Timeless Adventures E-Book

Brian J Robb

• Herausgeber: Polaris
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 569

Beschreibung

This critical history of Doctor Who covers the series 60 years, from the creation of the show to its triumph as Britain's number one TV drama. Opening with an in-depth account of the creation of the series within the BBC of the early 1960s, each decade of the show is tackled through a unique political and pop cultural historical viewpoint, exploring the links between contemporary Britain and the stories Doctor Who told, and how such links kept the show popular with a mass television audience. Timeless Adventures reveals how Doctor Who is at its strongest when it reflects the political and cultural concerns of a mass British audience (the 1960s, 1970s and 21st Century), and at its weakest when catering to a narrow fan-based audience (as in the 1980s). The book also addresses the cancellation of the show in the late 1980s (following the series becoming increasing self-obsessed) and the ways in which a narrowly-focused dedicated fandom contributed to the show's demise and yet was also instrumental in its regeneration for the 21st Century under Russell T. Davies, and analyses the new series to reveal what has made it so popular, reflecting real world issues like consumerism and dieting.

Leseprobe

TIMELESS ADVENTURES

This edition first published in 2023 by

POLARIS PUBLISHING LTDc/o Aberdein Considine2nd Floor, Elder HouseMultrees WalkEdinburghEH1 3DX

www.polarispublishing.com

Text copyright © Brian J. Robb, 2009 & 2023

ISBN: 9781915359070eBook ISBN: 9781915359087

First published by Kamera Books, 2009

The right of Brian J. Robb to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

The views expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions or policies of Polaris Publishing Ltd (Company No. SC401508) (Polaris), nor those of any persons, organisations or commercial partners connected with the same (Connected Persons). Any opinions, advice, statements, services, offers, or other information or content expressed by third parties are not those of Polaris or any Connected Persons but those of the third parties. For the avoidance of doubt, neither Polaris nor any Connected Persons assume any responsibility or duty of care whether contractual, delictual or on any other basis towards any person in respect of any such matter and accept no liability for any loss or damage caused by any such matter in this book.

This is an unofficial publication. All material contained within is for critical purposes.

Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following for the use of their visual material, used solely for the advertising, promotion, publicity and review of the specific motion pictures, television programmes and publications they illustrate. Academy Entertainment, Ace, Agave, Alliance, Berkley, Born Pockets, Carolco Pictures, Columbia Tristar Home Entertainment, Corgi, Daw, DeNoel, Doubleday, DreamWorks ILC, Editrice Nord, FAN, First Run Features, Fox Lorber Home Video/Orion Home Video, Granada Books, Kentaut, The Ladd Company/The Blade Runner Partnership, McFadden Books, Miramax Film Corp, Nemira, Panther, Paramount Pictures, Penguin, Prism Leisure Corp. PLC, QM Productions, Robert Laffont, Team Entertainment Group, Triumph Enterprises, Inc., 20th Century Fox, Warner Independent Pictures, Universal. Special thanks to The Tony Hillman Collection, and to James Van Hise. Any omissions will be corrected in future editions.

Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication DataA catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library.

Designed and typeset by Polaris Publishing, EdinburghPrinted in Great Britain by MBM Print, East Kilbride

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations

Introduction

1: Adventures in Space & Time

2: Black and White Heat

3: Colour Separation Overlay

4: Gothic Thrills

5: Time Lord on Trial

6: The Fandom Menace

7: Regeneration

8: Space–Time Fairy Tales

9: Half-Century Hero

10:WhoBeyond 50

11: In Flux

Epilogue: Sixty Not Out!

Sources

Illustrations

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

William Hartnell, the original Doctor, was aged 55 when cast as the significantly older mysterious traveller in time and space. Alamy

The Daleks made Doctor Who an instant hit. Scriptwriter Terry Nation (left) became very rich as a result, while BBC staff designer Ray Cusick (right) only received a £200 bonus. Alamy

Second only to the Daleks, the Cybermen were another popular Doctor Who monster that returned again and again throughout the years. Alamy

Patrick Troughton’s Second Doctor proved the show could not only survive but prosper thanks to a change in the leading actor, explained by the concept of ‘regeneration’. Alamy

Jon Pertwee’s Third Doctor, with Katy Manning’s Jo Grant – the character that set the template for the solo female companions of the 1970s. Alamy

Tom Baker became iconic as the Fourth Doctor – a performance against which all other Doctors to come were compared. Alamy

Peter Davison, as the lighter Fifth Doctor, led a ‘crowded’ TARDIS, with Janet Fielding, Matthew Waterhouse, and Sarah Sutton as his trio of companions. Alamy

Colin Baker’s Sixth Doctor – from his costume to his abrasive character – was controversial and short-lived on screen, although given new life on audio thanks to Big Finish. Alamy

Sylvester McCoy brought new impetus to the series as the Seventh Doctor, but it was too late to avoid cancellation in 1989. Alamy

Paul McGann was the Doctor for one night only in the US TV movie, with Eric Roberts (left) as the Master and Daphne Ashbrook as Grace Holloway. Alamy

Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper were the unlikely lead stars who relaunched Doctor Who on the BBC in 2005. Alamy

David Tennant proved hugely popular as the Tenth Doctor, so much so he and companion Donna (Catherine Tate) returned in three specials for the show’s 60th anniversary. Alamy

The youngest Doctor to date, Matt Smith was just 26 when cast as the Eleventh Doctor but he brought great depth to his version of the character. Alamy

Like Tennant, Peter Capaldi was a long-term Doctor Who fan when he was cast; he achieved his ambition of facing off against the original Cybermen from The Tenth Planet. Alamy

Jodie Whittaker made history as the first female Doctor, but following a record-breaking debut viewership collapsed to new lows during her run. Alamy

Rwandan-born, Scottish-raised Ncuti Gatwa was the new face of the Doctor for a new era. Alamy

INTRODUCTION

Doctor Who is an amazing television phenomenon. Any 60th birthday is a momentous occasion, all the more so for one of a mere handful of popular television shows (outside of soap operas) to have been on air in one form or another across six decades, as exciting and as fresh as ever. In November 2023, Doctor Who reached that 60th anniversary milestone, just as it was refreshing itself again with the arrival of the latest actor to play the mysterious Time Lord title role, Rwanda-born, Scottish-raised actor Ncuti Gatwa.

