In a DVD review, in a few-months-old issue of Doctor Who Magazine, Gary Gillat wrote the following: “Over the years, K9 had neatly divided fandom into those who love him, and those who are wrong.” The fact that I had to hold in a whoop of delight as I read this tells you all you need to know about me — if you’re another Doctor Who fan.
Hey, I can’t help it. The first story I ever saw was Destiny of the Daleks. Between Romana’s fitting-room regeneration, the dimensional transcendentalism of the TARDIS, the (literally) mop-top wigs on the Movellans, and the belligerent, laser-gun wielding Sharper Image garbage cans, I’m amazed that I fell in love with the show; I should have flipped the channel in total confusion. I mean, I was eight years old and therefore able to grasp some amazingly daft things, but still. I blame a televisual variation of Stockholm Syndrome.
By the time I was old enough to realize that the best and most proper way to love something like Doctor Who is to cut it to shreds, the show had been canceled. And, that was a good thing.
Because the intervening years had allowed me to grow as a person who appreciates things like camp and kitsch, and then grow to a point where that appreciation wore down a little bit — because that kind of aesthetic can be annoying personality trait, frankly.
So, thankfully, I was in a good head-space when I rediscovered Doctor Who. When I dived into the dollar-a-piece collections of criticism and fanzine-article collections on Amazon, and encountered the angry fandom of years passed, I could laugh about it as well as the show it was centered on.
Because what really seems laughable to me, second only to those silly evangelists who try to screen old episodes to uninterested and progressively more worried friends and loved-ones, is the po-faced wing of the the fandom, the ones who see any deviation from their own fan-taste as childhood-destroying sorties against the fragile nest of their own nostalgia.
Yes, when I saw the TV movie I thought it was terrible. Yes, there have been oversights, missteps, and outright stupid new-series story developments. Yes, yes, yes. But, after reading Gillat’s comment on K9 in the first paragraph of this post, my heart was lifted by the fact that there are lots of other people out there just like me — the ones who love it no matter how much we make fun of it, the ones who don’t write humorless articles about things like “lost magic”, and who wouldn’t dream of punching Russell T. Davies in the mouth (though we wouldn’t buy him a drink) or violating the sanctity of Jon Pertwee’s corpse (though we wouldn’t buy him a drink either, come to that).
Whatever happens to the new series, I’ll cope. Because there’s this whacking great, 26-year long monolith of previous work to expand on, to laugh at, to be moved by, to write boring discursive articles about. The tapes may belong to the BBC, but the show has been ours for longer than I’ve been alive. And if the new series must be abandoned as punishment for all its faults, so be it. We’ve lived without it before, and we’ll have to do it again, someday.
And that sorts me out. The new stuff can’t hurt the old stuff. It’s indestructible.
But then, I’m the sort of fan who has Androids of Tara on my top ten (Taran Beast and al), the sort of fan who likes K9 (and didn’t we choke up when we thought we lost him in School Reunion); the kind who couldn’t help chanting, “We… are the bastards of Earth!” along with all those CG Daleks in The Stolen Earth. I am therefore comrade to some, and drooling lunatic to others. So, ignore me if you like. That’s your choice.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way, frankly. Because, unlike some other fandoms, our discussions are productive. Take all of Paul Cornell’s writing about war poetry with a grain of salt, but frankly, he’s right: We don’t just fight, we get busy — we make art.
For god’s sake — what else is Fandom for?