Ever since fandom lost its innocence, its been de rigeur among fans who are at all image-conscious to sneer at the Daleks. Those who would wish greater things for Doctor Who as a whole are irritated by their populist appeal, their tackiness as postage-stamp-starring cultural icons, and most of all their reliance on the meagre talents of Terry Nation. But what really winds them up is the fact that Dalek stories always grab the top places in best story polls. As some old-guard fan once carped in DWB, trying to dampen enthusiasm for Remembrance: Daleks almost always guarantee a better than average story. This assumption that the Daleks have meant nothing since 1965, and are now thematically as hollow as the dull wooden casings that stand in for them, has led them to be unfairly dismissed.
So much for fandoms bourgeois. But luckily for the rest of us, these lonely fossils are missing the point. A deep-seated love of Daleks doesnt preclude the well-rounded fan from appreciating Kinda, say, or The Happiness Patrol, or whatever other less glamorous gem is currently in fashion. Because, quite simply, Daleks are great. They look good, they sound good, they have, in effect, a powerful on-screen presence. That sad fan was right - Daleks do almost always guarantee a better than average story. They are the reason Doctor Who survived its first 13 week run, and ever since have been its solid and dependable ambassadors - good for ratings, guaranteed crowd pleasers and really rather fine. Even Gareth sod continuity Roberts included them in his shortlist of the programmes essentials. So, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you the Daleks - Doctor Whos tip-top, tinpot mascots.
What is essential to their continuing appeal, though, and which has sometimes been lacking, is the restraint not to overuse them. The Daleks are a valuable resource, and should be mined with care. Equally important is to use them well, which is not as easy as some writers have assumed. Barring their first appearance, where Nation unwittingly gave them reams of expositional dialogue, the Daleks seldom vary in themselves; it is the environment in which they are placed that makes or breaks them. The fact that they look so ridiculous out of context is the main reason why they have become such a handy shorthand for television parodies of Doctor Who (Im thinking here of Daleks with turbans on their domes or ejaculating their space-jism across our screens). When they are handled right, though, they still have that otherworldly strangeness which was so captivating back in 1963, when the only competition was endless variations on Sydney Newmans bug-bear, the B.E.M.
Because they are so iconic, the Daleks are not much use when subtlety is called for. They are creatures of extremes in every sense, and thus can only really be handled in two ways: extremely seriously, or extremely... not so. The latter style - Camp Daleks - is seldom seen in Doctor Who itself, largely because Nation insisted on overseeing, or at least approving, their every appearance. When the programme did come close to treating them this way, with the infantilised Daleks of Evil, or the superficially camp Destiny, Nations disgust (as soon as hed banked the royalty cheque) was more than matched by leagues of uptight fans. Its probably a blessing he didnt live to see what Victor Lewis Smith did with his creations. To treat the Daleks too seriously is equally dangerous. The kind of po-faced reverence Nation eventually slipped into is not conducive to interesting television; witness the failure of such ostensibly taut and modern epics as Planet of, Day of and Death to, in which the metal gits make even Pertwees Doctor look three-dimensional.
When the Daleks work well, it is because they have been placed in a sympathetic context. Constraints of budget mean that we cannot actually be shown much of the havoc they wreak, so we rely on the mien of the supporting cast to give the Daleks a degree of verisimilitude. For example, The Dalek Invasion of Earth (a story which is certainly too broad, if not too deep, for the small screen) aims for a much wider scope than the series would ever dare to in its mature days, yet succeeds, mainly because of the utter conviction of the participants. In its own, more obvious, way Resurrection of the Daleks does the same. Saward builds up a dark, grim, painful atmosphere which greatly aids the pepperpots not entirely inherent menace. But perhaps the pinaccle of this approach is Genesis of the Daleks. One of the few stories which appeals equally to all the bickering tribes of fandom, it is generally agreed to be the apotheosis of the serious-minded Dalek stories: philosophically weighty and, we are told, grittily realistic.
Shite. It is neither. Okay, Holmess moral dilemmas may be nicely done, but they amount to little more than fifteen minutes of interesting stuff crowbarred into a typical six-episode Nation runaround. (There can be no better candidate for the story that inspired Eddie Izzards Oh - Ive been captured routine.) Adrian Rigelsford was rather surprised when Philip Hinchcliffe admitted to him that, as was typical with all six-part stories, it did sag in the middle. But even thats a little generous, unless we are to define the middle as episodes 2 to 5.
There is little real evidence of style in Genesis. Style is more than just a slow-motion battle, a freeze-frame cliffhanger and a nice half-mask. What about the platform lift? What about the clam?