Doctor Who has a unique and endlessly variable premise. At its most basic it is about the adventures of the heroic Doctor, travelling through time and space in his (or her) Police Box-shaped TARDIS, often with a human companion (or two, or three) along for the ride. With that set-up, the series can be anything, from knockabout farce to gothic horror, deep-space adventure to an internal drama within someone’s mind. Adventures can be galaxy-spanning, or take place within a virtual fantasy environment like the Matrix (first featured in Doctor Who in 1976), or even somewhere as mundane as Tooting Bec (where the Yeti lurk in lavatories, according to Third Doctor actor Jon Pertwee). Anywhere in time and space is fair game . . .

Doctor Who began life as a Saturday-evening semi-educational television series in 1963, and it was back on television that it triumphed in the ratings in 2023, the show’s 60th anniversary year. In-between, the infinitely adaptable premise has seen Doctor Who stories told through just about every medium available, from movies to audio dramas, computer games to internet episodes. It has spun off a whole host of merchandising, from the 1960s period of ‘Dalekmania’ to the flood of 21st-Century series tie-ins.

Doctor Who’s genius is that, in the guise of a family adventure series, it is sui generis, above being categorised as belonging to one specific genre or another. Often perceived as science-fiction, the show is generically all-encompassing, as the past 60 years of adventures (in all media) have amply demonstrated. It’s a pop-cultural artefact that appeals to the imagination, and – like the Doctor’s greatest enemies, the Daleks – it has been able to survive and prosper, continually coming back after facing almost certain destruction.

Although most notoriously put on ‘hiatus’ for 18 months in 1985, Doctor Who has repeatedly had to fight for survival within the BBC at various crisis points in its 60-year history. Very early on, there was doubt that the show would even survive beyond the initial 13 episodes. The impact of the arrival of the Daleks on viewing figures saved the series and allowed it to prosper throughout the 1960s. The next crisis came with the replacement of the lead actor, William Hartnell, by Patrick Troughton, challenging audiences to accept a new actor as the title character. Troughton saw the series through to the next threatened cancellation point at the end of the 1960s, when the BBC were actively exploring replacements for the then six-year-old show.

Renewed to run in colour, the five years of Jon Pertwee’s stint under producer Barry Letts and script editor Terrance Dicks was a period of consolidation, with steady audiences and strong support from within the BBC. Later in the 1970s, when Tom Baker played the lead for seven years, the show hit its highest viewing figures whilst also facing a sustained attack by Mary Whitehouse and the National Viewers’ and Listeners’ Association. Accusations of gratuitous violence brought a premature end to producer Philip Hinchcliffe’s run of gothic-horror-style stories, and saw him replaced by Graham Williams, working to a BBC-dictated brief to reduce the ‘tea-time horror’ and increase the humour.

John Nathan-Turner’s decade-long run at the helm in the 1980s was a rollercoaster ride for the series which saw it undergo dramatic changes, with him casting no less than three Doctors: Peter Davison, Colin Baker, and Sylvester McCoy. The lowest point saw the show pulled off air (again due to perceived gore and violence) and ‘rested’ for 18 months in 1985. When it returned, little had been done by the complacent production team to creatively refresh the by then 22-year-old show. This period culminated in the production team publicly fighting amongst themselves, cutting short Sixth Doctor Colin Baker’s tenure after he was effectively fired by the BBC.

The arrival of script editor Andrew Cartmel and new Doctor Sylvester McCoy saw the series dramatically reinvigorated, but it all came too late as viewing figures crashed to little over three million, leading to outright cancellation in 1989. While reaching a respectable UK audience of around nine million viewers, the one-off, US-made TV movie starring Paul McGann in 1996 failed to lead to a series. It was only with strong executive support from within the BBC that Russell T. Davies (a self-proclaimed fan of the original show) was able to relaunch Doctor Who in 2005 to critical acclaim and audience acceptance, revitalising Saturday evening family viewing, culminating in the three 2023 celebratory 60th anniversary specials he also produced.

Doctor Who is one of the most written-about television shows in history, if not the most written about. The reasons for this are many and complex, but much of it is down to the participatory fandom which has grown up around the show, and the fact that (despite all its ups and downs) the show has a unique connection to British television audiences. There are books of Doctor Who lists and quotes, many episode guides (some more useful or insightful than others), several very good production histories (and some not so good), and a growing body of academic literature tackling the original and revived versions of the show. So why add another volume?

This Doctor Who book attempts to achieve three key things. Firstly, it’s a basic introduction to the series and its 60-year history on British television. Chapter one is an in-depth account of the show’s creation and the cultural and social factors which affected its development. However, this book’s history of the show is tackled from a very different perspective to most others’. The thesis here is that Doctor Who earned its place in the affections of British television audiences because underneath its fantastical adventures was a critique of contemporary social, political, and cultural issues, from the 1960s through to the 21st century. Fantasy is often seen as divorced from reality, offering an escape from everyday cares. At worst, it is seen as a refuge for the socially inadequate or the desperate. It was sometimes a damned genre perceived as having little social relevancy. This could not be further from the truth. The best fantasy, like all stories we tell ourselves, has a subtext which deals with important realities and makes it more engaging for an audience. At its best, this is what Doctor Who did with its privileged access to generations of family audiences on Saturday evenings in the 1960s and 1970s and in the early 21st century.

Taking this idea on board, chapters two to five cover the key periods of the original series’ history, with a special emphasis on those adventures that reveal an engagement with the social, political, and cultural history of Britain. The series arguably suffered in the 1980s (chronicled in chapter five) when it abdicated the key to this unique relationship by turning its back on the mass audience to pander instead to the narrower interests of Doctor Who’s dedicated fanbase.

This brings us to the second key focus: Doctor Who fandom (explored in depth in chapter six). This began with a number of like-minded individuals who appreciated the show and grew into a series of cliques, some of them actively affecting the direction the series took and others heavily criticising the choices being made. Once upon a time, fans (of anything, but mainly of science-fiction television shows or film series) were seen as geeky loners severely lacking in social skills, clutching a plastic bag of memorabilia. Like all stereotypes, there are such fans of course. However, it seems that, now, everyone is a Doctor Who fan!

Active, involved fans from the 1980s later became those entrusted with continuing the Doctor Who legacy while the series was off the air in the 1990s, developing the character’s adventures in novels, comic strips, and audio plays, as well as researching and chronicling the making of the original show in sometimes absurd depth. It was due to the actions of dedicated fans that the BBC was prevented from wiping any more old episodes in the late 1970s, and many of those same fans were responsible for the recovery and restoration of many episodes now released by the BBC on CD, DVD, and Blu-ray. The continuation of Doctor Who in audio drama by Big Finish (since 1999) has meant that the actors who played the role on television never really left. Paul McGann is still playing the Eighth Doctor on audio, almost three decades after his one-shot TV movie appearance. Similarly, Tom Baker, Peter Davison, Colin Baker, Sylvester McCoy, Christopher Eccleston, and David Tennant have all continued to develop their Doctors on audio, long after their time on TV was up.

