The Fan Can Archives: Doctor Who’s Double Acts

“It takes two baby!” sang someone or other once, and they were almost certainly singing about Mitchell & Webb’s comedic turn as a couple of rust-bucket robots in Dinosaurs on a Spaceship. Probably. But the Peep Show pair aren’t the only double acts to appear on the good ship Who, as we run down the show's finest duos over its 50 plus years of history. 

10. Len & Harvey, Survival (1989) 

The corner shop-running twosome and their dry, humourless co-existence only really reminds us of the actors playing them, Hale & Pace (as if we could forget). Len & Harvey really came across as masters of the pub darts team, rather than the convenience store, their tiresome “banter” reflective of a dim-witted pair who said everything to each other that they ever wanted to about a decade previous. And let’s be honest – we’re really nominating them for their “professional” status; they’re the only couple here that are an actual double act. Conversely, they’re about as funny as a trip to the clap clinic. And let’s not mention h&p@bbc, ok? 

9. Vaughan & Packer, The Invasion (1968) 

Throughout this serial’s eight episode sprawl, the weary boom of “Packer!” becomes something of a catchphrase, thanks to the easily put-upon boss of International Electromatics’ impatience with his halfwit head of security. Watching the nefarious but useless pair pratfall their way through primary school villainy is somewhat endearing, even when they’re conspiring to take over the world with those tin sods from Mondas. In the same manner that you wouldn’t want Packer in your employ, neither would you want Vaughan as your boss, their hopelessness complementing each other perfectly. 

8. Hawk and Weismuller, Delta & The Bannermen (1987) 

Satellite-monitoring CIA klutzes, whose addition to the plot has always kind of eluded us. Still, it’s fun to watch an ignorant berk in a bomber jacket and his bowtied buddy bumble about the Welsh countryside (“in England”), at the mercy of a bloodthirsty band of bastards such as the Bannermen. Only sartorially-speaking is there much to separate them, but their mannerisms draw inspiration from Hollywood’s Golden Age of screwball comedies (making illogical assumptive leaps, completely oblivious to their own self-importance etc). It’s also nice to have Who take the Felix Leiter route of having the Yanks a few narrative steps behind its “British” hero. 

7. Bostock & Orcinci, Revelation of the Daleks (1985) 

No, not Kara & Vogel – the script unsubtly identifying them as a double act makes them so bloody arch you could probably knock a croquet ball between the pair of them. Rather, it’s the adventure’s noble lion-hearted warrior and his grubby squire who get our vote. The affection between them at death’s door is genuinely touching, if somewhat protracted, and as the scene demonstrates, one can’t really exist without the other. Never mind all the traditional class-based manservant stuff – some serious bromance brewed between these two. Despite Orcini’s protestations of his boyfriend’s noxious niff, we bet he took a long hard sniff of his oily, scab-ridden head just before he detonated the big one. Or maybe he gave him a little reach-a-round, who knows? 

6. Gilbert M & The Kandyman, The Happiness Patrol (1988) 

If the wider plot is a Thatcher allegory (and we’re a bit undecided on that to be honest), then the relationship between Gilbert M and his confectionery creation surely has to hint at the concept of loveless marriage, given their constant squabbling and barely-concealed contempt for one another. Old sweetie chops is clearly the nagging wife to his hen-pecked hubby, given his skulking about the kitchen with a bottle in the hand and ignoring his spouse’s bitching about the day job. Their relationship must have soured so long ago that no amount of sugar sprinkling can save it; Gilbert obviously doesn’t give a toffee penny when it’s finally by bye Bassett time. In fact, if anything, he seems to cosy up to Joseph C pretty damn sharpish… 

5. Glitz & Dibber, The Time of a Trial Lord Parts 1-4 (1986) 

It may not be vintage Who, but hell, everyone loves Holmesian crims, and these two ne’er-do-wells bring a much-needed bit of charismatic cunning to an otherwise somewhat flat piece of cheapy drama. Glitz’s self-regard and verbosity contrast well with Dibber’s dippy but dependable persona, to the extent that you start rooting for them some, say, five minutes into the first episode. Of course, it wasn’t quite the same the next year, when Glitz was matched with Mel. Bit like pairing a really good actor with, well, Bonnie Langford. 

