Doctor Who
The Daemons
The Daemons, once heralded as an all-time classic, now languishes
somewhat, tarnished by the kind of reappraisal that rendered the once-lost The Tomb of the Cybermen not, after all,
all that. This may be fair enough – an unassailable status is always ripe for
toppling – although I rest firmly in the defender camp for both. While The Daemons undoubtedly has its issues,
it’s a story I enjoy in spite of and sometimes for the things it gets criticised
over, be it the “cosy” UNIT family vibe, or just being “not really very good” (pretty much the party line in The Discontinuity Guide’s appreciation
of the Pertwee era, while unaccountably finding Davison’s run cherishable).
The Doctor: You might say he blew
a fuse.
So what of
the major beefs, then? Well, I can’t honestly argue that the ending isn’t a weak
cop-out, as Azal gets abjectly confused (“It
does not relate!”) by Jo’s offer to sacrifice herself in the Doctor’s
stead. It doesn’t actually annoy me, however, mainly because the tropes
themselves – the computer self-destructing when confronted with imperfect
logic, human values as oddities that make us unique and special, which ostensibly
“higher” lifeforms perversely fail to comprehend - have been flourished many
times across the genre.
The
resolution might have been more irksome had Azal been built into a substantial
character, but the consequence of delaying his appearance until the fourth
episode, and then not actually seeing his face until the end of that episode,
is that there’s so little to define him, other than his curious rationale for
offering stewardship of mankind to the Doctor or the Master. And, while he’s
quite well designed (you can’t really go too far wrong with Pan), I’ve never been
fully on board with Stephen BOOMING Thorne’s performances, not in this, not in The Three Doctors, and not in The Hand of Fear.
As for the
Doctor being a right bastard, he certainly has a couple of prize moments, of
which Jo is mostly on the receiving end. All that’s missing from “Jo, did you fail Latin as well as science?”
is “You stupid bloody bitch”. Later,
he compounds this by being extremely contrary over her dismissiveness of the
Brigadier (something she has undoubtedly learned from him), reprimanding her
for showing disrespect towards her superior officer.
Winstanley: Forgive
me. Well, I thought, the costume and wig.
The Doctor: WIG?
On the
other hand, Pertwee has highly memorable moments – in a good way – throughout,
belying the idea this is some kind of nadir for his incarnation’s
personability. These include his response to the suggestion his hair might not
be his own, his interaction with Osgood – which may be superior (“Let’s concentrate, shall we?”) but the
back-and-forth of is a delight, in no small part thanks to Alec Linstead’s
performance – “You’ve got the mind of an
accountant, Brigadier”, and the Venusian lullaby “Close your eyes my darling, well three of them at least”, which
appears to make Katy Manning genuinely crack up. It’s not as if Pertwee’s
Doctor is ever that consistently approachable,
as prone to giving a tongue-lashing as he is to turning on the charm (if not
more so). Generally, though, he’s more likable here than, say The Mutants (which I’ve also revisited
recently).
The Doctor: What’s
the bounder’s name?
The other
notable Doctor utterance in The Daemons
that tends to receive a less than glowing reaction is his suggestion Hitler was
only a faintly disreputable fellow. This one’s a storm in a teacup, since the reason
for mentioning Hitler (or Genghis Khan; he’s not quite sure which bounder it
is) is to compare one-time best chum and supreme bounder-whom-he-still-quite-likes-really
the Master to someone else he once observed using similarly totalitarian
language. He’s massaging his disapproval with a bit of sarcastic understatement.
So they you have it, what more proof could you wish for of the Third Doctor’s
suspect ideological (Tory) underpinnings?
Of the rest
of the regulars, the Brigadier is at his best, and Courtney plays a blinder
(see below), Jo is supremely dim throughout, and Manning’s and John Levene’s
performances range from variable to plankish, so no change there, although the
latter is especially noticeable as Benton has more to do. Richard Franklin pitches
Yates as supremely uncomfortable as ever (he’s never really at ease until he
gets brainwashed).
There’s no
faulting Roger Delgado, of course, but the Master by this point rather beggars
belief. There’s a superb scene where he magisterially begins identifying the
villagers’ sly sins and best-kept secrets (“Are
you still padding the grocery bills of the local gentry?”), promising he’s
not there to judge, merely to fulfil their desires if they do as he says.
Unfortunately, less than two scenes later he’s yelling at them, his persuasive veneer
replaced by derision (“Why, you’re all
less than dust beneath my feet!”). And isn’t this about the fifth time in
row the Master has fundamentally miscalculated the power of the bottle he’s
uncorking? Nevertheless, Delgado dishes up a storm, whether he’s in vicar’s
duds or satanic rites robes.
Jo: But it really is the dawning of
the Age of Aquarius. Well, that means the occult, you know, the supernatural
and all that magic bit.