The third strand featured in this volume is the return of Doctor Who to television from 2005 in the newly revitalised series, chronicled in chapters seven through eleven. It’s a show now run by fans (showrunners Russell T. Davies, Steven Moffat, Chris Chibnall, and stars David Tennant and Peter Capaldi were all self-confessed active fans of the original series). However, the new version of Doctor Who has re-engaged successfully with the mass audience which the series lost in the 1980s. The show was refurbished to appeal to everyone, yet it is recognisably still the same Doctor Who which went off air, seemingly forever, in 1989.

Doctor Who is more successful now than it has ever been, and has enjoyed a sustained period of success. When Doctor Who was off the air, the fond memory of the show remained with audiences who’d grown up with it as children, whether in the 1960s, the 1970s, or the 1980s. In 1996 the series was dramatically declared the All-Time Favourite BBC Programme in a public vote celebrating BBC Television’s 60th anniversary, beating the likes of much-loved shows EastEnders and Casualty. For the 100th anniversary of the creation of the BBC in 2022, Doctor Who came second only to much-loved comedy series Only Fools and Horses as the nation’s ‘most loved BBC television series of all time’ in a vote of industry professionals and the general public. The revived version of the series has won armloads of awards, from BAFTAs and National Television Awards to the science-fiction Oscars, the Hugos.

Crucial to this success has been the revived series’ willingness to engage with modern social, political, and cultural (even consumer) issues in a way not seen since the early to mid 1970s. Unlike in the 1980s, but very in tune with the 1960s and 1970s, Doctor Who is once again a show which attracts an audience due to its accessibility and the fact that it is easily understood as part of a modern television environment.

The 60th anniversary year saw Doctor Who refresh itself once more, as the first female Doctor, Jodie Whittaker, hung up her TARDIS key after a four-year run as the Thirteenth Doctor, making way for both a returning David Tennant and newcomer Ncuti Gatwa to step aboard the magical space–time machine. It could have been another moment of crisis, but the fact is Doctor Who’s very strength lies in such change. The show thrives on regular renewal and every new lead actor or showrunner brings something different and unique to this long-lived television series.

Long thought of as a dead series during much of the 1990s, Doctor Who is now guaranteed a healthy future (with a worldwide outlet beyond the BBC on streamer Disney+), as long as the series remains relevant to its audiences. The Doctors themselves are now another of those great British fictional folk heroes like Sherlock Holmes, Robin Hood, and James Bond. Each of these characters returns again and again, in new forms and in new media, telling new, but always relevant, stories. Just like them, Doctor Who will keep returning, forever.

ONE

ADVENTURES IN SPACE & TIME

Who created Doctor Who?

Reading the credits of the current incarnation of the series will not tell you the answer to that question. If you rely on an early edition of the quiz game Trivial Pursuit, which claimed Doctor Who was created by one-time Tony Hancock scriptwriter Terry Nation, you’ll be no better informed. That assertion has continued to surface, even in the Guardian obituary of the first Doctor Who producer Verity Lambert late in 2007. Earlier histories of the show often credited the 1960s Head of BBC Drama, Canadian Sydney Newman. The truth, however, is that the national institution that is Doctor Who was the product of a committee working within another national institution, the BBC itself.

Hugh Carleton Greene became BBC Director General at a crucial time of change in the corporation’s history. Brother of author Graham Greene, he’d been a war correspondent for the Daily Telegraph before joining the BBC in 1940. In and out of the BBC throughout the next two decades, Greene held a variety of important posts that allowed him to succeed Ian Jacob to the top position in 1960. He was now running an organisation with a unique history. Founded in October 1922 by John Reith, the British Broadcasting Company (later Corporation) had a responsibility (as stated in the BBC Charter of 1927) to ‘inform, educate and entertain’ the nation. The BBC was – and currently still is – funded through a licence fee scheme, paid by all who own a television. This often left the organisation open to political manipulation by the government of the day. Experimental television broadcasting had begun in 1932. A regular service started in 1936, but was interrupted by the Second World War before resuming in June 1946. The BBC established many of the basic ‘ground rules’ of television broadcasting, and has often evinced a very paternalistic attitude, resulting in the affectionate nickname ‘Auntie’.

As Director General, Greene had a clear mission statement: to drag the BBC out of the complacent 1950s (some might say the 1940s) and to ensure that the Corporation’s output kept pace with the dizzying social and political change of the 1960s. The big threat the BBC faced was ITV, the independent commercial broadcaster started in 1955, which had found popular success and acceptance as the 1960s began. In comparison with this dynamic young commercial operation, the bureaucratic and hidebound BBC appeared to be a relic from a bygone age. Deference was out and protest was in as the 1960s began to truly swing. It was Hugh Carleton Greene’s job to reflect this sea change in British culture in the programmes that appeared on the BBC.

Among the innovative programmes that debuted on his watch (which extended until 1968) were melancholic situation comedy Steptoe and Son, gritty police drama Z-Cars, and late-night biting political and social satire That Was The Week That Was (or TW3). All were long-running (except TW3, axed amid electoral controversy, although its satiric approach to news and politics lived on through the work of David Frost and others) and significantly developed their respective evolving genres. These three shows all began in 1962. They were to be joined by another groundbreaking series in 1963: Doctor Who.

In order to compete with ITV, Greene approached one of the rival broadcaster’s key creative figures to become the BBC’s new Head of Drama. Sydney Newman had come to ITV from a successful career in his native Canada where he’d started out as a film editor for the National Film Board. After working in American television in the early 1950s in New York, Newman returned to Canada to take up a post with the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation where he became Supervisor of Drama Productions in 1954. By 1958, Newman was in Britain, having been hired by ITV regional franchise ABC (serving the English Midlands and the North) as a drama producer. Newman, brash and forthright like the independent broadcaster he was joining, rapidly rose to become ABC’s Head of Drama. He was directly responsible for the creation of Armchair Theatre, a weekly show which presented the work of a new breed of ‘angry young men’ playwrights to large audiences, and gritty drama Police Surgeon, which developed into the more fantastical The Avengers.