4. Madam Vastra & Jenny, A Good Man Goes to War (2011) 

Proving that it’s not just RTD who can adhere to the spuriously-titled “Gay Agenda”, Mr Moffinator gives us the 19th Century kick-ass combo of a Lady lizard and her lesbian maid lover. Whilst Jenny’s presumably not one for handling a pork sword, she’s more than adept at wielding a real one, and the frisky pair make for a fearsome combo against would-be assailants. And let’s not even get into the innuendo concerning Vestra’s extraordinarily long tongue. Unsurprisingly, the internet already groans under the weight of fantasy shagfic, some of it remarkably thorough in its detail of woman-on-prehistoric-lizard action. As if creeping up on an armed Silurian, approach with extreme caution. 

3. Garron & Unstoffe, The Ribos Operation (1978) 

Typically Holmesian galactic swindlers, the garrulous Garron and his whey, rubber-faced accomplice make for an unlikely, but enduring coupling. Theirs appears to be a strictly professional relationship, rather than a friendship, Garron delegating all the dirty work with which he’d rather not mess his hands (or his rather marvellous hat). Though the more sensitive Unstoffe spends most of the adventure hanging around a vagrant, he still rejoins his buddy/master by the end of the episodes, presumably to divvy up his share in Graff’s treasures. Though for all we know, he could be planning to do him in with a shovel and take everything himself. 

2. Davros & Nyder, Genesis of the Daleks (1975) 

Oh Nyder. What is that thing you’ve got going for Davros? His wizened face, maybe? Is it his totalitarian vision? Or perhaps you’re the only one he trusts to change his bucket? Morally-wayward and single-minded, the Kaled Security Commander shares commonality with Skaro’s premier bonkers scientist, so little wonder that they’re bestest of bum chums. Bet he even used to cover for him if he blew off in class, the bloody creep. Loyal to the last, Nyder took Davros’ side against his squiggly villainous creations at his own lethal cost. And what did he get back from all this obsequiousness, eh? Nothing. Didn’t even live long enough to get a round of applause from his beloved. Well, not that he could’ve ever got one anyway, ‘cos of, you know, the one-armed thing, but still. 

1. Jago & Litefoot, The Talons of Weng-Chiang (1977) 

The Ant & Dec of Who (although not Geordie, crap, and neither of them has the forehead the size of a carpark. So, nothing like Ant & Dec then). Regardless, the perennially popular Victorian gentlemen’s dynamic is a joy to saviour, hence their continued capers courtesy of Big Finish’s audio adventures (NINE series so far and counting). The detail’s in the distinction: theatre owner Henry Gordon Jago the brash blusterer with Professor George Litefoot his erudite and polite counterpart, and their jovial sparring endlessly entertaining. Hell, we could watch these two bicker over who forms the front end of a human centipede if we absolutely had to.

You Know My Name

11 Songs Named After People (Part 1)

If only Living in a Box’s "Living in a Box" (from their album Living in a Box), had called their debut single Keith...

 

Song: Angie

Artist: Rolling Stones

What? Delicate but mournful ballad off’ve 1973 LP Goat’s Head Soup. Jagger’s finest performance, reckons me.

Who? Depends who you believe. According to some, it’s Mick’s cracked paean to pal Bowie’s first missus (it’s rumoured he done some extra-marital kissing on her lady bits with those big ol’ bouncy castle lips of his). However, given Richards’ writing credit, that’s unlikely. Taking a rare moment from shitting his drug clinic bed to pen the tune, he pulled the name quite arbitrarily from his intoxicant-addled brain in this alleged ode to kicking the brown stuff. So, it’s no one. (And yes, he does have a daughter called Angela, but it's not her, SO THERE.)

