams of terror at the episode’s end are more than a little incongruous then; maybe if we had the visuals, we could see it’s doing something suitably menacing. But since, so far this story, the most memorable thing about it is that foam fight on the beach, it’s hard not to feel it’s a cliffhanger that relies upon our understanding it’s scary just because Doctor Who’s formula tells us it must be so.

And that’s the problem, really – lots of the Doctor Who formula on display, and none of its heart. (Heartbeats, yes.)

T:
Believe it or not, for
years
this was my favourite Doctor Who story. Yes, yes, it’s true that I’ve never actually seen it – how could I have done? Just like those young ‘uns who wrote off the The Gunfighters without even watching it, I (as a Doctor Who fan) was also prone to assessing something sight unseen. After all, who needs facts when you’ve got an opinion?
Unlike
those lads, though, I didn’t go along with received wisdom – anyone can champion the likes of Genesis of the Daleks and The Talons of Weng-Chiang, but I wanted to adore a story that made me look like an individual, a maverick... and yet, which no-one could take me to task about.

It was a bit arrogant and presumptive of me, frankly – I was basically saying that I knew Doctor Who
so well
that I was certain a story that hasn’t been seen since first broadcast was the absolute best ever. (I realise I’ve just done something similar with The Web of Fear, but hopefully, despite all of my enthusiasm for it, I’ve added enough caveats to make clear that quite a bit of guesswork has gone into my evaluation of it.) I first got excited about Fury from the Deep when I read Gary Russell’s review of the novelisation in Doctor Who Magazine. Later, I got a murky copy of the soundtrack – I held my ear close to the crackling speakers, managing to discern the odd sentence every now and again, and decided I was in the presence of greatness.

Then, when I checked a programme guide and discovered that van Lutyens (a technical expert at the refinery) was played by John Abineri – whom I’d appreciated in other works – it all seemed to come together. Even small parts were played by recognisable TV and Who stalwarts such as Hubert Rees (here appearing as the chief engineer) and Graham Leaman (Price, the communications officer), whilst the merely vocally present guard was played by Peter Ducrow (the Face from Adam Adamant Lives! – a series I knew was amazing despite never having seen an episode). Richard Mayes, an actor whose illustrious work in British theatre was getting excellent reviews at the time, was here relegated to appearing over a monitor, but no matter – this was the first Doctor Who story where I could confidently name the entire cast.

I realise now that I was acting like a bit of an idiot, but nonetheless some residue of that zealous advocacy remains for this story. But then, Rob, you send me an indifferent review about it! Oh. What’s a boy to do?

All right, I would have to admit that this isn’t shaping up to be an all-conquering classic just yet, but there’s plenty to enjoy. The TARDIS’ arrival is pretty impressive – it looks like it’s descending from miles up in the air before landing with a plonk on the sea; so far, so different. And one story after the Brigadier’s debut, we get the introduction of another icon: the sonic screwdriver. Furthermore, I’m not sure I buy the argument that this is overly familiar – yes, we have some weirdness happening at a scientific establishment, but we also have the refreshing invocation of domesticity. A family home with ordinary, everyday couple is quite unusual for Doctor Who in this period – for all that the Yeti just terrorised London, the military force they faced seemed less vulnerable than this plausibly domestic couple. And while “Robson” might be one letter different from moonbase-commander “Hobson”, they’re very much different characters. Hobson was the straightforward British officer type that Patrick Barr always played, whereas Victor Maddern’s Robson is an obstinate bully whose single-mindedness could inadvertently help whatever is making noises in the pipes.

I have to say, though, that I once thought the real-life gas board were a bit mean when they changed me to a card meter when I was a bit skint. Now I’ve reconsidered that opinion – in the Doctor Who universe, the buggers have sub-machine guns!

April 11th

Fury from the Deep episode two

R:
I’ll admit it – that sequence cut by the Australian censors is
brilliant.
Smiling like demented puppets, Quill and Oak gas a woman in her bedroom by no more than bulging their eyes and breathing on her – and to the clanky-clanky music of Dudley Simpson that suggests we should be finding this somehow
funny.
We’ve seen a lot of possessed humans on the series (and most of them over the last season and a half!), but none as chilling as these. John Gill’s voice as Oak is smashing too, having some of the overstated melody to it of a children’s TV presenter talking down to his victim.

But otherwise, I’m afraid this is still a strange bore of a story, with lots of earnest discussions about pumps and impellers and pipelines, and very little actual drama. And very little room for the Doctor and his friends either – Troughton sounds at best a little arch this episode, one remove from the action (which, frankly, he is). The only really human aspect to any of this is the relationship between the Harris family; the concern that Frank shows for his wife Maggie is touching and sincere, and the affection they have for each other gives the dialogue a lightness of touch. You suddenly realise how much Doctor Who shies away from this sort of thing; this is the first married couple shown on the series since The Celestial Toymaker, of all things – and that was a pair of playing cards! Just as the story feels it’s drifting off into long arguments about scientific stuff, it’s anchored by the refreshing domestic reality seen here.