Looking to revitalise the BBC’s moribund drama department and under instructions from Director General Hugh Greene, the BBC’s Director of Television Kenneth Adam hired Newman to become Head of Drama at the BBC. He took up the post as soon as his ABC contract expired in December 1962. Resented by many in the BBC – due to being younger, better paid, outspoken, and (maybe worst of all) ‘foreign’ – Newman was quick to make his mark. He split the unwieldy drama department into three units – series, serials, and plays, headed by Elwyn Jones, Donald Wilson, and Michael Bakewell respectively. All three reported directly to Newman, whose arrival was a sign of big changes to come at the BBC throughout the 1960s.

Donald Baverstock, the BBC Controller of Programmes, met with Newman in March 1963 to discuss the need for a new show to fill an early-evening scheduling gap between the live afternoon sports programme Grandstand and the pop-music review show Juke Box Jury, which led into the all-important prime-time Saturday evening schedule. The slot had been previously filled by a variety of short-lived shows and serials, including a Francis Durbridge thriller, a six-episode science-fiction serial The Big Pool, and comedy series The Telegoons. Newman and Baverstock wanted a new drama for the slot, something that could potentially run all year round (with short seasonal breaks) and could attract a loyal family audience, keeping the older Grandstand viewers tuned in, yet also appealing to the younger, hipper audience attracted to Juke Box Jury. Newman considered a variety of ideas, including a drama set in a boys’ school.

However, for as long as he could recall, Newman had been a fan of literary science-fiction. ‘Up to the age of 40, I don’t think there was a science-fiction book I hadn’t read,’ he claimed. ‘I love them because they’re a marvellous way – and a safe way, I might add – of saying nasty things about our own society.’ Newman was aware of, and embraced, science-fiction’s ability to comment on contemporary politics and society in the disguise of fiction about the future. While at ABC he’d commissioned the science-fiction drama anthology series Out of This World, as well as the serial Pathfinders in Space and two sequels, Pathfinders to Mars and Pathfinders to Venus. The Pathfinders shows featured juvenile characters as a point of identification for the younger target audience and were co-created by Malcolm Hulke, later a key, politically motivated contributor to Doctor Who. Introduced by classic horror-film icon Boris Karloff, Out of This World dramatised the work of key science-fiction authors such as Isaac Asimov, John Wyndham, and Philip K. Dick, whose Impostor was adapted by screenwriter Terry Nation, later to create the Daleks for Doctor Who. These previous Sydney Newman shows combined elements that would be central to Doctor Who: an anthology-series format, with strong ‘audience identification’ characters (as the BBC described them) carrying forward from story to story.

Newman’s interest in science-fiction was fundamental to his thoughts on filling the Saturday scheduling gap, but the BBC had already been actively investigating the possibility of developing a series of literary science-fiction adaptations since early 1962. Always on the lookout for material to adapt, especially literary material, the BBC had an in-house ‘survey group’ that monitored film, radio, and theatre productions for material which might be of use to television. Donald Wilson, then running the BBC’s script department, and Head of Light Entertainment Eric Maschwitz commissioned a report on literary science-fiction that might be suitable for television adaptation. The report, compiled by drama script editors Donald Bull and Alice Frick, was submitted in April 1962. The pair had read and evaluated a selection of then-current science-fiction novels and short-story anthologies, and had met with some authors, including Brian Aldiss. The report labelled the genre as particularly American and ideas-based rather than rooted in character. Various sub-genres were identified, from simple thriller plots, to technology-driven narratives and ‘big ideas’ like cosmic threats to mankind and cosmic disasters. Interestingly, one of the sub-genres identified was described as ‘satire, comic, or horrific, extrapolating current social trends and techniques’, a description that could be applied to much of DoctorWho’s output over the next six decades. This was key to Newman’s belief that science-fiction was a worthwhile genre.

Previous significant science-fiction ventures by the BBC had included the 1950s Quatermass serials (Quatermass, Quatermass II, and Quatermass and the Pit) by Nigel Kneale and the two Andromeda serials (A For Andromeda in 1961 and The Andromeda Breakthrough, broadcast in 1962); these both fell into the ‘cosmic threat to mankind’ sub-genre the BBC report had identified. The report suggested that ideas-driven narratives were not enough; to succeed, a new television drama would have to attach the ‘magic’ of its science-fiction content to ‘a current human situation’. Also, ‘identification must be offered with identifiable human beings’. This remit would be closely followed into the 21st century version of the show.

Frick and her drama-department colleague John Braybon were asked to investigate the subject matter further in a second report itemising specific literary science-fiction titles the BBC could adapt. By July 1962, the pair had devised some rules for TV science-fiction that might appeal to the BBC and had some definite suggestions for stories to be adapted. The ‘rules’ were simple: no bug-eyed monsters; no ‘tin robot’ central characters; no ‘large and elaborate’ settings, such as spaceship interiors or alien planets. They must feature ‘genuine characterisation’ and rely on the audience having to ‘suspend disbelief on one fact only’. Frick and Braybon settled on stories dealing with telepaths or time travel as being most suited to adaptation to television on an inevitably limited BBC budget. They described the time-travel concept as ‘particularly attractive as a series, since individual plots can easily be tackled by a variety of scriptwriters. It’s the Z-Cars of science-fiction’.

The stories listed in this second report which were considered suitable for adapting were time-travel adventure Guardians of Time by Poul Anderson, alien-invasion drama Three to Conquer by Eric Frank Russell, immortality tale Eternity Lost by Clifford Simak, trick story Pictures Don’t Lie by Catherine McLean (aliens invade in tiny ships and drown in a puddle, later satirised by Douglas Adams in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy), a Frankenstein-type tale No Woman Born by C. L. Moore, the humorous The Cerebrative Psittacoid by H. Nearing Jr. and a story of adventure and exploration, The Ruum by Arthur Forges.

Sydney Newman’s own interest in science-fiction, combined with the 1962 reports, which Baverstock and Donald Wilson brought to his attention, resulted in him issuing a brief to the drama department. He requested that they develop a full proposal for a science-fiction anthology series, consisting of a number of self-contained, short serials, to run for 52 weeks of the year, to fill the early-evening Saturday slot. The development of Doctor Who had begun.

