Who Verdict on “The Daleks”: Acquittal!

Lime, J, delivers the opinion; Mithradates, J., concurs only in the result: I take issue with my colleague’s apparent willingness to overlook the massive plot holes that rip Titanic-sized logic holes in the serial for me. I also take issue with his implicit conclusion that there is a resolution to these plot holes (“We don’t know how, or whether, these things interrelate, nor their true significance. [But t]he rest of the series is dedicates to tracing the web of clues…”).

However, despite the fact the episode makes absolutely no sense to me, I’m compelled to acquit by my esteemed colleague’s powerful eighth point, that among the “amazing number of plot twists” we find “A new and powerful enemy–the Daleks.”. My colleague has convinced me with this irrefutable logic, and with him, we have both agreed to Acquit! Don’t miss this one!

[Additional comments by Mithradates: I think the plot hangs together a bit better than Lime implies. My understanding of the major plot point is as follows: The Thals believe the Dalek city to be dead and lifeless. And it is, to the casual visitor. The Daleks believe the surface to be lifeless. The Daleks would like to return to the surface, but they reason the radiation levels are too high to survive. So they seize upon the anti-radiation drug as an avenue to restoring their rule over all of Skaro. Unbeknownst to them, however, the radiation is something they need to survive. Now, the hole in this is that the Daleks should know their subterranean city is irradiated. After all, the Doctor finds the geiger counter that informs him that radiation levels are high within the Dalek city itself. I can only surmise that radiation levels are lower underground than at the surface; the Daleks may have reasoned that they could survive the lower levels of radiation underground (if barely -- if they started out looking like the Thals they have suffered greatly), but the higher levels on the surface would be too much. That's reading a lot into the dialogue, granted, but I think much of it is implied, at least on my viewing.]

Who Verdict on “The Daleks”: Full Acquittal!

Prosecution: “The Daleks” Daleks are kinder, gentler, dumber.

“Warning shot” Daleks

Yes, the first foray to Skaro for the Doctor was where he met a kinder, gentler Dalek race. The cliffhanger scene of Episode 1 is the world’s first glimpse of a Dalek: we see only an arm-stalk and sucker point-of-view shot, closing in on a terrified Barbara, spreadeagled on a metal wall. For those of us from Who‘s future, it’s a thrilling piece of history. And, it’s precious imagining what must have run through the minds of those children who’d never seen a Dalek before–what could be threatening Barbara?!
Our second glimpse is in Episode 2. We hear the first Dalek words ever, the unimpressive: “You will move ahead of us and follow my directions. This way.” The Dalek’s eye stalk swivels a full 180 degrees to face the TARDIS crew: “Immediately!” it commands. Man, these toilet plunger dudes are bossy. It’s this scene, the command and eye-swivel, that evoked the first frisson of excitement in me, reminding me of “my” Daleks. Authoritarian, abrupt, Dalek-like is this–to me, this scene is really where the Daleks are born.

Strangely, the rules of engagement of The Daleks Daleks are even more restrictive than those of five hundred years earlier in Genesis of the Daleks. In this second-ever scene featuring Daleks, Ian doesn’t take kindly to being bossed around, and he runs. This is somewhat counter-intuitive given Ian’s character: he and Barbara are the level-headed ones. And in my experience, when being bossed around by an entirely new race, without more information, running just doesn’t seem called for. But apparently Ian’s had it with being kidnapped by the difficult Doctor, and the bossy tin pots have pushed Ian over the edge–and he runs.

Happily for Ian, these Daleks are nice: refusal to cooperate apparently requires only a temporary paralysis ray to the offender’s legs. Unlike the Daleks we know from Genesis and every other story, these Rules of Engagement require warning/nonlethal shots first. Lucky Ian.

And if Ian repeatedly disobeys the Daleks? Even luckier Ian! The Daleks warn that a second instance of disobedience will result in… Nope, you guessed wrong, not extermination–instead, permanent paralysis of the legs! Man, these Daleks are nice! But as you’ll see, kindness doesn’t survive their first serial, though after reflecting on the seven episodes I can’t quite figure out why the Daleks’ rules of engagement and strategic outlook suddenly changed. Needless to say, it works out in the end: regardless whether it makes any sense, the reflexively nasty Daleks that emerge by the end are much, much better villains.

It’s not until Episode 4, the third time the Daleks engage, that the Daleks finally progress to their storied “examination.” It’s in the run-up to the ambush of the Thals that we discover the Daleks’ intent in inviting the Thals to partake of a sample of the promised “unlimited supplies” of “fresh vegetables” and food bounty carefully laid-out in the entrance building to the Dalek city: “make no attempt to capture them–they are to be exterminated.” But this still isn’t “our” Daleks: this slaughter is entirely premeditated, well thought-out beforehand, carefully planned. So really, nowhere in The Daleks are the Daleks the knee-jerk bloodthirsty, exterminate-for-any-obstreperousness foes that we love to hate.

What exactly indicated a need to convert the Daleks we first encounter into all-death all-the-time is probably the writer’s realization that any metal-enclosed faceless race that plots the wholesale destruction of another species by pouring radiation into the atmosphere probably shouldn’t have any redeeming qualities. The writers probably realized that temporary paralysis of foes is an unrealistic (and not a tension-building) M.O. for what turned out to be, ultimately, a conscience-less species.

Slowly the Dalek history emerges. We’re on Skaro, the 12th planet in the solar system. 500 years ago a neutron war rendered the planet nearly inhabitable. Two races fought in the war, each believing the other totally annihilated: the Thals and the Dals (five centuries before, in Genesis of the Daleks, these Dals called themselves the “Kaleds”). The atmosphere now registers radiation at dangerous levels.

The Thals apparently are the least curious race in the universe, never having thought to descend down to the Dalek’s city for five centuries to discover if their adversaries were totally destroyed by the neutron war. (But they are curious enough to stalk strangers in the forest and leave nondescript and unlabeled vials of anti-radiation medicine in the off chance the strangers can figure out what the vials are for!) Susan isn’t bothered by this, gushing on about how the Thals are “perfect” and “magnificent people.”

The Thals believe themselves to be the only survivors of the neutron war, and they port around their entire history inside a small metal box. Their history appears to be stored on 16mm film reels and on artistic representations of the Thals and Daleks painted on hexagonal black slates. We’re treated to the art of what the Thals looked like pre-neutron war: basically blonde pseudo-Norse warriors. The Doctor sees, but the viewer does not, the hex art depicting what the Daleks used to look like.

Not only do the Daleks lose any chance at a conscience by the end of The Daleks, but several other tropes are set so firmly after this serial’s critical success with its 60s’ audience that The Daleks never escape them to this day: (a) the odd, misshapen archways of Dalek corridors; (b) the lovely dual-pulse throb of the Dalek control room introduced in Episode 2 is almost exactly the same as the one we hear in RTD episodes; (c) the Dalek’s penchant for circular dials and circular view screens; (d) the spastic sucker-stick movements. Yes, today’s Daleks are the epitome of throwback sci-fi.

Dangerous Doctor/Ian Ascendant

Right from the beginning, as in Unearthly Child (my review of Ep 1 here) the Doctor continues to confront Ian and Barbara. Ian blames the Doctor for “uprooting” them, and the Doctor counters, justifying his kidnapping of the two teachers, that they “barged in” to his TARDIS. And after seeing the magnificent and gleaming buildings of the city in the valley, the Doctor sabotages the TARDIS by removing the mercury from the “fluid link,” schemingly devising a plan to visit the city to find replacement mercury. Luckily, he quickly admits in the beginning of Episode 2 that he sabotaged the TARDIS so that he could investigate the fascinating gleaming city.

What’s beautiful and a great piece of acting is Ian’s reaction to this admission: “you fool you old fool,” Ian storms, “it’s time you faced up to your responsibilities. You got us here, now I’m going to make sure you get us back.” This is prelude to Edge of Destruction, where the Doctor, as I’ve discussed, turns the corner and makes Who what it is today. And it’s also a demonstration yet again that Ian and Barbara are us–the Companion as viewer.

This is becoming Ian’s hallmark: confronting the Doctor’s constantly putting the crew and others in danger without consideration of the risks. In Episode 5, Barbara realizes the crew will never be able to leave Skaro until they can recover the fluid link, which Ian accidentally left behind in the escape from the Dalek city. The Doctor hatches a plan to have the Thals attack the Daleks as a diversion so the crew can slip in and recover the fluid link. But again it’s Ian that opposes the Doctor, rejecting that a fluid link is sufficient spoils for a Thal war party that has no weapons. He explicitly tells the Doctor that he’s challenging the Doctor’s leadership of the TARDIS crew.

