After two relative disasters, the Unbound series needed a strong offering to rebound — and given the people involved, a rebound was almost inevitable. Uniting the greatest audio writer, Robert Shearman, with legendary actor Sir Derek Jacobi, was bound to produce great results — but nobody could have predicted something quite like this, which, despite its controversial nature, stands as arguably the greatest Big Finish production of all time.
If Full Fathom Five was a statement about the unassailable nature of the Doctor’s character, Deadline is something greater: a love letter to the series that proves exactly why Doctor Who is a necessary production that brings happiness to countless associated persons. Many have attacked Deadline for showing us a miserable old man who cannot relate to his family and is slowly falling into dementia, but one essential point is missed in such criticism: the source of Martin’s happiness. He sees Doctor Who not only as a source of escape but also as the manifestation of his creative freedom; yes, he may alienate himself by disappearing into his writing but it’s the blending of the fictional reality and his true reality that cause him to reach out. In many ways, Doctor Who shapes his life without even existing. He doesn’t comprehend real life; as seen with his relationships, he doesn’t know the first thing about dealing with people. But in his Doctor Who scripts he’s the hero, he’s beloved by his granddaughter and companions, and everything works naturally; there’s no bad writing on display in his characterizations.
Indeed, everything miserable on display stems from the absence of Doctor Who. The central question of “What if Doctor Who was never a television series” isn’t answered with “This small group of people would become miserable” but rather “A wonderful source of happiness for many people would be gone.” Look at the Juliet Bravo fan: he’s the only happy character in the play. Martin’s losing his mind, Philip’s desperate for love, Barbara doesn’t even have a personality, and Tom just wants to be left alone with his video games — but the fan is happy and he enjoys what he does. Is he somewhat embarrassing? Sure — he’s got a nerdy encyclopedic knowledge of a television program. But is he pathetic? Absolutely not — he derives enjoyment from a simple television program. None of the other characters — save perhaps Tom, and he’s going down the same road as Martin — can enjoy something so unimportant so much, and as such they’re all miserable.
Sir Derek Jacobi doesn’t play the Doctor as such — though his brief turns as the character in his fantasies are impressive — but it’s obvious why an actor of his caliber was required for the central role. Martin Bannister is an incredibly complex character: Jacobi is asked to deliver callous lines in such a fashion as to sound naive and even sympathetic, and does so in a perfectly believable fashion. He’s quick to anger, and yet his softer scenes are heartbreaking — his final conversation with Tom is painful to hear because it’s played so well. As delightful as Jacobi was as the Master in The Scream of the Shalka, this is about as good of a performance as one can expect from an actor. Astonishing.
The supporting cast is equally talented. Peter Forbes drags every inch of pathos out of Philip, making him increasingly pathetic and irrelevant despite his attempts to the contrary. Jacqueline King’s switch from patronizing nursing home attendant to lonely, drunken wreck is perfectly natural, and Genevieve Swallow manages a remarkable degree of hostility as Susan. Ian Brooker is perhaps a bit too cliched as Sydney, but I love Shearman’s reversal here: by presenting us with an unlikeable fan stereotype, he forces us to accept that type of person as happy and admirable in the face of so many other miserable types.
Nicholas Briggs’ direction is superb — yes, this is a talented cast, but the performances are even better than Big Finish’s usual high standard. Despite featuring constantly shifting realities, the play never becomes confusing and stays well-paced. And Briggs’ sound design is brilliant, especially his music, which evokes the Doctor Who theme in a subtle yet wonderfully innovative sense.
There’s very little that cannot be said about the achievements of Deadline. It’s an amazingly literate, thematically-rich script that rewards the listener upon each subsequent playing. The cast is on top form with a stellar central performance, and the direction and production values are first-rate. Add to that the fact that it’s deeply controversial and guaranteed to push buttons and you have what amounts to a perfect production.
The question of why we love Doctor Who is incredibly hard to answer — I just never imagined the perfect answer would come in this form. Buy it now.
