As the swinging sixties drew to a solemn close, a lot of things were changing in the world. The space race had been pretty well won as Neil Armstrong's famous boot crunched on the moon's cheesy soil for the very first time. Russia and America still peered at each other through frosted goggles, fingers hovering over big, important red buttons. Jim Morrison was arrested in Florida for indecent exposure, the Boeing 747 made its first commercial flight, Monty Python's Flying Circus aired for the very first time on BBC 1. The greatest decade the world had ever known was ending - and something else entirely was on its way.
In the midst of all this upheaval, a BBC program called Doctor Who was also considering certain changes - lead actor Patrick Troughton had already stated his desire to jump ship and swim to better places, and in response to both this and to the punishing schedule enforced over the last two years of filming, the Doctor's companions Frazer Hines and Wendy Padbury had also made it clear that Season 6 was to be their last in the TARDIS. Viewing figures were at a dangerous low. This teatime show made with matchsticks and bubble wrap needed to find a way into the modern day, or be pulled back with the tide and into the catalogue of failed telly exploits.
Luckily, some people still quite liked Doctor Who in 1969.
Luckily, some people still quite liked Doctor Who in 1969.
Conversations were quickly had where they counted, phone calls made, and, predictably, the nation's favourite science fiction would return to screens again in 1970, with new colours and a new lead, and pave the way once more for future generations to keep the flame burning. The Doctor wouldn't die with the decade that had spawned his adventures.
This, when the first episode of 'The War Games' aired, was still in the future, but the show was ripe for a reworking and so script editor Terrance Dicks (later to oversee all of Jon Pertwee's five years on Earth) had decided to send the second Doctor out with as big a bang as his near-exhausted BBC-issue musket could provide. At ten parts and 250 minutes of pure Who, the gargantuan beast Dicks's request spawned still remains the second longest single story ever to have graced our screens, not counting 1986's mutated pseudo-season-pseudo-story 'Trial of a Timelord' because, while might claim to be one narrative, it is blatantly and horribly not. And while the overwhelming prospect of ten episodes straight might chill even the hardiest Whovian's blood, this story is surprisingly well-paced and watchable for its length, and still remains one of the most discussed and noteworthy serials to come out of Doctor Who's first ten years.
The success of 'The War Games' is accountable largely to its writers Terrance Dicks and Malcolm Hulke - a duo who would later go on to see made the classic 'Ambassadors of Death' of Pertwee's first season as Doctor - and to David Maloney, director previously of 'The Mind Robber' and 'The Krotons', and afterwards of, among other greats, 'Genesis of the Daleks' and 'The Talons of Weng-Chiang', amounting to a track record of classics unmatched in its popularity by nearly any other. This dream team of BBC execs took it upon themselves to end Patrick Troughton's tenure with an explosive and sprawling tour de force, a final outing and tragic end to the Second Doctor's three-year hero of the good in the Universe, and combatant of the evil - we know it as 'The War Games', and it's a story not to be forgotten. So slip on your cardboard headband and watch closely through a pair of iffy cut-out crosses; it's time for a commentary.
Now, with a story ten parts long, it's always quite easy to pick out individual cogs and wheels for discussion - not wanting to trawl and retrawl through all of 'The War Games' hundreds of minutes, thousands of seconds, one finds oneself naturally drawn towards the aspects of the serial that stuck in one's mind on the first watch (although, with a story of such incredible volume, repeat viewings can be difficult to face). This in mind, and looking down the list of to-dos, it isn't difficult to choose between certain aspects of the narrative to analyse - the intense and intriguing first twenty-five minutes, the chemistry of the seventh and eighth episodes and the charged interactions between the Time Lords, the War Chief and the Doctor. Whilst odd memorable scenes or lines or shots and bits and bobs clunk on the back of the mind's eye every now and again, for those looking to observe and deduce there are certainly clear peaks of quality within 'The War Games', and definite periods during which one's attention tends to sag in the middle, and whilst none of the serial is what anybody could possibly call 'bad', there are noticeable instances of heavy padding to sparse out the story, to water down the squash. This is as with any other Doctor Who story, of course, but with ten parts you're always going to struggle to find material which might suit to insulate the cavities left between different plot points or important events.
So it's remarkable to see just how much of this feels so rawly necessary.
So it's remarkable to see just how much of this feels so rawly necessary.