It’s a nuanced series of scenes, and Ian eventually adopts the Doctor’s plan, admitting to Barbara that without the fluid link, the crew will die on Skaro. Ian takes a further step and adopts the Doctor’s manipulative tactics, searching desperately for what will make the Thals fight. First, he callously threatens to destroy the entire remaining history of the Thal race–the film reels and hexagonal art pieces. But the Thals don’t bite. Second, Ian threatens to kidnap and deliver to the Daleks the pretty blonde Thal Dyoni, the prominent Thal Alydon’s love interest.

This works, and Alydon launches himself at Ian, slugging him. Alydon then gives a Henry V at Agincourt-worthy speech, calling the Thals to fight with the crew: either we die here for lack of food, or we wait for the Daleks to kill us, or we go now to the city, where there is ample food. Alydon points out that the Thals’ and crew’s interests are the same. It’s a good speech, well delivered–in fact, of the six episodes of overacted and hammy Thal characterizations, this speech is a standout. One great line: “There is no indignity in being afraid to die. There is a terrible shame in being afraid to live.”

But Ian’s turnaround rings untrue: it’s unusual and out of character that Ian’s solid moral compass would swing from principled to manipulative, a la the Doctor’s reviled tactics, so quickly. Moreover, proving pacifism wrong by threatening Alydon’s love interest smacks of simplistic plot development by the Who writers. And finally, that threatening Alydon’s love interest would not only turn around his pacifism, but make an inspiring military leader able to belt out an inspiring “join me to the death” speech, is just unbelievable. Still–the speech is great, no matter how Ian got Alydon there.

The continuity concept

On display again is the show’s early years’ serial-to-serial “continuity” concept, where each story flows seamlessly into the next. Not only does the TARDIS lurch at the end of The Daleks into the very crash that begins the next serial, Edge of Destruction, but one of the primary themes of Edge is seeded in The Daleks. Right at the beginning of Episode 1, Barbara asks Susan if there isn’t some device in the TARDIS that records their journeys. Yes, Susan says: “there’s a meter affixed to a great big bank of computers. If you feed it with the right sort of information it can take over the controls of the ship and deliver you to anyplace you want to go.” Hence as much as Barbara wants the Doctor to take them back, Susan says, the Doctor’s forgetfulness prevents him from being able to enter the “right sort” of information! Too bad Susan is always screaming, because one would think, as brilliant as she is–she reads books in Unearthly Child at inhuman speeds–that she’d be able to enter the “right sort” of data. (As I sit in the car on vacation with my kids writing this and listening to The Sensorites, I know that Susan will be taking a lead, non-screamer role in future episodes, so her early brilliance in Unearthly Child seems set to return.)

Bottom line: Ponderous, and Muddled

Overall, The Daleks is a piece of Who history that shouldn’t be missed. But it suffers a few critical flaws.

First, it’s slow moving. Whole episodes are Web Planet-painful in their long, slow, sequences in which little is said and little happens. Episode 1 is solid. Episodes 2, 3, and 4–over an hour–are just painful, and witness endless scenes of Ian rubbing his legs, the captive crew languishing in the Dalek city, and Susan’s annoying fawning over the “perfect” Aryan Thals (compare and contrast with the “master race” spouting Daleks… Is this meant to point to a flaw in Susan, or is it simply a bias in the writers? Most latter day “classic,” RTD, and Moffat Who sport a Doctor in a virtual love affair with alien life of all levels of “prettiness.”)

Episode 5 is a return to form, with the inspiring (but plotwise problematic) Alydon speech calling the Thals to war. Episode 6 is back to painful pacing with long slow scenes in the caves leading to the Dalek city and painful acting by the doughy and cowardly Thal Antodus who persistently whines, eating up way too much screen time, that he wants to return home, and eventually, and literally, drags down the expedition. Episode 7 is another mixed bag, graced by the thrilling and well paced (but idiotic and humongous plot hole) mass-test of the unknown Thal drug and later scheming to irradiate all of Skaro’s atmosphere.

Second, it makes no sense that 500 years would pass, but neither the Thals nor the Daleks have any idea that each other exist. After all, the Thals have been encamped, of all the possible places on Skaro, on the plateau directly overlooking the Dalek city.

Third, the Daleks progress from bossy and utilitarian tin pots–they explicitly reason that they will preserve the TARDIS crew because they may have some use in the future–to bloodthirsty and irrational: “the only interest we have in the Thals is their total extermination” and “tomorrow we will be the master race of Skaro!”. But this progression is on a dime, and it doesn’t survive the common sense test, if applicable to tin pots from Skaro.

They turn this corner only after inexplicably mass administering the Thal’s anti-radiation drug to Sections 2 and 3 of the Dalek City. Why the Daleks would, after 500 contented years within their sealed city, run a mass trial of an unknown drug, is mystifying. Or at least, there’s no given motive. We know the atmosphere still registers radiation at dangerous levels, and started to kill the TARDIS crew. Also: why the Daleks would want to leave their city, since to move they need the static electricity delivered through their city’s generator and metal floors, equally is a motive that escapes me. I suppose they could be fickle in their philosophy, as Alydon of the Thals turns out to be, but I don’t get it. I’d think since they appeared at first to be utilitarian and somewhat logical, the solution to stopping Dalek deaths from anti-radiation drug overdoses would be to kick the habit of mass-administering unknown drugs. But that’s just me.

Some closing trivia

The first Daleks story is rife with interesting trivia. Here’s a few: (1) Ridley Scott, famed director of Blade Runner and Gladiator among others, was assigned to design the Daleks–their shape, look, and feel–but a twist of fate interfered with Scott’s schedule, leaving Raymond Cusick to take the job. How the Daleks might have looked different had that not happened! (2) The Daleks almost wasn’t produced, since, according to the first script editor David Whitaker, the Daleks themselves were seen by some in the BBC as “too childlike” and inpinging on the goal to make Who an educational show. (3) the Who writers intended the Daleks to be retired after The Daleks–only because they took England by storm did they return. As it is, the Daleks have appeared in 102 Who episodes since 1963–more than any other enemy, according to this super-handy data sheet released by xxnapoleonsolo in June 2011 (4). As Episode 3 ends we see the first ever glimpse, and the only one on screen in this serial, of what’s inside the shell: in the closing shot we see a clawed hand creep out of under the cloak the Doctor and Ian wrapped the mutant in. Funny trivia: evocative as it is, it’s just a joke shop gorilla hand smeared in grease!

Lime’s advice: The Daleks is historic, but plotwise it barely holds water. Four episodes are painfully slow, and the Ziggy Stardust Thals are burdened by some of the worst acting this side of daytime soaps. Convict!

Tags: Dr. Who

Peanuts + Dr. Who = Awesome

The work of Wild Guru Larry.

Found via Bad Astronomy.

Prosecution: Marco Polo

Many of the early Dr. Who episodes were lost when the tapes containing them were wiped by the BBC (talk about your idiotic decisions!) Marco Polo is the first episode for which we have no video. This is actually rather surprising, as it was a “showcase” episode that aired in some 72 countries. That at least presents some hope of an old tape being found in Portugal or somewhere one of these days. Fortunately, an audio recording survives, as well as many period stills, meaning we can get a good idea of what the episode was like.

It is clear from the number of sets and the sumptuousness of the costumes that Verity Lambert opened the bank account to produce the episode, no doubt buoyed by the decision by the BBC to keep Dr. Who on the air. Perhaps too enthusiastic, as lack of funds was to seriously affect the quality of the sets and costumes for the next episode, Keys of Marinus, as we will see.

The episode begins among the snowy peaks of the Himalayas, where the TARDIS arrives, damaged. Hartnell’s pessimism and irritability is again strange to those of us raised on the latter Doctors. (“We’re all going to starve to death!” he shouts, at one point).

Good luck getting delivery up here

Here they are discovered by none other than Marco Polo, who inexplicably is traveling through the Himalayas on a journey from Samarkand to Peking. This is akin to passing through New Orleans on a trip from Denver to Albany. At any rate, Marco Polo is escorting two travelers: Tegana, who is a peace envoy from Nogai Khan to Kublai Khan, and Ping-Cho, a well-bred young woman from Samarkand who is to be married to an elderly Mongol noble. Marco Polo agrees to take the Doctor and his companions along with him, along with the Doctor’s caravan, the TARDIS, which they admit can move from place to place. A flying conveyance being of great value, Marco Polo denies them access to it, and decides to offer it to Kublai Khan in exchange for permission to return to Venice.