The Doctors existential angst aside, nothing in Genesis is remotely new. The scarred mutants date back to The Dead Planet, while the time-ring performs exactly the same tiresome plot function as that storys fluid link. The structure of splitting up the Doctor and his companions is well-worn from its use in every previous Nation yarn. And the fascist allegory couldnt be more obvious if Nyder was played by Anton Diffring; characters here are decked out in full Nazi regalia and show their roots by saying things like I enjoy interrogation. Hinchcliffe was well aware of this: When I first read the storyline, the allusions to the rise and fall of the Nazis were painfully obvious, and I thought we might have been able to subdue that element by going for a subtle design with the costumes. In the end, they all looked like SS officers... they played up to the Nazi element quite blatantly.
Even on a superficial level, the storys production is weak, with dull sets and a generally unconvincing atmosphere. Cornell Topping & Day praise its considerable style. Again, there is little real evidence of this. Style is more than just a slow-motion battle, a freeze-frame cliffhanger and a nice half-mask. Style? What about the platform lift? Not to mention Clarence the cross-eyed clam...
Much of Genesis is as B-movie as any of Nations work. There is an abundance of obvious peril; characters are constantly being told when they are going to die, in case we miss the point, and potential demises are flagged way in advance. They alternately face dystropic toxaemia, predatory mutations, being shot at dawn - a crazy paving of perils and pitfalls. It even resorts to the cop-out reprises of Saturday morning cinema. Forget the philosophy; this is a story which is much more interested in ducts, scaffolding, rockets, substance, service shafts, wastelands, and endless fucking corridors. It might as well be set on a building site.
Of course, in this respect Genesis is no worse than much run of the mill Doctor Who, but, fundamentally, its not a lot better either. One well-played villain with a couple of memorable speeches cannot alone elevate the story to the sort of heights claimed for it. Its not as if the rest of the speeches are as well-turned or thought provoking (Ronsons set-piece monologue is particularly dreary). Ninety-five per cent of the dialogue is dully functional with only the merest hints of Holmes hand, but Nations dabs are everywhere. Again Hinchcliffe found time against him, and now admits that the scripts could still have done with some extra work. It is, note, the sort of story which contains a non-ironic use of the old Even the sonic screwdriver wont open this door line which Baker later had such fun with under Mr.Williams.
There is an odd contradiction in fandoms love of Genesis. On the one hand, they praise it because it is atypical for a Dalek story; yet it seems clear that were not a Dalek story, typical or otherwise, there would be absolutely nothing special about it. Moral dilemmas abound in stories from Robert Sloman and Baker and Martin, but does anyone sing the praises of overlong runabouts like Planet of the Spiders or The Mutants? Not if they care for their reputation, they dont. Were getting a picture on one of these scanners... - how convenient. A shame, too. In the storys last minutes, Nation sows the seeds of the factionalism which will pull the rug out from under all future Dalek tales. Oh, and contrary to popular opinion, the Davros have pity scene is not much better than Ben Aaronovitchs rip-off in Remembrance.
So presenting the Daleks in a sympathetic context is not, in itself, enough to save a dull story. But the converse is also true: a non-conducive context can scupper an otherwise promising tale. For twenty years now, fan dogma has kept Destiny of the Daleks pigeonholed in this category. As with the largely dreadful The Chase, Destiny is universally judged to be lacking in sympathy for its cyborg stars. By reputation, one would think the story was ninety minutes of schoolboy sniggering, sly looks and knowing asides to camera - Carry On Dalek. Yet this is far from the truth; it is in fact the only occasion on which an alternative approach has actually been pulled off.
Cornell Topping Day say, apparently as a criticism, that it is difficult to spot where Nations plot ends and Adams script-editing begins. What this is supposed to mean is anyones guess; stylistic confluence of this order is usually seen as a mark of subtle editing, and thus a Good Thing. Adams did make sweeping changes, but he was not as reckless as his critics would have us believe. Yes, the story is self-knowing; it takes risks, and a few liberties, with our expectations of a Dalek story. But rather than undermining the narrative, these touches invigorate it. Revelation of the Daleks can also claim some of these qualities, but it is essentially a black comedy which uses the Daleks merely as deus ex machina. Destiny is a Dalek Story through and through.
CTD also complain that it has a tacky, inconsequential feel. In many ways the events related are inconsequential - there are none of the usual grand schemes here. But Nick Pegg has pointed out that the Daleks aims are in line with the more subtle motives of all the Season 17 villains: For once, the Daleks dont want to invade the universe, irradiate a planet or commit genocide - their great plan is to stay alive, nothing more. This single focus grounds the story much more successfully than, for example, Resurrection, which is positively overburdened with plot.