Responding to Sydney Newman’s directive, Baverstock and Wilson put together a committee to build upon the survey group’s 1962 findings and develop a proposal for the planned Saturday-early-evening, science-fiction, family show. At the initial meeting on 26 March 1963 were Wilson, two of the authors of the 1962 report Alice Frick and John Braybon, and script-department adapter Cecil Edwin Webber. According to Frick’s notes of the meeting, Wilson suggested a series based around a time-travelling machine and those who used it. Crucially, Wilson maintained that the machine should not only travel forwards and backwards in time, but also into space and even ‘sideways’ into matter itself (suggesting other dimensions). Frick preferred the idea of a ‘flying saucer’ vehicle, very in vogue since the phrase was coined following US pilot Kenneth Arnold’s sightings of 1947. She felt the saucer would be a better ship as it could contain a group of people, unlike (she assumed) a time machine that, in the style of H. G. Wells’ time traveller in his novel The Time Machine, would only allow an individual to travel. Wilson wanted the new show to steer clear of anything computer-related, as this had featured quite heavily in the BBC’s recent Andromeda serials. The telepathy idea from the original report was reconsidered, but not thought to be central to any possible series. Braybon suggested basing a future-set series around a group of scientific trouble-shooters who would investigate rogue science and scientists (this idea would later surface in slightly different form on the BBC in the 1970s as Doomwatch and in the 21st Century as US TV show Fringe). Each individual serial within the overall series could be devoted to exploring the impact of a single scientific idea, suggested Braybon.

In developing a format for the proposed early-evening series, Wilson explained that the show must be built around a central group of continuing characters. Different members of the group could come to prominence in different serials, with others dropping into the background (a very modern drama structure now followed by soaps and TV drama). He felt that, in order to ensure the younger audience tuned in, at least two of the characters should be teenagers, while Frick felt that the teen audience would prefer to watch characters slightly older than themselves, possibly in their 20s. Two key problems were identified: how would the group be exposed to ‘wildly differing’ adventures and how would they be transported to the different settings and environments that the serial nature of the show dictated? C. E. Webber was tasked with coming up with a cast of characters who could form the central group that would feature in the series.

Within the core of the subjects discussed at this meeting are the roots of Doctor Who as it would eventually come to the TV screen in November 1963, but the specifics were lacking. The committee approach, building on the previous work, came up with the idea of a group of characters travelling through time and space in a vehicle of some sort and enjoying/enduring a variety of different adventures each week. The task now would be to add the detail of the characters and pin down some of the specifics of the concept. Webber’s subsequent character notes suggested a ‘handsome young man hero’, a ‘well-dressed heroine aged about 30’, and a ‘maturer man with a character twist’. Webber’s notes also went on to explore in more detail the scientific-trouble-shooters concept.

In April 1963, the notes from these meetings were given to Sydney Newman, who promptly annotated them in his regular brusque manner. He discounted the idea of a flying saucer vehicle, and next to the trouble-shooters concept he simply scribbled a curt: ‘No.’ Next to Webber’s character list he added: ‘Need a kid to get into trouble, make mistakes.’ Newman approved of Wilson’s time-space machine idea and added that the show should be more like the exciting 1930s and 1940s cinema adventure serials than the old-fashioned and worthy traditional BBC children’s dramas. Newman latched on to Webber’s ‘older man’ character, suggesting he should be older than the suggested 35–40, perhaps a frail, grumpy old man who has stolen the time-space machine from his own people. Perhaps he could come from an advanced civilisation on a faraway planet? In this synthesis of the survey group’s ideas with his own off-the-cuff inspiration and his knowledge of socially relevant literary science-fiction, Sydney Newman devised the flexible and lasting concept of Doctor Who.

In May 1963, BBC staff director/producer Rex Tucker was appointed as a caretaker producer for the as-yet-unnamed new programme until Sydney Newman could find a permanent producer for his slowly gestating Saturday-series idea. Tucker brought a recently hired, young and enthusiastic TV director, Richard Martin, to the show, but he intended to direct the first episodes himself. In the summer of 1963, while the BBC bureaucracy prepared for the forthcoming show by allocating studio space at BBC Lime Grove and booking facilities personnel, the creative work in devising the series was still being done. Based on further meetings, Webber drafted a formal format document for the series, accepting Newman’s cliff-hanger serial idea by describing each subsequent 25-minute episode as starting by ‘repeating the closing sequence or final climax of the preceding episode’. A ‘moderate’ budget would be available, but the show should use ‘repeatable sets’ where possible and potential writers should not be afraid of calling for ‘special effects to achieve the element of surprise essential in these stories’.

The characters who were to go on the adventures had been further refined and now had names and character traits. They were Biddy, a ‘with it’ 15-year-old; Miss Lola McGovern, a 24-year-old schoolmistress at Biddy’s school; and Cliff, a ‘strong and courageous’ schoolmaster of 27 or 28. Newman’s now central ‘old man’ character had become ‘the Doctor’, ‘a frail old man lost in time and space’. His ‘name’ has been given to him by the others as they don’t really know who he is. Webber’s character description gave this draft Doctor a form of amnesia: ‘He seems not to remember where he has come from; he is suspicious and capable of sudden malignancy; he seems to have some undefined enemy; he is searching for something as well as fleeing from something. He has a machine which enables them to travel together through time, through space, and through matter.’

Webber wanted writers of subsequent serials to explore the ‘mystery’ of who the Doctor was, with no one single explanation necessarily being definitive. He did, however, provide two ‘secrets’ that the series could reveal when the time was right. The Doctor had stolen the time-space machine when he fled from his own people, having ‘opted out’ as he objected to their ongoing scientific progress (later seen as reflecting the growing 1960s ‘hippie’ pop culture of ‘tuning in and dropping out’ from society). Casting the rebel Doctor as the ultimate conservative, though, Webber mentions his ‘hatred of scientists, inventors, improvers. He malignantly tries to stop progress (the future) wherever he finds it, while searching for his ideal (the past)’. The second secret had the Doctor’s own people in pursuit of him, out to stop him ‘monkeying with time, because his secret intention is to destroy or nullify the future’. In drafting this document, Webber became Doctor Who’s second godfather, adding the essential mystery element (who is the Doctor?) and developing the backstory that he stole his time-space machine and is on the run from his own people.

As before, the document went to Sydney Newman for review. Accepting the parts he’d suggested, Newman violently objected to Webber’s detailed characterisation of the Doctor, writing on the document that the Doctor should be ‘a kind of father figure. I don’t want him to be a reactionary!’ While this Doctor’s desire to fight the future and retreat into the past might have reflected Webber’s political feelings, it certainly didn’t chime with Newman, or his project of trying to drag the BBC – through its drama productions – into the soon-to-be-swinging, anti-reactionary, positively progressive 1960s. Against the paragraph outlining the Doctor’s mission to ‘nullify the future’, Newman bluntly scribbled ‘Nuts!’ In nixing this character idea, Newman probably saved the nascent series from a short, ignominious run. The Doctor’s accepting, tolerant, and open character would be a large part of the series’ ongoing success with subsequent generations, regardless of the actor playing the role at any given time. It would be the one core element of the character that remained unchanged through each incarnation.