This is a major plot point, although it is also a major plot hole. The main tension throughout the episode is between Marco Polo and the travelers. Both have a legitimate desire to go home. Both need it to effect their passage. So why, then, does it not occur to anyone to offer to take Marco Polo back to Venice in the TARDIS??? Now, there might be a reason why the Doctor or Susan do not make this offer. Perhaps they feel that giving Marco Polo a glimpse of advanced technology will alter the timeline. Maybe they know that the Doctor cannot actually control where the TARDIS goes (this has been strongly implied, although never explicitly stated, in the series so far). That doesn’t explain why it never occurs, say, to Ian, Barbara, or Marco Polo himself. This also reminds us it’s about time for Ian and Barbara to start getting a little miffed at the amount of time it is taking them to get home. If the Doctor can’t get Marco Polo to Venice, then he can hardly get Ian and Barbara back to 20th-century England. Yet they have never expressed frustration, resignation, or acceptance of this state of affairs. In this episode, they spend weeks traveling under primitive conditions, by our standards. Yet their reactions are entirely based on the short-term situation, not the long-term fact of their indefinite exile from their own time.

Oh, the indignity!

One point of interest: Up until I saw the above still, I had no inkling that the TARDIS was moveable by conventional means. I always felt that part and parcel of its large interior space and impenetrable doors was immovability. Who knew the TARDIS could be rendered completely harmless by the simple expedient of tipping it over so that the doors face down?

The middle parts of the episode are devoted to the long, arduous journey to Peking and the plotting of Tegana, who wishes to finish off the expedition. Why exactly he wishes to do this is unclear. He mentions Nogai is planning a sneak attack on Kublai Khan under cover of peace negotiations, but surely his safe arrival in Peking would be useful in maintaining the fiction of those negotiations?

Follow me all ye who call yourselves Gourdenes!

At any rate, Tegana fails twice to kill the party — an attempt to poison their water supply is foiled by a sudden sandstorm, and the subsequent attempt to kill them in the Gobi by slitting their water gourds does not succeed when the Doctor discovers condensation on the walls of the TARDIS. I am not sure how the latter is physically possible, but no matter. Barbara and Susan become suspicious of Tegana, and Barbara follows him to the Cave of Five Hundred Eyes. There she is captured, and there is much inintentional humor as she is pursued by a series of searchers, in defiance of Marco Polo’s orders not to go looking for her.

Marco! Polo! Marco! Polo! Oh, come on, don't tell me that joke didn't occur to you, too.

In all of this mess, Marco Polo doesn’t come off very well, and I think the writers do a great disservice. Not to the historical figure, but to the character. We come to know the inner thoughts of Marco Polo via the narration of his periodic journal entries. Never mind that this behavior is anachronistic, it gives us a window into the character that we never get from the Doctor or his companions. Marco Polo comes across as a strong leader, honest and forthright. He pursues his own interests, sure, but he is not heedless of the needs of others. However, the development of the plot makes him seem like a complete dolt. He regularly loses control of the expedition, with various members wandering off at regular intervals without permission. His belief in Tegana over the testimony of Barbara and others is believable given the class-oriented nature of that society, but it does him no favors. He nearly leads the party to disaster in the Gobi desert, and is only saved by serendipity. He confiscates the key to the TARDIS, but manages to lose it twice. Most damning, his mission at the start of the episode is to bring Tegana and Ping-Cho to Kublai Khan. He manages to lose both of them along the way, coming before the Khan empty-handed. He does redeem himself by defeating Tegana in a duel when Tegana tries to kill the Khan, but the character, played with great dignity by Mark Eden, deserved better.

But even worse is the behavior of the Doctor. In this episode he is almost completely worthless. That he spends much of the episode sulking in his tent is bad enough (yes, Hartnell couldn’t be present to film the whole episode, but couldn’t they come up with a better explanation?) But what does he do? His discovery of condensation inside the TARDIS is pure luck. He fails to get the key to the TARDIS back from Marco Polo. When they do encounter Kublai Khan, the Doctor befriends him and wins great wealth playing backgammon with him, but fails to persuade him to give up the TARDIS. They only get away when Marco Polo decides to be Mr. Nice Guy and give them the key to the TARDIS at the end.

Way to make yourself useful, Doctor

The one member of the expedition who does something useful is Ian. He manages to get the key to the TARDIS away from Marco Polo the first time, though their escape attempt is foiled. Ping-Cho risks her life to give them the key for the second escape, which is discovered when Susan, who I am disliking more and more, just has to say goodbye to Ping-Cho before they leave.

Although there is much to recommend Marco Polo — not least the setting, the epic sweep of the episode, and the lavish production qualities — the plot holes and the poor performance of the Doctor and friends leads me to suggest a verdict of Guilty. Need I add that Tegana, being a main character, has to be played by an Englishman, unlike most of the extras? And the cringingly offensive portrayal of the way-station keeper, Wang Lo, also played by a non-Asian, of course. Even Kublai Khan, I see, was played by a Westerner. God, the Sixties were backward.

Prosecution: Edge of Destruction

My colleague has already penned his defense of Edge of Destruction, so I felt it incumbent upon me to take up the solemn duty of the prosecution. While he mentions several notable qualities of the episode, I feel there are several flaws that did not receive sufficient attention in his review.

The first consists of the episode’s existence in the first place. When one has a new series, it is inopportune to have a “filler” episode as your third installment. The commentary to the episode describes the circumstances: It was normal practice to make the decision whether or not to continue a series after the thirteenth show of the first season. The producers of Dr. Who felt that their product was of sufficient quality that this review was merely pro forma and that they could expect a continuance even before the thirteenth show. Thus, they planned to have the first two episodes stretch over 11 parts, and the third episode would extend past show #13. Well, that plan turned out to be based on false hopes, so the third episode had to be written in only two parts, and with almost no budget (apparently the money had been blown on The Daleks — this inability to manage the show’s finances will continue to plague the first season).

The knife is a metaphor! For stabbing!

The second flaw is the way the episode is structured. While watching, the various strange happenings work successfully to create an impression of confusion and inculcate the idea that the world inside the spaceship is off-kilter. However, in hindsight there are a number of significant inconsistencies. Why does Susan go crazy inside her bedroom? Why does she brandish a pair of scissors, and later rip up her bed with them? Why does she threaten Barbara?

The TARDIS is making me overreact to this melting clock!

Later, the TARDIS apparently melts a large ornamental clock inside the control room, and damages the watches of the crew. How does it do this? Are there microwave emitters throughout the ship, in case the Doctor happens to desire a hot cup of tea and doesn’t wish to walk to the food console? (My colleage also points out that the water dispenser lights work inconsistently in this episode).

Finally, Ian is possessed by the TARDIS, by means unknown, and he attacks the Doctor at the control panel. In order, apparently, to warn the Doctor that the Fast Return switch is stuck. A switch which is on the control panel. Where the Doctor was just looking. The control panel which sent out an electric shock whenever somebody approached it. You’re kind of sending mixed messages, aren’t you, TARDIS old pal?

I wonder how much the magic marker label guy in the TARDIS factory gets paid.

Nevertheless, the character development in the episode and the fact that this is one of the first true sci-fi mindfuck episodes in television history (if you omit the Twilight Zone) spare this episode from the hoosegow. Verdict: Acquittal (just barely).

So what the hell do we call these things?

A Trekkie born and raised like myself is used to calling each weekly installment of the series an “episode”. Traditionally, these are self-contained narratives, although two-part episodes are familiar to fans of the series, often spanning two separate seasons.

With Dr. Who, however, things get a bit more complicated. An Unearthly Child, for example, aired over four separate dates. Now, following the Trek paradigm, we might call these “episodes”. My colleague adopted this in his first review. The problem then becomes: what do we call the larger stories of which these are components? “Serials”? “Story Arcs”? The BBC DVDs call them “Stories” (urgh). And if we call the larger narrative an “episode,” what of the component segments? Anyway, I thought the best way to answer the question is to take a poll. What should we call the smallest aired segment of each of these stories (e.g. the four parts of An Unearthy Child)?

Tags: Dr. Who

Mithradates reviews The Daleks

Hello again. We seem to have gotten out of order here — my colleague was reduced to such a state of torpor after watching The Daleks that he pleaded an inability to write on the topic. My reaction was much more positive, so I have taken it upon myself to set down a few words on the series. I will focus most of my discussion on the first two episodes, as they set the tone for the whole thing.

What set The Daleks above An Unearthly Child for me was the keen air of foreboding that it established in the first episode. The TARDIS flies out of control and ends up in a mystery location. Not even the Doctor knows exactly where or when they have arrived. Susan reports that all environmental sensors check out normal. Except that we see the radiation detector rapidly increasing after Susan looks away from the display.