Part one of 'The War Games' is absolutely quintessential Doctor Who. The plot is tight, the script clips along wonderfully and the guest cast shines - Smythe is purely heartless, with a shady background to boot, and Carstairs and Jennifer belongs flamboyantly and brilliantly in a nineteen-forties propaganda film. The rather bleaker wartime world we find ourselves thrust into is very effectively realised and explored with time to spare for plot points, like why Smythe has alien tech in his office and why nobody seems to be able to remember anything very far back after they signed up. I don't want to spoil anything too much for anybody who hasn't watched this, but I can say that the mystery is gripping and the cliffhanger excellent, a proto-'Androzani' blinder that feels unavoidable and awful and just forces you to tune in for part two. And this coming after an adventure in a 'Genesis of the Daleks'-style No Man's Land and a confrontation with a general who really isn't all he seems - it already feels epic and bigger than anything we've got before.
Delving further into the story, the mystery becomes more complicated - different time zones and characters come constantly crashing into the narrative in an onslaught to our half-developed suspicions. The War Chief here, Romans charging from the hills... this story sprawls like a cat under a Volkswagen, but never in a way that seems too ridiculous or without control. Pretty soon we're out of the First World War, pretty soon after that we're finding glassy enemy TARDISes in the recesses of the antagonist's fort. It's on another scale. The guest cast performances are still consistently generally pretty perfectly pitched, too - look out for Michael Troughton's brief cameo as a young soldier, for the monocled and nasal German officer we meet in episode two, for the robotic Security Chief. There are so many elements to this story that have to come together, and I think some of the praise in that they do must be spooned to co-writer Malcolm Hulke, always reliable for a good structure and fair pace. The acting is, overall, of a top quality - but we all know there's really only one star in this mad world of guns and conspirators. And it's the final bow for this little man in his bow tie and shabby coat.
Patrick Troughton's performance in 'The War Games' is immaculate, and so Second Doctor it hurts. Every line rings true, every new obstacle attacked with an enthusiasm and vigour so typical of this man's Doctor Who persona. And we haven't discussed Troughton before now, so I will. The dude's a god.
I'm not saying that he never hammed it, that he never got stuff wrong. We all know this Doctor's tendency to exaggerate, to fluster a little too much, to pander to the younger and the slower. But my god if he wasn't one of the best we've ever seen. Because this is the Doctor who set the trend for all who followed, because there hasn't been an interpretation of the character since Troughton who hasn't had some of the spark, the eccentricity, clumsy tomfoolery or humour that he did in that first episode of 'Power of the Daleks' three years before this. It was an act so totally different from that of his predecessor William Hartnell, so completely other that it has inspired everything that's happened in Doctor Who since. He's a comic, cosmic hobo, the madman in a box, eager to see the Universe. He's the f*cking man.
And this script and this story really gives Troughton the chance to shine. His blustering aggression as the inspector in the 1917 Zone, the sudden and absolute seriousness that assaults him at the involvement of the Time Lords, the incredible, chemical scenes he shares alone with the War Chief - all these allow us to see a more chiselled and adult version of our hero that hasn't necessarily been let out over the rest of his run, making way instead for the floundering space buffoon. It's a Doctor robbed of his choices, knowing that life has caught up with him but never giving up hope, not until his final scene with Jamie, and the touchingly direct farewell the two share. After that, the Doctor is running on an empty tank. He is desperate choosing his new face, finally beaten by the time he is cast to Earth. It's a tragic, unmerited end for the man who has for so long campaigned to fight the evil he sees in the Universe, and a wonderful, wonderful curtain call for the Doctor who would shape the future of the show.
Really, there isn't really a lot more to say, not wanting to ruin the experience for those who haven't yet had the chance to dive into it. Jamie and Zoe's departure is, as mentioned, equally brutal and unfair, just slow enough to register but not fast enough for the impact to be missed. The Time Lords here are portrayed as real bastards, cold and calculating, inexperienced in the ways of justice and mercy; maybe that's bias from somebody who didn't want Troughton to go, but I think it's fair, and that this only serves to reinforce the contrast between the Doctor and his people. This surely is why our hero ran away.
