The Chase DVD, Addendum

Well, allegedly Harry Sullivan is an imbecile, but I'm not much better. I said that there were hardly any extras on the DVD of The Chase. Technically, I suppose, that's true; but there's a whole other DVD of extras in the same case, so it's probably a little harsh. What's more, I've even watched some of them! Ah well. To make up for my earlier blunder, here's an addendum with far more detail than I usually lavish on the extras.

Most of these are what my children call "talking heads" documentaries. Everybody is enthusiastic, and to an extent I can see why they put the one featuring Ray Cusick on the other disc as it has a very different feel.

The Thrill of The Chase opens the proceedings, and is, in the main, Richard Martin reminiscing about the making of the serial. He doesn't just repeat what he said on the commentary, which is good; and he's an entertaining raconteur. There is a feeling that here - at the end of his time working on the show - he had simply had enough. He believed that the Daleks had lost their initial punch, he was frustrated by the limitations of the studio cameras and hated some of the production decisions (such as the Aridian costumes). He tells the story of William Hartnell furiously declaiming that he wanted to work again, and I get the feeling that Hartnell wasn't alone!

Martin also claims that Terry Nation's scripts were little more than outlines, and that he spent a lot of time with Dennis Spooner bashing them into shape. I will be looking at similar claims when I get to the Daleks' next outing, so I'll postpone discussion of that until then.

Last Stop White City is up next, and we have the delightful sight of William Russell reading from the novelisation and The Time Travellers. I enjoyed that. The rest of the feature I will also save, this time for my Iananbarbara farewell post.

Daleks Conquer and Destroy and Daleks Beyond the Screen cover all the bases: what they were like to work with, the toys, comics, stage plays, audios and cartoons, along with Birtspeak and Dalek facts. The description of them as petulant panicky children struck a chord, while Rob Shearman mentioning Jim'll Fix It reminded me that there are some watershed moments when what one says in public changes. The shots of the new design were interesting to a neophyte Dalek builder, and the comments about how you need high or low shots for them to work made me think in terms of cinematography. Above all, what came through was the huge enthusiasm for the Daleks that existed at the time (Richard Martin's comments in the first feature notwithstanding).

Shawcraft: The Original Monster Makers was touching but with a few too many talking heads, while Follow That Dalek appealed to me because of nostalgia for the roads and houses of my childhood, even though the repeated sound effects were annoying. I was also interested to see how old Daleks work, and to see larvae guns, moon domes, and macra in colour.

The remaining extras are the Give-a-Show Slides, which I've covered in an earlier review; and the standard Photo Gallery. Isaac always likes these, and he provides a running commentary as if it were some sort of recon (often, for some reason, about the various people in the photos trying to get a decent cup of tea). Occasionally this works really well; I join in sometimes, as does my daughter, and it generally works better with two or three minds on the job. The actual content of the gallery here didn't grab me.

Overall, then, a mix; but despite some reservations I can say that this is an impressive collection of extras.

Next Time:
A glimpse of Iananbarbara's future in Distance. Zyquivilly!

Short Trips: 2013, Prologue

Rory stood on the gantry, arm in arm with his wife - his wife! - watching as the Doctor whirled around the TARDIS console like the centrepiece in some musical extravaganza, lights flashing and the intricate glass time rotor moving rhythmically up and down.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked, glancing sideways at Amy.

"What?"

She didn't take her eyes off the man below. The Time Lord. With his boundless energy and frightening intellect - not to mention his magical travelling box - he still held a fascination for her, one that Rory could never match; and yet she had ended up marrying him, the boy next door. The quiet, reliable, safe one. But maybe that was what marriages were for? Safety? Leaving the dangerous ones for... something else.

"Rory?"

Finally, she was looking at him. He realised he hadn't answered her question.

"Oh, it's just that... well, we're supposed to be heading back to Leadworth after our honeymoon in 'Thailand'. Why are we going shopping two years in the future?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "A year and a half, dummy. I want to get the best coming-home presents for everyone - mum, dad, Brian, Mels, everyone - and how can we be sure that what we get them won't be duplicated by anybody else? By finding something that hasn't gone on sale yet. In the January Sales of the future!" She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and started down the steps.