A brief exploration outside leads to the first mystery: the explorers discover a dead forest, turned entirely to stone. In addition, they find a strange creature, made of metal — a robot? If so, who made it, and why?

The second mystery comes when they reach the edge of the forest, and look out over a strange city, unlike anything any of them have seen before. Like the forest, it appears completely lifeless. Unlike the forest, it is clearly made by intelligent beings. Who constructed it? What happened to them?

The Doctor’s curiosity is piqued. This is the first glimpse we get of the irrepressible curiosity that will become the Doctor’s hallmark, and a clear change from the grumpy Doctor of the first series. Unlike An Unearthly Child, when he was trying to keep Ian and Barbara from nosing into his business, the Doctor is in his element here, even if he sorely misjudges the danger of the situation.

On the way back to the TARDIS, Susan lags behind, and becomes alarmed when she feels somebody touch her from behind. We see a shadow, flitting out of the shot. Who is it? Is it one of the builders of the city? An ally, or an enemy? The mystery deepens when the rest of the party discovers a mysterious box lying on the ground outside the TARDIS, containing a number of glass vials. What could they be for? Were they left there deliberately, or dropped accidentally? Is there a connection with Susan’s visitor?

The fourth plot point comes when the team return to the TARDIS. After messing about with the TARDIS’ controls, the Doctor announces that one of its components is damaged, and that mercury is needed for it to become operable. Only we have seen the Doctor remove the component from the TARDIS, deliberately sabotaging it. It is clear that the Doctor does not yet trust his companions, and is willing to behave selfishly to meet his own priorities.

The Doctor and his companions then proceed to the city, which appears to be completely deserted. The floors are smooth metal, apparently bearing a consistent static charge. Why? The set designers did a bang-up job here, creating an architecture that looks truly alien. The doors are not sized nor shaped for human entry, and there appear to be no stairs or definable spaces, just elevators and corridors. While wandering through the maze-like interior of one building, Barbara becomes trapped in a room, which turns into an elevator, carrying her downwards, to a fate unknown.

While searching for Barbara, the Doctor, Ian and Susan find a room containing scientific equipment. Finally, something the Doctor can understand! Unfortunately, the message is deadly: the planet is bathed in radiation, and the party has only a short time to live. Shortly thereafter, they finally meet the inhabitants of the complex: a strange group of beings who call themselves the Daleks. For fans of the series, this moment is pregnant with ill omen.

What are they? Robots? Or living things within a shell? Their voices suggest the former, but the Doctor and Ian find out the latter is true.

The Doctor & friends meet the Daleks for the first time.

So at this point, we have encountered an amazing number of plot twists and developments:

1. The dead forest and its mystery.

2. The dead city and its mystery.

3. Susan’s visitor

4. The strange box found outside the TARDIS.

5. The Doctor’s treachery — does it conceal a hidden agenda?

6. The odd alien architecture of the city — what does it indicate about those that built it?

7. The imminent threat of death by radiation poisoning.

8. A new and powerful enemy — the Daleks.

This is a very high level of suspense-building, and it is done masterfully. We don’t know how, or whether, these things interrelate, nor their true significance. The rest of the series is dedicated to tracing the web of clues introduced during the first two episodes. Now, my colleague will say that the denoument was a bit tedious. There is, I admit, a lack of tightness to the remaining five(!) episodes, and a certain amount of dramatic padding. (Really, being captured and escaping not once, but twice?). As well as some unfortunate wardrobe choices:

When you've endured generations of radiation poisoning, fashion sense is the first thing to go.

All that aside, however, the sheer brilliance of the beginning is easily enough to put The Daleks above both An Unearthly Child and Edge of Destruction.

Verdict: Acquittal!

Lime reviews Edge of Destruction: “What’s going on here?!”

Doctor Who is about two things: (1) a really cool time-traveler and his really cool time machine; and, (2) the stand-ins for the audience, or the Companions. Edge of Destruction, in two quirky episodes, gave us the Companions, as we know them today. Here’s how, and why you must watch Edge:

1. Small budgets do wonders for artistic creativity. The 7-parter The Daleks, featuring miniatures, metal-ish Dalek corridors, explosions, and several Daleks themselves, had gone over-budget. And the production team faced another impending 7-parter, Marco Polo–a costume drama, also with miniatures and elaborate sets (and one of the “lost episodes“). Budgets were tight. Series script editor David Whitaker was tasked with writing a two-parter on the cheap.

Whitaker also faced another problem. Unearthly Child and The Daleks portrayed The Doctor as fiercely distrusting of Ian and Barbara, his “kidnapees.” If Who was to have any legs, this dynamic had to end: somehow, that plotline needed to disappear to both permit further character development, and to free up script space for more engaging and ambitious ideas.

Whitaker’s solution was a product of tight pursestrings and deference to the preceding two serials. But, it was genius. Using only the TARDIS set and the cast of four regulars, Whitaker penned an amazing two-part story. None of the cast knew of the budgetary origins of the spartan script, though Jacqueline Hill guessed–incorrectly–that the Marco Polo costumes simply weren’t ready yet.

And so the cast threw themselves into the script with gusto. As written, it risked becoming little more than an avant-garde moody-artist piece with disjointed, stilted performances. As acted, it’s very satisfying, from Ian’s dazed recovery in the beginning, to Barbara’s strong performance overall and particularly in her substantial speeches (directed at the Doctor) in both episodes, to the Doctor’s transformation from possibly malignant manipulator into the “protector of companions” we have today.

One additional note: it’s interesting that Peter Brachacki, designing the TARDIS control room, made one of those budgetary constraints calls that carried through to today’s TARDIS. He saw a 3″ piece of molded plastic with a repeating pattern of round holes. He liked it so much that he had that very same piece of plastic photographed and enlarged, and printed: it became the 2-dimensional console room walls of roundels, repeated and modified for the next half-century of Who. Now that’s cool. And, again, it was initially simply “on the cheap.”

2. Barbara vs. The Doctor, or, The Birth of the Companions. The audience is roped-in with Ian’s incredulous outburst, early in the first episode, just under ten minutes in. We’re yanked into the story because Ian’s disbelief exactly mirrors what we, the audience, are thinking: why are the regulars passed out, draped over the TARDIS console and floor? Is this performance art?

Barbara immediately takes the baton from Ian, and carries it through the remainder of Edge. She, as Ian, and as the Companions always do, is the conduit to the audience–she’s us. She immediately assumes care for the Doctor, waking and comforting him, and calms the unbalanced Susan. We cheer as she forcefully rebuts the Doctor’s unreasonable accusations against her and Ian. Her fiery rejection of the Doctor’s suspicions presage the final, seminal scenes of episode two. It must have been a recognition of Jacqueline Hill’s strong performance in rehearsals, and it was a smart move, that several of Ian’s lines were transferred to Barbara.

Finally, it’s Barbara that solves the underlying mystery: she pieces together the clues and saves the day, only moments before total annihilation. The scenes that follow witness the birth of the modern Who Companion. Barbara stares into space, hurt by the pain the Doctor inflicted on all of them; and when the Doctor formally, if stiffly, acknowledges his debt to her saving the TARDIS, Barbara flinches, and bolts from the room.

But the Doctor, in a new and significant turn of character, pursues her. He sits close to Barbara on the couch–the gap between the characters is finally physically narrowed. He explicitly admits his failings–and narrows the psychological gamp. He, in essence, tells her that by learning from Ian and Barbara, he has finally discovered himself. And so the rift from the first episodes is bridged. The Doctor now is not mistrusting, distant–but is the Doctor, grandfatherly, self-admittedly flawed, and protector of his companions. This is the birth of the Companion.

The physical closeness continues: he offers his arm, and he and Barbara walk to the console room. And the Doctor even offers his arm, or hand, to Ian–it’s hard to tell if it’s a Hartnell flub or improvisation–and they walk out to join Susan for a snowball fight. And this new dynamic is our dynamic today: Doctor as protector of companions, as grandfatherly figure. When you watch the concluding scenes of Edge, you’ll see the birth of modern Who.

3. “My machine can’t think!” The second innovation was equally a product of budget. Constrained to the TARDIS as the only set, and the regulars as sole cast, Whitaker needed dramatic tension. Whitaker’s brilliant solution was to bring the TARDIS to life: the eerie poltergeists plaguing the TARDIS, we learn, were the TARDIS itself leaving clues for the crew. The TARDIS doors open and close by themselves in response to the crew’s actions; the scanner displays the same sequence of images, repeated several times; the “fault locator” lights and warning bells activate, inexplicably, every 15 seconds; the TARDIS causes physical pain to the crew, but only when they approach certain parts of the console; the TARDIS displays misleading indicator lights on machinery that is otherwise working perfectly.