“I was going to be the best playwright since Shakespeare. Hell with it, I’d be better than Shakespeare…. As the years go by you realise you aren’t as good as Shakespeare, and you aren’t as good as those other nine writers to watch out for…. You scale down your ambitions. You pride yourself you can always meet deadlines. Then you’ll be proud if no-one sacks you when you stop being able to meet them…. And you end up with nothing left to write because you’ve got nothing left to say, and you’re not sure you ever did.”
Deadline is one of the few Big Finish audios to actually generate controversy. It’s a marmite story in the same league as Two Doctors, Happiness Patrol, Ghostlight and Love & Monsters. Some love it for Robert Shearman’s script and for being so off the wall. Others hate it for being such a degrading, miserable, almost hostile story, to the point where they may even prefer He Jests at Scars to it.
As with Jubilee, the listener is not entirely sure whether it’s a celebration of Doctor Who, or an outright attack on it. And that’s what lends the story interpretations of simple bitterness. What’s interesting about Deadline is that it seems to be the product of a fan’s wish fulfilment to actually cure themselves of being a fan, to purge their love for Doctor Who and to reckon with that thin line between love and hate that most fans know all about. It’s about a burned out, bitter fan who’s been plagued by the germ of an imagination that wouldn’t die and wouldn’t leave him in peace. As if Doctor Who was nothing but a curse to him that brought him nothing but frustration. After all, towards the end Doctor Who became simply a miserable chore to watch, or at the very least it had clocked up enough years that the weaker stories had gradually accumulated to form a critical mass that eroded most of our appreciation and good will towards what the show had been in its prime, but we still watched it anyway just in-case it improved and we got treated to a veritable jewel.
I’ve often wanted to dismiss everything after Season 17, but I could somehow never dismiss the worth of stories like Revelation of the Daleks, Greatest Show in the Galaxy and Parting of the Ways that really had things to say about society at the time and inspiring messages about individuality in a crushingly conformist world, and thus the rock bottom period of the show and a less than satisfying revival was perhaps just about worth it for their existence. Likewise Deadline realises the dream of what if Doctor Who never existed, and looks at what a more grey and unforgiving world it would be if that happened. Don’t forget that Doctor Who itself had been burned in the 80’s by the decline of society’s values, a decade where idealism was being crushed and demonized, and in the show itself the same thing was happening to the Doctor.
From that, some of us might have developed a sense of shame for being fans of the old show. Certainly much of our merciless mockery of the old show is because we’re afraid to be too enthusiastic having been let down by the show before. One poster on Outpost Gallifrey summed up the forum’s vicious pecking orders, its bitchiness, its sychophancy, its stifling of any articulation of criticism, and its fixation with greater audience figures and what the ‘not-we’ thought and all the other displays of fannish self-hatred, with the words “frankly I’ve never felt so pathetic”. Deep down some of us maybe felt that Michael Grade was right when he called mid-80’s Doctor Who a waste of the licence fee, and maybe it was a waste of precious hours of our lives.
As much as I’ve taken cheap digs at the JNT/Eric Saward era, the strength of Robert Shearman’s writing, both here and in the New Series story “Dalek”, is that instead of shying away from the ugliest periods of the show, he as a writer actually revels in them, digs deep and manages to draw something beautiful and rare out of it.
Some may hate the character of Martin Bannister, but the relationship between Martin and his neglected creation is one that suggests the possibility of redemption for him. That for all his callous, dishonourable and despicable quirks, his creation of the character of Doctor Who was his means of creating a more noble, heroic alter ego of himself. That his frank rudeness and spiky social skills would have imbued his art with a rare honesty and sincerity. That he had an overwhelming desire to give something of his soul to the world, and give the people something life-changing. And thus Martin stands as a pathos-ridden symbol of wasted potential. Derek Jacobi is of course superb in the role, and brings the character into memorable sharp relief. Many of us would have given anything for him to have played the Master all the way through the atrocious Series Three finale. The important thing is he plays Martin as someone who’s out of touch and who’s compelled to be brutally honest but never really means ill and thus seems completely ignorant of his own hurtful behaviour. As Martin repeatedly tells us, the only thing he ever cared about was Doctor Who, and Derek Jacobi hones that passion in a piercing way.
