Funny to think that there was once a time that I found the idea of the ‘missing’ Season 23 utterly thrilling and a dreadful loss compared to the more prosaic Trial of a Time Lord that we got. The Celestial Toymaker! Ice Warriors! Autons! To a young fan it sounded far more like a ‘proper’ season of Doctor Who than the drama-less courtroom drama we ended up with.
And in a way it’s a shame that we’re not allowed to enjoy those illusory fantasies any more. These days we are blessed (or cursed) with an overabundance of cold, hard facts, the ‘missing stories’ realised with full underwhelming clarity by Big Finish. I have listened to that adaptation and frankly been baffled by what seemed to me a noisy mess; so finally, I picked this up – and in a way, this is where the death of uninformed imaginings all started, a 1989 novelisation by the story’s original writer, arguably the closest we will get to an impression of what it would actually have been.
…which is a noisy mess. The period in which the story would have been made is effectively evoked, all too well at times – you can see the garish, hyperactive sets, hear the vulgar, overloud incidental music, and an unrepentantly loud and rude sixth Doctor absolutely leaps off the page. No small part of this impression is due to the lurid verbosity on display, part Eric Saward, part Pip and Jane Baker: ‘the resulting washing of impurities from his several subconscious levels should have done wonders for his powers of concentration, but it wasn’t working out that way and the present state of sublimity he had achieved was driving him potty’. Absolutely nobody talks like a real person in this novel, least of all the narrator, and that too is entirely authentic to 1985 Who. (I am, incidentally, a fan of this era, but find its excesses a little hard to stomach, and this appears to be the work of somebody who has overdosed on them.)
Even so, I find myself left with more questions than answers. The first of which is: why on earth was Graham Williams asked to write it at all? A former producer, responsible for a season that was still considered by fans in 1985 to be the worst atrocity ever committed in the name of Doctor Who, is hardly an obvious choice of writer, particularly as he appears to actively dislike what the programme has become – he writes the sixth Doctor with barely contained distaste (though since he also writes the Doctor with a sonic screwdriver it’s not clear how well he has followed the series at all). Perhaps JNT and Saward assumed that a former producer would be well placed to manage to the restrictions of budget and resources, in which case they were presumably aghast to see the man responsible for the Creature from the Pit landing them with no fewer than four unrealisable monsters (though the book cover does quite a convincing job of depicting how rubbish at least one of them would have looked).
Perhaps Williams was seen as a safe pair of hands for a story that began with a clear ‘shopping list’ – but why that shopping list in the first place? Why Blackpool?! There is some irony (again) in the man behind City of Death completely failing to exploit a location; as if consciously setting itself up as a shit version of that earlier story, this begins at the top of the Blackpool Tower, before completely failing to make any use of the setting. Sure, you can see how the opening of this story would have resembled a promo for Blackpool Pleasure Beach – the Doctor and Peri on a rollercoaster is more Late, Late Breakfast Show than Doctor Who, along with the repeated punchline where an apparent threat turns out to be just a ride, but there is no real attempt to give this story a sense of place or even to make use of the arcade setting that is the tenuous reason for the Toymaker’s presence there.
Ah yes: the Toymaker. The ultimate shopping list ‘why?!!’. Bringing back a one-off character from four never-repeated episodes of a story broadcast 20 years earlier might have made sense to Ian Levine, but as decisions go its even more bonkers than Attack of the Cybermen’s reliance on stories from the 60s – at least young viewers would probably recognise the Cybermen. (Any fans devoted enough to recognise Michael Gough would most likely have assumed he was Hedin from Arc of Infinity, further confusing the matter.) And yet the story seems to assume that we are already aware of the character, eschewing any kind of explanation or back story. The book takes that assumption one step further, largely referring to him as ‘The Mandarin’, so you need to look at the cover for clues (whilst turning a blind eye to some awkward racism).
Most glaringly of all: where is the story?! Slight spoiler alert: after the bit where the-Doctor-enjoys-Blackpool, he spends most of the story in a jail cell, while Peri wanders around some caves. There’s not enough here to sustain a single 25-minute episode, let alone the two 45 minute chunks this would have been broken into, and the climactic Doctor-plays-a-computer-game sequence might have seemed like a good idea on paper, but… no, actually even on paper it doesn’t seem like a good idea. A man sitting at a games console doesn’t make any more dramatic sense than a revelatory showdown with a villain we know nothing about.
In the context of an era of Doctor Who that was sometimes a bit messy but nevertheless packed with incident, it’s hard to imagine any of this working. Yet by all accounts this was the most developed of all of the Season 23 ideas, with studio sessions booked – so perhaps Colin Baker really would have been stuck in a prison set talking to himself endlessly, or trying to sell a ride on the rollercoaster as entertainment.
As it turned out, by the time the sixth Doctor had a climactic engagement on a computer, he was fully immersed in a surreal fantasy landscape in the Matrix: and if this book is anything to judge by, thank goodness for that.