It’s the origin of the idea that the TARDIS is alive. Directly from Edge we get the power source that’s “held down” by the time rotor, the “heart of the TARDIS,” that reappears in Arc of Infinity, Terminus, Boom Town, and Parting of the Ways. We get here the first indication that the TARDIS is sentient, that the TARDIS has mind of its own, revisited en force in The Doctor’s Wife. Interestingly too, we get the first inklings of the Matrix: in Edge, just after Susan drops the bomb that she and the Doctor had, earlier than Unearthly Child, visited the planet Quinnis “in the fourth Universe,” we learn that the TARDIS records all the Doctor’s journeys. This returns in Trial of a Time Lord.

4. The Doctor’s crazy-manic love of science. It’s telling that Sydney Newman required Verity Lambert to subscribe to “New Scientist” and read it, monthly. One directive of early Who was to feature science front and center, and be educational.

Here, the Doctor’s turnaround involves a lengthy speech by Hartnell–the first such speech by the Doctor–about… science! It begins with the Doctor leaning back against the TARDIS console, the lighting strikingly altered for the scene–the Doctor lit in dramatic chiaroscuro–and the camera slowly tracking towards Hartnell (this was before the BBC had zoom lenses).

Hartnell was nervous about the speech’s length, famously forgetful of his lines. But it’s a fine performance: you can almost see hubris and the hunger for serious actor’s cred in his eyes during this soliloquy. He deserves it: it’s a memorable speech, and it conjures images of Baker’s toothy grin and wide eyes wondering at some scientific anomaly, or Tennant’s luscious drawl at a newly discovered alien species, “awwwwww, you’re beautiful!”.

Hartnell thus delivers, and we get the paradigm for future Doctors’ zealous-manic love of all things science.

5. Who trope: the unintended consequences of small actions. Whitaker had one final puzzle piece to place: if the TARDIS was the fifth cast member, what caused the chain of events? Whitaker’s answer, human, or unintentional error, was brilliant and is one of the repeating and often most successful themes in Who. The cascading consequences of small, unintended errors underlies some of Who‘s best episodes, including one of my favorites, Gridlock, but also The Doctor’s Daughter and many others.

So Edge is weird, quirky, but it’s uber-cool.

A few final observations: (1) it finally fully dawned on me in watching Edge the extra bells and whistles from the interior of Hartnell’s TARDIS that were transferred to Eleven’s: the bulky rectangular grid of square panels that disappeared in Who’s early years, reappears beautifully in Eleven’s console room. And as I’ve noted before, there’s the hanging thingie of concentric circles that’s Hartnell era, as well as the faux CRT scanner that is so steam-punk lovely. (2) first true on-screen date with the Doctor’s Wife (well, they’re going out, but before both sides realized it was a date, you know, a sorta Emma and Mr. Knightly thing going here). (3). The Daleks, the 7-parter just preceding Edge, introduced the Doctor’s longest standing enemy and gave us the words “Skaro” and “Thal.” Edge, in contrast, is the avant-garde moody art piece that gave us a sentient TARDIS and the modern Who companion. Edge: for depth of substantive impact on Who history, it’s the hands-down winner.

Who Verdict: Acquittal. Watch!

Mithradates: Unearthly Child

Howdy folks. I’m Lime’s erstwhile interlocutor. Like him, I grew up on the third, fourth and fifth Doctors. In effect, my exposure has been limited to what has shown on American TV. I have watched some of the newer episodes with Eccleston and Tennant, but don’t get BBC America. I never saw an episode with Patrick Troughton (unless you count The Five Doctors) until a couple of years ago; my first William Hartnell serial was late last year. So I’m going into this without a lot of background. I happen to be a huge Trekkie, so may be making lots of references to that series in my reviews.

Unearthly Child was unexpected in some ways. When watching Tom Baker and the TARDIS, I always figured in the back of my mind that the sets and special effects (even the theme song) had changed since the series began. After all, John Pertwee had a futuristic car that disappeared in later episodes; I figured there were lots of such tweaks and changes from Doctor to Doctor. And there were so many references to the bum chameleon circuit that I thought it must have worked at one point. So I was unprepared to see the same old TARDIS that I was familiar with (granted, with a few small differences).

This Doctor is very different than the ones I grew up with. Baker, of course, is archetypal for many of my generation, so much so that the newest Doctors mimic his manic personableness. Pertwee was more restrained, of course, but even he was something of a man of action. Hartnell, however, appears in this first serial as a bit of a misanthrope, finding strangers unwelcome and wishing above all to be let alone. He also has much less of a moral compass, as seen when he looks ready to kill the caveman Za after he is incapacitated by a wild animal.

As for the episode in general, my response was much less favorable than my colleague. I felt Ian and Barbara didn’t react quite realistically to being brought across time and space, and subsequently being captured. Neither seem the least concerned about missing their classes or getting fired from their jobs, although such mundane concerns would come quickly to my mind. Conversely, Susan seems very excitable for a girl who was raised by the Doctor.

I also found the caveman plot rather tiring. Of course, I happen to be an archaeologist, so I am sensitive to anachronisms. Granted that the cavemen are a bit more sophisticated than is typical for the 60s, but nevertheless they are clearly anatomically modern (as implied by the original title, 100,000 B.C.) Humans by that time had long mastered the use of fire — it beggars the imagination to conceive of a tribe that has lost the ability to make it. More significantly, they are depicted as being unsophisticated to the point of being rather child-like. There is no reason, however, to think that early humans had social lives any less rich, or language skills less developed, than people in more recent times.

This would be tolerable if it didn’t make the whole drama somewhat farcical. We have four modern humans held prisoner by a group of about a dozen primitives, none of whom exhibit much intelligence. It diminishes the suspense for me markedly. In this respect the next serial, The Daleks, is a considerable improvement. Moreover the second half drags too much, padded as it is with a recapture (a failing also seen in The Daleks). Nevertheless, the curiosity value was high enough to keep me watching even through the slow patches.

Lime reviews Curse of the Black Spot: “Captain! What’s our next move?”

The Who Verdict on Curse of the Black Spot is in: acquittal! Spoilers follow: proceed at your peril!

1. “What made you do it? What made you turn pirate?”. Curse is, as many have noted, a Who on Splenda after the Rockstar Soda hyper-caffeinated episodes we saw in Impossible Astronaut and Day of the Moon. But that’s only in comparison. Curse is also a lovely, character-driven episode, with the character-driven elements impeccably placed to draw us in.

And the character-driven highs are held aloft by some nice tension. All before our first shot of pathos only 13 minutes into the show: (a) we lose an off-screen crew member in an already skeleton crew: (b) we lose a second crew-member on-scene and see the enemy in full glory; (c) the monster of the show, the Siren (Lily Cole), comes for Rory, and makes to attack Amy; and, (d) the crew is scared to death by a leech. The first character scene, with the little boy, is a surprising tear-jerker; barely a quarter way into this show some are calling “lite,” we care about this scraggly Captain (Hugh Bonneville) and the little boy (Oscar Lloyd).

The second dose of pathos comes half-way through the episode again with the Captain and the little boy: and again it is small, intimate, lovely, and it opens up a significant question about this relationship–reprised later in a nice moment between the Doctor and the Captain, topsides. This question is finally answered in an action scene, with most of the remaining crew members, where it all comes together. (I believe one pirate’s fate was left on the cutting room floor, but who’s counting.). And of course the answer sets up the catharsis in the episodes’ final minutes quite nicely. So again, Curse is small, but it’s tightly and coherently written. It focuses not on our time travelers, but on the Captain and the boy. (And the kid, Oscar Lloyd, simply shines–he’s fantastic. As is Hugh Bonneville. Another inspired round of casting, after Mark Sheppard last week as Canton Delaware.)

2. “Two cars parked in the same space.” But that’s not all, folks. Curse isn’t relegated to the two non-time traveling protagonists: it’s also about two cars, parked in same space–not an infrequent plotline in the Whoniverse. (See also Inferno, Battlefield, Rise of the Cybermen, inter alia.) As the Doctor explains his newfound TARDIS troubles, she “can’t see because it thinks the space doesn’t exist.”.

The Curse of the Black Spot was meant to be Series 6, Story 9. But the move to Story 3 must have worked perfectly, in Moffat’s mind, and if my hypothesis is correct about the season. Why? Foreshadowing. The idea of parallel universes will, I suspect, play large in this series. After far too much perusal of the evidence thus far spread out by the Moff, I expect parallel universes to be the key to understanding the arc.

