And more on fan myths
May. 16th, 2008 04:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerOkay, this isn't a myth about fans, except indirectly, but it's of the same ilk that get up my nose through the mindless, unquestioning way they are repeated. Anyone has a perfect right to disagree with me, on this as on any other issue.
"Rubbery monsters and wobbly sets were part of [Doctor Who]'s charm." (from Dalek I Loved You by Nick Griffiths, the book that inspired the original effusion of venom, and I don't think he did really, he just said that to get it into bed)
They were not. They were never a part of its charm. That is something that mundanes (in the sense that I said I would use the word in the earlier post) say to excuse themselves to the non-fans who can't see why anyone would watch such a badly made programme (you know, the ones who would have lapped up Crossroads* in its heyday). And by saying it they also consign anyone who doesn't get on board and acknowledge the alleged charm to the ghetto of the Other Fans, the ones who Believe It's All Real and Obsess About Trivia.
Terry Pratchett, in Wyrd Sisters, makes much of Granny Weatherwax's adamantine unwillingness to engage in any of the conventions of the theatre; she affects to believe that the staged murder is real, but that it is affectation nobody who knows Granny could possibly doubt, and once it's established that it isn't real she has no further time for it. The thing is, we can all do that. When two chaps in cable-knit sweaters painted silver get up on stage and clack two foil-wrapped lumps of wood together a few times, and then chap A shoves his plank under chap B's arm and chap B falls over, we can all nod wisely and say "he isn't really dead, you know," and then we can bang on in the bar about the primitivism and the minimalism and how delightfully camp it all is, if we choose to. Or, and this is true no matter how old and jaded and full of BS we are, we can choose to engage with the story and be excited by the swordfight and cheer when the hero kills the villain. It's not even difficult. But it does lay us open to the derision of those who stand outside and sneer.
And that's how I, at least, approached Doctor Who. I wasn't charmed by the rubbery sets and the wobbly monsters. I saw them, from an early age, and I don't think I was ever so dim as not to know that the wrinkly-stockinged legs beneath those Zarbi carcasses belonged to people. But for the duration of the story, they were Zarbi, and that stage set was Vortis, and I had no trouble believing it, for the duration of the story.
As I got older, I met other fans, and I had to work a little harder to stay engaged with the story. But just a little, and mostly because it was hard to hear the dialogue above the roar of conversation. I can imagine that I might have come across as one of those mythical and pathetic Other Fans, convinced that if the Doctor didn't manage to repel the Sea Devils the actual world would be taken over by pointy-eared turtles in string vests. And so I was convinced...for the duration of the story. It wouldn't have been worth watching otherwise. To me, no story is worth watching unless you engage with it as fully as you're able.
And there I'll leave this, for the moment, having been interrupted by a person not, as far as I know, from anywhere near Porlock, but having just as completely lost my thread. If I think of what I was going to say, I may say it later, or I may not. We'll see.
EDIT: *Woops, footnotus interruptus. Crossroads, for US readers, was a soap opera produced in the Midlands on a schedule that was clearly just a little tighter than the cast and crew found comfortable. Production values were, I recall, about on a par with the original Dark Shadows. If you ever see Victoria Wood's excruciatingly accurate spoof Acorn Antiques, you'll get the idea. The theme tune was nice, though...
"Rubbery monsters and wobbly sets were part of [Doctor Who]'s charm." (from Dalek I Loved You by Nick Griffiths, the book that inspired the original effusion of venom, and I don't think he did really, he just said that to get it into bed)
They were not. They were never a part of its charm. That is something that mundanes (in the sense that I said I would use the word in the earlier post) say to excuse themselves to the non-fans who can't see why anyone would watch such a badly made programme (you know, the ones who would have lapped up Crossroads* in its heyday). And by saying it they also consign anyone who doesn't get on board and acknowledge the alleged charm to the ghetto of the Other Fans, the ones who Believe It's All Real and Obsess About Trivia.