T:
It took me some time to fully discover Mr Oak and Mr Quill. The Gary Russell review of the novelisation eulogised them, and hearing John Gill’s wonderfully fruity tones (“The bag, Mr Quill,” he says with disdainful admonishment) on the soundtrack did nothing to dispel my thoughts on how great they must have been. Then the telesnaps showed up, and I was shocked to see Quill standing there with his mouth wide open, his eyes bursting from his cadaverous face. And
then
the censor clips came back! Much of Doctor Who that I’ve experienced in book form has disappointed me on first viewing, as it wasn’t as quite as good as my imagination (or in the case of the Nestene, what I had seen on the Target covers). But this marked the first time that something
exceeded
my expectations – Oak and Quill step forward in unison as Simpson’s plonking, reedy music oozes in, and the camera moves onto Bill Burridge’s terrifyingly contorting face. I was either 24 or 25 when I saw it first this, and even though I was watching it in the middle of the afternoon, it genuinely spooked me.

Other components of this seem very worthy... director Hugh David uses very inventive cuts, fades and close-ups in the 58 seconds of screen time that we can actually see; if the rest of the story was this good, something very special is indeed missing from the archives. Roy Spencer, as Frank Harris, exudes goodness and adoration for his wife – it makes a potentially wet character work as an extremely decent and devoted man. And Maggie Harris’ possession is genuinely unsettling, her shuddering gasps suggesting that she’s suffering acute pain (which, judging by her taste in kitchen cabinets, is something that she thoroughly deserves).

Really, my only disappointment here is that Oak and Quill aren’t credited as
Mr
Oak and
Mr
Quill. But you can’t have everything.

Fury from the Deep episode three

R:
The cliffhanger is haunting and beautiful. All the more so because it’s the quietest we’ve yet heard Victor Maddern – that’s the power of this possession by seaweed, that it can turn such an angry man railing at the word into someone so calmly complicit. It’s shocking too – having handed over the baton to Robson, Maggie silently turns and walks into the sea, until she’s lost beneath the waves. Fury from the Deep is very good at this sort of thing – it’s at its eeriest when it has the suggestion of menace. (You’re right – the last cliffhanger was very effective too.)

Maybe, though, that’s why I’m still having problems with the story. (Because I’m sorry, I still am.) Its threat may just be a bit too subtle for me – we’re halfway through the adventure now, and I want more than
anticipation
, I want something to pay off. They’re clearly seeding Deborah Watling’s departure at last, as much to the Doctor’s obvious bemusement she starts questioning why the TARDIS constantly takes them to danger. “It’s the spice of life!” says the Doctor – and for me, I’m afraid, that falls a bit flat; I think the taste of this particular dish still seems too mild for me.

Perhaps I’ll get into the swing of this story tomorrow. I can’t help but feel that I’m missing out.

T:
If there’s a difficulty here (I know I’m highlighting problems when I shouldn’t be; I think some of your negativity has rubbed off, Rob), it’s that although Victor Maddern is thoroughly convincing as a man on the edge, the script asks him to be so
before he’s been attacked by the weed
. The way he was going, parasite or no parasite, he’d probably just have cracked up and put Harris, van Lutyens, the Doctor – everyone, really – in the brig (I know they’re in a refinery, but it’s pretty tooled up in every other respect). And it’s a stumbling block that the arguments in the complex aren’t about life and limb (unlike, say, The Ice Warriors, where each course of action could have led to disaster), but rather about Robson’s somewhat inexplicable stubbornness.

But the scenes here aren’t
all
anticipatory – some pretty impressive terror occurs as foam and thrashing seaweed engulfs the Harrises’ house. The gas that the weed emits increases the threat level, and the everyday sight of a ventilation shaft is terrifyingly transformed into the abode of the demonic. And the aerial shots on the beach and Simpson’s subtle, moving music transform the episode ending into another classic, as Maggie inhumanely walks into the sea.

I’m a bit distracted while watching this episode, though, because I have a personal nerdy tie to it. My love for the intricacies of credits order – billing and other things that require making lists – is such that I once went to the Birmingham library to look up entries for Doctor Who in old issues of the Radio Times. The first story I looked up was Fury from the Deep, and I was elated that the billings went: “Starring Patrick Troughton, with Victor Maddern and Frazer Hines, Deborah Watling.” It seemed thrilling that guest stars could be deemed more important than companions (this may seem like a trivial detail, but when you grow up watching the likes of Matthew Waterhouse being credited above Emrys James, such things become important). Episode three was particularly exciting: the name of John Abineri – of whom I’m a huge fan – appeared in big letters just under that of Victor Maddern.

Call me overly pedantic if you like, but I think credits are very important – the quality of drama on the UK television is directly connected to the speed, size and readability of the credits, and that’s a fact (or, all right, it might not be). Actually, I think
not
expecting that your audience is prepared to read words after watching a television programme is a sign that you think they’re stupid. We need to do more to stop this trend towards crunching credits! Why, I refused to watch Spooks on broadcast because they’d done away with the credits – the irony being that when I later watched it on DVD, executive producers Jane Featherstone and Simon Crawford Collins justified that decision while their names were superimposed beneath them in big letters.