Song: Jamie Thomas

Artist: Graham Coxon

What? Distortion-drowned thrash punk album opener of the Blur guitarist’s second solo effort, The Golden D.

Who? As Coxon explains in a Melody Maker interview from 2000, “He's this fearless, inspiring skateboard kid - he jumps his skateboard over massive gaps, God knows how fast he's going. He's kind of crazy. He's got a seventies haircut - perhaps it's a wig.” Writing about your skateboard hero Graham? What are you, like twelve or something?

Song: Richard III

Artist: Supergrass

What? Werewolf-esque Britpoppers turn up their amps for a rollicking hard rock groove.

Who? According to legend, hump-backed Plantagenet English King for a bit with a penchant for locking little boys in towers (hey, it was the 1480’s - they all did that back then, I expect). Also, like most people born in Northampton, he was buried in a car park. Sort of. Actually, the song itself has diddle all to do with Dick – it was just a working title that kind of stuck, the mutton-chopped Rick-teasers.

Song: Geno

Artist: Dexy’s Midnight Runners

What? Soulful if dour trumpet-lead stomp by dungaree-clad pop outfit*. Basically, their number one hit that isn’t 'Come On Eileen'.

Who? Soul singer Geno Washington, to whom the song serves as both tribute and pastiche. Black, American, and funkier than your mother, his most notable work is with The Ram Jam Band in the 1960’s. The sort of artist white middle class guys like me feel guilty about not listening to more, which is probably why they regularly mop up Glastonbury festival afternoon schedules.

Song: Goldfinger

Artist: Shirley Bassey

What? Brassy blast of Bondian bombast.

Who? Well, he’s the man, see? You know, the man with the Midas touch. And so forth. Anyway, it’s the first Bond film with an eponymous villain as the theme song. As such, lyricists Briscusse and Newley spun some memorable if slightly baffling lines (“A spider’s touch”? Got eight arms, has he?), set to the dazzling strains of John Barry’s big band jazz. The heavy-set Austrian 22 carat-obsessed megalomaniac was played by two people – German actor Gert Fröbe in person with the uncredited pipes of Michael Collins providing the voice. The villain’s plan? Irradiate Fort Knox’s gold supply in order to boost the value of his own, the ginger meanie. Spoiler: he loses.

Song: Ms Jackson

Artist: Outkast

What? Maddeningly catchy electro-pop rap. The one with the bit that goes, “Forever.
Forever. Forever ever. FOREVER EVER!”

Who? Ms Jackson is a pseudonym for Kolleen Wright, mother of Erykah Badu, with whom Outkast singer Andre 3000 had a child before splitting up (got all that?). The song is an explanation/apology to his former lover’s mother, in that dirty laundry-displaying confessional manner that hip-hop seems to do so well. According to Andre, Mrs Wright, “loved it”. She must have missed Big Boi’s line about his “dick in all her mouth”, the charmer.

Song: Kevin Carter

Artist: Manic Street Preachers

What? Uncharacteristically neat and clipped single release from the rock band’s first post-Richey LP, Everything Must Go.

Who? Pulitzer Prize winning South African photo journalist. Papped a starving girl in famine-torn Sudan as a vulture landed behind her. His award sadly wasn’t only the glitter of a trophy – the subsequent guilt caused him to kill himself mere months later. His suicide note included the cheerful bon mots, “...am haunted by the vivid memories of killings and corpses and anger and pain ... of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners”. Cheers Manics! You couldn’t have just sung about Kevin Bacon, could you?

Song: Mr Brownstone

Artist: Guns N’ Roses

What? Surprisingly funky hard-edged glam rock track from wildly successful album, Appetite for Destruction.