Terry Pratchett, in Wyrd Sisters, makes much of Granny Weatherwax's adamantine unwillingness to engage in any of the conventions of the theatre; she affects to believe that the staged murder is real, but that it is affectation nobody who knows Granny could possibly doubt, and once it's established that it isn't real she has no further time for it. The thing is, we can all do that. When two chaps in cable-knit sweaters painted silver get up on stage and clack two foil-wrapped lumps of wood together a few times, and then chap A shoves his plank under chap B's arm and chap B falls over, we can all nod wisely and say "he isn't really dead, you know," and then we can bang on in the bar about the primitivism and the minimalism and how delightfully camp it all is, if we choose to. Or, and this is true no matter how old and jaded and full of BS we are, we can choose to engage with the story and be excited by the swordfight and cheer when the hero kills the villain. It's not even difficult. But it does lay us open to the derision of those who stand outside and sneer.
And that's how I, at least, approached Doctor Who. I wasn't charmed by the rubbery sets and the wobbly monsters. I saw them, from an early age, and I don't think I was ever so dim as not to know that the wrinkly-stockinged legs beneath those Zarbi carcasses belonged to people. But for the duration of the story, they were Zarbi, and that stage set was Vortis, and I had no trouble believing it, for the duration of the story.
As I got older, I met other fans, and I had to work a little harder to stay engaged with the story. But just a little, and mostly because it was hard to hear the dialogue above the roar of conversation. I can imagine that I might have come across as one of those mythical and pathetic Other Fans, convinced that if the Doctor didn't manage to repel the Sea Devils the actual world would be taken over by pointy-eared turtles in string vests. And so I was convinced...for the duration of the story. It wouldn't have been worth watching otherwise. To me, no story is worth watching unless you engage with it as fully as you're able.
And there I'll leave this, for the moment, having been interrupted by a person not, as far as I know, from anywhere near Porlock, but having just as completely lost my thread. If I think of what I was going to say, I may say it later, or I may not. We'll see.
EDIT: *Woops, footnotus interruptus. Crossroads, for US readers, was a soap opera produced in the Midlands on a schedule that was clearly just a little tighter than the cast and crew found comfortable. Production values were, I recall, about on a par with the original Dark Shadows. If you ever see Victoria Wood's excruciatingly accurate spoof Acorn Antiques, you'll get the idea. The theme tune was nice, though...
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no subject
Date: 2008-05-16 05:29 pm (UTC)My first exposure to Dr. Who was when our local secondary public broadcasting station was playing reruns of the first doctor. Here in the San Francisco area we had the big PBS station in San Francisco, and a minor one in San Jose (big fish has recently swallowed up little fish, but the programming is still about the same - little fish runs Torchwood, big fish runs ballet and opera).
I hated the crappy production values. I was a TV production major in college and my freshman project looked better than that (and yes, it was sci-fi too).
But I loved Hartnell, so I kept tuning in.
Thanks to the idiosyncrasies of reruns, after maybe a dozen First Doctor episodes, they played The Face of Evil, the Tom Baker ep which introduced Leela. Production values were vastly better (it's in color!), Baker was as charming and watchable as Hartnell, and Leela's costume was very sexy. The plot touched on several themes which interest me, and when it was clear Leela was going to be with us a while, I was hooked. But I continued to be annoyed at pockets of shoddy production.
The Cardiff regime has a budget and production values which rival Hollywood and ILM, acting talent is very good, and I'm watching them on DVD - so now I can concentrate on the poor writing. :-)
no subject
Date: 2008-05-16 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-16 07:27 pm (UTC)As for early Who, I watched it in black and white - but I remember it in colour - once you've got over that hurdle shaky SFX are the least of your worries.
And yes, I watched Crossroads/i> too...
Good writing and characterisation are way way more important than big bangs.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-16 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-16 07:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-17 01:50 pm (UTC)Hear, hear.
And the same goes for literature. I've long passed the point where I will plough through a book determinedly when the writer has failed to engage my interest, mind and emotions.
I think the wonderful thing about fandom (for me, at any rate), is finding other people who are prepared to engage with the same intensity as I am. Nobody I know here believes that Severus Snape Is Real, but while reading the HP books, or some well-written fanfic, or while writing my own stuff, he - like the other characters - IS real. And it's one of the reasons why I love to go to the cinema, as sitting there in front of a large screen, in the darkness, one can lose oneself in the film so much more easily.
Then the lights go on, you leave the cinema, you go and do other things, knowing that you can return to fairyland when and if you want. That's part of the magic.
It's sad that people can't bring themselves to confess openly that the magic affects them, too. It's not big and it's not clever. It's just sad.
So there.