Tony Fyler may not know
much about art,
but he knows what he
likes.
When Doctor Who came back
in 2005, many people asked many of the same questions. Would the sets be
wobbly? No. Would the companions still be screaming girls? Not unless the
situation really called for it. Would the Tardis still be a police box? Yes of
course. What story from the past would be the keynote for the future? Well,
City of Death, obviously.
City of Death is what
happens if you do Doctor Who as a heist movie, then get Douglas Adams involved.
It’s what happens if you
have a suave aristocratic couple using alien technology to plan the theft of
the Mona Lisa, and add a Doctor and his companion at the absolute peak of their
relationship: Tom Baker and Lalla Ward here banter like honeymooners, and are
each a match for the dynamics of the other’s performance.
And then, just when your
audience thinks it’s nothing more than a jolly alien heist caper, City of Death
turns the crazy up to not just eleven, but at least thirteen.
The “prologue” of City of
Death, in fairness, does tell us almost everything we need to know. Scaroth of
the Jagaroth, looking like a patch of something scraped off a beach and poured
into a flight suit, sits in his bizarrely-shaped spaceship, and accidentally
blows himself to bits. The tonal shift from hardcore sci-fi to the gibbering of
the Doctor and Romana is achieved in one short panning shot, and there they
are, on the Eiffel Tower. They banter and we follow them to a café, where a time
slip shakes them up. Ohhhh, did we not mention that? The alien tech-using
art-stealing aristocrat? He’s also doing time experiments down in his cellar.
As you do…
Despite the time-slip, the
Doctor decides they’re on holiday, and they go to view the Mona Lisa. After
another time-slip, the Doctor falls into the lap of a beautiful woman
(probably), the Countess Scarlioni, and attracts the attention of English
thumper-of-things and alleged detective, Duggan. And so the knockabout fun
really begins. The Doctor steals the Countess’s alien tech – a bracelet that
scans the defences they will need to overcome to steal the Mona Lisa – meaning
Duggan gets interested in what he thinks is the Doctor’s ruse. The Countess’s
husband, Count Scarlioni, sends a squad of rent-a-goons to get the bracelet
back, and locks our heroes in the cellar. Episode 1 ends with the Count, alone,
staring into the mirror and then, for apparently no reason at all, tearing his
own face off to reveal Old Seaweed-Features himself – Scaroth of the Exploding
Spaceship.
While a great cliffhanger,
it does rather boggle the mind. Not only does it mean that an alien wants to
steal the Mona Lisa, it seems to mean that an alien we’ve seen blown to
smithereens…wants to steal the Mona Lisa.
Meanwhile, in the cellar,
the time experiments make solid progress – time expert Theodore Nikolai
Kerensky is busy turning eggs into chickens and back again (Well, everyone
needs a hobby). So – alien art heist by exploded seaweed-faced monsters in the
drawing room, world food shortage-beating time experiments in the cellar. Everyone
clear? It’s like Upstairs, Downstairs written at a sci-fi convention, by people
with access to way too much wine. Did we mention Douglas Adams?
What’s missing from all
this? How about a secret chamber that’s been bricked up for centuries? No
problem - Romana spots a size difference in the downstairs rooms, and boom,
there’s a secret chamber that’s been bricked up for centuries.
Now…this is the point at
which the crazy factor of the story reaches at least 11. The bricked-up chamber
appears to contain…
Mona Lisas. Six Mona Lisas. So – just in case you’re
falling behind, a seaweed-faced alien who exploded in scene one has a
bricked-up cellar chamber with six Mona Lisas in it, and is using alien tech to
help him steal a seventh – the one in the Louvre. Enter Duggan with a handy bit
of exposition, and a chunk of plot that could have been lifted directly from a
Sherlock Holmes story – there are seven criminal art collectors around the
world, each of whom would pay a kingpin’s ransom to have the Mona Lisa in their
private collection…but only if they believed it was the one and only – the one
hanging in the Louvre. So, that explains why the Count needs to steal the
painting. What it doesn’t explain is how he ends up with six in the cellar, all
of which, according to the Doctor, are genuine – or, come to that, how he knows
they’ll be there so he needs to steal the seventh.