Rory was slow to follow, as usual. "But w-we're coming back in the summer," he muttered. "Nobody else is going to be handing out presents anyway." He headed after Amy, raising his voice. "And aren't we interfering with the web of time or something?"

It was the Doctor who answered. "Not if you're careful," he said, continuing his mad dance. "The secret of avoiding paradox is not to get caught. I've briefed Amy."

I bet you have, thought Rory. And why didn't you brief both of us? Because I'm just the husband.

With a flourish the Doctor threw a switch, and the pitch of the engines changed as the great machine materialised. "Here you are, the fourth of January 2013, 8:52AM. I've put her down in an alley just to the East of Hyde Park - handy for Harrods, on target for Oxford Road, and splendidly situated for the Serpentine." He looked up to see if anyone was going to appreciate his alliteration, but Amy ignored it to focus on the content of his speech rather than the form.

"So - good shops in the Serpentine, are there?"

The Doctor looked slightly put out. "I thought I might feed the ducks while I was waiting."

"Hang on," said Rory. "January the fourth? Shouldn't we be trying to catch the beginning of the sales? I mean, isn't that when you get the best deals?"

"Ah." The Doctor, avoiding his eyes, had the grace to look embarrassed. "I was rather hoping nobody would mention that. Actually I had my sights on last week, but for some reason the old girl decided not to co-operate. Didn't you, dear?" He patted the console fondly, still not looking at the Ponds.

Amy grinned, and grabbed Rory's arm. "No matter - it's good enough for me." She leaned in close, the scent of her doing things to his hindbrain that blotted out most conscious thought as she led him towards the exterior doors. "Come on, handsome. London awaits."

The Doctor, engrossed in fiddling with some apparently-random device on the console, raised a hand in acknowledgement. "No, no, you take Rory. I'm getting an odd reading here, I should probably look into it." The others exchanged knowing smiles and opened the doors.

Beyond, fog swirled: greasy, damp and cloying. The sounds of London were muffled into unintelligibility, adding another dimension to the eerie atmosphere. As they stepped out Amy raised her free arm; her hand dissolved into a vague blur.

She looked at her husband, a half-frown on her face. "They don't still have pea-soupers in London, do they?"

"I don't think so."

"Thought not. Right." She turned, and marched back inside. "Hey!" she yelled. "Doctor! How about you try again, and this time put us down in the right century, okay?"

He looked up and started to speak, but Rory was distracted by a voice close by. "Hello," he said; "who's there?" He could just make out a vaguely human shape in the fog, distorting like a reflection on the surface of a river. There was a muffled reply; he still couldn't make out the words. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that?" Rory took a step, two more, and the figure started to move away. "Wait!" he called; but then he heard Amy shouting behind him. He turned back towards the TARDIS, its exterior blurred almost to invisibility but with welcoming light coming from within.

The Doctor was calling to him, urgently, telling him to get back inside. Rory started to run, only to come up short against the TARDIS doors as they swung shut in his face.

"Okaay," he called, "Not very funny. Amy? Doctor? Let me in?"

As he fumbled for his key, he heard the all-too-familiar sound of the ship starting to dematerialise. "No! No, wait for me!" He hammered on the door until it was no longer a door but one more swirl in the fog. He let his arms drop to his sides, his fists unclench.

"Oh, perfect," he said.

* * *

The Doctor looked up as Amy stormed back into the TARDIS. He hadn't been listening, but now that his trouble detectors were sending his brain urgent signals he reran her words in his head. "Nonsense," he said, "it's definitely 2013."

"Yeah? Well that fog out there says otherwise, buster. Unless you know something we don't."

"Actually," he replied, "there's an awful lot I know that you don't. For instance, I bet you didn't know that on the planet Carallashda IV, the Republic of Goronthon once spent a whole nine months in eclipse because of a weather control experiment that went wrong. And five years after that-"

"Doctor..."

The tone in Amy's voice cut him off mid-speech. A shame, really, as he had quite a few choice anecdotes lined up. He swung the main display monitor round to show her.