Who? A euphemism for heroin, often the band’s drug of choice in their flooringly excessive late 1980’s heyday (as well as, you know, all the other drugs they snorted, injected, smoked, drank and pushed down their urethra during that time). The song/man was referenced in anger by Axl Rose in 1989 during a heated performance. The often fractious lead singer threatened, live on stage, to dissolve the band unless his skag-chugging bandmates didn’t stop, “dancing with Mr Brownstone”. Presumably, Slash and co threw away their needles and dancing clogs the very next day. I don’t know – anthropomorphising drug use for song subjects. At least we won’t see the likes of that again in this list...

Song: Ebeneezer Goode

Artist: The Shamen

What? Naughty naughty very naughty off-its-tits early 90’s dancefloor filler.

Who? Fictional character acting as a vapour-thin concealment for the most blatant advocate of narcotics in pop history until Necro’s I Need Drugs almost twenty years later. Marty Feldman-alike magician Jerry Sadowitz played, presumably, the title role in the song’s video, but they were fooling no one. Vocalist Mr C might as well have sung, “Mmm, yummy, brain-curdling drugs right up in my bloodstream. They are the best and you should munch them.”

Song: Arnold Layne

Artist: Pink Floyd

What? The band’s first ever single release – a slightly skittish haunted prowl of Brit psychedelia.

Who? Chancing knicker-thief. According to popcorn-faced bassist Roger Waters, it’s based on a real person they knew. "Both my mother and Syd's mother had students as lodgers because there was a girls' college up the road so there were constantly great lines of bras and knickers on our washing lines and 'Arnold' or whoever he was, had bits off our washing lines." I don’t know – cross-dressers as song subjects! At least we won’t see the likes of that again in this list...

Song: Lola

Artist: The Kinks

What? Lushly-orchestrated and triumphantly confessional English singalong.

Who? Cock-concealing club-goer with a penchant for cherry c-o-l-a cola. According to lyricist and singer Ray Davies, it’s a fictional re-telling of a nightclub encounter with a transvestite, citing an evening out with Kinks manager Robert Wace in gay Paris. Drummer Mick Avory disputes this, claiming it’s based on his frequenting of West London transvestite bars in the capital during the period, actually putting forward one Michael McGrath as the track’s title character (given the song’s Soho setting, fairly likely). Either way, Lola is one foxy dancing chick with a tight grip. And a penis.

*yes, the dungarees came later. Christ, you're picky.

Doctor Who & The Shelf Space of Doom

Hello, I'm Miles. I wrote this a while back for a New Zealand-based fanzine. Not sure if it ever made it to an issue, 'cos I'm not based in New Zealand, much as I'd liked to be.

The older we get, the more we tend to lose. Hair, sex appeal, dignity: all succumb gradually to time’s rampaging, pitiless march. As a fan of an unfeasibly long-running sci-fi show that can boast more episodes than George Michael has parking offences however, one thing I’ve lost almost completely is shelf space. 

My pal the inflatable Dalek in better, less puncturing, times.

That fan impulse to covet, collect, and hoard merchandise related to our fave programme has swollen my personal collection of needless Time Lord ephemera and worthless Who bullshit to now absurdly impractical levels. Sonic Screwdriver? In my pants drawer. Classic series monster toys? Jostling for position next to photos of my family members (there’s a Sea Devil threatening, somewhat inappropriately, a treasured photo of a deceased loved one). Inflatable Cushing movie Dalek? Deflated after the kids punctured it, somehow. 

My home isn't transcendentally dimensional - it's pretty damn small. So, like the Pope probably didn’t say when he resigned, “shit’s gotta’ go, man”. 

The tweet that started the madness

I started whittling in earnest just a few months back. Scooping up armfuls of over a decade’s worth of Doctor Who Magazines - pausing only to save those in which my occasional missives were published - I spread the resultant papery tower across my living room floor for a quick snap. A quick tweetpic to @DWMtweets, thanking them for the memories, but was regrettably disposing of the lot, and I was done. Or so I thought. They re-tweeted it. To over 50,000 followers. Who instantly spread it like fiery digital herpes across Twitter’s virtual orgy. With barely any warning, 50,000 magazine-hungry Whovians sudden, urgent aim in life was to acquire the contents of my recycling bin. 

