Doctor Who and Absurdism
OK, I know that Nick is supposed to the Doctor Who expert, but I couldn’t help noticing how different the writing and design were in the final seasons, compared to those when the show was at its peak (late Tom Baker/Peter Davison). (My own arbitrary designation: but Tom Baker was my doctor.)
Granted, much of Sylvester McCoy’s defining melancholy was probably a retrospective projection from devastated fans who didn’t realise (fortunately) that they only had to wait 16 years for the next episode. And it did provide a fitting tone for the show’s long decline.
But the style I am talking about started (at least) with the Trial of a Timelord meta-series: while the early episodes were quite conventional, even a bit prosaic, the climax of the series takes place in the Timelord’s Matrix—a computer archive of all timelords (living and dead) thoughts and experiences. Here someone with enough will and power, such as The Master, can create their own reality. This allowed the show’s producers to dispense with conventional reality and create a design that was—at times—quite surreal.
From this point, the writing and—especially—the design departed from the usual television drama fair. The Happiness Patrol was notable for its stark, minimalist sets, that would have looked more appropriate on the stage than on television, while Earl Sigma—with blues harmonica—would appear serenading the empty boards like a character in a Beckett play.
This post-Brechtian theme reached its apotheosis with The Greatest Show in the Galaxy, where the artificiality of the sets was actualised: not only in the billowing canvas of the big-top, but in the desolate sands of the planet. That it was absurd for a fruit-seller with horse-drawn carriage (the show’s “everywoman”) to camp daily in the deserted wastes is no longer important: the writers are confident that viewers will identify the morality-tale origins of the character, and not complain about the lack of realism.
And this leads to my point: these final episodes show a clear allegiance to the Theatre of the Absurd. The minimal sets; archetypes rather than characters—the chief clown and the Candyman; and continuing themes of meaninglessness and repetition ( Greatest Show, Paradise Towers, Ghost Light), are all aspects of this philosophy. While I would not claim that Absurdism underlies the show (almost invariably the theme of Doctor Who—if there is one—is optimistic), certain obvious stylistic elements have been introduced: perhaps to make the show look a little more “literary”, or perhaps they were running out of ideas. It doesn’t matter: for me, it lent a melencholy dignity to the final episodes of the show, and demonstrated that Doctor Who was about more than just good and evil and a ridiculous blue box. It spoke to the human condition in all its confusion and absurdity.
Your Comments
Nick Caldwell writes:
Some free-wheeling thoughts follow:
The McCoy Era’s script editor, Andrew Cartmel, cited the more “literary” 80s comic writers like Alan Moore as templates for the show.
It’s possible to detect absurdism and overt surrealism in earlier stories, of course. In particular, “The Celestial Toymaker” and “The Mind Robber” take place in dream-world environments populated by fictional characters come to life.
I regretfully note that sad fans who think Doctor Who is some kind of pinnacle of realist drama tend to detest “The Happiness Patrol” when it’s surely one of the most politically charged, adult, and intelligent Doctor Who stories ever, and in many ways a totally unacknowledged template for the new Russell T. Davies version.
Posted: 6 02 2006 - 17:53 | Permanent link to this comment
jebni writes:
I haven’t been watching the Doctor Who reruns on the ABC, but I do remember that last season freaking me OUT with its oddly distant, dreamlike tone. And it’s immediately identifiable—the other day I caught a few seconds of what I dimly remember as “Survival”, which I hadn’t seen since it was originally televised, and even though it was a scene with a couple of guest players with no science fiction cues, I immediately exclaimed, “McCoy-era Doctor Who!”. I think it’s more than absurdism though—its temporal fragmentation feels hyper-allegorical, and reminds me of Raul Ruiz’s films more than anything else, or even that more contemporary ITV soapie, Night and Day. I never caught much of the latter, but the most interesting thing about it was that I wasn’t sure if it was great or utter crap! Which is what I thought of McCoy era Doctor Who at the time…
I also think it’s wonderful that people like Kate Orman and Ben Aaronovitch got to play with McCoy’s Doctor in the subsequent New Adventures novels, pushing his character further into cruel, bizarro trickster territory.
Posted: 15 02 2006 - 12:45 | Permanent link to this comment
Nick Caldwell writes:
Ah, Ben Aaronovitch! I’ll always treasure the email he sent me (well, I would if I could find it) after I’d correctly identified a well-hidden Terry Pratchett reference in The Also People (an Iain M. Banks novel in the Doctor Who universe—how can you go wrong).
Most of the writers of the McCoy era have kind of disappeared, but Aaronovitch’s minimalist career post-Who is a real and particular disappointment. I’d defend Transit against anyone, for its playful raiding of Who history and its attempt to inject African tropes into the post-cyberpunk SF novel. And The Also People rocks very hard. But so little since!
Posted: 15 02 2006 - 23:22 | Permanent link to this comment
jebni writes:
Hmmm. On the subject of Who, you might find this amusing.
Posted: 19 02 2006 - 17:22 | Permanent link to this comment
Nick Caldwell writes:
Oh, well done. That’s delightful.
To prove that I am actually still thinking about my PhD, I’ll note that I was struck by this comment:
I’m interested in the kind of interpretative practices of these kinds of comment—what they reveal about the casual knowledge and discourses that surround mainstream consumption of Doctor Who’s special effects. I should be keeping a log.
Posted: 20 02 2006 - 18:47 | Permanent link to this comment
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