The Romans by Dennis Spooner
16 January - 6 February 1965
So, this one starts on an interesting note. So distant is the time between the literal cliffhanger we were last left on and the beginning of the action here that at least two stories have been set during the gap in the “expanded universe”. Naturally, I didn’t find myself with the spare time for either, so let’s chug along. The smash cut from imminent peril to Ian apparently lying supine and unconscious, before a little sprig of grapes wanders into shot for him to happily munch on, is really a great tone setter for this story. I mumbled last season about how Spooner’s first script wasn’t really all that funny, but now it seems that he’s started to earn his reputation. This story is honestly pretty hilarious at points, playing with the tropes and trappings of drama set in the Roman era and making it all ridiculous in the process. My history nerd’s anorak compels me at this point to point out that almost nothing portrayed in this serial is actually based on fact so much as what people think 1st Century Rome was like, but that’s rather the point, so I’ll hang that garment up now and try to actually have fun for once instead.
I almost wish the whole story had kept Ian and Barbara in one place, since their back-and-forth at the villa is a little captivating, and, dare I say it? A little emotionally charged? (What a controversial opinion that must be at this point, I said without sincerity.) It’s lovely to see more or less in the open what’s been sort of obvious since their first appearance, that Russell and Hill’s characters actually do have splendid romantic chemistry, with the fact that the action has lulled to a stop for a bit letting them relax and relish in that chemistry. At least until the cozy atmosphere is broken up suddenly by the slavers’ attack on the villa, which is actually a little grim, aside from Barbara accidentally braining Ian with an ampora. The contrast between the levity and the seriousness of the situation left me nervously chuckling at the felled Ian while Barbara was carted off. I think I can hear Donald Cotton taking notes in the background.
Here I digress to note that there’s a real trend in historicals up to this point of pairing Ian with a contemporary man with whom he spends most of the adventure: in Marco Polo he spent much of his time in discussion with the titular character, in The Aztecs he became (fatally) entangled with his buddy Ixta, and here he’s paired for most of the serial with a dependable nobody named Delos. I’m not prepared to analyze this recurring theme very deeply, though I will happily point out that in every case, it seems to give Ian a fight to get embroiled in fisticuffs or swordfighting with somebody. He’s a restless soul, our Ian.
My one really sour note with this serial is, probably unsurprisingly, the way Barbara is treated, and particularly the Benny Hill sequences where Nero chases her around the palace. It’s been talked to death, but it’s really difficult in this day and age to take these in the humorous spirit in which they were intended. I’d say that we live in more enlightened times now, but considering who’s currently president in my country and his own particular moral merits, I doubt I’d be able to manage a straight face.
In happier news, the Doctor’s role in The Romans is absolutely fantastic. After The Aztecs, he finally appears to have lightened up a bit about capering around in history. For what seems almost the first time (and blessedly not the last), he spends the serial taking the piss out of the institutions of power, making a stir in Nero’s court and inadvertently bringing about the Fire of Rome. Much has been made of his giddy reaction to the realization that he’s changed history, but I’m more interested in the lyre concert at Nero’s dining hall, which I honestly think is the most uproariously funny moment of the whole story. Rome and its symbology have been used as emblems of power and authority, sometimes for ill, for centuries after the end of its Empire, so it’s fitting that the Doctor sits in the heart of that Empire and illustrates the absolute banality of the great and powerful. His silent concert has everyone present nodding very seriously and pretending they can hear its “delicate” tones. And so it’s capped off by the funniest line in the whole story, when Nero leans over to someone and mumbles, somewhat sorely, “He’s alright, but he’s not all that good.” The Doctor as a subversive force of anarchy is something I could very much grow used to.
My last word on The Romans really is that it’s a wonderfully subversive and genuinely funny set of episodes. In spite of the awkward moments, it really does deserve its good reputation. And what did my better half have to say?
Sera’s Say:
Well, most of the same stuff, really. Sera liked it as well, with Barbara’s runaround with Nero likewise being her low point. I can attest first-hand that the story otherwise garnered more than a few genuine laughs from both of us. She paid a little more attention to the visual effects than I did, and was particularly distracted by a really rubbish polystyrene boar’s head during Nero’s dinner. She also noticed what I did in Spooner’s last story, that flames held before these old BBC cameras produce an unnatural black halo that, to her amusement, made them look fake despite obviously being real. As someone steeped in “New Who” but unfamiliar with these early stories, she remarked that a true, pure historical is a little weird, but that this one worked out for her just the same.
But enough about Italy for now. We’re due a trip to the planet Vortis in The Web Planet. I’ll put my Coal Hill school tie away somewhere safe.
Memorable Dialogue:
“Chesterfield…” “Chester-TON.” “Eh, Barbara’s calling you.”
“Is that your lyre?” “Why, have you lost one?”
“The gentle art of fisticuffs.”
Miserable Dialogue:
None. Congratulations!
(Modified from the original posted at Gallifrey Base on 5 August 2018.)
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