The story of Martin Bannister’s failed writing career, and the making of a Doctor Who that never really happened makes for an honest assessment of what Doctor Who is. A rather childish, pulp sci-fi series in inception but with enough blood, sweat and tears put into its creation and greater possibilities in its format that it became art through its struggle to be made, it became meaningful and an opportunity for the writer to really reckon with issues and demons. As with Jubilee, Doctor Who is rendered essential and affirming by comparing it to the kind of mindless shoot-‘em-ups of modern entertainment (this time in the violent computer game that Martin’s grandson is playing like he’s dead to the world), and emphasising how Doctor Who was about thought and empathy over action, which alone made it something rare and precious.
Then we have Martin’s son, Philip as played by Peter Forbes. It’s strange to hear the headstrong Dan Culver from Dalek Empire III in what’s effectively a Mike Leigh film, but he plays the part wonderfully, and instantly belongs in this realist haphazard family tree as a branch that tried to get as far away from its roots as possible, wanting to be a complete contrast to his dad. He was a son who’d deliberately do everything his dad doesn’t. Martin was a womaniser and Philip is neurotically loyal to his wife to the point of shunning all other female company, out of the fear that he shares his father’s curse. Philip’s failed marriage seems down to a world where there’s no positive male role models like the Doctor to show the middle ground between men who treat women like disposable sex objects and men who can’t even speak to women without having a crisis of conscience about it. Doctor Who was perhaps something beautiful in an absolutist sensationalist media that’s obsessed with sexuality, whether by glorifying or demonising it.
In some ways this story is familiar to Doctor Who’s declining 80’s period, where a show that depended on natural change turned instead to militant backlash and shunning everything from the previous era, and thus became limited, neurotic and half-hearted. When the humour and spontanaeity of the Williams era became forbidden by JNT, we got a miserable, arrested show and even Robert Holmes got blacklisted from the writing team for the first three years. When the mean spirited violence of the mid 80’s became forbidden by the BBC, we got Season 24’s harmless pantomime instead (we suspect that this was the point where Rob Shearman felt let down by the show). This is all those politics pinned down to a personal level, to a man’s own prison of withdrawal and self-imposed restrictions and it’s beautifully done.
It’s obvious that this is inspired by The Singing Detective in a manner that takes the range full circle back to The Sirens of Time, where a helpless paralysed man finds freedom in his imagination and his distorted rose tinted memories, and though I’ll get into trouble for saying this, it has an advantage of succinctness over Dennis Potter’s classic serial. As demonstrated in The Holy Terror, Robert Shearman has a talent for writing observational, descriptive dialogue as something naturalist and almost subliminal so that the listener is never conscious of the writing, and so here we get a perfect, authentic representation of the real world. It’s a beautiful piece of mindscape drama with moments of mundane reality turned sour as imagination subverts the antihero’s surroundings as his grip on reality slips away. In this world without Doctor Who, the inviting, beckoning first notes of the theme tune are firmly divorced of the familiar connotations of a children’s show or nostalgic pop culture laughing stock, and become something with reality-bending possibility. The same is true of the cabinet in his room that is gradually revealed to be a Tardis, except now it’s an unfamiliar Tardis just like it was in that first William Hartnel story before the Doctor Who universe became familiar and known. A gateway to new realms which promises possibilities and adventures anew, and takes us back to the show’s roots. Indeed it’s this new realms idea that seems to have inspired The Nowhere Place.