@Time_Lord_Ticklepants “Noooooooooo!” 
@GallyWhoGurl “Don’t do it!” 
@RassilonsBallbag1963 “e-Bay them!!!!! I’ll buy them!!!!” 
@RubbedOneOutToPertwee “What’s your address? I’ll come to collect them NOW. Serious!” 


I knew he was serious. It’s why I spent the next hour hastily deleting any passing mention of my actual location across all social networks. Eventually tiring of the incredulity, exclamation marks, and passive/aggressive pleas of reconsideration, I reluctantly acquiesced and made room for them in the attic.* 

Doctor Who DVD covers IN A BIN.

Instead, I’ve turned my attention to the one constant pretty much every fan has in multiples – DVDs. Not the discs themselves, but the covers (though if I accidentally snapped The Web Planet in half I wouldn’t be too upset). I’m ditching those lovely uniformed roundel-adorned silver slip cases in exchange for an ordered, but anonymous and utterly charmless CD briefcase. ‘Cos the show’s the thing, yeah? 

And thanks, your discomfort and disapproval is noted. It burns me. But it’s either that or lose my trousers, and clearly, that’s something nobody wants. So, I’ve divorced each from their beautifully-assembled photo montage cover, most of which make the adventure look that much more exciting than it actually is (except for Time Flight’s dreadful effort, which reflects accurately the content therein). Flimsy Eccleston TARDIS boxset? Gone. Trial of a Time Lord’s glitzy package of eighties nostalgia? Binned. And, cruellest of all, The Complete Davros Collection featuring my absolute favourite Doctor Who character ever that isn’t the Doctor himself. 


 Have I the right? Well, sorry Doctor, but I absolutely do. 







*since binned, but managed to send a few out to a few fans good enough to trust me with their addresses.

Addendum: We've now done this with all of our DVD's and CD's (below). Blu-Rays get a pass, 'cos they're Blu-Rays, although my wife keeps looking at them threateningly. With the CD's, we made two album print things for the walls, featuring a select few choices of music dear to either or both of us through the years. There are MANY notable omissions, but if I started listing them, we'd be here till they've cast the 27th Doctor or something. 

Netquix: Postman Pat: The Movie (2014)

Netflix content reviewed in 150 words. Or thereabouts.

Postman Pat: The Movie (2014)

Dir: Mike Disa

Running Time: 88 minutes

From stop motion small screen to CGI silver screen, everyone’s favourite marrow-schnozzed parcel-chucker makes a distinctly flaky transition to full length feature. Concerning the titular delivery man’s star turn in a national talent competition, the plot is erratically-paced and frustratingly inconsistent. With Stephen Mangan leading Pat’s vocal duties (but jarringly, not his singing), it’s remarkably well cast, which probably explains the film’s remaining deficiencies – namely, the scattershot script and cheap visuals.

 

A Patbot, yesterday.

There's some cheerfully silly slapstick and a few genuinely good jokes (talent show judge Simon Cowbell’s insulting retorts and a Dalek cameo among the standouts), but that they’re hung loosely together up in such a haphazard manner is to the film’s detriment.

But you know what? It doesn’t matter what I think. Meet Elijah. He’s my son, aged 4. He loves Thomas the Tank Engine and Babybels. And he bloody ADORES this film. I press him for a reason why.

“Because I love the Patbots!” he replies enthusiastically, and charges off into the living room, pretending to be one. For four year olds, it would seem Pat delivers the goods.

5/10

Elijah’s score: To the moon and back/10

Elijah, pretending to be a Patbot next to sister Willow, dressed gamely as Jess the cat. 

Still here? Good, because if you fancy it, here's something I did a while back for some reason. It's Mark Kermode's Radio 5 Live review of it in double time, with accompanying illustration. I broadly agree with the verdict, though perhaps a little more charitable. Anyway, enjoy.