Doctor Who

For anybody who loves British television from the 1970s and 80s, this is just delightful.

It is only comparatively recently that performance in arenas other than theatre and cinema has begun to receive serious academic attention. The ‘Spaces of Television’ project and the University of York’s ‘Playing the Small Screen’ symposium have each opened up discussions regarding the impact of production process and space upon television acting, yet little consideration has been given to those spaces in which performances were traditionally prepared prior to studio transmission or recording. This article attempts to address this by focusing on the BBC’s ‘Television Rehearsal Rooms’, better known by those who used them as the ‘Acton Hilton’, which offers a precise model of the ‘outside’ rehearsal process which characterised multi-camera studio production. A creative hub for not only drama, but also sitcom and light entertainment, the Hilton represented an extended community for the many performers who gathered there to rehearse – a community that has all but disappeared in the modern era of single camera location work, where prior rehearsal of the type conducted at Acton has virtually disappeared. Drawing upon a combination of archive research and interviews with practitioners, this piece examines the important role played by the Acton Hilton in the history of UK television acting.

I have so much to say about this. Practically nobody agrees with me on such things these days, but as a mission statement, "make Doctor Who like Doctor Who" seems eminently sensible. Keep it special.

Our purging of silliness from the show wasn't just political correctness. It made the stories much better. The Doctor's ''sonic screwdriver'', for example, was magical baggage we had to lose. A pen-sized gizmo that could blast through tempered steel, translate Azurian into English, and fend off the Karturi by generating an impenetrable neutron dome might be just the ticket in real life, but in fiction was a sure-fire story-killer. We didn't want our audience shouting out from behind the sofa ''where's the sonic screwdriver?'' whenever peril threatened.

We wanted a strong narrative line, and we relished the way our storylines could arc over four episodes, bristling with cliffhangers. All of which seems to be missing from the current season. Perhaps it's fear of a short audience attention span that has contracted the stories to single or double episodes. To compensate, we get snappy dialogue and a couple of cracking lead actors who do a lot of running around.

If a quarter of a century ago the first two laws of Doctor Who were ''Science'' and ``Story'', then the third was ''Keep It Special''. It might be a super sight gag, or a spooky spine tingle, but if it had shades of Benny Hill, or The Prisoner, out it went.

Results 31 festive periods from 1963 have featured a new Doctor Who episode, including 14 broadcast on Christmas Day. In time series analyses, an association was found between broadcasts during the festive period and subsequent lower annual mortality rates. In particular, episodes shown on Christmas Day were associated with 0.60 fewer deaths per 1000 person years (95% confidence interval 0.21 to 0.99; P=0.003) in England and Wales and 0.40 fewer deaths per 1000 person years (0.08 to 0.73; P=0.02) in the UK. The interrupted time series analysis showed a strong shift (reduction) in mortality rates from 2005 onwards in association with the Doctor Who Christmas intervention, with a mean 0.73 fewer deaths per 1000 person years (0.21 to 1.26; P=0.01) in England and Wales and a mean 0.62 fewer deaths per 1000 person years (0.16 to 1.09; P=0.01) in the UK.

Conclusions A new Doctor Who episode shown every festive period, especially on Christmas Day, was associated with reduced mortality rates in England, Wales, and the UK, suggesting that a doctor working over the festive period could lower mortality rates. This finding reinforces why healthcare provision should not be taken for granted and may prompt the BBC and Disney+ to televise new episodes of Doctor Who every festive period, ideally on Christmas Day.

I think that spark burns quietly inside so many of us. Smouldering since those days when everyone watched. A few weeks ago, I went to have my hair cut. The new barber glared at me, a tough, gnarly, squinting Scotsman. I was a bit terrified. Far too scared to turn round and walk out. He sat me down and asked me what I do. I said that I work on Doctor Who. “Never watch it,” he barked. OK.

But then he drifted. He smiled and got a faraway look in his eyes. He said he did watch it when he was a wee lad. Tea with mum and dad then the TV on a Saturday night. He remembered how scared he was, one week, when a woman simply walked into the sea. I said: ‘That’s Fury from the Deep! From 1968! That was Maggie Harris, possessed by a Weed Monster from under the North Sea, walking to her death.” I told him he could go and watch it again, on the iPlayer, 55 years later. He laughed and said he might, and then we talked about everything – TV and family and life and love and loss. All because of an old TV show.

Most contracts these days also include all sorts of bits and bobs accounting for streaming, podcast content, and so on. In 1963, when the first episodes of Doctor Who aired, though, streaming was more likely to refer to a small river than anything blaring out of one of those new-fangled telly-boxes.

As a result (and we’re not lawyers), it looks like at least some of the rights – or at least a potentially valid claim to them – for the first few episodes of Doctor Who belongs to the estate of the original writer, Anthony Coburn. The BBC hasn’t admitted so much specifically, issuing the simple acknowledgement to the Radio Times. Just imagine the meetings that took place to get to that stage. There’s enough of a worry, clearly, to exclude An Unearthly Child from the line-up.

The contract Coburn signed in the 1960s won’t have given any provisions for reusing the show in a different context, certainly not this one, and their descendants – specifically in this case, Coburn’s son – are under no obligation to let the BBC do anything with the show other than broadcast on terrestrial TV.

Stef Coburn, the son in question, has been very active on his Twitter/X/whatever-it’s-called-this-week account.