As a declaration of love for Doctor Who, it almost reads as an attempt to follow up Survival with a Talking Heads episode about Doctor Who, and having the series effectively end where it begins. But in terms of where it’s all going, then it’s crucially a Mike Leigh film (and the nursing home setting is perfect for this), where lonely, desperate and pathetic characters meet and implode with each other and the climax of it all is a family reunion that’s been much built up to, and which sees the budding emotions explode to the surface in a cathartic way, if not a triumphant one. It’s probably no surprise that it all goes horribly wrong for Martin, and it would be less than realistic or faithful to the character for him to have a happy ending. He’s an old man so stuck in his ways that there’s only one way downhill for him. But in place of redemption, there’s catharsis as Martin surrenders to madness and it’s the only thing that could ever make him truly happy, living in his fantasy world. As with The Apocalypse Element, a story of endurance amidst misery can be inspirational and beautiful, even if it doesn’t see hope ultimately triumph.
Actually no, the ambiguous ending doesn’t really make things very clear. Perhaps the cabinet really was a Tardis, and Martin was the Doctor all along a la Human Nature. Perhaps it was all a dream. But what seems most likely was that Martin died in the cabinet, but in the moment of death, his mind created his own euphoria of his dreams coming true. Similar to a plague victim’s feverish dreams of saying goodbye to their father in Dalek Empire III, or David Bowie dreaming of making amends with his brother in Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence. But for all the ambiguities, the real point is the choice that Martin eventually made, choosing the fantasy world of Doctor Who over the misery of the real world and his own family.
New Who’s approach to the fan stigma is a deeply nasty one where a story like Last of the Time Lords is so full of blatant plot holes and contempt for the viewer that it practically yells at the grumbling fan ‘who cares? Move on, it’s over. Let go you obsessive saddo’. Not to mention the way it uses the trendy, snoggable Tenth Doctor as a mouthpiece to renounce all the negative stereotypes of fandom by means of cruel deflection, the most ugly example is in Army of Ghosts when the juvenile Doctor announces to Torchwood in front of Jackie, that he wouldn’t be seen dead travelling with his companion’s mother tagging along (the point where I decided that this mean spirited and immature new series was not ‘my’ Doctor Who anymore). By comparison Deadline presents us with the most sad, bitter, anti-social and repellent fan but still draws our empathy with them and makes the case that they have as much place in fandom as anyone, and as much right to enjoy the show as anyone.
In first impressions Deadline does inevitably seem fan bashing, given its treatment of the anal Juliet Bravo fan, but gradually it becomes apparent that it’s the fan character who is the most happy and content, and it’s the people who do the fan bashing and the people who are most down to Earth who are the most miserable. Unlike Love & Monsters with its elitism and blatant Ian Levine bashing, it’s not dictating what the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ kind of fan is. Whether it’s a joy at the show’s imagination, themes and drama, or simply a joy at lists of figures, continuity references and inconsequential minutia, such joy is rendered truly beautiful in this world of misery. As things are now, we may never hear something this fan-proud ever again.
Let’s make one thing clear though, if this story is simply bleak, nasty and mean spirited to you then it will no doubt be nasty and mean spirited in a way Doctor Who has never been to you before. Even mid 80’s Doctor Who was made passable by its sci-fi fantasy escapist elements that distanced its nastiness from reality. Deadline however is uncomfortably closer to home. What’s more, for a Robert Shearman story it’s surprisingly void of humour.
But for those of us with the inclination to appreciate it, it’s crucially the sincerity that counts. As I discussed in Spare Parts and The Dark Husband, there’s not many Big Finish stories that are truly sincere, but sincerity was always guaranteed when Robert Shearman was behind the typewriter and this is possibly his most sincere work of all. This is an anniversary story that goes completely against the grain, emphasising a love of Doctor Who by imagining the depressing horror of its absence. It’s the antithesis of anniversary stories that dot the history of Doctor Who with a tick box, and instead is doing Doctor Who at year zero, and thus is far more about the possibilities of the show and about how it felt the first time, how haunting and mind expanding the first viewing of the show was. You never know quite what you’re going to get with a Robert Shearman story and that’s no moreso true than here, and so this is actually the ultimate Unbound story that far exceeds the range’s ambitions. It’s a masterpiece.
