Gaze of the Medusa, Part 1
Tony’ll be behind the
sofa if you need him.
There are events in a
modern Who-fan’s life that carry a charge of excitement right from your
eyeballs to dance up and down your spine and, like a slightly dodgy 1970s
visual effect, turn you into a squealing eight year-old all over again. Tom
Baker joining Big Finish was one of those moments. Probably, for the younger Tardis-tykes,
David Tennant joining Big Finish will be another. Prepare yourself for another
shiver of electro-static joy and nostalgic connection, because the Fourth
Doctor is in comic-books again! What’s more, there’s none of the ‘inventing
companions to have comic-book adventures with’ malarkey so often necessary.
No no, oh my geekbrothers
and nerdsisters, this is the real deal. The dream team. The Fourth Doctor and
Sarah-Jane Smith are back on the case in two dimensions, and big hairy men up
and down the country and all around the world have a little tear in their eyes
and are tempted to snuggle up behind their sofas with their Doctor Who scarves
and a favourite teddy bear, to digest every single glorious panel of their
adventures, helping them beat their enemies with their concentration.
It’s Saturday night in the
mid-seventies again, and everything’s right with the world.
If you think there’s no
point to this nostalgic ramble, you clearly haven’t been paying attention to
fandom for the last forty years. Releasing a series of Fourth Doctor
comic-books carries an enormous hit of nostalgia, and that’s important in terms
of selling it. Every Doctor had their unique skills and selling-points:
Hartnell the mystery and the avuncular grandfather. Troughton the clown with
the Beatle haircut. Pertwee the handy dandy ‘Hai!’ karate man. But when Baker
took the role it was the first time it felt as though, just possibly, the
Production Team had found a real alien to be the Doctor. For the next seven
years, that infinitely-bescarfed, goggle-eyed, sudden-smiling alien was our
lodestone in an increasingly scary universe. He was the Doctor as long as any
two other incumbents put together, and there’s a sense in which he’s still
twice the Doctor almost any other Doctor has been. But more than that – it was
in Tom Baker’s era that Doctor Who in comic-books became a serious proposal. He
was the Doctor when Doctor Who Magazine was launched, and he played a large
part in there being enough of an audience for it to exist in the first place.
He was the Doctor in whose world Abslom Daak was born. The Doctor of the Iron
Legion. Try as you might, you can’t name comic-book stories before Tom Baker’s
era that were as serious, as intensely drawn, as unsentimentally grown-up, or
as cleverly fun, as anything that came during his time. I’m as much of a fan as
anyone else of the great Dalek comics of the sixties, but the Tom Baker comic-book
era was a real quality-Rubicon. It informed the aesthetic understanding of
generations of fans, and gave them a sense of what the realistically-drawn
science-fiction universe could look like, beyond infinite shiny cities and golden-balled
Dalek Emperors.
So – no pressure, then,
Titan. Annnd go!
Gaze of the Medusa, Part
1, in some ways, takes no chances with the legacy either of the comic-book Fourth
Doctor or the on-screen version, and there’s a sense of perhaps printing the
legend for a wide range of fans from all eras just tuning in or catching up
with this ‘Governor’ of incarnations. The Doctor’s in Victorian London, wearing
his Talons of Weng-Chiang outfit, taking Sarah-Jane to see the Wild West Show
of Buffalo Bill. So there are visual lodestones to cling to, dabble-fans, and a
scenario that plays to one of Baker’s most well-appreciated stories and looks,
as well as a touch of Western action to draw in the transatlantic trade. But
what else is there?
Plenty, as it happens.
