Monday 28 May 2012

“Owing to this morning’s tragic news...”

Where were you and what were you doing when you heard that Princess Diana had died?

If you're a Dr Who fan and over 20, there's a fair chance your answer is the same as mine.

In the 1990s, something amazing happened. Ok, so Dr Who wasn't on TV any more and we were coping with the methodone of BBC Video releases and Virgin New Adventures. But then BSB happened and it was a game-changer.

For the first time, Dr Who repeats were happening all the time, usually at an unearthly time of a Sunday morning. And they began at the beginning and carried on in order. In an era where some of these stories hadn't been seen for at least a decade, this was so important. I remember perusing the personal ads on the notice boards in the shop attached to the Dr Who exhibition at Longleat (I swear this was a thing - mainly people searching for books) and seeing someone trying to attract a friend with the words "I have BSB."

The only problem was that we didn't have a dish. Unlike now, this was seen as a luxury. Oddly, my grandparents did, so if I wanted to see a story, I had to ask them. So I eked it out. Only asking for special stories, generally those I hadn't seen.

By 1997, we had our own dish. I would regularly be up early on Sunday mornings ready to record. On August 31st, I was up and looking forward to The Armageddon Factor, which I'd never seen before.

Then came the announcement: "Owing to this morning's tragic news, there is a change to the scheduled programme."

I swear this is true: I thought Tom Baker had died.

Then Mum changed the channel and we watched open-mouthed as the facts revealed themselves. And all over the country, presumably, Dr Who fans in their pyjamas sat similarly astonished.

The thing is, unlike those Brits who spent the next week hysterical, this meant nothing to me, oh Vienna. I thought it was sad and a shock, sure, but in truth I was more annoyed by the repeat of Planet of the Spiders on UK Gold, which I already had on video. Best not dwell on how I felt when Radio 1 cancelled the Top 40.

I still don't think many monarchists would have even noted links between Mary Tamm's final story and the People's Princess. In fairness, anyone who cared was watching the other channel anyway.

It took me another 6 years to see The Armageddon Factor. Thanks to that scheduling decision, it would become the last complete story I saw (before RTD came along).

Anyway, Happy Diamond Jubilee.

Thursday 17 May 2012

“Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite.”

"And since it has no call to be here, the art lies in the fact that it is here."
"Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite."

Many of you will recognise these words as precisely one half of the lines spoken by John Cleese and Eleanor Bron during their brief comic cameo in 1979's City of Death. Blink and you'll miss them. (Whatever you do, don't blink.) And that's the point of their casting. They have no call to be there, so the art lies in the fact that they are there.

It's called a cameo. Doctor Who didn't really do cameos, historically speaking. Maybe Hale and Pace. More recently, we've seen everyone from McFly to Patrick Moore show up. But a cameo's just a bit of fun, really, and we take it for what it is.

More bizarre is the phenomenon of"stunt casting". I don't know the earliest example, but it doesn't really kick in until the 80s anyway. I'd define it as a piece of casting purely to generate attention. So not Richard Todd, Martin Jarvis or even Beryl Reid. But how about Paul Darrow? Or Alexei Sayle? Or Michael Sheard in Remembrance of the Bronson? Or Frank Windsor in Ghost Light?

Or Ken Dodd?

21st century Who has many examples of stunt casting. It's hard to draw the line between simply casting a name (Simon Pegg, John Barrowman, Pauline Collins, Maureen Lipman) and pure stunt casting - but perhaps Peter Kay starts it. I seem to remember Radio 1 heavily trailing Love & Monsters on the basis of its guest star, which certainly didn't happen for Roger Lloyd Pack.

And then there was Catherine Tate, popping up in the TARDIS at a point in her career when her sheer presence was enough to crown an entire series finale. Following this success, there are many more examples: Kylie Minogue, Michelle Ryan, James Corden, Katherine Jenkins.

But the story immediately following Donna's maiden outing, Smith And Jones, also began a curious other type of casting, which I shall here dub non-stunt casting. It's like this: why on earth shell out cash for an established star like Roy Marsden to play a three-scene character who dies after 15 minutes?

Over time, this has become increasingly apparent. What was June Whitfield doing in The End of Time? How can The Eleventh Hour throw away Annette Crosbie, Olivia Colman AND Nina Wadia on tiny non-roles? Bill Nighy, Michael Sheen, Lynda Baron - all actors whose casting seems out of proportion. It reminds me of JNT trying to get Laurence Olivier to play the mutant in Revelation of the Daleks.

The last Christmas Special went all out. Not satisfied with hiring top sitcom star Claire Skinner, the Moff writes a couple of brief, slightly comic, superfluous roles then casts Bill Bailey and Arabella Weir. And to rub it in, the third, equally featured, equally comic spaceman is played by Some Bloke. They arrive, we cheer, then 5 minutes later they've gone.

Oh, and. The husband, who gets a handful of lines and is a mere plot device and could have been successfully portrayed by Ed Wood's dentist, is played by Alexander Armstrong. Comedian, Pointless host and bona fide Doctor Who legend thanks to his role voicing Mr Smith in The Sarah Jane Adventures. Why?

I get the fun in stunt casting, but why distract us by throwing stars like Armstrong and Wadia into roles which waste them? It's like the thirty seconds George Clooney spends in Terence Malick's The Thin Red Line: all I remember is his unexpected appearance, nothing about his role.

These name actors have no call to be there. Exquisite? More bizarre, I'd say.

Tuesday 8 May 2012

“K9’s in it this week!”

When did you know?

In 2005, when "Doctor Who" came back, it could have been a disaster. Or an underwhelming disappointment like 1986. Or an unmemorable piece of TV like the Randall and Hopkirk reboot.

When did you know? Not just that it was good, great, but that it was going to be more successful than ever?

I used to work as a facilitator at a youth theatre in Surrey with a fantastic bunch of 8-12 year olds. I remember in 2005, telling them they should all watch this new series called "Doctor Who" starting this Saturday. Many did.

One girl in particular, who we'll call Annie, loved it. Every week, she'd excitedly talk to me about the previous Saturday's best bits. She'd be around 15 now but was 8 or 9 then. I loved that someone of that age was so into my show.

So it was working, it was good and it was popular. Then one day in April 2006, a revelation. At the start of the session, I hear Annie talking to a boy we'll call Lee about last Saturday's werewolf. Then she excitedly says the immortal words:

"And K9's in it this week!"

How do you know what K9 is? Why does his presence excite you? How are you already so mired in Who lore that the tin dog is a bigger draw than the Krillitanes?

Reminds me of season 20, when Nick Courtney was so much more exciting than mutants or giant dogs. Suddenly this wasn't just a tv show for Annie.

Suddenly it was "Doctor Who." And that's when I knew.