The Sleepers of Earth
written by Christopher Chibnall
directed by Ashley Way
Broadcast - 30th June 2001-21st July 2001
The Silurians are back and they’re not as good as they used to be.
As the story aried, I actually enjoyed it far more than it deserved. The Pertwee tributathon, with the Welshness and the drilling and the Green Veins Of Death and all, was an easy win. And we’ve come to realise that whatever rubbish is onscreen, if Richard E Grant’s Doctor is in it it’s going to be sprinkled with sparkly magic dust that lifts the material far higher than it actually rates. Also, they do a much better job of showing the utter terror of being dragged down through the earth than Frontios manages. But despite all that, as the episodes unspooled the horrible reality was creeping through to us. It’s actually pretty awful. And think about it even for a second and it crumbles to dust.
Christopher Chibnall is a new writer for Doctor Who and it seems a shame his first shot is a remake of Doctor Who and the Sillurians and not something more original. All it does is make us dismiss him as a writer when he maybe able to write some crackers for all we know. Sleepers of the Earth do not, shall we say, display much originality.
Take the characters. The teaser’s actually very nice, with some good characterising stuff between Mo and his son, so that we actually care when Mo slithers away into the dirt. Then they chuck all that away when we don’t see Mo for, like, ever, and when we do he could be anybody. Elliot is a really great kid (and since we have a low nausea threshold for adorable little tykes that’s high praise from me), and his interaction with the Doctor is great, but again, it all comes to nothing.
None of the others are any better, either. Whatever’s good about Meera Syal’s character Nasreen - the warmth, the realness - comes from her: the bad bits - the total lack of sciences, not to mention the confusion about what kind of scientist she actually is - come from the script. Tony is a complete nonentity (apart from one weird moment we talk about later) and we’re not buying his apparent relationship with Nasreen for a second. And Ambrose (Ambrose?) is just plain terrible.
Nor do the Silurians escape. Who do we have? The psychotic twins, literally played by Davros, on one side, cuddly Stephen Moore on the other. Not what you’d call light and shade, is it? The one Silurian who isn’t one-note, the scientist, doesn’t make any sense whatsoever - he seems terribly nice, doesn’t he, and the Doctor clearly likes him a lot, but wait a minute. Isn’t this the same guy whose hobby is vivisection? What the hell’s that about?
That’s the trouble with the plot, too. Half of it’s smack-you-in-the-face obvious, the other half is utterly loopy. And not in a good way. The Doctor and Sammy investigate the drilling operation Watch out for the magic dust, because Richard E Grant is sprinkling it on deliciously. Then, in the charm of the exchanges between the Doctor and Elliot, you can almost forget the silliness of the Doctor insisting on them gathering in the church (wouldn’t the TARDIS be a lot safer, even if it can’t take off?). Or the hilarity of them setting up a CCTV network that covers the entire village in twenty minutes flat. And admiring the steel behind the Doctor’s smile as he asks Ambrose to put away the weapons nearly makes you forget how unreasonable the Doctor’s being: if you’re going to “temporarily incapacitate” somebody with a sonic pulse, what’s the diff between that and biffing them with a cricket bat?
And ooh! Little green men! Or Silurians with included horribly CGIed tongue. And the Doctor in sunglasses, which is lots of fun, and then it’s apparently okay to squirt someone in the face with a fire extinguisher even if you disapprove of cricket bats. Oh yes, Sammy. But never mind her, because the Doctor’s talking to Davros – umm sorry – Alayd the Silurian. Terry Molloy gives an exceptional performance through all those prosthetic which I’m glad they updated but not competently changed and kept the same feel of the Silurians.
The interrogation scene is, thanks to the actors involved, very nice indeed. We love Alayd’s lizardiness, and while we could do without his one-note foamy-mouthed attitude, Terry Molloy brings complete conviction to it. The Doctor-style interrogation is also great, and it’s not all jelly babies either: the Doctor shows his teeth more than once. It’s a great two-hander.
Then off we go with the good old Silurian Question. It’s their planet, too, so what are we going to do about it? You’d have to be a lot less cynical than we are to envisage an answer to this question that doesn’t involve a good few rivers of blood, but it’s always worth a ponder. Of the four times Doctor Who has now had a go at said pondering, the first time was the most interesting and complex (and shocking): this, alas, is the least. We know Bad Things are going to happen to Alayd when the Doctor leaves her alone with assorted humans: it’s just a question of when.
That’s not helped, of course, by a script that makes Tony, whose grandson is being held hostage and whose life might depend on a prisoner exchange, suggest that they dissect her. Dear God. Yes, it’s supposed to be all parallel and stuff, but it’s ridiculous. Also, is the dome thingy gone or not? If it’s not, why does the Doctor suddenly think it’s OK to use the TARDIS when he didn’t before? And if it is, now that the door’s open, wouldn’t you think the others, whose loved ones’ lives are in the balance, would suggest TELLING SOMEBODY about this mysterious scourge from below rather than indulging in a spot of impromptu surgery themselves? What the hell good would finding the weak spots do for this bunch?
Oh, well. Onwards and downwards. (They said it, we didn’t.) Sammy manages to pick lovable old Dr Mengele’s pocket while having her hand completely clamped down, and Richard E Grant turns in some really excellent screaming and writhing. And we don‘t say that lightly: practically every other Doctor has gurned their way horribly through torture scenes. Back on the surface, there’s a really odd moment with Tony and Alayd in which he offers to let her go if she cures him. Shouldn’t this be a character-defining thing? After all, his grandson’s life might depend on keeping Alayd, so he’s trying to trade Elliot’s life for his. Despite this, it’s never referred to again and he keeps cruising on as one of the good guys. Huh? Similarly, Ambrose zaps Alayd just because of a bit of taunting, thus endangering her entire family, and Tony has the cheek to reprimand her when a few minutes before he was going to let Alayd go. Consistency? Not so much. This isn't character shading: it's picking incidents out of a hat.
The Doctor proposes a swap, and Restoc, instead decides on a clear message. Yawn, another fanatic. Not exactly ringing the changes, are they? But it’s insanely nice Eldane to the rescue, who negotiates with Amy and Nasreen despite having sensibly asked whether they have any authority and getting an accurate answer. Very heart-tugging but also very stupid. Also very stupid is Sammy’s brilliant plan to plonk all the lizards in the Sahara and the Outback and the Nevada Plains because they’re deserted. Right, Sammy, we pick you to tell the Tuareg and the other 2.5 million people who actually live in the Sahara. And the indigenous Australians living in the Outback. Not that we really need to take them into consideration, of course. After all, they’ve only been there for tens of thousands of years.
And then oops, here’s your minion who’s just a tiny bit dead. The Doctor assures Eldane that humanity are better than this, although considering his previous Silurian outings we’re not sure where he’s getting that idea from. Tony declares his love for his grandson - shame he didn’t remember him when he was trying to release Alayd, isn’t it? The toxic fumigation, a mad scheme if ever we’ve heard of one, kicks off.
It’s not 100% terrible. We think I can safely predict that nothing with Richard in as the Doctor will ever be that. But it’s profoundly, depressingly unoriginal. The dialogue clunks like a Clunk-O-Matic 2.0. The characters remain sadly random and/or undeveloped. And the plot machinery keeps poking through the holes in the tissue of gauze stretched across the top. In so many ways, it’s far from the Silurians’ finest hour. It might set out to be a homage, but instead only reminds us of how far we’ve come - the wrong way down the street.