There are
other negatives that should fairly be acknowledged; it’s definitely a bit murky
in places just who is doing what in Devil’s End and how and why (the Master or
Azal) in respect of Bok (like Azal, a memorable piece of design), heat shields
and potential braining incidents. And, while the dialogue is often marvellously
memorable (“In the name of the
unspeakable one, back!”, “The horned
beast!”, “This planet smells to me of
failure!” and Miss Hawthorne’s linguistically inventive Quiquaequod),
sometimes Sloman and Letts let things slip; Miss Hawthorne (the wonderfully
lispy Damaris Hayman) references the old vicar, “the one who left in such mysterious circumstances”, like it’s Scooby Doo. Also, while Devil’s End is a
suitably evocative name, are we really supposed to believe Satanhall is to be
found nearby? However, I love the local yokels. They’re great fun, part-and-parcel
of the story’s heightened appeal, as much in your average Hammer horror.
The Daemons’ position as one of the least threatening,
most archetypal Who stories – its
reputation held so high for so long on account of being a much-loved
cornerstone of its era, from those who made the series down – makes it more striking
for occupying territory the series hadn’t explored before, and wouldn’t again,
really, until the cloth-brained The Curse
of Fenric attempted to fashion a crude commentary on comparative faiths. This
being the BBC, it was generally nervous of upsetting its licence payers, so it definitely
was not okay to undermine the beliefs of the nation’s little ones (or rather,
their discerning parents), however fractured they may have become by the early
‘70s; the show wasn’t in the habit of even broaching the subject of Britain’s
dominant religion, let alone undermining its tenets.
Indeed, the
show has mostly avoided – wisely, I think – getting into the sticky territory
of challenging specific beliefs; far better to generalise or make something up
to bring home your point. We’d seen Christianity in the show, but mostly in the
context of the pure historicals (The
Crusade, The Massacre) where the
Doctor was passing judgement on events, rather than the validity of the faiths
that supported them. Sure, there was an alien posing as a man of God in the
second and third seasons, but he was a comedy character unlikely to cause
offence. The supernatural and occult, or ideas that directly undermined a
belief in the Christian God, weren’t generally entertained. You might invoke An Unearthly Child’s Stone Age tribe as
an indirect support of evolution and so a slight to biblical accounts, but it
was fairly oblique. And The Abominable Snowmen
offered a religious order infiltrated and used by evil forces – even featuring
what would later become commonplace, demonic possession, but was then highly
unusual – but they were Buddhist, so
comfortably far from home.
That all
changed with the Letts era, and it did so nearly from the beginning, even if
the series largely reverted to form thereafter (the occasional “Set, Satan, Sadok” aside, but in
referencing an Egyptian god it was again closer to The Abominable Snowmen example). The Silurians posited a race of intelligent reptiles ruling Earth while
man was yet an ape, while Inferno
suggested a reversion to a more primitive rung on the evolutionary ladder. The
next logical step was tackling the antiquated prime religion itself. I even
wonder if – given Buddhist Barry being rather aggrieved by the appropriation of
Padmasambhava in The Abominable Snowmen
– he took a touch of relish in rebalancing the scales.
In The Daemons, the Doctor indicates
outright that Christianity is bunkum (“No,
not your mythical devil, Jo, no. something far more real and more dangerous”),
with, von Däniken style, the activities of alien
visitors propelling its mythology (“Of
course, Azael, the fallen angel”). The
Bible is quoted, but to emphasise Old Testament intolerance and zealotry (“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”).
Further, Letts introduces a force of good as a direct rebuke to this (“I’m a witch. White, of course”) and engineers
the restoration of positive, celebratory forces of paganism at the conclusion,
the invading religion having been wiped from the village in explosive fashion.
We also
have the curious exchange between The Master and Miss Hawthorne, where the
former, as Reverend Magister, wears the woolly, ineffectual mask of the modern
church, which doesn’t really believe in anything very much at all (the Master
is a rational man, and “the soul is a
dated concept, viewed existentially”) One wonders if Miss Hawthorne’s
disdain (“A rationalist existentialist
priest indeed!”) mirrors Letts’ view, who may have had no truck with
Christianity but could appreciate that it was at least a belief system, and
professing to be one of its adherents while believing nothing very much at all
was far more objectionable than espousing its less forgiving tenets.
Miss Hawthorne: But
that is magic. That’s precisely what black magic is.
Of which,
the story’s debate in respect of science versus magic is often held up as a
wonderful example of how the show always elevates enlightenment over ignorance,
and science over superstition. Really, though, it’s nothing of the sort. While
the plotting may sometimes suggest a slipshod approach on Letts’ part, I suspect
his philosophical exchanges were entirely intentional. The Doctor’s discourse
on psionic science, as Miss Hawthorne surmises, represents little more than smug
semantics on his part.