Under Newman’s direction the character of the Doctor was revised to become a scientist figure, albeit of the amateur, self-educated variety. He was old, maybe 650 according to one document, and occasionally forgetful, tetchy and selfish, but he was not to be evil. He was to be a positive force for good, an autodidact always open to learning something new, while being immensely knowledgeable. Although the other characters might be suspicious of him and his motives initially, they would all eventually become trusted friends and allies. This was, after all, intended as a Saturday early-evening TV serial aimed at a family audience: the central character couldn’t be too much of an antihero, even in the 1960s. The character had now been dubbed ‘Dr Who’, reflecting his unknowable nature. There is an echo of Jules Verne’s Captain Nemo in the naming of the character, with Nemo being Latin for ‘no one’. There is some dispute as to whether Tucker or Newman came up with the new name, but it stuck, attached as it was to all the various revisions of the character description. Eventually, the central character’s ‘name’ would become the title of the show, in the fuller form of Doctor Who.

As 1963 progressed, attention within the BBC drama department turned to the detailed nature of the Doctor’s time-space machine. With a flying-saucer-type vehicle having been roundly rejected by Newman, Wilson and the team developing Doctor Who had to think of something else. Much of the basic time-travel concept of the series had come from a literary classic very familiar to post-war British readers: H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine. The problem with the type of time machine featured in Wells’ philosophical social satire was that, built as it was around an Edwardian saddle chair, it could only comfortably carry one passenger at a time. How would the Doctor and his several friends travel through time if only one of them could sit down and the others had to hang on? Something else had to be devised. The answer came from another British children’s literary classic: C. S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

In his format document, Webber attempted to avoid giving the Doctor’s time-space machine any form at all, as he simply couldn’t devise a solution that the BBC could afford on a weekly TV budget. He didn’t want a ‘transparent plastic bubble’ or the clichéd spaceship from ‘low-grade space fiction [and] cartoon strip’. His solution was an absence of a ship, a ‘shape of nothingness’ into which the Doctor and his companions could pass to enter. In his notes in response to this, Newman criticised Webber’s concept as ‘not visual’, feeling that a ‘tangible symbol’ was needed for the ship.

Webber had provided the answer in his document, but it took others to spot it. In his struggles to describe the ship while avoiding science-fictional clichés, he suggested ‘something humdrum… such as a night-watchman’s shelter’ through which the Doctor and the gang could pass to ‘arrive inside a marvellous contrivance of quivering electronics’. Webber further suggested that the ship could adopt ‘some contemporary disguise’ wherever it went, and that ‘many visual possibilities can be worked out’. He concluded that the ship could be ‘a version of the dear old Magic Door’.

The ‘magic-door’ concept for the Doctor’s time-space machine was a stroke of genius, one of the crucial elements that gives the show appeal, longevity, and variety. This was C. S. Lewis’ wardrobe – a doorway to a magical world – combined with H. G. Wells’ time machine. Add in Newman’s additional space–travel capability and Newman and Webber’s characters, especially the mysterious, fugitive Doctor and his human companions, and the basic concept of Doctor Who had finally been devised: a true group effort of popular creation.

There was much more detail to be added to the rather vague ‘magic-door’ concept, but each revision of the format document through the summer of 1963 brought the show that would debut in November closer into being. Webber suggested that the Doctor’s ship should be unreliable and faulty, and that the Doctor would have trouble finding fuel and spare parts on his travels through space and time, a notion that Newman heartily approved of. Webber also suggested that, due to his memory loss, the Doctor didn’t really know how to operate the machine properly. This lack of control would make the group’s adventures unpredictable: just like the viewer, they wouldn’t know where, in which time, or on what planet they would land next.

Like the naming of the character as ‘Doctor Who’, the question of who devised the outward appearance of the time-space machine is lost in the mists of time itself. The notion is usually credited to Anthony Coburn, yet another BBC staff writer whom Donald Wilson had charged with developing ideas for the series. While on a stroll near his office, contemplating the nature of the Doctor’s ‘magic door’ into his ship, Coburn supposedly passed a Police Box and suggested it to Webber as a replacement for his ‘night watchman’s shelter’ idea. Police Boxes were a familiar sight on the streets of 1960s Britain. Often located on street corners, they provided shelter for patrolling policemen and offered a telephone link back to police headquarters in the decades before widespread use of walkie-talkies or mobile phones. It was an inspired thought, as it served to ground the mysterious Doctor’s ‘impossible’ vehicle in an everyday 1960s world that families could recognise from their own contemporary surroundings. It was also a curiously whimsical notion that would be one factor in Doctor Who’s unique sense of Britishness. The next draft of the format document, from mid May 1963, described the time-space machine as having ‘the appearance of a Police Box standing in the street’.

It’s possible that those within the BBC concerned with the development of Doctor Who had at the back of their minds the little-remembered Gainsborough comedy Time Flies from 1944. Writers Phil Norman and Chris Diamond suggested in TV Cream’s Anatomy of Cinema that actor Felix Aylmer might count as the first incarnation of the Doctor, as in Time Flies he plays an old scientist who’s invented a time-space machine that takes the form of a large silver sphere that seems to be bigger on the inside than it appears on the outside. The movie sees comedian Tommy Handley joining Aylmer, Evelyn Dall as showgirl Susie, and George Moon as her husband Bill in a trip back in time to the Elizabethan era, where the gimmick of giving Shakespeare (John Salew) the ideas for his plays appears (as replayed in the Doctor Who adventure The Shakespeare Code in 2007). Aylmer’s Professor even bears a more than passing resemblance to William Hartnell’s TV and Peter Cushing’s 1960s movie version of the Doctor in dress and mannerisms. There are other curiosities: the ship is launched by accident, the crew (a ‘scientist’ and his three companions) are rendered unconscious upon take-off and mention is made of possibly meeting primitive man at their new location – all strongly echoed in Doctor Who’s eventual first episode. The adventurers encounter Queen Elizabeth and Raleigh (the Queen appears in Doctor Who in a Hartnell-starring episode of The Chase entitled ‘The Executioners’ as well as in The Shakespeare Code), as does Shakespeare (also in ‘The Executioners’ and, of course, The Shakespeare Code). The scientist’s sidekicks are described as his ‘companions’, while Handley’s antics could be compared to those of the Meddling Monk, a mischievous character met by Hartnell’s Doctor in The Time Meddler (1965). The film even climaxes with a hunt for a missing element (platinum) needed to make the ship work and affect their escape, a plot point repeated in Hartnell’s second serial, The Daleks, with mercury instead of platinum. The coincidences are certainly curious, to say the least.

