Plot:
After becoming travelling companions by accident and surviving a detour to see early man on Earth, the Doctor, Susan, Ian and Barbara arrive on the planet Skaro. Missing the radiation meter in the TARDIS registering danger, they explore a petrified forest - the result of a nuclear war - and discover a far off city. Wanted to explore it, but facing opposition from Ian, the Doctor fakes a fault with a TARDIS component, the fluid link; so, they have to search the city for some mercury. (A side thought: this has always struck me as quite an obscure ingredient to expect to stumble across. If you asked me to search my own non-abandoned city today for some, I wouldn't know where to start: you don't just walk into a store and buy mercury. Do they still use it in thermometers?) The city turns out to be inhabited by survivors of the war, the Daleks: mutated creatures in travel machines. They capture and imprison our heroes, who are now in desperate need of anti-radiation drugs. The Daleks' old enemies from the time of the war, the Thals, are in the forest and have such drugs, so Susan is sent to meet them. Rather than it causing deformity, the radiation has turned the Thals into perfect Aryans, which is exactly how the mutations arising from nuclear fall-out work probably.
Susan returns with the medicine and the time travellers are cured, but still imprisoned. The Daleks get Susan to write a letter to the Thals offering them supplies in exchange for more drugs, but it is a trick to lure them into an ambush. The TARDIS team escape from their cell, and warn the Thals, but some are still killed. Everyone flees to the forest. Our heroes can't leave the planet, though, as the fluid link is still in the Dalek city after being confiscated earlier. So, Ian bullies the pacifist Thals into helping them. They start out towards the city in two groups. The Daleks meanwhile have discovered that they will need the radiation in order to survive. After a few ordeals and challenges on the way, the Thals and the time/space adventuring quartet stop the Daleks just as their countdown for irradiation is reaching its end.
Context:
This story was watched on DVD during the week of half term at the end of May. We had planned to go on a mini-break somewhere during this time, but in the end decided that would be too exhausting (there's lots going on for everyone in the household at the moment). I think it was for the best where this blog is concerned: The Daleks would be an odd one to watch abroad, and - being wholly shot in a studio in the earliest days of the programme - doesn't inspire any ideas for travelogue. It is more apt however as an accompaniment to a staycation, what with it seeing the regulars go on multiple excursions, but regularly coming back home to the TARDIS during the running time. Even with the benefit of a week off, mind, I still struggled to find opportunities to squeeze in seven episodes of black-and-white Who. I managed to interest a couple of the children (boy of 12, girl of 7) in the first episode. This ends in one of the series' finest cliffhangers (Barbara menaced by a sink plunger), and this did prompt lots of chants of "Next ep, next ep!", but as we had to do something immediately afterwards, the next ep could not be put on. By the time it could, any enthusiasm had dissipated, and I watched the rest of the episodes on my own, though people drifted in and out of the living room, including the other child (boy of 9) and the Better Half, occasionally.
First-time round:
First-time round:
It was the Summer of 1989, and I was visiting my Dad in Bognor Regis. I walked into WHSmiths, where I would have been regularly checking the shelves for new Doctor Who VHS releases, just as I had previously done for Doctor Who Target book novelisations (there was no early warning of release dates in those days, just to keep things mysterious and interesting). That particular Saturday, I was presented with an embarrassment of riches: a giddying three new stories had arrived. Not just The Daleks, but The Ark in Space and The Time Warrior too. I was then presented with the embarrassment of not having riches; I didn't have enough money to buy them all - and I had to have them all at that very moment. (An aside: this is not as obsessive or entitled as it might look; if I hadn't bought them then and there, as I was not planning to be back at Dad's for weeks afterwards, and with no guarantee these stories would be available in my home town of Worthing, as distribution was by no means consistent, there was a real possibility I might not find them again.) My Dad took pity on me, and lent me the money, and in one cash register transaction I increased by a third my VHS collection of the time.