"There you are. See? 2013."

She looked at the figures and deflated. "Oh." The Doctor was just starting to feel a little smug when she frowned again. "Hold on, this says July 2013."

"Does it?" The Doctor leaned sideways so he could see the screen as well. His mouth twisted for a moment as he took it in. "Well, January, July, it's still the right year. I'm sure it doesn't make that much difference?" There was something about the date that was troubling him, but he couldn't quite catch the thought.

Amy had put her hands on her hips - never a good sign. She was rolling her eyes, too. "Noo, no difference at all. I'm sure we'll find plenty of January Sale bargains on flippin' American Independence Day!" The last four words were shouted.

Independence Day. That was what Ace had said last year, all those lives ago. And now it was the fourth of July, 2013. As if on cue, the cloister bell began to ring. "No, no, no!" He turned his face towards the door; Rory wasn't visible. "Rory! We have to leave, now!"

"Doctor...?" Amy's voice was full of concern as she put a hand on his arm, but she snatched it away again almost immediately and sprinted for the doors, now swinging shut. A shadowy shape was visible through the crack as they slammed together. "Rory!"

The time rotor began its slow motion once more as the noise of the great engines filled the space inside the console room. Amy turned a despairing face to the Doctor; he had no words for her.

Soon - sooner than either of them expected - the sound ceased. Amy spoke at last, her voice controlled, only the slightest tremor hinting at the desperation he knew she must be feeling. "You've got to take me back, Doctor. Now. I am not leaving him behind again."

The Doctor was checking the readouts. "I know. But according to this, we haven't moved. We're occupying the same space-time coordinates we left a few moments ago."

"Then get these doors open."

"Amy, I think there's something more going on..."

"Open these doors now, Doctor!"

He sighed, and pushed the switch. Amy looked out across a gleaming cityscape on a bright summer's day. The roof of Buckingham Palace was just visible between two smooth, tall spires; flying cars streamed across the pale blue sky.

Short Trips: 2013

This is a fanfic project that won't actually be finished this year (if at all), but it has to start today (again, if at all) for reasons that some readers may figure out from the prologue. If you don't - and it does rely on one obscure reference - it will eventually come clear.

I've not yet decided whether to write everything myself or open it up to others. I'll make that decision before November.

I will prefix all the posts with Short Trips: 2013, so that it doesn't get confused with my ongoing Hartnell marathon.


Next up: the prologue!

Normal Service Will Be Resumed As Soon As Possible

For various reasons, I have found myself unable to write over the last two or three weeks - beyond the odd comment on GB or other blogs. As a result, this marathon has stalled.

The reasons are varied. Work around the house has taken up more than the usual amount of time, as we try to integrate the items we brought back from my late father-in-law's house. That has gone quite well, but there's still a lot to do. In addition I had to go to the magistrate's court to fight my ESA appeal. I won - again - but as a result of the stress I was unable to do anything but lie down for the next 24 hours, and am still recovering ten days later. It is also SATs this week, which affects me both as a parent of a Year 6 child and as a teaching assistant. (The combination is also awkward for the school, as there are only six children taking the Level 6 papers, including Isaac - so they have to find someone else to invigilate, as there's an obvious conflict of interest in me doing it!)

I might fit in a bonus review of some DVD extras for The Chase that I missed, but otherwise it will be at least a week before I post anything. Take care!

Short Trips, Companions 5.02: The Splintered Gate, by Justin Richards

This is the second short story by Justin Richards that I've reviewed in this marathon, and neither of them have featured William Hartnell's Doctor. The first was a "Dr Who" story based on Peter Cushing's filmography; this one is a character piece featuring Ian Chesterton. Coincidence? I think there's more to it than that.

Richards is a prolific writer who has a long history of association with the book line. Since 1994 he has written more than 25 novels, at least 24 short stories, 16 audios, several non-fiction books, and two graphic novels - and that's not including a number of items due to come out later this year, or his non-Who work! He has also acted as BBC Books editor (as well as editing two of the Virgin Decalog books), and is currently creative consultant for the line. In all that time he has not written for the first Doctor. I think this must be down to preference: he's not written for the third Doctor either, and his only seventh Doctor piece was Theatre of War, his first novel (and so the book that got his foot in the door at Virgin).