It’s just circumstantial evidence, but circumstantial evidence is enough to convince me. I suspect the Doctor that died in The Impossible Astronaut isn’t our Doctor, but either (a) a Doctor from an alternative universe whose timeline is running the same direction as River Song, or (b) an amalgam of the Doctor and some big bad like Omega (see Arc of Infinity or the excellent audio drama Omega). Whichever one it is (or even a third), I think Beach Doc is really dead.

And that’s the simplest explanation, which in reality would be favored (don’t bother me with trivialities: this is only tv you say?): the Beach Doctor, whether amalgam Doc/baddie on a good day, or an alternative/parallel universe Doctor, needed to save the universe from the crossovers between universes, so set up the meeting and his own death to save both universes. Tragic, the more so if and when we realize what really happened.

Amy’s Choice then becomes almost a parable (more?) of what’s happening now: if they die in the dream (that is, in the the other world), you’re fine in the real world–but what happens when you cease being able to tell the difference? Don’t forget, Amy was pregnant in one of those worlds too–but now she’s both pregnant and not. And in Vampires of Venice, Rory understood the TARDIS a little, mentioning he’d studied all about FTL travel and parallel worlds. And of course Signora Calvierri, speaking of her race fleeing the Silence/Silents (but which?), spoke of cracks, some as big as the sky, and seeing through to parallel worlds. No, the roads have led to this parking lot, and the lot is now full: twice over. (I love a show with a canon big enough to encourage this sort of irresponsible but irrepressible speculation.)

I half expect that Amy is supposed to tell the Doctor about his future because that’s the only way the Silents/Silence/our Big Bad/whomever can ensure the Doctor and his future self “merge,” or to avoid the Doctor sealing off the cracks between the universes once and for all, or because it will somehow cause a greater rift, furthering our baddies’ ends (that the Silents demand that Amy tell the Doctor “what he must never know” sounds pretty portentous.) That is, I expect that first Impossible Astronaut scene, the immolation and somber sunset on the beach in memoriam to a Time Lord, will one day become more poignant. It was a pretty significant death–and perhaps (well, with Moff this is expecting a little too much) it will even close out this series or make the half-way point. I think we’ll be back on that beach.

3. “Things can suddenly change when you’re least expecting.”. The Doctor asks: “who are you, Henry Avery? …How did you end up here with rogues?”. The captain: “I’ve set my course.”. And the Doctor: “things can suddenly change when you’re least expecting,”. And I think that’s the theme of Moffat’s second series, season 6. Moffat’s grand scheme was to, I suspect, lead us to think that Season 5 was about several things–the alliance of baddies trying to trap the Doctor and ruin the universe with cracks, and the Doctor foiling their plans with River’s help by sealing the cracks and “rebooting the universe.” But as I mused before, I’m not sure that’s what it was about at all. I think that was merely prologue.

Similar to the “two cars”/two realities issue, I suspect that River will, indeed, surprise us. Her being the wife of Omega or Other is a favorite theory I’ve heard. (And who wouldn’t be thrilled by Sherlock‘s Benedict Cumberbatch emerging either as a multi-episode or recurring Omega?) River’s encounter in Impossible Astronaut with future/Beach Doctor lends some circumstantial evidence to the alternate/parallel universes theory too: in a complete turnabout, this Doctor broke out an identical “TARDIS diary” that was being completed, and he had shared experiences with River (“Jim the Fish”), indicating timelines that aren’t getting progressively further from each other, but share a common direction. If Beach Doctor was our Doctor, 200 years hence, River would scarcely know him.

But she knows him well, and they swap stories. No: unless I’m missing something, this cannot be our Doctor. Which leads me back to the alternate universes idea: she’s traveled with this other Doctor–or it’s really a Doctor-Omega/pick your baddie amalgam. Perhaps she’s a baddie too. Now that would be a change from what most expect–and a delicious one. And of course River fulfills the “prophecy” by emerging from the lake to, or being complicit in, killing the Doctor/amalgam Doctor.

(Or the little girl, Amy, or some nefarious other suited baddie, pulls the duty.)

That’s admittedly only my latest theory. But tea leaves are in support. There are also abundant alternate theories out there, each with merit: River will turn out to be our Doctor’s wife; River is Amy’s daughter (which I could see happening); & many other variations. Cheers to all of them. I’ll just say I’m licking my lips at the return of the wonderfully deep Who lore that underlaid the series for three-odd decades. It’s wonderful stuff. Worshipful and Ancient Law of Gallifrey, anyone?

4. This is the second story with a “prequel,” the first being Impossible Astronaut. Unlike the first episode’s prequel, you’re missing little if you miss this one: this one is nice, but tells us little we don’t discover during the episode: primarily we learn that the ship has been becalmed for 8 days.

5. And some new and old questions: (a) The previously mentioned eerie twittering sound in the TARDIS is now joined by at least half of the roundels in a lights-out or lights-flickering state. Why? Symbols of something big happening? Signs of simple disrepair in the TARDIS? Merely Moffat’s symptom of an episode-specific rift in Curse? (b) The Doctor’s tie here is red–my understanding of one theory is that Eleven’s tie was blue in the “past” episodes.

And then there’s just the wonderful fluff. I count five: (1) we learn that in Eleven’s TARDIS, there is not only the previously mentioned swimming pool and library (the latter officially portrayed in the BBC Adventure Game TARDIS), but now we also know about a kitchen and three loos (see also the wonderful TARDIS chase scene in the Fourth Doctor story Invasion of Time); (2) Amy’s performance is stellar, from swashbuckling start to the finish, saving Rory: it has been a hard-earned trust, but from Amy’s, well frankly, shallow beginnings, we can now plainly see new depths in her feelings for Rory, the more so after last week’s “stupid face” confusion and late-episode righting. And Arthur Darvill, again, is great. (3). The finale, the pirates traipsing off to actually visit what the Doctor and Captain mused about way back when, standing on the ancient vessel and staring at the double stars–a very nice touch, when paired with the Captain/son denouement. (4) The Rat-faced creatures’ uniforms read “D.I.H.S.”. A joke? A clue? Some spin on R.O.U.S.? (5). Nice touch, VR consent form! Future of the law!

Who Verdict: acquittal!

Lime reviews: Day of the Moon

So, I’m about to pass judgment on Day of the Moon… What’s the Who Verdict? Let me run through a few salient issues that spring to mind after watching this one twice:

1. Beautiful production values, but the energy devoted to the shock & awe surely has both benefit and cost. Who now rivals in pacing and intensity the best of Lost and 24, gripping shows in their own right. Who has never looked this good, but it has also never depended so much on CGI and visual spectacle to make its case. Plot and acting, not one-liners and flash, used to be far more leaned on as regular train-drivers. That’s all changed. Not completely, but the balance has palpably shifted. If Who doesn’t lean as heavily on the same canon and plot values it used to, one worry is that the show can continue with the same vigor, while leaning so heavily on quips and flash. We shall see. The same beloved characters and backstory are always available for the writers, so the momentum is indisputably on the show’s side.

2. Whether the love triangle (quadrangle?) and the related confusion over the Time Lord-ness of the young girl are (a) based in fact–that is, do the Doctor and Amy have a thing, or do the Doctor and River have a thing, or both?; (b) is Amy really pregnant?; or, (c) is this all based on misdirection? I’d love to dismiss all of the first options, but Moffat has proved, not least in Girl in the Fireplace, that romance and the Doctor are squarely set in Moffat’s scriptwriting boudoir. So I expect Moffat to tease us more as to the various possibilities, then tie them up one way or another.

Some or all of it may be resolved as misdirection, though. Amy may not be pregnant: as the character most directly tied to this “crack” in he wall, she could be a living link between two different universes: one where she’s pregnant, one where she’s not. Rory, after all, admitted in DOTM that sometimes he still remembers waiting, as an Auton, for Amy–sometimes he doesn’t. So perhaps he too is crossing universes. And the Doctor-River relationship may end before it starts (well we know it does, but in a different way!) River kissed the Doctor in DOTM, River being younger than we’ve yet seen her, and the Doctor was taken aback at the kiss, and River acted as if it was the first time the Doctor had been taken aback. So the next time the Doctor sees River, two possibilities: either it’s the first time River kisses the Doctor and the last time the Doctor kisses River–or we it gets drawn out. Moffat’s track record favoring hopeless and tragic situations would suggest the former… but we’ll see.

