I was having a lot of nightmares at the end of November 1983, but they weren't provoked by The Brain of Morbius. That honour belongs to the ABC telefilm The Day After, a harrowing portrayal of the events leading up to, during, and after a nuclear war. While it may seem like a dated curiosity now, at the time it haunted my waking and sleeping worlds. Suddenly, I began suffering dreams where I was desperately looking for a place to hide, or trying to find my family. Curiously, I never quite got to the apocalyptic part after the blast--it was always the confusion and horror of the moments leading up to it. I guess that's true of all horror--it's the fear and tension of what's to come, not the actual "boo"!I remember some critics charging that by the end of the story, the characters were already "picking up their bookstraps" and starting to rebuild with true Yankee gumption. A comparable, but much more graphic British TV film about nuclear devastation, Threads, would further traumatize me not long after.
Deciding how much to push the horror envelope has been an eternal battle for producers of Doctor Who (with Mary Whitehouse looming in the shadows). After all, Doctor Who was and is a programme for children, primarily. The Brain of Morbius has many creepy and disturbing ideas (much like Frankenstein which it riffs), and rates high on the gothic horror metre thanks to Robert Holmes rewriting of Terrance Dicks original script. It's hard to imagine the story with a robot creating Morbius' body rather than the inimitable Solon. But again, at 14, the campier aspects of the production helped to counterbalance the horror elements.
The format of Doctor is a wonderful container for horror, because we know that the Doctor will win in the end. No matter how bad things get, he'll save the day(things are a little more complex in the new series, but there is always hope). There is no chance of a happy ending after a nuclear war.
Many of the ideas stuck with me though. The idea that Solon wanted the Doctor's head (literally) disturbed me, and when Sarah was blinded and had to make her way around the horrific landscape of Sarn, I felt a few chills. And don't get me started on the Sisterhood (again kudos to the make-up artist for giving Maren such a hard and intense look).
The look of the story is fantastic. I can't remember a colour Doctor Who story employing such a skilled use of shadows. They really give the story an added element of texture, depth and menace. And the effect of the Doctor being transported from Solon's lab by the telekinetic Sisterhood is chilling.
While it's fun to play "what if" and imagine Peter Cushing in the role, Philip Madoc owns his portrayal of Solon. It's like he's reading the dialogue directly from Holmes' macabre and stylish mind. His fixation on the Doctor's head always has the perfect distracted quality.
Tom and Elizabeth are also in top form. From his revealing and petulant stew at the start of the story right through to that subtle and hilarious moment when Sarah tells the Doctor he's "too late" and he grabs his head to see if it's still there! Sarah has lots of little moments like when she pours her spiked beverage out or doesn't scream when she first encounters the "Chop Suey" body.
These days the bomb has dropped far below my angst awareness, and I'm more likely to wake from a nightmare after watching AMC's The Walking Dead. It's ultra-real depiction of a zombie apocalypse has taken that genre to truly frightening places, not the least is its realization of redneck racists, withdrawn wife beaters and incontinent vulnerable seniors. I guess that's where my psyche is at--thank God for the gentle world of hissing covens and splattered brains.
Original viewing date: November 6 or 13, 1983
Wine: A Jean Bousquet Argentinian Malbec (made with organic grapes apparently). As the nights get colder, a good throaty Malbec always hits the spot--unfortunately this one has a metallic note that marred the experience.
Music: "Mad World," by Tears for Fears. After watching the story I went out to a retro 80s dance party at Dovercourt House (they hold it once every month). It was like a shower of nostalgia.
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