Chapter The 28th, one where Tom's really putting the effort in, now.
Plot:
In Von Daniken style-ee, the ancient gods of Egypt turn out to be very powerful aliens; during a big war, the main nice one Horus defeated the main nasty one Sutekh, but had moral qualms about actually killing him. So, he imprisoned Sutekh instead in a pyramid in Egypt, somehow kept immobile and controlled by a power source on Mars, the Eye of Horus. Not literally his eye, of course, that would be hideous.
In 1911, archaeologist Marcus Scarman stumbles into Sutekh's hiding place and becomes controlled by him. Somehow, an ancient society of Sutekh worshippers exists in Cairo and somehow they have lots of useful equipment like robot mummies and bomb parts. Somehow all this equipment is transported to Scarman's estate in England, including a sarcophagus that's really a disguised portal into a time-space tunnel. Scarman arrives from Egypt through this portal, puts a forcefield around the house, and then kills every person in the grounds bar two: the Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith, who have been dragged there off course on route to UNIT HQ. Somehow.
Context:
Watched the DVD, an episode every so often over the course of about a week. It was just me and the Better Half as the kids were not interested, though middle child (boy of 6) wandered in at one dramatic point and said "dun-dun-dahhhnn!!!!" without any hint of sarcasm.
First-time round:
First-time round:
In those early days, though, it was not a case of rushing somewhere to snap it up on the day of release. Distribution, just as with Doctor Who Magazine, was hit and miss. My school friend and fellow fan Dominic had a source. He'd bought Revenge of the Cybermen, the first ever title, for himself from a shop near where he lived, and had then sold it to me second-hand a little while after, deciding he'd watched it enough. Before that, I'd found The Seeds of Death in a WHSmiths when I was staying at my Dad's. Unlike Dominic, I did not find (still have not found) the point where I have "watched enough". I must have viewed and reviewed those two tapes so many times in those first few months of owning them. One day in the Summer holidays, Dominic contacted me breathless with news: there was a new video in the shop near him: Pyramids of Mars. Did I want him to buy it for me? I did, I did, I did.
The videos in those days were edited together to remove all the beginning and end credits of the middle episodes, plus scenes that might offend like the Doctor measuring things with his scarf and doing some mental calculations. There were indeed some odd cuts in that original edited version, but I watched it so much, and so happily, it became for me the default. The unedited version was released on tape in 1994. A long time ago, but even now seeing a section that wasn't part of that original experience, it still leaps out at me.
Reaction:
Pyramids of Mars is one of those stories that have been held in very high esteem by fandom for longer than I've been a fan, so it's very hard to watch without prejudice - especially when memories of those heady enthusiastic days I first got to own and replay this story clearly still colour my enjoyment to this day. This time, I tried to watch with a critical eye.
The plot, as a cursory examination of the synopsis above will show you, is illogical and convoluted. Does it matter? The writing has to jump through lots of hoops to justify why the action is happening in a priory house in Edwardian England, rather than in Cairo. Yes, it's fun, and in keeping with some films of the 'Mummy's curse' genre, to have the horrors following the archaeological adventurers into the incongruous world of stately homes and poachers. Plus, the Beeb is better at doing fusty English drawing rooms than it would be doing pyramids and Egyptian bazaars in TC3. Unfortunately, the resolution of the drama is inextricably linked to the mechanism of travelling between the two locales, which makes it more difficult to forgive.
Many Doctor Who stories - hell, many of any kind of stories - have been built on shakier ground than this, though, and for the first three episodes the story just whizzes by with one visually impressive scene after another. I doubt anyone at the time would have been wondering about why, when and where any of these events are occurring; instead they'd have been too busy being impressed by the design of the Mummies, who - with their sunken eyes and bulbous chest units - are striking and memorable. Watching the scenes as they stalk various characters through the woodland grounds is very exciting. Add to that, explosions that go backwards, and cobwebbed rooms with sarcophagi shuddering as they open behind unsuspecting servants, and you get a great dramatic experience.
It's not deep enough, perhaps. The producer Philip Hinchcliffe and script-editor Robert Holmes now responsible for the show had started to make their mark; inheriting a few scripts from their predecessors' reign, the first year they produced for Tom Baker still has vestiges of the socially and politically conscious themes that were common in Jon Pertwee's time. But by Pyramids they've dispensed with such themes in favour of all-out horror-inflected adventures.
There is some depth provided at a character level, though. Pyramids is very like a modern story, not just in terms of the pace in getting our heroes involved, but also in its focus on the character of the Doctor. Repeatedly, we are dramatically reminded that the Doctor is not human, to the point where – inadvertently or not – it becomes a theme of the story. Michael Sheard’s wonderful performance as Laurence Scarman is a polar counterpoint to the other scientist adventurer in the cast: he’s meek, optimistic, open, smiling, worried about his brother, in contrast to the Doctor’s brooding, doomy and brusque characterisation and his concentration on the wider issues beyond the personal.