3. How important are the Silents? And is it “Silence will fall” or “Silents will fall?”. Clearly Moffat has been planting clues about the presence of the Silents in multiple episodes–one-off frightened looks by the main characters that are then shaken off and normal dialog resumed–since early in S5. But we’re told the Silents have none of their own technology. The FAUXDIS of the Lodger thus isn’t of Silent origin–where’s it from? (Could it be River’s? The Doctor mused in DOTM that he was about to find out how the Lodger FAUXDIS became abandoned, and River meets the Doctor in reverse order…) And the door to the room in the orphanage which had a small window, and then didn’t, reminded me strongly of the upstairs illusions in the Lodger. A FAUXDIS in the room? Could explain how Amy suddenly found herself in the FAUXDIS itself. But then the TARDIS materializes in the FAUXDIS? Been seen before, hasn’t it? Logopolis, The Time Monster… And the teaser for S6, Space and Time. Recursive loops do wonders for time. Wibbly wobbly, all that.

And so while the Silents were apparently present throughout S5 and are the front and center enemy of these two episodes, terrors of this magnitude in Who–recursive loops, attempts to build TARDISes, killing Time Lords to steal their regenerations, blowing up stars or the universe, and cracks in space and time–have been sins of the greatest order, reserved for the worst of enemies. Not that new enemies can’t be created, but the worst of the worst have included Omega, the Master, the Black Guardian among others. And so I suggest that the Silents are not the big bad we’re looking for. (But for an alternative view, jump over to The Edwardian Adventurer.) As a matter of fact, what better MacGuffin than a race of easily dispatched Silents to distract and please and inhabit the FAUXDIS when the real Silence is trying to simultaneously build that same FAUXDIS and possibly escape through a crack in the universe into our own Doctor’s universe? Remember, the Doctor saw nary a single death caused by a Silent, and Amy presumably forgot the one she saw: so planning all this after noticing a massive infestation and the kidnapping of Amy, to genociding the Silents out-of-existence, doesn’t strike me as the Doctor’s typical M.O. when he’s not under the influence, so to speak.

4. Unresolved matters, new mysteries, and Moffat-isms I need to itch: (a) the eye-patch lady at the door who exclaims, “she’s still dreaming.”. Who is dreaming–Amy? This smells of the little girl in Silence in the Library, doesn’t it? (b) Amy wandered into the orphanage, saw some peculiar graffiti, and confidently called the Doctor to announce that yup, the girl and the Silents had been there. That’s not an impossible narrative leap, but it smells just as probably of Silent psycho-suggestion to get the Doctor, a companion, or the TARDIS in the vicinity of Renfrew, the orphanage, the little girl, &c. (c) What’s the incessant eerie clicking sound seeming to come from the console in the TARDIS? When did it start? It appears constantly in Impossible Astronaut and Day of the Moon, but I don’t recall it ever happening inside the TARDIS except maybe in the dream sequences of Amy’s Choice. Is it something with the TARDIS? The Silents? Just incidental creepy sounds? (d) What to make of not just one fact that most commentators note but, in conjunction, two: Amy’s on/off pregnancy; and Rory’s comment that he has a Schrodinger memory too: on being a Roman, he says “I don’t remember it all the time. It’s like this door in my head. I can keep it shut.”. (e) Humanity decided suddenly to go to the moon because the Silents needed a spacesuit? Really? (f) Was it our heroes’ idea to build the perfect prison around the TARDIS, or was it the Silents’? Because we only see the TARDIS decloak inside the prison–not dematerialize.

And this one feels big: (g) Why did River seem completely unsurprised by the FAUXDIS in Impossible Astronaut? She wasn’t phased at all, but went straight to the control panel–what did she operate at the control panel? And she quickly identified the sound from the FAUXDIS as an alarm. She almost acted as if she knew what the FAUXDIS was. How? See my musing above: is it her ship? (h) The Doctor asked for the Silents’ total surrender and wanted to drive them off earth, and was complicit in their total destruction, despite them only killing one person (in the White House loo), which Amy didn’t even remember? Really? (i) Renfrew: bow tie? (j) When the TARDIS seemed to travel from inside the “perfect prison” to Florida at about six minutes in, there was no dematerialization sound. (k) Were there too many sets of stairs in that orphanage? (l) Why did the Silence identify our heroine not as Amy, but “Amelia Pond… We do you great honor. You will bring the Silence.”?

I was wrong that the season premiere would introduce a classic “big bad” like Omega. A quick reintroduction at the end, a la the Master by RTD, would have whet the appetite for more and carried through the season. But I remain convinced: the Silents seem like bit players in a bigger game. Moffat knows that Big Bads are the stuff Who is made of. I think it’s just matter of time before we’re all bowled over by this drawn-out homage to either a new Big Bag–or the reintroduction of an oldie, but very very goodie, Big Bad. I can’t wait.

5. Regeneration Follies. I’m with the growing choir: Moffat, this one-note regeneration song is getting old. (See this brilliant post from my good friend over at Confessions of a Neo-Whovian.) Change is good, but some things: well, they must change, and not remain absolutely static. So it is with the Doctor’s regenerations up to RTD: each had slightly differed, some greatly, depending on the circumstances of death.

That is, until now: and now we get Highlander-esque, boring, shooting golden pixie dust from the sleeves and collar–each and every time. No, there need be no rhyme or reason to regeneration: there wasn’t for three decades, and it kept a healthy dose of mystery to the show, to Time Lords, and to what the next regeneration would bring, and how. It’s very odd that in wanting to nod to the show’s past repeatedly (the stream of images in Eleventh Hour, for example), this prime feature of the show–regeneration–has become a predictable and boring sequence. Mr. Moffat: bring back the uncertainty, the freshness, to regenerations to Who!

6. Finally, TIA and DOTM were unapologetic plays for the American audience. For France, City of Death gave us the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. The S6 opener was a full-on play for the nation. (a) it gave Nixon an out, surely something that will make Americans chuckle in the expansion of Nixon’s fictional boundaries from source of shame to good dramatic and comedic character. American appreciation for turning their shame goes a long way. (b) No less than the President endorses the Doctor. (c) America is called again the most powerful country. Shucks, thanks, Moffat.

And then, there was so, so much to simply love. Let me count the ways. “Zero-balance dwarf-star alloy”: pure Who technobabble–not classic or “nu,” but just plain old Who. I adore River Song. Casting Kingston was a stroke of genius, and the writing is equal parts Time Lord (see Romana) and modern heroine for our times (or baddie–my mind’s still open for what she turns out to be). I eat up the mysteries that Moffat sets up, many of which may go nowhere, but seem to lead somewhere: the very secret of past Who and Tolkienesque success. And, I love that Moffat is so possibly playing not only with modern sci-fi tropes, but also simultaneously with established Who. I’m not yet certain that Moffat sees any break in Who from classic to old–I think he’s one of the true believers in Who continuity–I have a sneaking suspicion we’re in very, very good hands.

Verdict: Full Acquittal. Watch now!

Lime: Unearthly Child, Ep. 1

I first watched Doctor Who in or around 1977; it was a Tom Baker episode–the Fourth Doctor, teeth and curls, all that. My first introduction to the First Doctor wasn’t until The Five Doctors–and that wasn’t even the real deal, it was Richard Hurndall. The original actor, William Hartnell, died in 1975, shortly after appearing in the Third Doctor’s episode, The Three Doctors.

But there is a brief opening clip to The Five Doctors, an excerpt from a real Hartnell episode, which I instantly fell in love with back in 1983 when The Five Doctors aired. Partly because it was so, well, inscrutable. I memorized it instantly, typed it out on our trusty IBM Selectric typewriter, and read and re-read it to myself, amazed at having just seen a black and white incarnation of my Doctor saying something so mystifying. I think I’ve got it still pretty much verbatim, stored away upstairs. I trotted it out every once in awhile as a kid, to myself, when I needed inscrutable inspiration. It goes like this: “One day, I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, and no anxieties. Just go forward in your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine.”

It was never just the words, but it was the decades-long show, the angst over whether it would be continued, the exceptionalism of the character of the Doctor, and the conviction that Hartnell gave those words. All that carried through the decades and combined to make quite an impact on my young mind, an impact far greater than any of the pithy quotes of Star Wars, Star Trek, Buck Rogers, or any of the other numerous sci-fi or fantasy fare I consumed as an adolescent.