In the vein of bastards, I'd just like to quickly mention Philip Madoc, who plays the War Lord, commander of the unnamed alien forces in this story. Because Philip Madoc is absolutely fantastic too. He's icy, really icy, but not in an obvious way, not in a way that you've really seen before. He's softly spoken, and he moves sedately and slowly. Every tone of his voice is measured and articulate, in a chilling and enthralling way. By the time he moves into this story in part seven (seven!), one is growing tired of the antics of the incompetent and dully formulaic Security Chief and War Chief, and of their vaguely clichéd histrionic evil. Madoc breathes new life into the story, makes you sit up at every scene. Until his death he is the perfect foil for our shaggy Doctor, and plays against Troughton well in the few scenes the two share. And though end this story must with his defeat, it's an interesting thing that it sees the defeat of the Doctor, too.
Last Words?
Like last time's 'Horror of Fang Rock', this is a sad story. But sad in its narrative more than its implications for Doctor Who.
You see, this story marks the end of Patrick Troughton's run as the Doctor. But at the same time it delivers a really great time in terms of performance and scripting. Against the odds, it releases the Second Doctor's polkadot balloon into the sky with a happy sigh of satisfaction, a final relief after the recently unworkable filming schedule and subsequent decline in viewing quality. It's not perfect, there's a lot of wasted time, there's cell hopping, there's some silly dialogue. But 'The War Games' paves the way for Jon Pertwee, and colour, and after him Tom Baker and after Tom Baker Peter Davison. It's a legacy to future generations of actors and writers aspiring to make their mark on Doctor Who. That isn't why this is a sad story.
This is a sad story because it actually is a sad story. It's the story of a young traveler out to see the stars and explore, forced to fight for good against the bad of the cosmos, and how all his good, and all his efforts to find good ended up the death of him. How his final battle against some of the worst in the Universe faced him with the wrongs of his own people, and made him recognise the flaws in them. But the really galling thing about this story is that the Doctor knows he can't fight it. Once the Time Lords are coming, that's it. That's the end of his life as he knows it, he's replaced, albeit with a dashing, velvet-clad technicolour action hero. But it's unfair. It's fundamentally wrong that this should be happening to him, now, when he has so much to give as who he is. But he knows that them's the rules - we don't, we expect him to escape. We expect him to beat the system and ride off into the sunset with his two faithful companions at his side. But this system is his system, the one body he can't rise against. And it's the most awful thing in the world to see the little man in his checked trousers and crumpled coat have to face the errors of others and pay for it, and pay hard. It's against everything he believed in, and everything we believed in with him. But them's the rules, and the powers that be are showing him the door.
So goodbye Doctor. We'll raise a glass to your memory, cite you as the one who changed it all, for the better. You might change your face, your clothes, but underneath all that you will always be the same cosmic hobo in his magic box, fighting evil with a sonic screwdriver and a twinkle in the eye. So cheers for that.
Delving further into the story, the mystery becomes more complicated - different time zones and characters come constantly crashing into the narrative in an onslaught to our half-developed suspicions. The War Chief here, Romans charging from the hills... this story sprawls like a cat under a Volkswagen, but never in a way that seems too ridiculous or without control. Pretty soon we're out of the First World War, pretty soon after that we're finding glassy enemy TARDISes in the recesses of the antagonist's fort. It's on another scale. The guest cast performances are still consistently generally pretty perfectly pitched, too - look out for Michael Troughton's brief cameo as a young soldier, for the monocled and nasal German officer we meet in episode two, for the robotic Security Chief. There are so many elements to this story that have to come together, and I think some of the praise in that they do must be spooned to co-writer Malcolm Hulke, always reliable for a good structure and fair pace. The acting is, overall, of a top quality - but we all know there's really only one star in this mad world of guns and conspirators. And it's the final bow for this little man in his bow tie and shabby coat.
Patrick Troughton's performance in 'The War Games' is immaculate, and so Second Doctor it hurts. Every line rings true, every new obstacle attacked with an enthusiasm and vigour so typical of this man's Doctor Who persona. And we haven't discussed Troughton before now, so I will. The dude's a god.
I'm not saying that he never hammed it, that he never got stuff wrong. We all know this Doctor's tendency to exaggerate, to fluster a little too much, to pander to the younger and the slower. But my god if he wasn't one of the best we've ever seen. Because this is the Doctor who set the trend for all who followed, because there hasn't been an interpretation of the character since Troughton who hasn't had some of the spark, the eccentricity, clumsy tomfoolery or humour that he did in that first episode of 'Power of the Daleks' three years before this. It was an act so totally different from that of his predecessor William Hartnell, so completely other that it has inspired everything that's happened in Doctor Who since. He's a comic, cosmic hobo, the madman in a box, eager to see the Universe. He's the f*cking man.