There’s a veiled women who probably isn’t Madame Vastra, but who does a neat
line in creepy-as-hell. There are gibber-speaking mono-optic giants with
vision-beams (because why wouldn’t there be?), and there’s an intrepid duo of
possibly-Victorians, a father and daughter team with Greek names and an intense
interest in ‘chronautology.’ That’s time travel to you and me. The storytelling
structure from Gordon Rennie and Emma Beeby (seriously, how do you get a
gig like this?) is reminiscent of classic Tom Baker stories, the alien
creepiness showing itself first, before a switch to incongruous
Doctor-and-companion action, a run-in with alien thuggery and human
friendliness, a companion-kidnap and a plan to rescue them. You couldn’t get
more mid-seventies than this. Sarah-Jane doesn’t twist her ankle here, but is
extracted from a London street by one of the one-eyed gibber-giants, coming
over all King Kong to her Fay Wray. The tone of the dialogue is pure
Hinchcliffe-Who too – the chronautology-enthusiast father and daughter acting,
at least in this opening episode, like a more clued-up Jago and Litefoot, the
Doctor stepping out in front of their would-be assailants and delivering his
own fine line in alien gibber, though (and for this we’re oddly grateful, as it
would feel like one step too far into the territory of hitting marks)
refraining from offering them a jelly baby. Perhaps most crucially, the veiled
woman is still enough and says little enough to convince as a potential (but by
no means certain) villain of the piece. When she and Sarah-Jane are alone, her
knowledge is almost prosaically delivered, with a twinge of dangerous humour,
that culminates in an absolutely classic, 100% with extra gothic sprinkles
effective cliff-hanger that actually makes you shudder, even if you’re 40-odd
and beardy and really should know better. That, friends, is the mark of
effective Who-writing.
It's also of course, given
the comic-book format, the mark of effective Who-art. Let’s talk about the art
for a minute – there’s plenty to say. Brian Williamson steps up to the plate
for this gig, which as we spent a few hundred words explaining, is loaded with
traps and ways to fail, ways to let down the legacy.
So does he?
It would be difficult to
argue that he does. Again, the Victorian setting is both a gift and a
restriction – there’s plenty of room for grubbiness of streets, fantastic
architecture and a glorious intensity of clutter, and Williamson delivers that
atmosphere expertly. One of the cardinal errors that lays open to an artist on
the Fourth Doctor comics is getting close to Tom Baker, but not quite
achieving him. There’s no need to worry on that score here though – Williamson
delivers a range of Baker expressions, some of which you’ll have seen before,
and others which simply smack of Baker’s Doctor as he would be in the scenarios
he encounters here. Sladen’s Sarah-Jane too is pretty faithfully rendered into
two dimensions, meaning the nostalgia hit never wavers by way of careless
companion-art. Williamson is to be congratulated too on the scale and clarity
of his eye – delivering monstrous bearded one-eyed trolls (given the Grecian
theme, one is tempted to say Cyclopses) with aplomb, and fitting them into the
otherwise ordinary scale of Victorian London, adding some horse-related action
sequences, both in the Western show and with a London cab, and, for instance,
imbuing the clutter of the chronautologist’s lab with a clarity and sharpness
that allows nothing to be background, that makes every thing something real,
as though it could be the star of its own life story. His delivery of the
veiled woman’s house too is realistic, carrying a certain Gothic heaviness in
tone and grain that informs our brains of where and when we are. And – did we
mention this? – he draws a mean cliff-hanger.
Colour work here is by established colourist Hi-Fi, so you know this
issue’s got the tones right to invoke both creepy Victorian streets and the
brightness of contrasting moments at the Western show, in the chronautologist’s
lab and when showing the actions of the cyclopses.
So – one to buy then?
Is Tom Baker the Doctor?
Really, it’s that much of
a no-brainer – of course you’re going to buy this one, because Tom Baker rules
all and in very many ways, he still informs what’s essential Doctorish
behaviour to this day, meaning on some level Tom Baker will always
be the Doctor, and the Doctor will always be Tom Baker. The nostalgia is strong
in this one, delivering more than a pang in every Sarah-Jane panel. If the
first issue grounds us in a very safe world for the Tom Baker incarnation,
there’s certainly enough that’s new to make it a very different trip to
Victorian times. The art is crisp and intensely textured, the mystery
intriguing enough to draw you in, and the Greek connection makes you look
forward to even madder things to come. From your first ‘Woohoo!’ at the cover
to your fist-pump at the cliff-hanger, rejoice, geeks of the world – the Fourth
Doctor is back in comics!
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