INDEX FILE

The First Doctor

An Unearthly Child (1963)

Written by Anthony Coburn

Directed by Waris Hussein

The Big Idea Schoolteachers Ian Chesterton and Barbara Wright are puzzled by their pupil Susan Foreman. They follow her home to a junkyard containing a police box — and wind up in the Stone Age.

Hmm? (RS?) Everyone knows how amazing that first episode is. It’s a landmark piece of television, it’s slick and polished, and it introduces the concept of the series to viewers in a sensational way. It’s a bit of a cliché to say that the first story consists of one brilliant introductory episode and three episodes of dull running around caves, trying to make fire. I want to take a moment to point out the joys of the other three episodes.

For one thing, the story plunges right into the alienness. All of Ian’s protests about the abilities of the TARDIS are swept away in seconds, because he’s standing in a forest at the dawn of time, where 15 minutes earlier he was in a twentieth-century junkyard. Add to that a beautiful speech by the Doctor — “If you could touch the alien sand and hear the cries of strange birds and watch them wheel in another sky, would that satisfy you?” — just moments before he opens the TARDIS doors to let Ian see for himself, and you have a second episode that’s worth it for that moment alone.

For another, you’ve got the moment when the TARDIS crew are trying to escape, but the caveman Za is wounded and slowing them down. And the nascent Doctor, this crotchety old alien we don’t yet know, picks up a rock and hovers over him with it. It’s only when Ian grabs his arm and asks what he is doing that he stops. The implication is clear: the Doctor was about to kill an innocent man simply for being in the way. There’s another broader implication too: that the Doctor doesn’t yet have the moral centre that he’ll come to, suggesting that he gains it from his human companions. That right there is an awesome reason to love the third episode.

Finally, you’ve got the Doctor masterfully playing the crowd in the fourth episode, as the tribe discovers the old woman’s death and accuses Za of killing her. Whereupon the Doctor steps up, pointing out that Za’s knife has no blood on it; when Kal challenges that point, the Doctor boasts about what an incredible knife Za has, whereupon Kal’s pride forces him to pull out his own knife … thereby revealing the blood on it. It’s like courtroom drama with flickering torches, and it’s the first moment we see the Doctor becoming the triumphant Doctor we know, standing up for what’s right by being smarter than anyone else in the room.

It’s not just those isolated moments either. This three-part story has a punishing tone to it, one that makes a bunch of humans on Earth as dangerous, unpredictable and alien as any monster story to follow. Yes, the entire tale is a disjointed melding of two very different stories. But the second of those stories has much to offer and, arguably, has as much to say about what’s to follow as its predecessor does.

Second Opinion (GB) There are television shows where the first episode serves as a template of how things will go from then on. Then there are television shows where the first episode is nothing like what it becomes. Doctor Who is in the latter category. There’s no monster; the Doctor is harsh, mean, unheroic and downright cold-blooded (he isn’t even called “the Doctor” until the second episode); the adventure they’re on isn’t an adventure — it’s an ordeal shown in terrifying detail; and the focus of the first episode is on a schoolgirl and her teachers.

However, while it’s definitely not what Doctor Who would later become, in many ways you can see early glimmers of that later program in this story. When Barbara steps through the doors of the police box, we finally see the full-blooded imagination behind the show, and things transform from mundane to quite remarkable. The Doctor isn’t the Doctor as we’ll know him, but William Hartnell puts so much into the part that he’s still compelling. The mystery of Susan and how it’s shown (through flashbacks, something Doctor Who wouldn’t do much of for the next 26 years), as well as its subsequent resolution, is why that first episode has eclipsed the remaining three for decades.

“An Unearthly Child” is Doctor Who both becoming and not quite becoming the show we know and love. And it’s utterly enthralling as a result.

The Edge of Destruction (1964)

Written by David Whitaker

Directed by Richard Martin and Frank Cox

The Big Idea The Doctor and his companions are trapped within a malfunctioning TARDIS that seems to be trying to kill them.