Fair enough. Everyone has their favourites. But if so, why write this? I am particularly puzzled because I have always found Richards to be a solid writer and this is, frankly, not very good.

The thing is, if you're going to write a character piece featuring Ian Chesterton, the main character needs to feel right. He doesn't. It's set before An Unearthly Child and people change, but not like this. Ian is willing to see a fortune-teller (unlikely), and when he doesn't like what she tells him he decides to withhold payment (more unlikely) - but she grabs the money, so he steals her crystal ball (out of the question)! It is also implied that he later becomes more open to the supernatural.

Barbara, meanwhile, appears briefly as the animated hostess of a party, with a reputation for never keeping still. Possible, I suppose, but it doesn't match up with my picture of her.

I can only find one way of reading this and making it fit at all with the characters I have in my head, and that's making use of the idea of the unreliable narrator. Even there, it would require Ian to be going through a period of depression (I almost said "self-loathing"), since the flaws he describes in himself make him sound like an insensitive git. And while he isn't perfect, even in my mind, a git he most certainly isn't! What could have brought about this foul mood? I've one thought, virtually incompatible with a statement in The Sarah Jane Adventures. But more on that in my next review.

Sadly, I only thought of this after I'd finished the story; and its power in retrospect was too little to improve my enjoyment. On the plus side, I found the prose well written, and there are some nice images. But I can't help thinking that they are the wrong images.

Published:
Date: March 2003
ISBN: 1-84435-006-1

Rating:
2.5/10.

Next Time:
Hopefully the next part of Ian's Tale, though there might be a short delay.

Ian's Tale, Part 1

Come in! Sit yourself down. You'll have to forgive the mess, I'm in the middle of marking papers.

Marking. If anyone had told me when I entered teaching that I'd still be doing that all these years later, I'd either have laughed in their face or run a mile! Nowadays, I actually enjoy it. I'm happy to be helping new generations of students, and there's something quite calming about the process. It's the opposite of tutorials, really, which serve to keep me on my toes. No matter how the fashions, slang and politics change, people are just the same underneath; and they can always surprise you.

To be honest, I'm just grateful to the college for not trying to get rid of me - I don't produce many papers of my own any more! But I suppose I've become something of a fixture. In fact, there was a joke going around some years ago that I never changed, never aged. That was back when Barbara -

But you didn't come to hear an old man rambling on about his quiet life here in Cambridge, did you? You're here for a story from my travelling days. A story about the Doctor.

Well. I remember one occasion, when we landed in a valley in the middle of a vast tropical rainforest, or "jungle" as we'd say back then. At first we thought we were in a town, but the "streets" turned out to be the remains of tunnels created by some creature. This was when Susan - the Doctor's granddaughter - was still travelling with us. The two of them had gone off a little way to explore, while I went back to the ship with Barbara. It was hot - hot and sticky, because it was so very humid. I still had my jacket and tie on, and was sweating hard. It all seems a bit silly now, but at the time I felt that, unless there was a really compelling reason not to, dressing in clothes appropriate for a teacher from Coal Hill school was important, almost an act of defiance. I was making a statement about where I was from, that I would maintain my standards until we got back home. Sometimes, though, I took it a little too far; and Barbara had persuaded me that this was one of those times.

As we stepped through the door cool air hit me, and I felt a sudden wave of relief. I shrugged out of my jacket and hung it on the hatstand; my shirt was stained with sweat, dark patches under my arms and (from the feel of it) on my back as well. I looked at Barbara apologetically. "Sorry," I said, "I should have listened to you earlier."

"Oh, I don't know," she replied, "It looks quite manly."

She had that little smile she used when she was teasing me. Or half-teasing - I could never quite tell how much was a joke, and it always threw me off-balance. She was still doing it years later, but I grew wise to her ways: after a few decades of married life she'd only catch me out, oh, two-thirds of the time?