DEADLINE
After two relative disasters, the Unbound series needed a strong offering to rebound — and given the people involved, a rebound was almost inevitable. Uniting the greatest audio writer, Robert Shearman, with legendary actor Sir Derek Jacobi, was bound to produce great results — but nobody could have predicted something quite like this, which, despite its controversial nature, stands as arguably the greatest Big Finish production of all time.
If Full Fathom Five was a statement about the unassailable nature of the Doctor’s character, Deadline is something greater: a love letter to the series that proves exactly why Doctor Who is a necessary production that brings happiness to countless associated persons. Many have attacked Deadline for showing us a miserable old man who cannot relate to his family and is slowly falling into dementia, but one essential point is missed in such criticism: the source of Martin’s happiness. He sees Doctor Who not only as a source of escape but also as the manifestation of his creative freedom; yes, he may alienate himself by disappearing into his writing but it’s the blending of the fictional reality and his true reality that cause him to reach out. In many ways, Doctor Who shapes his life without even existing. He doesn’t comprehend real life; as seen with his relationships, he doesn’t know the first thing about dealing with people. But in his Doctor Who scripts he’s the hero, he’s beloved by his granddaughter and companions, and everything works naturally; there’s no bad writing on display in his characterizations.
Indeed, everything miserable on display stems from the absence of Doctor Who. The central question of “What if Doctor Who was never a television series” isn’t answered with “This small group of people would become miserable” but rather “A wonderful source of happiness for many people would be gone.” Look at the Juliet Bravo fan: he’s the only happy character in the play. Martin’s losing his mind, Philip’s desperate for love, Barbara doesn’t even have a personality, and Tom just wants to be left alone with his video games — but the fan is happy and he enjoys what he does. Is he somewhat embarrassing? Sure — he’s got a nerdy encyclopedic knowledge of a television program. But is he pathetic? Absolutely not — he derives enjoyment from a simple television program. None of the other characters — save perhaps Tom, and he’s going down the same road as Martin — can enjoy something so unimportant so much, and as such they’re all miserable.
Sir Derek Jacobi doesn’t play the Doctor as such — though his brief turns as the character in his fantasies are impressive — but it’s obvious why an actor of his caliber was required for the central role. Martin Bannister is an incredibly complex character: Jacobi is asked to deliver callous lines in such a fashion as to sound naive and even sympathetic, and does so in a perfectly believable fashion. He’s quick to anger, and yet his softer scenes are heartbreaking — his final conversation with Tom is painful to hear because it’s played so well. As delightful as Jacobi was as the Master in The Scream of the Shalka, this is about as good of a performance as one can expect from an actor. Astonishing.
The supporting cast is equally talented. Peter Forbes drags every inch of pathos out of Philip, making him increasingly pathetic and irrelevant despite his attempts to the contrary. Jacqueline King’s switch from patronizing nursing home attendant to lonely, drunken wreck is perfectly natural, and Genevieve Swallow manages a remarkable degree of hostility as Susan. Ian Brooker is perhaps a bit too cliched as Sydney, but I love Shearman’s reversal here: by presenting us with an unlikeable fan stereotype, he forces us to accept that type of person as happy and admirable in the face of so many other miserable types.
Nicholas Briggs’ direction is superb — yes, this is a talented cast, but the performances are even better than Big Finish’s usual high standard. Despite featuring constantly shifting realities, the play never becomes confusing and stays well-paced. And Briggs’ sound design is brilliant, especially his music, which evokes the Doctor Who theme in a subtle yet wonderfully innovative sense.
There’s very little that cannot be said about the achievements of Deadline. It’s an amazingly literate, thematically-rich script that rewards the listener upon each subsequent playing. The cast is on top form with a stellar central performance, and the direction and production values are first-rate. Add to that the fact that it’s deeply controversial and guaranteed to push buttons and you have what amounts to a perfect production.
The question of why we love Doctor Who is incredibly hard to answer — I just never imagined the perfect answer would come in this form. Buy it now.