The fact that the Doctor’s human companions were to be two schoolteachers and a pupil was no accident. As well as being an exciting adventure serial, Newman wanted the new show to be broadly educational (living up to the promise of the BBC Charter to ‘inform, educate, and entertain’), to use the Doctor’s travels through time and space to bring the facts of history and cosmology to an attentive audience, disguised as entertainment. For the radical, commercially driven newcomer to the Corporation, this was a very traditional, almost Reithian concept, but he also saw it as a function of good, literary science-fiction. In further revisions to the series’ format document, teenager Biddy became Sue and was working-class (seen as a ‘good thing’ in 1960s drama), while Cliff was a science teacher and Lola a history teacher, encompassing the two disciplines which might be useful in undirected travels through time and space. Storylines were by now being devised for the character’s adventures. An initial outline in which the travellers were to be reduced to miniature size and trapped in Cliff’s school lab was rejected by Newman as ‘thin on incident and character’. Writer Anthony Coburn was set to work by acting producer Rex Tucker on a second adventure which would take the central characters back to prehistoric times where they would meet a clan of cavemen, as alluded to in Time Flies.

In June 1963, Doctor Who’s first permanent producer arrived at BBC Television Centre to take up her post. Verity Lambert, then just 28 years old, had been selected by Sydney Newman for the still-vacant producer post. Newman’s initial choice for the job had been Don Taylor, a BBC staff director associated with provocative single plays and the work of radical writer David Mercer. Taylor had been upset by the arrival of Newman at the BBC, believing his commercial, populist approach to drama conflicted with his own conception of the BBC as the National Theatre of the airways. When Taylor passed on the new Saturday teatime series, Newman had suggested to Shaun Sutton, then best known for his children’s drama serials (which Newman thought old-fashioned), that he take on Doctor Who. Sutton, too, passed. Newman then recalled Lambert, a production assistant who’d impressed him at Armchair Theatre on ABC.

‘When Donald Wilson and I discussed who might take over the responsibility for producing the show I rejected the traditional drama types who did children’s serials,’ said Newman of his approach, ‘and said that I wanted somebody who’d be prepared to break rules in doing the show. Somebody young with a sense of “today” – the early “Swinging London” days.’

Newman was essentially looking for someone in his own image, rather than someone trained in the ‘old-fashioned’ ways of the BBC. Although Lambert’s experience was limited, Newman felt that enthusiasm and independence were more important to the task of running Doctor Who than familiarity with the inner workings of the BBC. ‘She had never directed, produced, acted, or written drama but, by God, she was a bright, highly intelligent, outspoken production secretary who took no nonsense and never gave any,’ Newman stated. ‘I introduced her to Donald Wilson and I don’t think he quite liked her at first. She was too good looking, too smart alecky, and too commercial-television minded. I knew they would hit it off when they got to know one another better. They did.’

Lambert had split her time at ABC with a year working on television in New York, an experience that had broadened her horizons and her experience. She arrived at the BBC to find there was little to the Doctor Who project other than the ever-evolving format document and a host of growing technical objections from the BBC facilities managers at the tiny and antiquated studios at Lime Grove. Lambert found she had to work closely with the series’ associate producer Mervyn Pinfield, who’d been appointed to handle the technical side of what was proving to be an ambitious project. Lambert also met with director Waris Hussein, a young newcomer to the BBC like herself, who’d been attached to direct the planned second serial about the show’s characters meeting ancient cavemen.

Most of the technical objections centred on the first storyline, which involved the main characters being shrunk to minuscule size, something those at Lime Grove believed was beyond the capability of the technical facilities then available. Finally, the decision was taken to shelve the ‘Giants’ storyline and pull the caveman tale forward to form the first story of the series. Lambert and the team agreed that it would be sensible to postpone production by a few weeks to give them all time to get to grips with the complicated, technically challenging show. The core Doctor Who production team was completed with the arrival of script editor David Whitaker at the end of June 1963.

Scripts became the first priority, as without those basic blueprints no television drama could ever enter production. Anthony Coburn delivered his draft caveman adventure scripts, which contained some important changes. The male schoolteacher was now called Ian Chesterton, while the teen female character had become Susan Foreman. With two of the scripts for the first four-episode story delivered, scenic-design work could begin in earnest, a step especially necessary as the first episode introduced the Doctor’s time-space machine, something that promised to be a major design challenge for BBC technicians more used to contemporary or period dramas.

Lambert and Whitaker were not entirely happy with Coburn’s work on the opening adventure and, following the delivery of his third of four episodes, they requested that he embark on a major rewrite. In the meantime, Lambert turned her attention to casting the ongoing central roles for the series. Her first task was to find the right actor to take on the leading role of the mysterious Doctor. Lambert may have been new to creative responsibility but she knew enough to be aware that the success or failure of a TV show often revolved around the leading actors. She had to find the right man to inhabit the role of the Doctor.

In conjunction with Waris Hussein, now set to direct the first story of the new series, based on Coburn’s caveman scripts, Lambert drew up a shortlist of suitable stars. On the list were renowned thespian Cyril Cusack and Leslie French (who had apparently been the nude model for the statue of Ariel on the facade of the BBC’s Broadcasting House in London and later appeared in a 1988 Doctor Who story, Silver Nemesis). Eventually, Lambert auditioned 55-year-old William Hartnell, based on a viewing of the Lindsay Anderson film This Sporting Life (1963), although he was best known to TV viewers for his role as the irascible military man in Granada’s comedy series The Army Game (1957–61). Hartnell had often been typecast as tough guys or criminals, but This Sporting Life had allowed him to show a broader range, something he was intent on developing further. While his agent was reluctant to connect Hartnell with what was being perceived as a children’s show, the actor himself was keen to break out of the typecasting which had been afflicting him and readily attended a meeting with Lambert and Hussein. Enthused by the project, he agreed to take on the lead role of the Doctor.