That’ll be that “turn the
crazy up to 13” moment we were talking about. Turns out Scaroth didn’t die in
the explosion we saw at the start of the story. No, he was “splintered”, so
there are a bunch of incarnations of him, connected but incomplete, scattered
throughout Earth’s history, all working to advance human civilisation, to the
point where the Count-incarnation, the last, latest one, has the equipment to
perform rudimentary time travel experiments in 1979. Now…here’s technically
also where the wheels come off the story. The seven Mona Lisas and their subsequent
sale are all to fund time travel experiments in 1979, along with a bunch of
Guttenberg Bibles, original Shakespeare folios and so on. What you have to ask
is, with foreknowledge through his selves, is getting seven Mona Lisas painted
really the most effective way this alien can think of to accelerate human
technological development? Bear in mind that he has access to the greatest
minds of Ancient Egypt, of Rome, of the Renaissance. He has access to Galileo,
to Copernicus, to Newton, to – let’s absolutely not forget – Leonardo DaVinci!
But never mind about the engineering, Leo, you knock up a bunch of paintings,
that’ll do nicely. So technically the plot makes no sense at all, but it’s
delivered with such style, such grace, such pace
that it really doesn’t matter that much. (Interestingly – and perhaps a
little sadly, there’s no mention of Scaroth’s work with the Silurians, and how
that presumably went extraordinarily pear-shaped when the Moon arrived and they
all went underground. Fans may like to imagine the Silurian-Scaroth, as he’s
forced into hibernation along with the rest of the species, muttering
“Rassen-frassen stupid reptiles, all that work for nothing…”)
A quick hop back in time for
the Doctor to write “This Is A Fake” on the six Mona Lisa canvases in felt tip
and the art heist plot is foiled. But no matter – because the Count has
persuaded Romana to help him. Kerensky’s experiment created a separate time
field, but no-one could move from one universe to the other without a field
interface stabiliser. Romana obligingly builds him one, only to belatedly
realise what Scaroth’s actual plan is. He doesn’t just want to unite himself
into one fully-functional Jagaroth again. He wants to go back in time and stop
himself pressing the button that triggered the explosion in the first place.
All very fine and noble, except the explosion is what started the development
of life on the planet, so if he succeeds, we’re all doomed never to have
existed.
Dilemmas, dilemmas.
What you need in
situations like this of course, is a handy detective who likes to thump things.
Duggan travels back to primordial Earth with the Time Lords, lamps the
lantern-jawed Jagaroth and saves the course of history as we know it. Good old
Thumper Duggan.
And so, bar a timeless
cameo from John Cleese and Eleanor Bron, finally answering the question “The
Tardis – fantastic dimensionally transcendental time machine, yes, but is it
art?”, we leave the City of Death behind. But given it actually makes staggeringly
little sense, why has it so often been cited as the story with the tone that
re-launched Doctor Who to greater triumphs in the New Who era?
Because if you look at it
really hard, you see the fundamental components for a successful 21st
century show. The Doctor and his companion are equals here in a way they had
seldom been in the Classic show. Scaroth, played by classically-trained stage
actor Julian Glover, for the most part mixes charm, nous and a worldly humour
with a fundamental brutality that quite takes the breath away. The Parisian
location-work means the scale of the show feels bigger and better than the
endless gravel-quarries of the majority of 70s Who, and the performances, the
dialogue, and the deliciously bonkers plot all match the effervescence of the
location. The dialogue makes the mad world of the plot feel populated with real
people. And City of Death has a firm, firm grip on its tone from start to
finish. In this, more than in anything else, it maps out the 21st
century future of the show – in a world before tone meetings, City of Death
showed the way.
No comments:
Post a Comment