10/10
“I was going to be the best playwright since Shakespeare. Hell with it, I’d be better than Shakespeare…. As the years go by you realise you aren’t as good as Shakespeare, and you aren’t as good as those other nine writers to watch out for…. You scale down your ambitions. You pride yourself you can always meet deadlines. Then you’ll be proud if no-one sacks you when you stop being able to meet them…. And you end up with nothing left to write because you’ve got nothing left to say, and you’re not sure you ever did.”
Deadline is one of the few Big Finish audios to actually generate controversy. It’s a marmite story in the same league as Two Doctors, Happiness Patrol, Ghostlight and Love & Monsters. Some love it for Robert Shearman’s script and for being so off the wall. Others hate it for being such a degrading, miserable, almost hostile story, to the point where they may even prefer He Jests at Scars to it.
As with Jubilee, the listener is not entirely sure whether it’s a celebration of Doctor Who, or an outright attack on it. And that’s what lends the story interpretations of simple bitterness. What’s interesting about Deadline is that it seems to be the product of a fan’s wish fulfilment to actually cure themselves of being a fan, to purge their love for Doctor Who and to reckon with that thin line between love and hate that most fans know all about. It’s about a burned out, bitter fan who’s been plagued by the germ of an imagination that wouldn’t die and wouldn’t leave him in peace. As if Doctor Who was nothing but a curse to him that brought him nothing but frustration. After all, towards the end Doctor Who became simply a miserable chore to watch, or at the very least it had clocked up enough years that the weaker stories had gradually accumulated to form a critical mass that eroded most of our appreciation and good will towards what the show had been in its prime, but we still watched it anyway just in-case it improved and we got treated to a veritable jewel.
I’ve often wanted to dismiss everything after Season 17, but I could somehow never dismiss the worth of stories like Revelation of the Daleks, Greatest Show in the Galaxy and Parting of the Ways that really had things to say about society at the time and inspiring messages about individuality in a crushingly conformist world, and thus the rock bottom period of the show and a less than satisfying revival was perhaps just about worth it for their existence. Likewise Deadline realises the dream of what if Doctor Who never existed, and looks at what a more grey and unforgiving world it would be if that happened. Don’t forget that Doctor Who itself had been burned in the 80’s by the decline of society’s values, a decade where idealism was being crushed and demonized, and in the show itself the same thing was happening to the Doctor.
From that, some of us might have developed a sense of shame for being fans of the old show. Certainly much of our merciless mockery of the old show is because we’re afraid to be too enthusiastic having been let down by the show before. One poster on Outpost Gallifrey summed up the forum’s vicious pecking orders, its bitchiness, its sychophancy, its stifling of any articulation of criticism, and its fixation with greater audience figures and what the ‘not-we’ thought and all the other displays of fannish self-hatred, with the words “frankly I’ve never felt so pathetic”. Deep down some of us maybe felt that Michael Grade was right when he called mid-80’s Doctor Who a waste of the licence fee, and maybe it was a waste of precious hours of our lives.
As much as I’ve taken cheap digs at the JNT/Eric Saward era, the strength of Robert Shearman’s writing, both here and in the New Series story “Dalek”, is that instead of shying away from the ugliest periods of the show, he as a writer actually revels in them, digs deep and manages to draw something beautiful and rare out of it.
Some may hate the character of Martin Bannister, but the relationship between Martin and his neglected creation is one that suggests the possibility of redemption for him. That for all his callous, dishonourable and despicable quirks, his creation of the character of Doctor Who was his means of creating a more noble, heroic alter ego of himself. That his frank rudeness and spiky social skills would have imbued his art with a rare honesty and sincerity. That he had an overwhelming desire to give something of his soul to the world, and give the people something life-changing. And thus Martin stands as a pathos-ridden symbol of wasted potential. Derek Jacobi is of course superb in the role, and brings the character into memorable sharp relief. Many of us would have given anything for him to have played the Master all the way through the atrocious Series Three finale. The important thing is he plays Martin as someone who’s out of touch and who’s compelled to be brutally honest but never really means ill and thus seems completely ignorant of his own hurtful behaviour. As Martin repeatedly tells us, the only thing he ever cared about was Doctor Who, and Derek Jacobi hones that passion in a piercing way.
