I have a lot of time for Adric. He might be very few people's idea of a Doctor Who companion, but he appealed greatly to me as a child, even though the series had killed him off long before I started watching. In that respect, John Nathan-Turner judged the show's audience shrewdly when he cast a boy as a regular - boys being what many viewers were (even some of the ones who should have grown out of it, from what we can tell).
Okay, Adric was an annoying boy, the original 'Artful Dodger in space' concept being interpreted by most writers as 'whiny maths geek in space', and the writers must be blamed to some extent for the realisation of the character. In fact I find it striking watching footage of Matthew Waterhouse himself (his interview on The Multicoloured Swap Shop, for example) just how charmingly he comes across. If that quality doesn't often shine through in his performance (and it often doesn't), this book reveals plenty of explanations aside from the way the character was written. Indeed, the treatment of a young, inexperienced actor described here would be unthinkable today; he is thrown in at the deep end of a demanding show with a toxic atmosphere and given, as far as one can tell, no help whatsoever in developing his role, artistically or technically. It's almost a miracle that he managed to stand in the right place and speak the lines.
This is but one aspect of the BBC as was, a long-forgotten mixture of frothing expert creativity and deeply inefficient bureaucracy, topped off by an unhealthy dose of excess. It is easy to see why it is a world that is much missed by those who experienced it, though also with hindsight clear why it couldn't continue along those lines. For a teenage boy given the role of a lifetime it was simultaneously a dream come true and a nightmare, and Blue Box Boy fondly and unflinchingly recreates a world that seems shockingly distant given that it existed within my own lifetime.
It is not a disciplined piece of writing; the style follows a stream of consciousness dip into the author's memories, following the Doctor Who stories more or less in order of their production, but dropping in and out of this chronology for other anecdotes. It's an intentional, and largely successful, attempt to communicate the experience of memory, a little patchy here, exaggerated there, not wholly accurate but greater than the sum of its parts. Waterhouse himself would claim that it is not an autobiography at all, hence his use of the third person (which works perfectly well, though I hardly think it would have made a difference to use the first person, so idiosyncratic are the memories); he is not overly concerned with accuracy, though I suspect it is no less accurate than any other autobiography, and just occasionally I feel that it could have done with a better copy editor to check facts (or at the very least correct spellings).
But its rambling quality is its charm, and the patchwork of memories makes for a potent picture overall. Not just of working on Doctor Who with the pain and pleasure that entailed, but of being a teenager, or being a Doctor Who fan - the cloudier recollections of childhood, the excitement of Target novelisation and old annuals, the frustrating but thrilling lack of factual information about the programme, all ringing true for this (slightly) younger viewer.
It's impossible to read without feeling empathy for Waterhouse and a deeper understanding of his character on screen, flaws and all. Whilst he certainly isn't above dishing the dirt on the people he met and worked with, he does it all with such self-effacing sincerity that he manages to make it charming rather than bitchy. His fondness for Doctor Who resonates throughout, though he also reveals a wide-ranging knowledge of other subjects, the references to which are scattered throughout to give a fuller picture of his intellectually curious and everso-slightly obsessive personality.
An easy, enjoyable read and a glimpse of an extraordinary, unrepeatable period of television history.