Hmm? (GB) In the language of television, “bottle episodes” are when, to save money, an episode takes place on a standing set, often with no additional cast. They’re a common occurrence in most dramas, but Doctor Who has only done it twice in 50 years. The first, and major, occurrence was a two-part serial featuring only the regular cast on the TARDIS set.

For years, popular lore was that this was done as a cost-saving or logistical measure because sets weren’t ready (or were too expensive) for the next story, “Marco Polo.” Later research revealed that the story was always on deck as a character study, which makes a lot of sense. The first two serials found the human companions mistrustful of the Doctor, and vice versa, but this arrangement probably wasn’t sustainable in the long term. This story sought to clear the air and establish a new status quo.

However, what I haven’t said about “The Edge of Destruction” yet is that … it’s totally and completely whacked.

The basic plot involves a faulty switch on the TARDIS that’s hurtling the time machine back to the creation of the universe. Rather than simply display an error message, the TARDIS instead attempts to drive its occupants mad — the story opens with Susan attempting to stab Ian with a pair of scissors — while dropping oblique clues. The result sees the series regulars performing a play Harold Pinter might have written had he been interested in science fiction or drunk a lot of absinthe.

It’s totally strange and bewildering, but it’s actually kind of cool too. The Doctor’s paranoia is off the charts, while Ian and Barbara have to get him to trust them. The drama is gripping and unforgettable. Jacqueline Hill has the best scene as Barbara gets in the Doctor’s face about his selfishness and ingratitude over the past two stories, while William Russell is brilliant at getting the Doctor to move past his suspicion and see the actual problem that’s occurring with the TARDIS. William Hartnell gives an incredible performance that takes in distrust, outrage, murderous intent and deviousness before getting to a brilliant monologue wherein he solves the problem.

All this takes him to the final point — that Ian and Barbara are his friends — and he has this lovely, touching rapprochement with Barbara, and it all feels, surprisingly, earned.

There probably isn’t a more bizarre story in Doctor Who than “The Edge of Destruction,” but that bizarreness creates intense and highly watchable drama. It’s an experiment never repeated but fascinating nonetheless.

Second Opinion (RS?) This is the story that creates the Doctor as we know him. Previously we’d seen him as a crotchety anti-hero who kidnapped humans and was prepared to brain innocent cavemen or put everyone at risk to satisfy his curiosity. This story amps that up to 11 as the Doctor threatens to put Ian and Barbara off the ship. But it also comes full circle as the Doctor comes to realize not only that what’s happening isn’t their fault but just how damaging his accusations have been.

This comes to a head at the end of the first episode when Barbara, full of righteous anger, steps up and directly calls the Doctor on his crap. She tells him he’s a stupid old man. She reminds him that she and Ian saved him from both the Daleks and from the cavemen. She tells him he should get down on his hands and knees and thank them. It’s a brilliant speech. And what does he do in response? He immediately drugs everyone (including his granddaughter) with a sleeping draught.

Then, in the second episode, after things have gone from bad to worse, they’re forced to work together to solve the problem. And when it turns out to be a tiny fault in the machinery, not only does the Doctor apologize in the moment, he goes back for it later. When Barbara asks why he cares what she thinks, he tells her, “As we learn about each other, so we learn about ourselves.”

It’s a pivotal line. Because it changes the Doctor from a selfish old man who only cares about himself and his granddaughter to one who cares about others. From this moment on, the TARDIS crew works as a team, never having the same internal conflict. And the Doctor becomes the embodiment of morality, looking out for the underdog and championing the oppressed. All thanks to Barbara and the lesson he learned in this little two-part bottle story.

The Dalek Invasion of Earth (1964)

Written by Terry Nation

Directed by Richard Martin

The Big Idea The TARDIS lands in London in the 22nd century — and Daleks are now the masters of Earth.

Hmm? (GB) Throughout these index files, we’re going to be presenting you with some key moments when Doctor Who changed, for good or for ill. “The Dalek Invasion of Earth” is one such moment.