The story of Martin Bannister’s failed writing career, and the making of a Doctor Who that never really happened makes for an honest assessment of what Doctor Who is. A rather childish, pulp sci-fi series in inception but with enough blood, sweat and tears put into its creation and greater possibilities in its format that it became art through its struggle to be made, it became meaningful and an opportunity for the writer to really reckon with issues and demons. As with Jubilee, Doctor Who is rendered essential and affirming by comparing it to the kind of mindless shoot-‘em-ups of modern entertainment (this time in the violent computer game that Martin’s grandson is playing like he’s dead to the world), and emphasising how Doctor Who was about thought and empathy over action, which alone made it something rare and precious.
Then we have Martin’s son, Philip as played by Peter Forbes. It’s strange to hear the headstrong Dan Culver from Dalek Empire III in what’s effectively a Mike Leigh film, but he plays the part wonderfully, and instantly belongs in this realist haphazard family tree as a branch that tried to get as far away from its roots as possible, wanting to be a complete contrast to his dad. He was a son who’d deliberately do everything his dad doesn’t. Martin was a womaniser and Philip is neurotically loyal to his wife to the point of shunning all other female company, out of the fear that he shares his father’s curse. Philip’s failed marriage seems down to a world where there’s no positive male role models like the Doctor to show the middle ground between men who treat women like disposable sex objects and men who can’t even speak to women without having a crisis of conscience about it. Doctor Who was perhaps something beautiful in an absolutist sensationalist media that’s obsessed with sexuality, whether by glorifying or demonising it.
In some ways this story is familiar to Doctor Who’s declining 80’s period, where a show that depended on natural change turned instead to militant backlash and shunning everything from the previous era, and thus became limited, neurotic and half-hearted. When the humour and spontanaeity of the Williams era became forbidden by JNT, we got a miserable, arrested show and even Robert Holmes got blacklisted from the writing team for the first three years. When the mean spirited violence of the mid 80’s became forbidden by the BBC, we got Season 24’s harmless pantomime instead (we suspect that this was the point where Rob Shearman felt let down by the show). This is all those politics pinned down to a personal level, to a man’s own prison of withdrawal and self-imposed restrictions and it’s beautifully done.
It’s obvious that this is inspired by The Singing Detective in a manner that takes the range full circle back to The Sirens of Time, where a helpless paralysed man finds freedom in his imagination and his distorted rose tinted memories, and though I’ll get into trouble for saying this, it has an advantage of succinctness over Dennis Potter’s classic serial. As demonstrated in The Holy Terror, Robert Shearman has a talent for writing observational, descriptive dialogue as something naturalist and almost subliminal so that the listener is never conscious of the writing, and so here we get a perfect, authentic representation of the real world. It’s a beautiful piece of mindscape drama with moments of mundane reality turned sour as imagination subverts the antihero’s surroundings as his grip on reality slips away. In this world without Doctor Who, the inviting, beckoning first notes of the theme tune are firmly divorced of the familiar connotations of a children’s show or nostalgic pop culture laughing stock, and become something with reality-bending possibility. The same is true of the cabinet in his room that is gradually revealed to be a Tardis, except now it’s an unfamiliar Tardis just like it was in that first William Hartnel story before the Doctor Who universe became familiar and known. A gateway to new realms which promises possibilities and adventures anew, and takes us back to the show’s roots. Indeed it’s this new realms idea that seems to have inspired The Nowhere Place.