That major hurdle overcome, Lambert and Hussein quickly cast the remaining central roles. Science teacher Ian Chesterton was to be played by Russell Enoch, who performed under the stage name William Russell and was well known to ITV viewers as the lead in The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956-57). Jacqueline Hill became history teacher Barbara Wright following a meeting at a party attended by Lambert and her old friend, the director Alvin Rakoff, Hill’s husband. The role of Susan, now the granddaughter of the mysterious Doctor, was a little harder to fill. Several actresses were auditioned (including Jackie Lane, later to play companion Dodo), but none were deemed suitable. According to long-standing legend, Hussein spotted a likely looking girl on a studio monitor at Television Centre, and soon 23-year-old Carole Ann Ford was signed as Susan Foreman.

With the cast in place, Coburn’s revised scripts arrived in July 1963 and were much more to Lambert and Whitaker’s liking, with characters having been strengthened, the cavemen given proper dialogue (the first drafts contained only grunts), and the backgrounds for the Doctor and Susan deftly sketched out in only a few lines of dialogue.

The first scripts for the show displayed the series’ scientific and educational remit clearly. The two teachers would be the means by which the series could impart information or lessons in science and history and, while she now had an otherworldly background as the Doctor’s granddaughter, Susan was clearly an audience-identification figure for younger viewers. She’s even into then-contemporary early-1960s rock ‘n’ roll (fictional group John Smith and the Common Men, rapidly rising up the pop charts, play on her ‘transistor’ radio). These three characters would provide templates for the majority of the Doctor’s travelling companions across the next 60 years, with their roles and functions within the drama evolving to reflect the times in which the programmes were made (spanning six different decades) but always staying the same at the most basic ‘character function’ level.

The new cast, along with the series’ production crew, found themselves facing a series of technical challenges in getting the show made. The concerns initially raised by service departments (scenery, costume, make-up, lighting) about the limitations of shooting the new series at the antiquated Lime Grove studios continued to grow as preparations were made to record the first episode of Doctor Who. Those who ran the BBC technical departments that would have to provide set designs, build scenery, create costumes, and produce special effects felt the proposed show was simply too ambitious given the budget of just over £2,000 per 25-minute episode. Sydney Newman probably saw their objections as symptomatic of the hidebound nature of the BBC, where embedded interests often didn’t like to be challenged. Despite that, it was true that Studio D at Lime Grove, an old film studio bought by the BBC prior to the creation of Television Centre in Shepherd’s Bush, was unlikely to make the production of Doctor Who easy. The huge technical challenges of mounting the series would be one of the next obstacles to face neophyte producer Verity Lambert.

Along with the technical problems came increasing doubts among the senior managers at the BBC about the wisdom of scheduling this seemingly unconventional new show to run for 52 weeks of the year (as was the plan at this early pre-transmission stage). With episodes recorded only three to four weeks prior to transmission, the launch date of the show had already been postponed several times, from July 1963 to an eventual November debut, by which time the per episode budget had risen to nearer £4,000, due to the one-off costs of building the interior of the Doctor’s time-space ship. BBC internal memos from the period reveal that Assistant Controller of Television Joanna Spicer had objected to the new series’ apparent failure to go through the usual BBC approvals processes, while even Donald Baverstock was finding it difficult to justify the cost of the show in his overall annual planning. He instructed Donald Wilson and Lambert not to develop any material beyond four initial episodes, while a proposed Radio Times front cover promoting the first episode was abandoned, according to Newman, due to ‘lack of confidence in the programme at [channel] Controller level’.

In the middle of all this seeming chaos, Lambert was struggling to develop future scripts and ensure that the resources were available to support the show, as well as making sure that any technical challenges were overcome and that the cast were comfortable with their roles. It was a tall order and would have tested the most experienced television producer. Even in 1963, however, television was a young medium, one in which imaginative and motivated people could make a big splash. Something that allowed Lambert to chart her own course with Doctor Who was the fact that the BBC had never made anything like it before, so there was no ‘right’ way to do a weekly science-fiction fantasy series in the UK.

It was 27 September 1963 when Doctor Who’s first episode went before the cameras (and it had to be reshot on 18 October after Sydney Newman decided it was not technically polished enough for broadcast). By this time, Lambert had three additional storylines at various stages of preparation. The Tribe of Gum was Anthony Coburn’s caveman adventure (with the first episode featuring much of C. E. Webber’s series-setting material from his abandoned ‘Giants’ storyline), and this was to be followed by the same writer’s The Robots, about a future world dominated by robotic life forms. Beyond this, John Lucarotti had been commissioned to write A Journey to Cathay, a historical adventure featuring Marco Polo, and former Tony Hancock comedy scriptwriter Terry Nation was working on The Survivors, about a race mutated due to a radiation war. Other writers had also been contacted and the TV industry was sufficiently aware of the upcoming series that agents and writers had started to submit unsolicited storylines and sample scripts. By the end of October, the BBC hierarchy had only officially committed to 13 episodes of Doctor Who, consisting of an opening episode establishing the premise and the characters; three episodes of the caveman adventure; a seven-part serial; and a (possibly concluding) self-contained two-part serial. The future of the show beyond that point would be decided in the New Year based upon its success, or failure, to attract an audience for the early-Saturday evening transmission slot between November 1963 and February 1964.

The recording of what is now regarded as the ‘pilot’ episode of Doctor Who was a fraught affair, with fluffed lines, problems with the complicated TARDIS set (the Doctor’s time-space ship, an acronym for Time And Relative Dimension(s) In Space), wobbly camerawork, and badly played-in music. When Newman viewed the episode the following week, he made a number of comments, covering everything from technical issues to characterisation. He didn’t think the character of the Doctor was ‘funny’ enough, while he felt that Susan was ‘too dour’. He also felt that the two teachers didn’t react strongly enough to the situation of their pupil being seemingly locked up in a box. In technical terms alone, Newman deemed the episode not suitable for transmission. Revealing his personal commitment to the show, he gave Lambert and Hussein permission to remount the recording of the first episode, revising it accordingly. Lessons having been learnt, both felt that, second time around, they could improve on the first effort. In the second version, some of the original dialogue, which pinned down the Doctor and Susan’s origins to ‘the 49th Century’, was rewritten to become the vaguer ‘We are wanderers in the fourth dimension of space and time, cut off from our own people…’ This simple act allowed for decades of fan speculation and production-team reinvention of the Doctor’s mysterious origins. Hartnell’s Doctor was also made less abrasive in the second version, following Newman’s guidance that the serial’s leading character had to be more sympathetic (or, at least, slightly less alien).

Although the show was off to a shaky start within the BBC, those involved in making it felt they were producing something unusual that would at least be interesting to a wide range of viewers. It was certainly unlike anything British TV audiences had seen before. From the unusual, swirling title sequence and unearthly, ‘whooshing’ theme tune, Doctor Who