Behind the Curtain

Growing up, I was always catching hell from my dad for taking things apart. To be fair, my father is a brilliant mechanic who worked as an aero-engine tech for years in the Canadian Armed Forces and lovingly restored a 1967 Mustang to mint condition.

Mostly I got lectured because I never had an inclination to put the dismantled item back together again (his portable bar set, his vise grip, basically anything with screws). Thing is I quickly became disappointed with what I found -- all the mystery of the object dissipated. It's not easy to admit this. You always hear stories of scientists as children, disassembling the family lawnmower or some such thing and then going on to great fame.

Dad was always trying to get me to help him with the car or the washing machine, but it always ended with me doing the wrong thing, him yelling, me being resentful and him feeling disappointed.

Growing up is all about discovering how and why the world works. Whether you become a writer, a plumber or a safe cracker, success largely depends on how well you understand the mechanics of your craft. Many times this can mean incredible liberation. Coming to believe that religious texts are not literal can deeply enrich ones faith, or psychology and sociology classes in university can help people better understand human relationships (or annoy their mother by becoming increasingly obnoxious, as in my case).

And then there are our fantasies that don't stand up too well to reality. My friend Graeme describes Doctor Who as having an "open source" fandom. Essentially this means that it encourages fans to go beyond what's happening onscreen and appreciate the inner workings and dramatic techiniques used to create it. This lead to fans like Steven Moffat and Russell T Davies writing and producing the program. Doctor Who never had that appeal for me. It was purely a narrative experience -- I was looking for escapism.

I can only imagine the bubbles that would have been burst if my 15-year-old self had been privy to the commentary track on Full Circle. For that version of me, the story was exciting and mysterious. To hear Christopher H Bidmead and Andrew Smith talk about behind-the-scenes troubles, or Matthew Waterhouse make his little passive aggressive jibes about Lalla Ward would have been akin to learning that my father was having an affair.

Fast forward to 1999 when Graeme encouraged me to write for Enlightenment, the fanzine he started editing. It was really the first time I stepped back and began examining the inner workings of program. I was given the David Howe/Stephen James Walker tome, Doctor Who: The Television Companion, I started going to the monthly Doctor Who "tavern" get together, and, gasp, conventions. Suddenly I knew the difference between the directing style of David Maloney and Pennant Roberts. At Gallifrey, the legendary annual Doctor Who convention in LA I was privy to gossip and folklore that curled my toes.

Several years ago DWIN brought in John Leeson as its guest for a Who Party and as a contributing member I was afforded the opportunity to sip wine with him at a special gathering. He was so charming, witty, and knowledgeable: the image of him entertaining us from an armchair has stuck with me for many years. Then I began to re-experience the same stories on DVD extras and other places, told with the same cadences and flourishes and it quickly became apparent that this was a "script" he used for dealing with the public. And I completely understand that and it doesn't diminish his craft at all. But it does reinforce the inevitable gulf between fantasy and reality -- even the "reality" behind the fantasy turns out to be something of a fantasy.

While I'm not immune to some of the more lurid gossip, it's the enthusiasm of some recollections that I love the most. On the Meglos extras, watching Andrew McCulloch and John Flanagan wander around London reminiscing about their time penning Meglos is nothing short of delightful, particularly when they stop in on Christopher H Bidmead and he offers them a glass of wine. And as a bit of trivia, Aunt Vanessa's house in Logopolis was in fact the residence of McCulloch at the time.

Ultimately I can still sit back and escape into the fantasy of a starliner being invaded by marshmen without worrying too much about the logic of the script or whether Tom and Lalla were glowering at each from across a sound stage. An thankfully I now live with someone who will put anything back together after I've made a hash of it. I've truly come full circle!

Original viewing date: December 3, 1984

Spirit: An "Alzarian Blast-off" a drink of my own concoction. Take a shot of vodka, a shot of melon liqueur, with marshmallows on a skewer.

Music: "Nobody Told Me" by John Lennon.