The Daleks was the first story released that wasn't edited to remove the beginning and end credits; up to this point, including The Ark in Space and The Time Warrior, it was customary to turn a story into one long omnibus edition. It was no doubt a decision based on the length of this story (a stitched together version would not have fit on one tape) rather than any worry about the correct presentation; but, it stuck, and episodic releases became the standard from then on. Again, no doubt caused by its length, The Daleks can lay claim to being the first ever Doctor Who box set: it was literally a set of boxes - two ordinary, and almost identical, tape boxes, sellotaped together.
Reaction:
Reaction:
The initial release of The Daleks being split over two tapes probably seemed apt, as it is seen as a story of two distinct sections. The first four episodes (which were on the first tape subtitled 'The Dead Planet') cover the more eerily sparse and claustrophobic thriller part, as our adventurers explore the city and discover the Daleks. The final three episodes (on the second tape, 'The Expedition') cover the more traditional adventure narrative, as our heroes split up and trek through hostile environments to reach the city, and stop the countdown. The second section is the one that is usually accused of letting the story down, but on this viewing I found it the more enjoyable of the two. Its straightforward Saturday morning picture style action didn't require any surprise to power it. The first section is clearly, objectively, the better one, much more original and well made, but it didn't move me. This might be because every aspect of these episodes was so good that it has became ubiquitous and over-familiar in the years since that first broadcast.
Take for an instance the design of the Dalek travel machines. It's impossible for someone now, particularly a fan like me, to comprehend the impact that would have had on a viewer first time around. Every aspect of the design is so good: the gliding motion, the voices, the distinctive shape with lovely details like the skirt globes, eye-stalk and sink-plunger arm. They are easy to imitate, and easy to draw. Within a couple of episodes, we see Ian climbing into one, like he's riding in the bumper car to which it has earlier been compared. By a series of flukes under the usual time pressure, the various creative members of the crew, particularly designer Raymond Cusick, have made the right call in a series of design decisions to create the ultimate fun alien baddies for kids. For more than 50 years since then, the design has not had to change at all to remain current (and the one time anyone strayed a little too far from it, it was a disaster and they quickly backtracked). But all those years as an indelible image is going to take away from its first big reveal here, when watching it back.
It's not the only aspect of those first stories that's now taken for granted. The sets, the music, the sound effects, the cliffhangers; all of it adds up to a chillingly original four episodes, but none of it is a surprise watching now; it's all become commonplace, and it's impossible to pretend otherwise. When the Doctor, Ian, Barbara and Susan are free, and have teamed up with the Thals, it may be more traditional, but it's also more energetic. The more interpersonal nature of the drama - Barbara's little flirtation with Ganatus, for example - is more fun than the first section, as the regulars can play off the guest actors rather than be in conflict with their environment and some props (however well designed). Only two stories in and the regulars need this to drive their narratives; there's still a little interest to be extracted from their interactions with each other - the Doctor's duplicity re: the fluid link to get his way, a bit of comic padding with the food machine scene - but the series format is established now, and the story engine requires the fuel of new people and places.
The lead characters are already becoming like superheroes, too; Antodus is more of an identification character in this than Ian, to my mind. Ian is a natural leader, a man of action, and has depth enough to concern himself with the morality of his actions, but still decides to goad the Thals into conflict. He's the person we wish we could be like in a crisis, but likely not the person we would be. The script's intention is clearly to show Antodus as the coward of the platoon, a war film cliché still alive in the early 1960s; but he isn't in a platoon, he's a farmhand who's been press-ganged into a dangerous mission, which he keeps telling people is a bad idea. The one who gets picked last and isn't trusted to be athletic enough to jump a chasm - how could he not be an identification figure for the Doctor Who fans watching?! When he fails, and is left suspended, threatening everyone's life, he finds bravery enough to save the others at the cost of his own life. Ian calls him a fool, and he doesn't really get much posthumous credit for his sacrifice. Poor Antodus.