This is the story in which the Daleks transform from one-off monsters to a recurring foe. To do that, a lot of handwaving is performed: the pepperpots’ first story saw them trapped in a single city; now they’re a planet-conquering race with spaceships and the means to turn humans into robotic slaves.

This changes the Doctor as well, because he suddenly goes from this dotty scientist who randomly travels through time and space to the sort of man who has arch enemies. To his credit, the Doctor wears this change rather well; in “The Daleks,” he was often as terrified as everyone else; here he’s standing up to the Daleks from the get-go.

“The Dalek Invasion of Earth” works partially because of the visuals: the extended location sequences (previously unheard of on Doctor Who) of the Daleks occupying future London (albeit a barely disguised future) are surprisingly effective. The Second World War was just in the rear-view mirror of Britain, so the landscape of instructional posters — “It is forbidden to dump bodies in the river” — deserted streets, rations, black marketeers and a scared populace had a real punch in 1964, and it still works today.

It’s a tricky story: it opens with high stakes as soon as the Dalek emerges from the Thames at the end of episode one, while the final episodes have a lot of tension as the four time travellers try to avert the Daleks’ plan to destroy the Earth’s core. In between those two points is a lot of stalling in order to get all the pieces from the outskirts to the centre of the Daleks’ operations — and keep them alive. Fortunately, Terry Nation excels at writing tiny set pieces that are surprisingly effective: Dortmun’s sacrifice is poignant, in part because of the way Nation thoughtfully built up the character over several episodes. And there are several great moments like that, most of them with Barbara, who is the perfect gateway character for these glimpses of life under occupation.

It’s a good swansong for Carole Ann Ford, who, as an actress, was better than the material given to her as Susan — and who barely had anything to work with in the first place. It’s 1964, so the way to write out a female companion is to — surprise, surprise — marry her off, even though she’s a teenager! And yet, Ford makes Susan’s almost inexplicable pairing with David seem credible. William Hartnell has the thankless job of making the Doctor’s “tough love” abandonment of Susan seem like a heartfelt, loving gesture. And he actually makes it work.

With “The Dalek Invasion of Earth,” Doctor Who in one fell swoop becomes a series with recurring villains, a hero at the ready to take on those foes and lead characters who would depart from time to time. In short, it becomes closer to the show we know and love.

Second Opinion (RS?) My co-author is wrong. Hartnell doesn’t just make that final farewell to Susan work, he knocks it out of the park. The speech that the Doctor gives at the end of this story may be one of the most powerful in all of Doctor Who. Rightly famous for the “one day, I shall come back” parts that were re-used in “The Five Doctors” (and An Adventure in Space and Time), it’s worth noting that the full speech is quite magnificent. The Doctor points out that as much as he’s been taking care of his granddaughter, she’s been taking care of him. He notes that she would never voluntarily leave a silly old buffer like him, so he has to force her hand. And so, having overheard how much she loves David, he double-locks the doors.

What’s particularly impressive about this speech is that Terry Nation had only scripted the bare bones of it, so Hartnell ad-libbed much of it. And it’s utterly perfect. I can recite it over and over again, usually followed in my head by an ethereal “whoosh” as I imagine the ’80s credits from “The Five Doctors” kicking in.

And yet, the Doctor never does go back for Susan. Sure, she meets him again briefly when she is time-scooped for the show’s twentieth anniversary. But even when he could subsequently steer the TARDIS, he never returns. This theme of the Doctor not wanting to return for his former companions — even those he loved dearly — is one that eventually plays out in “School Reunion.” (As Graeme says, “The Dalek Invasion of Earth” establishes several of the Doctor’s essential characteristics.) And I think Susan knows he won’t be back for her, since she drops her TARDIS key on the ground and simply walks away. Because she knows the fundamental nature of the Doctor: he’s a man who runs away. And all the speeches in the universe won’t change that.