The Daleks are the anti-Tom; they simply cannot appear on the same screen without one of them surrendering their dignity.
The more down to earth (as it were) premise not only makes a welcome change, it also makes the story more palatable to an audience which has grown up along with the show. The days when the Daleks could rant and rave unchecked by any superior intelligence were long gone. If they could not thrive under a mecurial Doctor such as Troughton, the same is doubly so with Baker. The Daleks are the anti-Tom; a single television screen is not big enough for them both. As representatives of the two extremes of the programme - solemn, unbending otherness against flippant, unpredictable humanity - they simply cannot appear on the same screen without one of them surrendering their dignity. Genesis tackles this by cheating - it turns Baker into Pertwee (more of which later). One might expect Destiny to take the opposite tack, and find comedy within the Daleks - but it doesnt.
The Daleks themselves are not complicit in any kind of parody or piss-taking; they go about their steely business the same as ever. To take the storys most infamous scene, we should not forget that the Daleks inability to climb sheer walls is a fact, backed up by 17 years of continuity. We, the viewers, know that the Daleks are not well adapted for - lets be honest here - the majority of terrains they are likely to encounter. For the Doctor to be blind to this fact demeans him, and insults our intelligence. To suspend our disbelief, we make the implicit assumption that the Daleks do have some method of vertical travel - probably those bloody flying discs from the comics - but we dont really need to see it. (Its no accident that the only story which actually shows these discs in action is a Pertwee.)
No, it is not the fact that the Dalek cant climb up the shaft which shocks us; it is the Doctors pointing it out. But to do so is entirely in keeping with the fourth Doctors persona. So who, then, is acting out of character in this scene? No-one! Congratulations, Mr Adams. By contrast, the fourth Doctors failure to act in character is yet another great drawback of Genesis of the Daleks. The story was clearly written for Jon Pertwee, and with Holmes not having time to brush up the entire script the Doctors personality is stuck in some kind of no-mans land between the two. He spends most of the time rushing about, fighting, dressing-up, pontificating - Pertwee traits all. It seems that fans give the story the benefit of the doubt, assuming the Doctors humourless demeanour is a deliberate reaction to the gravity of the situation. Unlikely. In Destiny, the context - that is, the reactions and motivations of the other characters - is entirely sympathetic to the Daleks; it is only the Doctor who is not, and that, after all, is his prerogative. He recognises that they are a threat, which is precisely why he refuses to accord them the respect they demand.
Even leaving all this aside, Destiny is a likeable story. The plot rattles along, making full use of its four episodes. There are several unusual cuts between scenes with the same characters in different locations, such as the swift acceleration towards episode threes cliffhanger. The Movellans and their ship are well designed, following the Robots of Deaths lead in eschewing sci-fis preference for the dully utilitarian in favour of the aesthetic elegance of fantasy. Admittedly the Daleks themselves are in a bad way, and their city looks rather odd, but director Ken Grieve draws our attention away from this through inventive use of low camera angles, with the result that they generally look far more threatening than usual. Romanas interrogation scene is particularly nicely shot, showing off some powerful acting from Lalla Ward. David Gooderson does an acceptable impersonation Wishers Davros, and its not a great loss considering that the Captain Pike-lookalike is here more of a plot device than a fully-fledged character. Given the rehabilitation of Season 17, received fan opinion again seems a little perverse; if this were not a Dalek story, it would be much more highly regarded. As it is, fandom seems to have let a few creaks and the odd wobble cast great nimbo-cumulouses over its judgement.
All this analysis has been inspired purely by the need to justify my defiantly unfashionable predilections. Im not claiming great things for Destiny; certainly not that it is a CLASSIC!!! Nor am I saying that Genesis is an irredeemable cackstain to rank alongside Time and the Rani or Attack of the Cybermen. Im just saying that I am very fond of the one, and would be perfectly happy to watch it if you came round my house with a bottle of Merlot and such a suggestion; and that I dont much like the other, and would get more pleasure and long-term benefit from, say, putting up some shelves. Ive long felt this way; yet the weight of fan doctrine has always ensured that whenever I voiced my opinion, it was met with the sort of astonishment cultured society normally reserves for those who profess to prefer Wings to The Beatles.
I want to be allowed to like the Daleks for themselves - for the sheer enjoyment of watching the bastards burst through a wall - and not have to have to wade through hours of cod-Nitzschean treatises as justification. Sod allegory, I just want to feel eight-years-old again.
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