Arguably, Sutekh is just like the Doctor, but pushed to the extreme end of the spectrum: he’s the extreme example of the dark alien whose overriding aim is more important to him than human life. All this thematic stuff comes to a head with Laurence’s death and the Doctor and Sarah's discovery of his body, the best scene in the story and one of the best scenes in Doctor Who: "Sometimes you don't seem -" "Human?". The problem is that Laurence dies before the end of episode 3. This leaves the final episode to fall flat, just a traipse through some booby-traps - fun, and in keeping with the genre, sure, but nothing like as good as the rest. A shame, because otherwise this would be a perfect story to begin Baker's peak period.
Pyramids of Mars is one of those stories that have been held in very high esteem by fandom for longer than I've been a fan, so it's very hard to watch without prejudice - especially when memories of those heady enthusiastic days I first got to own and replay this story clearly still colour my enjoyment to this day. This time, I tried to watch with a critical eye.
The plot, as a cursory examination of the synopsis above will show you, is illogical and convoluted. Does it matter? The writing has to jump through lots of hoops to justify why the action is happening in a priory house in Edwardian England, rather than in Cairo. Yes, it's fun, and in keeping with some films of the 'Mummy's curse' genre, to have the horrors following the archaeological adventurers into the incongruous world of stately homes and poachers. Plus, the Beeb is better at doing fusty English drawing rooms than it would be doing pyramids and Egyptian bazaars in TC3. Unfortunately, the resolution of the drama is inextricably linked to the mechanism of travelling between the two locales, which makes it more difficult to forgive.
Many Doctor Who stories - hell, many of any kind of stories - have been built on shakier ground than this, though, and for the first three episodes the story just whizzes by with one visually impressive scene after another. I doubt anyone at the time would have been wondering about why, when and where any of these events are occurring; instead they'd have been too busy being impressed by the design of the Mummies, who - with their sunken eyes and bulbous chest units - are striking and memorable. Watching the scenes as they stalk various characters through the woodland grounds is very exciting. Add to that, explosions that go backwards, and cobwebbed rooms with sarcophagi shuddering as they open behind unsuspecting servants, and you get a great dramatic experience.
It's not deep enough, perhaps. The producer Philip Hinchcliffe and script-editor Robert Holmes now responsible for the show had started to make their mark; inheriting a few scripts from their predecessors' reign, the first year they produced for Tom Baker still has vestiges of the socially and politically conscious themes that were common in Jon Pertwee's time. But by Pyramids they've dispensed with such themes in favour of all-out horror-inflected adventures.There is some depth provided at a character level, though. Pyramids is very like a modern story, not just in terms of the pace in getting our heroes involved, but also in its focus on the character of the Doctor. Repeatedly, we are dramatically reminded that the Doctor is not human, to the point where – inadvertently or not – it becomes a theme of the story. Michael Sheard’s wonderful performance as Laurence Scarman is a polar counterpoint to the other scientist adventurer in the cast: he’s meek, optimistic, open, smiling, worried about his brother, in contrast to the Doctor’s brooding, doomy and brusque characterisation and his concentration on the wider issues beyond the personal.
Arguably, Sutekh is just like the Doctor, but pushed to the extreme end of the spectrum: he’s the extreme example of the dark alien whose overriding aim is more important to him than human life. All this thematic stuff comes to a head with Laurence’s death and the Doctor and Sarah's discovery of his body, the best scene in the story and one of the best scenes in Doctor Who: "Sometimes you don't seem -" "Human?". The problem is that Laurence dies before the end of episode 3. This leaves the final episode to fall flat, just a traipse through some booby-traps - fun, and in keeping with the genre, sure, but nothing like as good as the rest. A shame, because otherwise this would be a perfect story to begin Baker's peak period.
Connectivity:
Both
stories include a break-in to a burial chamber and funereal accoutrements that may be more than they seem.
In Summary:
Deeper Thoughts:
Would the Doctor be ‘no-platformed’ in a UK university right now? Recent events across the globe are highlighting that identity politics are an ever stronger motivator of people’s decisions. Alongside this, increased care has become required in any discussions that touch on an individual’s identity, whether that be their nationality, culture, gender, or whatever. There’s greater and greater consciousness that one’s group identity should be protected in some way from those outside of that grouping. Discussions can get quite heated, particularly on the internet, and sensitivity shouldn’t be ever seen as a bad thing; but, where should the line be drawn? And should artistic endeavours be exempt from any such scrutiny?