Connectivity:
It's not the only aspect of those first stories that's now taken for granted. The sets, the music, the sound effects, the cliffhangers; all of it adds up to a chillingly original four episodes, but none of it is a surprise watching now; it's all become commonplace, and it's impossible to pretend otherwise. When the Doctor, Ian, Barbara and Susan are free, and have teamed up with the Thals, it may be more traditional, but it's also more energetic. The more interpersonal nature of the drama - Barbara's little flirtation with Ganatus, for example - is more fun than the first section, as the regulars can play off the guest actors rather than be in conflict with their environment and some props (however well designed). Only two stories in and the regulars need this to drive their narratives; there's still a little interest to be extracted from their interactions with each other - the Doctor's duplicity re: the fluid link to get his way, a bit of comic padding with the food machine scene - but the series format is established now, and the story engine requires the fuel of new people and places.
Connectivity:
This story and the Zygon Invasion / Inversion are both about two tribes at risk of going to war. Both stories see one side flirting with the use of an ultimate weapon, but this being narrowly avoided at the end.
Deeper Thoughts:
That Sinking Feeling. I have been having a tough time with the latest Doctor Who blu-ray box set, Tom Baker's last season (18); more than two months on from purchasing it, I have at least now watched all the stories and featurettes, but it took a while. I now only have info text and commentaries and isolated music tracks left. It seems like a lot of effort for something I'm not particularly enjoying. So, why am I compelled to keep doing it? I was struggling to answer this myself, when journalist Helen Lewis articulated a similar thought, this time about watching Game of Thrones to the bitter end, in an article for the New Statesman here. (Note: the New Statesman has a limit on the number of articles you can view per month before you hit a paywall.) Lewis explains it in relation to the Sunk Costs Fallacy. This has long been a favourite aspect of management theory for me, and I was surprised that I'd never before considered it in relation to collecting or completionism.
The Sunk Costs Fallacy is the tendency for a costly endeavour to be continued because of the size of the investment already made (the sunk costs). So, if I've already invested millions in a work in progress - a software project, or garden bridge, or high speed rail infrastructure - the total of that investment is considered in the decision of whether to continue to completion, and it shouldn't be. Often, this factor outweighs all others, including the key one: how much more investment is it going to take to finish? With the exact same level of sunk costs, two projects can look very different if one has only a thousand left to shell out, and the other, a billion. Or, to use a more important example, if you've shelled out for a box set, how much of your time are you prepared to invest further before you cut your losses? As Lewis highlights, most economists will tell you that humans very rarely behave rationally. And this is before we factor in the particular mindset of the fan or collector.
Being a fan is like the Sunk Costs Fallacy squared. Not only have I invested forty quid for the Blu-rays, I've also invested almost all my life into enjoying this silly little show and everything about it. If I were to cut my losses and stop watching without experiencing the info text and commentaries and isolated music tracks, am I still a fan? Who are all those peripheral materials aimed at if not the obsessives like me? If I'm just watching the stories, then I didn't need the Blu-rays at all, I already had the DVDs (and were it not for redundant technology, I wouldn't have needed the DVDs either, as I had the videos). Season 18 improved greatly at exactly halfway through: watching it all in order, it dawned on me how boring the first few stories are, but it hit its stride two episodes into State of Decay, and the remaining stories are much better. After the slog, the later episodes lifted my spirits. If I'd given up earlier, I wouldn't have got that little payback. But, if I hadn't been watching them in order in the first place, perhaps I wouldn't have found it a slog at all.