As a declaration of love for Doctor Who, it almost reads as an attempt to follow up Survival with a Talking Heads episode about Doctor Who, and having the series effectively end where it begins. But in terms of where it’s all going, then it’s crucially a Mike Leigh film (and the nursing home setting is perfect for this), where lonely, desperate and pathetic characters meet and implode with each other and the climax of it all is a family reunion that’s been much built up to, and which sees the budding emotions explode to the surface in a cathartic way, if not a triumphant one. It’s probably no surprise that it all goes horribly wrong for Martin, and it would be less than realistic or faithful to the character for him to have a happy ending. He’s an old man so stuck in his ways that there’s only one way downhill for him. But in place of redemption, there’s catharsis as Martin surrenders to madness and it’s the only thing that could ever make him truly happy, living in his fantasy world. As with The Apocalypse Element, a story of endurance amidst misery can be inspirational and beautiful, even if it doesn’t see hope ultimately triumph.
Actually no, the ambiguous ending doesn’t really make things very clear. Perhaps the cabinet really was a Tardis, and Martin was the Doctor all along a la Human Nature. Perhaps it was all a dream. But what seems most likely was that Martin died in the cabinet, but in the moment of death, his mind created his own euphoria of his dreams coming true. Similar to a plague victim’s feverish dreams of saying goodbye to their father in Dalek Empire III, or David Bowie dreaming of making amends with his brother in Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence. But for all the ambiguities, the real point is the choice that Martin eventually made, choosing the fantasy world of Doctor Who over the misery of the real world and his own family.
New Who’s approach to the fan stigma is a deeply nasty one where a story like Last of the Time Lords is so full of blatant plot holes and contempt for the viewer that it practically yells at the grumbling fan ‘who cares? Move on, it’s over. Let go you obsessive saddo’. Not to mention the way it uses the trendy, snoggable Tenth Doctor as a mouthpiece to renounce all the negative stereotypes of fandom by means of cruel deflection, the most ugly example is in Army of Ghosts when the juvenile Doctor announces to Torchwood in front of Jackie, that he wouldn’t be seen dead travelling with his companion’s mother tagging along (the point where I decided that this mean spirited and immature new series was not ‘my’ Doctor Who anymore). By comparison Deadline presents us with the most sad, bitter, anti-social and repellent fan but still draws our empathy with them and makes the case that they have as much place in fandom as anyone, and as much right to enjoy the show as anyone.
In first impressions Deadline does inevitably seem fan bashing, given its treatment of the anal Juliet Bravo fan, but gradually it becomes apparent that it’s the fan character who is the most happy and content, and it’s the people who do the fan bashing and the people who are most down to Earth who are the most miserable. Unlike Love & Monsters with its elitism and blatant Ian Levine bashing, it’s not dictating what the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ kind of fan is. Whether it’s a joy at the show’s imagination, themes and drama, or simply a joy at lists of figures, continuity references and inconsequential minutia, such joy is rendered truly beautiful in this world of misery. As things are now, we may never hear something this fan-proud ever again.
Let’s make one thing clear though, if this story is simply bleak, nasty and mean spirited to you then it will no doubt be nasty and mean spirited in a way Doctor Who has never been to you before. Even mid 80’s Doctor Who was made passable by its sci-fi fantasy escapist elements that distanced its nastiness from reality. Deadline however is uncomfortably closer to home. What’s more, for a Robert Shearman story it’s surprisingly void of humour.
But for those of us with the inclination to appreciate it, it’s crucially the sincerity that counts. As I discussed in Spare Parts and The Dark Husband, there’s not many Big Finish stories that are truly sincere, but sincerity was always guaranteed when Robert Shearman was behind the typewriter and this is possibly his most sincere work of all. This is an anniversary story that goes completely against the grain, emphasising a love of Doctor Who by imagining the depressing horror of its absence. It’s the antithesis of anniversary stories that dot the history of Doctor Who with a tick box, and instead is doing Doctor Who at year zero, and thus is far more about the possibilities of the show and about how it felt the first time, how haunting and mind expanding the first viewing of the show was. You never know quite what you’re going to get with a Robert Shearman story and that’s no moreso true than here, and so this is actually the ultimate Unbound story that far exceeds the range’s ambitions. It’s a masterpiece.