If it’s taboo to wear a plastic sombrero when you’ve been to a Mexican restaurant, then it’s obviously unforgivable to make up a Caucasian actor to play a Chinese magician (as happens in 1976’s The Talons of Weng Chiang)? Or is it? Offensive as ‘blacking’ or ‘yellowing up’ may be, some actors have recently defended this, based on the freedom that no thespian should be prevented from playing any part, regardless of any aspect of that role; because that’s what acting is. Whether one agrees with this or not, it is fairly easy to see that hurt could be caused to some members of an audience to see their identity reduced to a funny accent and a particular hue of slap.
Less clear cut though, is the identity (and therefore the possibility of protected status) of the works themselves. Artists and dramatists don’t come along fully-formed, and have always developed through imitation of existing art, at least at first; so, where does the process of artistic inspiration by assimilation end, and cultural appropriation begin? Can any particular identity group claim ownership of a story or a genre? That ship may have already sailed; if rock n’ roll came along as a new phenomenon now, white men would probably not be allowed to sing the blues, or at least they wouldn’t be able to play the university circuit if they did. But my enquiry is searching for a relevant morality for now, so dismissing this as something you could get away with in times past does not help.
Pyramids of Mars comes from a period of Doctor Who where the producer and script-editor were (very successfully, and inspiring great popularity in the resultant product) sampling. It wasn’t the first or last time this would happen on Doctor Who, but it may have been the most full-blooded attempt. Should they have thought twice, and considered the morality of borrowing so heavily from Universal monster movies, amongst other sources?
And where did the tropes from those movies come from? Tracing it back, a lot of them come from fairy stories and folk tales that grew through retelling amongst communities. Those stories are known to us now because individuals from outside those communities collated them, tweaked them, published them and made some money off the back of it. If we had always carried the protectionism of cultural identity too far, we would never have had the monster stories evolving from that root, only the purist original. In other words, there would be no Doctor Who. So, dare I say it: wear your plastic sombrero with pride – identity is important, of course; but we can only learn and grow if aspects of our identities are shared.
Would the Doctor be ‘no-platformed’ in a UK university right now? Recent events across the globe are highlighting that identity politics are an ever stronger motivator of people’s decisions. Alongside this, increased care has become required in any discussions that touch on an individual’s identity, whether that be their nationality, culture, gender, or whatever. There’s greater and greater consciousness that one’s group identity should be protected in some way from those outside of that grouping. Discussions can get quite heated, particularly on the internet, and sensitivity shouldn’t be ever seen as a bad thing; but, where should the line be drawn? And should artistic endeavours be exempt from any such scrutiny?
If it’s taboo to wear a plastic sombrero when you’ve been to a Mexican restaurant, then it’s obviously unforgivable to make up a Caucasian actor to play a Chinese magician (as happens in 1976’s The Talons of Weng Chiang)? Or is it? Offensive as ‘blacking’ or ‘yellowing up’ may be, some actors have recently defended this, based on the freedom that no thespian should be prevented from playing any part, regardless of any aspect of that role; because that’s what acting is. Whether one agrees with this or not, it is fairly easy to see that hurt could be caused to some members of an audience to see their identity reduced to a funny accent and a particular hue of slap.
Less clear cut though, is the identity (and therefore the possibility of protected status) of the works themselves. Artists and dramatists don’t come along fully-formed, and have always developed through imitation of existing art, at least at first; so, where does the process of artistic inspiration by assimilation end, and cultural appropriation begin? Can any particular identity group claim ownership of a story or a genre? That ship may have already sailed; if rock n’ roll came along as a new phenomenon now, white men would probably not be allowed to sing the blues, or at least they wouldn’t be able to play the university circuit if they did. But my enquiry is searching for a relevant morality for now, so dismissing this as something you could get away with in times past does not help.
Pyramids of Mars comes from a period of Doctor Who where the producer and script-editor were (very successfully, and inspiring great popularity in the resultant product) sampling. It wasn’t the first or last time this would happen on Doctor Who, but it may have been the most full-blooded attempt. Should they have thought twice, and considered the morality of borrowing so heavily from Universal monster movies, amongst other sources?
And where did the tropes from those movies come from? Tracing it back, a lot of them come from fairy stories and folk tales that grew through retelling amongst communities. Those stories are known to us now because individuals from outside those communities collated them, tweaked them, published them and made some money off the back of it. If we had always carried the protectionism of cultural identity too far, we would never have had the monster stories evolving from that root, only the purist original. In other words, there would be no Doctor Who. So, dare I say it: wear your plastic sombrero with pride – identity is important, of course; but we can only learn and grow if aspects of our identities are shared.
In Summary:
3 parts Mummy, 1 part musty.
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