The problem I think is that Doctor Who, certainly the 20th Century model, is not designed to be consumed in season-long slabs. Very rarely in pre-2005 Doctor Who did the stories of a season build to the conclusion of any kind of arc; those plot strands that were picked up from story to story were very light-touch indeed. The show's fairly unique structure as a series of serials allowed it to be marketed for home release (starting with novelisations, but replicated for VHS and DVD releases) in the smaller and much more digestible chunks of individual stories. It's sheer longevity and the many changes of style during the show's lifespan meant that those stories were never released in order. The style of this blog - a random shuffle of stories from different eras, each one self-contained and enjoyable on its own merits - is not an accident; subconsciously, I was emulating how I - and many many other people - first engaged with the show, and the only sane way I think it can be properly enjoyed. The Blu-ray box sets, containing a whole season at a time, are the first new products to mess with that method.
So, do I keep buying them? The Sunk Costs Fallacy teaches us to look forward not back to answer this. The question is about what else I could invest the time and money on, and there's plenty of things to choose from. In the article, Lewis concluded that life is too short: "Even when it’s something you’re enjoying, junk it the minute it becomes a chore." But that's easier said than done when you're a fan and a completist collector. I can't decide, and will think about it for a while before the next box set comes along.
The Sunk Costs Fallacy is the tendency for a costly endeavour to be continued because of the size of the investment already made (the sunk costs). So, if I've already invested millions in a work in progress - a software project, or garden bridge, or high speed rail infrastructure - the total of that investment is considered in the decision of whether to continue to completion, and it shouldn't be. Often, this factor outweighs all others, including the key one: how much more investment is it going to take to finish? With the exact same level of sunk costs, two projects can look very different if one has only a thousand left to shell out, and the other, a billion. Or, to use a more important example, if you've shelled out for a box set, how much of your time are you prepared to invest further before you cut your losses? As Lewis highlights, most economists will tell you that humans very rarely behave rationally. And this is before we factor in the particular mindset of the fan or collector.Being a fan is like the Sunk Costs Fallacy squared. Not only have I invested forty quid for the Blu-rays, I've also invested almost all my life into enjoying this silly little show and everything about it. If I were to cut my losses and stop watching without experiencing the info text and commentaries and isolated music tracks, am I still a fan? Who are all those peripheral materials aimed at if not the obsessives like me? If I'm just watching the stories, then I didn't need the Blu-rays at all, I already had the DVDs (and were it not for redundant technology, I wouldn't have needed the DVDs either, as I had the videos). Season 18 improved greatly at exactly halfway through: watching it all in order, it dawned on me how boring the first few stories are, but it hit its stride two episodes into State of Decay, and the remaining stories are much better. After the slog, the later episodes lifted my spirits. If I'd given up earlier, I wouldn't have got that little payback. But, if I hadn't been watching them in order in the first place, perhaps I wouldn't have found it a slog at all.
The problem I think is that Doctor Who, certainly the 20th Century model, is not designed to be consumed in season-long slabs. Very rarely in pre-2005 Doctor Who did the stories of a season build to the conclusion of any kind of arc; those plot strands that were picked up from story to story were very light-touch indeed. The show's fairly unique structure as a series of serials allowed it to be marketed for home release (starting with novelisations, but replicated for VHS and DVD releases) in the smaller and much more digestible chunks of individual stories. It's sheer longevity and the many changes of style during the show's lifespan meant that those stories were never released in order. The style of this blog - a random shuffle of stories from different eras, each one self-contained and enjoyable on its own merits - is not an accident; subconsciously, I was emulating how I - and many many other people - first engaged with the show, and the only sane way I think it can be properly enjoyed. The Blu-ray box sets, containing a whole season at a time, are the first new products to mess with that method.So, do I keep buying them? The Sunk Costs Fallacy teaches us to look forward not back to answer this. The question is about what else I could invest the time and money on, and there's plenty of things to choose from. In the article, Lewis concluded that life is too short: "Even when it’s something you’re enjoying, junk it the minute it becomes a chore." But that's easier said than done when you're a fan and a completist collector. I can't decide, and will think about it for a while before the next box set comes along.
In Summary:
A game of two halves, but not necessarily in that order.
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