The Romans (1965)

Written by Dennis Spooner

Directed by Christopher Barry

The Big Idea The Doctor and Vicki travel to Rome to meet Nero. Unbeknownst to them, Ian and Barbara are also there. But the Doctor soon discovers that, while Rome wasn’t built in a day, it burnt down in considerably less time.

Hmm? (RS?) The Hartnell era has a reputation for being slow and ponderous, with scenes that take forever and a sense that the TARDIS crew never met a wall they didn’t want to investigate for five minutes to see what it was made of.

And then you have “The Romans,” just about the slickest comedy imaginable. It has it all. There’s the high farce of Ian and Barbara being in Rome at the same time as the Doctor and Vicki but the two groups never meeting. There’s the hilariously slimy Nero, continually trying it on with Barbara and failing. There’s the Doctor improvising madly, comically beating up assassins and “performing” on the lyre. And there are serious moments too, such as Ian being sold into slavery, forced into hard labour on board a galleon, shipwrecked and made to fight his friend.

There’s also witty dialogue, like “Oh, the child, she travels with me. She keeps her eye on all the lyres.” Or Nero’s “Now close your eyes and Nero will give you a big surprise” and Barbara’s brilliantly timed “Pardon?” in response. Or, when Nero wants to talk to the Doctor but is too busy chasing Barbara and so runs off, the Doctor exclaims, “What an extraordinary fellow!” Hartnell’s comic timing is superb, as is Derek Francis’s, making their scenes together a joy to watch.

Oh, and if you’re looking to ship Ian and Barbara, there’s no better episode in which to do it. They lounge around in the villa in the opening moments, Ian eating grapes and Barbara doing his hair. It’s about as post-coital as Doctor Who ever gets; the fact that it happens in the ’60s is just mindblowing.

The story prior to this was “The Rescue,” which was a murder mystery with one suspect. The subsequent story is “The Web Planet,” an all-alien tale at the speed of treacle, with characters standing (or flying) around for what seem like hours at a time. But in between you have “The Romans,” which moves like greased lightning and is confident, postmodern and hilarious. It’s head and shoulders above just about everything around it and is probably my favourite William Hartnell story. You really can’t go wrong with this one.

Second Opinion (GB) There’s a moment in episode three of “The Romans” when a bumbling aide to Nero, who’s been underfoot the whole time, finally gets his comeuppance. The Doctor rushes in to warn Nero that his drink might have been poisoned and, after the Doctor leaves, Nero gives the drink to his aide, who promptly dies. It’s a demented, disturbing and unbelievably funny payoff to a brilliant running gag. It may be one of the funniest things in 50 years of Doctor Who.

But that’s “The Romans” all over. The first story of the regime of Doctor Who’s second script editor, Dennis Spooner, and it seems like nothing less than a manifesto of what Doctor Who can be. It’s the format-busting comedy episode that all great dramatic TV shows have (“The Trouble with Tribbles,” “Pine Barrens,” “Jose Chung’s ‘From Outer Space,’” “The Zeppo,” “Love & Monsters” … ), but in this case it had huge repercussions as everyone realized that Doctor Who was born to do comedy. The pacing in Dennis Spooner’s script is brilliant, and the gags are Monty Pythonesque — before there was a Monty Python. William Hartnell and Jacqueline Hill are revealed to be gifted comic actors. When most people think comedic performances in Who, they think of Tom Baker. They should be thinking of Hartnell, who is unbelievably funny and can milk a scene for all it’s worth without any histrionics. And as much as Derek Francis is great with the broad comedy, there are several chilling moments when it’s clear his Nero is just plain crazy scary.

I think Doctor Who fans should commemorate January 16 (the day the first episode was broadcast) in honour of this story and what it did for Doctor Who. Without this story, we wouldn’t have had Doctor Who as we know it. We could call it — wait for it — “Romans” Holiday.

Um … hello? Is this thing on?

The Ark (1966)

Written by Paul Erickson and Lesley Scott

Directed by Michael Imison

The Big Idea The Doctor, Steven and Dodo travel to the far future to find humans escaping the destruction of the Earth — and nearly wipe out humanity with the common cold. Seven hundred years later, that cold causes the humans to be enslaved by their former servants.