I didn’t see Unearthly Child, or any Hartnell episode, until the advent of Netflix instant streaming introduced me to Hartnell and the 2005 resurrection of the show revived my active interest in the show overall. At first viewing, with my kids, I surfed through it, preoccupied with work, letting my kids enjoy it. But scenes stuck in my mind. This was am amazing debut, aired first the day after President Kennedy’s assassination, on November 23, 1963. I ordered it again, and rewatched it with my friend Fredegar. Here’s what struck me:

First, as all the initiated know, the title song by Ron Grainer, and arranged in “electronica” by the fantastic Delia Derbyshire, is for all intents and purposes identical to the title song today, right down to the drumming and droning base beat, and the heroic soaring section that simply lifts the spirits to hear. My young son loves that part, and started singing to the old original just as he does now to Matt Smith’s title sequence. Derbyshire’s arrangement of the Grainer tune is one of the very first all-electronic television themes, and it is pure genius.

A bobby walks to, and away from, the doors of a junkyard in misty London, a junkyard whose doors read “I.M. Foreman, Scrap Merchant, 76, Totter’s Lane.”. The Grainer theme plays as the junkyard doors squeak open by invisible hands and the camera glides through the doors, swinging right to alight on the windows of a (we know to be blue) Police Public Call Box, which seems to be the source of a strange, mid-pitched hum. Our first glimpse of a prop that kids will gleefully adore for the next 60 years and counting.

And cut to the Coal Hill School, where students leave classes in a rush, and we follow a proper and attractive history teacher, Barbara Wright, leaving class and sitting down to commiserate with a fellow teacher, the dashing Colin Firth-like Ian Chesterton, about her terrible day–caused by an overly precocious student, the 15-year old Susan. And so the stage for mystery and curiosity is set: Ian agrees, Susan knows more of science than he’ll ever know, but Susan only lets her knowledge out gradually, to not embarrass him. Ian thinks Susan is a genius, and worries tongue in cheek about having to hand his class over to his student. Barbara, in contrast, wants to give Susan some guidance, has already obtained Susan’s home address–76 Totter’s Lane, which the viewer already knows to be a junkyard–and Barbara herself has now discovered, having visited the address to confront Susan’s grandfather about Susan’s suffering homework. And so Ian, with Barbara the proxies for the audience and the only characters we’ve had any extended interaction with, is drawn into the mystery. Who is the genius girl that lives in a junkyard?

Cut to the history classroom, where we first see Susan, the genius. Commentators make much of this scene: Susan, a pixie-like short-haired brunette, angular and attractive, if odd looking, dancing to 60s music, holding a radio to her ear. Ian and Barbara enter, we learn that Susan insists on reading and returning the voluminous book on the French Revolution Barbara lends her the next day: she needs no longer. Susan declines a ride home, Ian and Barbara leave, and Susan opens the book, eyes alighting with concern on some statement of fact about the Revolution exclaiming “that’s not right!”. Another mystery.

The teachers drive through the night fog and park across from the junkyard, waiting for Susan to arrive home. Ian insists the mysteries will have a simple explanation; Barbara disagrees, noting that Susan doesn’t even know how many shillings are in a pound. A third mystery. A flashback to students laughing at Susan, who shrugs off her mistake at thinking Britain had moved to a decimal system: “of course it doesn’t… It hasn’t started yet.”. Susan arrives and walks through the junkyard doors. The teachers follow her into the junkyard.

At first we see everything but the Police Box. Two mannequins. Mysterious music. Then the Police Box in the background as the two search the junkyard for Susan. And they see the Box, touch it–notice it is humming. Why is it here, instead of on the street where the public can use it to summon the police? The sound–the vibration–Ian exclaims, “it’s alive!”. And then coughing, someone is coming. They hide.

An old man, with a black Karzai hat and flowing white hair, a pale scarf and a dark coat, arch looking, enters the yard and starts to open the Police Box. Susan’s voice comes from nowhere: “There you are, grandfather!”. Ian makes his move and approaches the old man, says he’s looking for a girl, Susan Foreman. (The old man is holding a silver device–some think this is the first appearance of the famed Sonic Screwdriver.). The old man denies any knowledge defensively, distracting himself with an old painting that he’d never noticed before. Ian insists on looking inside the Police Box: the girl’s voice had to come from somewhere, and she’d totally disappeared.

But before the Doctor can turn their attention, Susan again calls from the Police Box. Ian and Barbara push themselves in, and are confronted by the blinding white and constant hum of, well, the bigger-on-the-inside TARDIS. Susan quite calm and comfortable. Hexagonal console and–as seen again now finally in the Eleventh Doctor’s TARDIS–the hanging concentric metallic circles on the ceiling. The roundels on the white walls. And the coatrack, and a few other sparse furnishings, including a fascinating metal clock. At the Doctor’s command, Susan operates a control on the console and closes the doors. Susan tells the teachers she indeed lives in this strange Police Box, which is bigger on the inside.

Three times in this sequence the Doctor looks straight at the camera and talks to us, the viewer, while ostensibly talking to Ian or Barbara: first, telling us that he’s not hindering us finding Susan–”if you … want to make fools of yourselves I suggest you do what you said you’d do–go and find a policeman”–muttering “insulting” after that line: second, once inside the TARDIS and in response to Ian and Barbara’s confusion, telling us “you don’t understand, so you find excuses”; third, “the point is not whether you understand, what is going to happen to you, hmmm?”

And then we learn: Susan and this Doctor are cut off from their own planet, exiles, but “one day, we shall get back.”. But the Doctor determines that Ian and Barbara now too must be exiles from their planet. They barged into the TARDIS, but now cannot leave–they will tell others about the Doctor and his ship. Even Susan refuses to help Ian and Barbara now. And so the Doctor operates some controls, the center column rises and falls, and we see London shrinking as this TARDIS falls through the wavy white feedback loop we saw first in the show’s title sequence.

In sum, the first episode of Unearthly Child is a triumph of acting, pacing, cunning camera angles, and story. And it gains richness with repeated watchings. I would be surprised if any of you could watch and not be amazed at what the BBC accomplished back in 1963 in the very first episode of Who.

And what’s more, the three quotes from Hartnell said directly to us have some bearing as we delve ever deeper into the mind of Steven Moffatt, director of the Eleventh Doctor (and writer of several RTD-era stories), and Moffat’s Grand Plan for Who. I’m mystified by that plan. Some dislike it. Many are thrilled. But what keeps all of us coming back for more in some sense relates to those three questions. If we don’t like it, we can stop watching, change the channel–abandon the mystery. If we don’t understand, well, we can explain it to ourselves however we want to–and we do. Witness the explosion of interest and talk in all things Who over the last half-decade. Finally, we come back because we want to find out what happens to our Doctor, and the characters we care about. And as Hartnell says the second half of the third one, he turns right back to Ian. Because after all, that’s what this is all about: the characters.

Thanks, William Hartnell. For all the line flubs to come, you were a fine, fine actor. Small wonder the show has lasted this long, after having you as its first leading man.

Disappearing Ice on Mars, According to NASA

Too exciting not to post about, NASA now believes what they thought might be ice–or salt–is, in fact, ice.  NASA’s press release is here.

Whatever the substance is, the lander has found another hard layer at the same depth in a location to the right of this trench (aka “Snow White 1″).

Enjoy the animated gif below, depicting the evaporating substance in a before-after sequence:

Lawyers that Game: Dianne Bonfiglio, Esq., aka, Hot Chief PMS

This interview is the first of a planned series of interviews of professionals — lawyers naturally among them — that are avid, earnest, unabashed gamers. I conducted this interview back in September, but a number of issues kept it from appearing on A.O. Without further ado, here’s my interview with a remarkable attorney from Florida who happens to also be a very skilled competitive gamer. Enjoy. Lime

AO: Hot Chief, thanks for doing this interview. Just by way of introduction, I met you via a comment you left on my blog… I Googled your name, and discovered that lo, you were not only Dianne Bonfiglio, Esq., but also “Hot Chief PMS,” of the online all-female gaming clan “PMS Clan.” Since Halo is one of your forte’s and I’m a Halo addict–and an attorney–I was immediately smitten. You agreed to do an interview, and so here are a few questions: how do being an attorney and a hard-core gamer jive. First off, for the law: what type of law do you practice?

HC: Harry, thank *you* for the opportunity to speak with you! It is my pleasure. Professionally, I’ve been practicing law for about five years. I am a business major and had substantial experience in business before I entered law school in

Bioshock non-spoiler review (Verdict: Great game – buy it used)

“Why should the righteous suffer at the hands of the ignorant?” Because society usually ends up freaky-deeky, that’s why. Thus speaks the lessons of Bioshock.

Bioshock is a first-person shooter game with a great story. No, make that fantastic story. But ultimately with all stories, it ends, and you end up with little replay value as the developers failed to include a multi-player component. So if you like good shooters with good stories, please read on…