With a flourish of psychokinetic energy, or a wave of a
psionic wand, Bazza is able to give stone creatures life and grant all manner
of occult methodologies instant legitimacy (“All the magical traditions are just remnants of their advanced science”),
while having the Doctor mention the (then) limits of scientific knowledge (how
it’s “impossible for a bumble bee to fly”;
Tom was rather fond of that one too). The
Daemons actually seems to be saying that magic and science are the same thing, and neither
perspective is superior to the other (as such, the Brigadier instructs Osgood
of his technical specifications, “Never
mind the mumbo jumbo”).
Underlining
this is the tilt against science as practiced by the Daemon. There is no moral consideration
to Azal’s actions. We are “a scientific
experiment to them, just another laboratory rat”. Which leads to the Doctor’s
rather alarming assertion “What does any
scientist do with an experiment that fails? He chucks it in the rubbish bin”
(I hope he checks for toxic waste first). Despite the Doctor’s dogmatism, science
isn’t placed on a pedestal here, and it doesn’t win the day (illogical human
compassion does). If only Azal had been a Buddhist, he might not have got
himself into such a tizzy.
The Daemon
element is, of course, something of a Nigel Kneale redux, adapting Quatermass and the Pit’s pre-von Däniken take on ancient astronauts and their influence on beliefs and
superstitions, Christian and pagan. While it can claim its part in the
zeitgeist thanks to “all that magic bit”
The Daemons nevertheless has several Who antecedents, in the advanced, long-dormant
semi-mythic race of The Tomb of the
Cybermen and the alien/ cryptozoological beasts of The Abominable Snowmen (via HP Lovecraft). Letts and Sloman also precede
the likes of Horror Express (1972,
itself based on John W Campbell’s Who
Goes There?) and its ancient alien aboard the Trans-Siberian Express, and even
the quasi-archaeological horrors of Alien
and John Carpenter siege movies The Thing
and Prince of Darkness.
In broader
terms the story effectively juggles the soon to be receding passions of the
hippy era, voicing a generation’s era’s disaffectation with, and suspicion of, the
prescribed religion, as exemplified by The
Wicker Man (1973) a couple of years later. So, while The Daemons is a cosy story, and an unthreatening one, it is
thematically much more substantial than many of its predecessors to that point;
it only superficially looks like kids’ fare (although that facile ending admittedly
doesn’t help its cause). As such, it even laces in more adult themes, from misrepresenting
Crowley (“To do my will shall be the
whole of the law”) to the Doctor and Jo engaging in a fertility dance (even
the new series never went that far, yet).
Other
elements also merit mention in defence of this out-of-favour story. If it’s a
tale that peaks early, that’s in part because the first episode is near-perfectly
paced, structured and written. Director Chris Barry is on form throughout (his contribution
to the following season is decidedly less impressive), opening with effectively
rain-lashed night filming, and taking obvious care with his compositions; he handles
the logistics of the heat barrier particularly impressively. Not everything
works (the mismatched scale of Azal’s hoof prints when seen from the air and
the ground is all-too noticeable), and the CSO is dickey, but I’d dispute that
it’s sometimes unclear what’s going on. You know when a point-of-view is
supposed to be a point-of-view.
Alastair Fergus: But now
the question is, can Professor Horner pull out his plum?
One of the highlights
of the first episode is Professor Horner (Robin Wentworth), and the dead-on
parody of twittish public school BBC(3) presenters; when Horner is told it
would be “absolutely super” if he could break into the burial chamber at the
stroke of midnight, he sardonically replies “Right ho, lad. I’ll do my best to be ‘absolutely super’!” Especially
winningly, his reason for staging the event on Beltane is revealed as entirely
mercenary; “My new book comes out
tomorrow”.
Yes, The Daemons rather falls apart at the
final hurdle, but otherwise unfolds confidently over its five episodes, and
unlike many a Pertwee suffers no discernible sag midway through. It’s a top
notch Brigadier story (“Chap with wings
there. Five rounds rapid” – only diminished through being incessantly cited
as a summation of all things Lethbridge-Stewart – “Fancy a dance, Brigadier?” “That’s
kind of you Captain Yates. I’d rather have a pint”), enough to banish all
memory of his bizarre and ignoble final fate as an exhumed Cyber-corpse at the instigation
of Steven Moffat (talking of whom, I completely hadn’t made the connection
between Osgood and his nu-Who
namesake until this viewing, but I see that only as a good thing). And even if
I’m not really that fussed by the added value of Benton and Yates in their
civvies, they do have their amusing (and action-packed, and amusingly
action-packed – Levene can’t get enough of that bazooka) moments.
Miss Hawthorne: The May Day miracle has happened again. The Earth is born anew.
The familiar
rural idyll is intrinsic to The Daemons’
appeal, so if that element and its accompanying clichés proves off-putting, or the
UNIT family atmosphere provokes a disdainful response, the story stands little
chance of finding many favours. Yet it ends on such a warm and good-natured
moment (“You’re right, Jo, there is magic
in the world after all”) it would surely take a heart of ice not to be
melted. It may not be the absolute pinnacle of the Pertwee era, but The Daemons still stands tall, no CSO
required.
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.