Hmm? (GB) In 1966, a BBC director named Michael Imison was coming to the end of his initial contract. The BBC weren’t overly fond of him, but Imison was determined to prove his worth to the powers that be. Assigned a middling four episodes on the lower-prestige Doctor Who, Imison decided to push the envelope as far as he could.

Really, it’s Imison’s eye-popping work on “The Ark” that stands out more than anything. Imison didn’t let anything stop him: not the ridiculous costume design, the silly-looking Monoids, not even the script, which starts out full of serious intent and ends in generic sci-fi clichés. “The Ark,” in spite of all these flaws and more (the budget refuses to stretch to both a jail and a kitchen, so prisoners work in the “security kitchen”!) is still a visual feast of great action sequences, cool visuals, loads of background performers, a real elephant on set, awesome camera angles and a story that looks so much better than it actually is. And Imison did this in 1966, during an era when Doctor Who was otherwise shot “as live” in continuous sequences like a stage play. (Unsurprisingly, Imison was the first director to employ out-of-sequence shooting in Doctor Who.)

In fairness, the deficiencies of the story aren’t really obvious at first. “The Ark” rests on a stunningly great idea, especially for the serialized era it was made in: after a seeming two-episode story where, at the end, the Doctor and his party leave a giant space ship, they arrive … back on the spaceship, only hundreds of years into the future, when the ship is now under the control of the alien servants. (This was an even bigger deal back in the days when Who was serialized and no one knew precisely when one story ended and another began.) If that conceit wasn’t brilliant enough, writer Paul Erickson doubled down by having the first two episodes deal with the fallout of the time travellers bringing the common cold with them and consequently almost wiping out the last of humanity.

But that’s all Erickson had. The second half of the story has the intriguing idea of the servants becoming masters, but does nothing except make them two-dimensional Doctor Who baddies. By the time we get to the godlike invisible aliens, the hopes of the first two episodes are lost to the Doctor Who Cliché Bingo that’s underway (under the B, we have the Judas figure sacrificing himself … ). It’s a good thing it’s a great story for the Doctor, who is the calm at the centre of the tempests between the human Guardians, the Monoids and the Refusians.

Ultimately, though, Michael Imison’s contract wasn’t renewed. It’s the sort of ending that doesn’t seem just, but then “The Ark” is frustrating that way.

Second Opinion (RS?) Doctor Who fans are amazingly intelligent creatures. We’re always looking into the nooks and crannies of old episodes, taking them apart to see what makes them tick. And, having examined episodes of old 1960s television in forensic detail — to a degree far greater than the original writers, story editors, directors or actors ever did — sometimes we see things that they missed.

“The Ark” is a case in point. As my co-author mentions, there’s a stunning trick at its core, one of the all-time great cliffhangers: the TARDIS has landed in the same spot at a different time. But, as my friend Andy Wixon has pointed out, how much better would it have been if the timezones had been reversed?

Suddenly, everything snaps into place. The Doctor could spend the first two episodes helping free enslaved humans from Monoids and discovering that the root of all this was back in prehistory, when strange travellers came aboard the Ark and infected the humans with a cold. That sets up a mystery we don’t even know is going to be solved until the mid-story cliffhanger, when the TARDIS lands back on the Ark again … only 700 years earlier, and we learn that it’s the Doctor’s companion who transmitted the cold in the first place. Even the racist undertone of the oppressed becoming the oppressor and needing to be overthrown again would be a little more palatable this way (okay, only a little).

Just about the only set piece that wouldn’t translate is the reveal of the statue with the Monoid face, but that’s only there to show you how much time has passed. What “The Ark” does is display the sheer scope of possibility that time travel affords. And those possibilities are quite impressive. But, as Andy pointed out, had they just gone one step further, those possibilities would have been not merely impressive, but downright stupendous.

As Graeme says, that’s “The Ark” all over. Clever, but frustrating.