And this script and this story really gives Troughton the chance to shine. His blustering aggression as the inspector in the 1917 Zone, the sudden and absolute seriousness that assaults him at the involvement of the Time Lords, the incredible, chemical scenes he shares alone with the War Chief - all these allow us to see a more chiselled and adult version of our hero that hasn't necessarily been let out over the rest of his run, making way instead for the floundering space buffoon. It's a Doctor robbed of his choices, knowing that life has caught up with him but never giving up hope, not until his final scene with Jamie, and the touchingly direct farewell the two share. After that, the Doctor is running on an empty tank. He is desperate choosing his new face, finally beaten by the time he is cast to Earth. It's a tragic, unmerited end for the man who has for so long campaigned to fight the evil he sees in the Universe, and a wonderful, wonderful curtain call for the Doctor who would shape the future of the show.
Really, there isn't really a lot more to say, not wanting to ruin the experience for those who haven't yet had the chance to dive into it. Jamie and Zoe's departure is, as mentioned, equally brutal and unfair, just slow enough to register but not fast enough for the impact to be missed. The Time Lords here are portrayed as real bastards, cold and calculating, inexperienced in the ways of justice and mercy; maybe that's bias from somebody who didn't want Troughton to go, but I think it's fair, and that this only serves to reinforce the contrast between the Doctor and his people. This surely is why our hero ran away.
In the vein of bastards, I'd just like to quickly mention Philip Madoc, who plays the War Lord, commander of the unnamed alien forces in this story. Because Philip Madoc is absolutely fantastic too. He's icy, really icy, but not in an obvious way, not in a way that you've really seen before. He's softly spoken, and he moves sedately and slowly. Every tone of his voice is measured and articulate, in a chilling and enthralling way. By the time he moves into this story in part seven (seven!), one is growing tired of the antics of the incompetent and dully formulaic Security Chief and War Chief, and of their vaguely clichéd histrionic evil. Madoc breathes new life into the story, makes you sit up at every scene. Until his death he is the perfect foil for our shaggy Doctor, and plays against Troughton well in the few scenes the two share. And though end this story must with his defeat, it's an interesting thing that it sees the defeat of the Doctor, too.
Last Words?
Like last time's 'Horror of Fang Rock', this is a sad story. But sad in its narrative more than its implications for Doctor Who.
You see, this story marks the end of Patrick Troughton's run as the Doctor. But at the same time it delivers a really great time in terms of performance and scripting. Against the odds, it releases the Second Doctor's polkadot balloon into the sky with a happy sigh of satisfaction, a final relief after the recently unworkable filming schedule and subsequent decline in viewing quality. It's not perfect, there's a lot of wasted time, there's cell hopping, there's some silly dialogue. But 'The War Games' paves the way for Jon Pertwee, and colour, and after him Tom Baker and after Tom Baker Peter Davison. It's a legacy to future generations of actors and writers aspiring to make their mark on Doctor Who. That isn't why this is a sad story.
This is a sad story because it actually is a sad story. It's the story of a young traveler out to see the stars and explore, forced to fight for good against the bad of the cosmos, and how all his good, and all his efforts to find good ended up the death of him. How his final battle against some of the worst in the Universe faced him with the wrongs of his own people, and made him recognise the flaws in them. But the really galling thing about this story is that the Doctor knows he can't fight it. Once the Time Lords are coming, that's it. That's the end of his life as he knows it, he's replaced, albeit with a dashing, velvet-clad technicolour action hero. But it's unfair. It's fundamentally wrong that this should be happening to him, now, when he has so much to give as who he is. But he knows that them's the rules - we don't, we expect him to escape. We expect him to beat the system and ride off into the sunset with his two faithful companions at his side. But this system is his system, the one body he can't rise against. And it's the most awful thing in the world to see the little man in his checked trousers and crumpled coat have to face the errors of others and pay for it, and pay hard. It's against everything he believed in, and everything we believed in with him. But them's the rules, and the powers that be are showing him the door.
So goodbye Doctor. We'll raise a glass to your memory, cite you as the one who changed it all, for the better. You might change your face, your clothes, but underneath all that you will always be the same cosmic hobo in his magic box, fighting evil with a sonic screwdriver and a twinkle in the eye. So cheers for that.
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