Anyway, I muttered something about changing my shirt and she said she'd start getting a hamper together. I forgot to mention, our main reason for returning to the TARDIS had been to prepare a picnic. We should have known that something so normal just wasn't going to happen! I'd barely stepped through the inner door of the control room when the whole ship started to shake. I braced myself against the wall; Barbara, just behind me, held on to the doorframe. It only lasted a moment and wouldn't have done anything worse than rattle a few ornaments, but we both knew the picnic was off.

"Come on," I said, "let's fetch the others and get out of here."

We stepped back out into the oppressive heat and headed after the Doctor and Susan, walking quickly but carefully so that we wouldn't trip on the rubble scattered about, the remains of the papery tunnel roof whose collapse had opened this alley to the sky.

"At least we know why this place is in the state it is," I observed. "Trust the Doctor to land us in an earthquake zone!" As if on cue the ground shook again, no mere warning this time but a full-fledged quake. Memories of the Richter Scale came to mind, unbidden, and I found myself thinking that this must be a 6 or 7 when the last one hadn't even made a 4.

Barbara grabbed hold of me, but I wasn't any more stable myself. "Get down!" I shouted, and we lowered ourselves to the ground - again, quickly but carefully. No sooner had we done so than the air was filled with a huge roaring, cracking sound, and a cloud of dust appeared at the end of the alley - from around the corner where the others had gone.

"Susan!" yelled Barbara, and she staggered to her feet, stumbling forward. I had no choice but to follow. Fortunately the quake was subsiding already, and we managed to avoid injuring ourselves.

The scene as we rounded the corner took me back to my teenage years, growing up during the Blitz. As the dust cleared and I could make out the full extent of the damage a sense of dread filled me: I was sure we'd lost them this time. Still, we moved forward, searching and calling, until - joy of joys - Barbara heard an answering cry.

"Susan! Are you alright? Is the Doctor with you?" I could just make out the hole through which they'd fallen.

"What did she say, Barbara? I couldn't hear."

She turned, and I could tell from her expression that she felt the same sense of relief as I. "Susan says they're both fine. Ian, they're okay!"

"Well! They've certainly had a lucky escape. If they'd still been up here when that roof came down they'd have been flattened."

"I don't suppose they'll be feeling too lucky right now," she replied. "They are stuck down there, after all."

I sighed, theatrically. "Some people just don't know when they're well off. I'd better fetch some rope from the ship."

"And be quick about it, my man," added Barbara in her best Lady Muck voice, arching one eyebrow.

I started happily back towards the TARDIS as Barbara called out to reassure the others; but almost immediately there was another tremor. It wasn't too severe, but everything was still shaken up from the main event. I turned, and saw a pile starting to slide just behind Barbara, who was still squatting by the hole.

"Look out!" I cried, and she threw herself to the side. I grabbed her, pulled her away, and we both dived for the ground and covered our heads with our arms as the world fell away behind us.

"Well, well," said a gruff voice. "What have we here? Runaways?"

I looked up into the business end of a high-tech rifle, held by a tall figure in grey armour. A second armoured figure stepped up beside him, prodded me in the leg with a boot, and made a swift gesture to his colleague.

"Kill them," he said.

Next Time:
A glimpse of Iananbarbara's past in The Splintered Gate.

A Callback to Susan's Tale

For anyone who wants to read or reread Susan's Tale before moving on to Ian's, here are the links:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4a Part 4b Part 5 Author's Notes

It's not essential, because they are independent stories; but they are also heavily interconnected, working together to describe one adventure. Basically, if this were a televised serial the stories would be interleaved, cutting between the two strands. I haven't written it like that because at first I was mostly interested in Susan's inner dialogue - and as I write this I am getting more involved with Ian's, too, though his half is still focused more on the action.

You will eventually notice that they don't quite fit. I hadn't planned Ian's role when I wrote Susan's, and there isn't enough time there to fit in everything that will happen here. That's the peril of serialised writing without an overall plan! If all goes well I will revise it all at the end and post them in The Land of Fiction.

I know most of my readers don't like the fanfic, but some do - and I will be interleaving with some reviews. Enjoy or ignore as you will.