Deer, Rabbits, Flowers, and Fire

Like many of the greatest movies ever made, there's not a big audience for 1942's Bambi. People looking for a movie about the grim reality that brings about a mother's death when her child is an infant aren't usually the sort who want to see cutsey animals romping in the forest. And people who like cuddly bunnies and fawns aren't usually eager to hear about animals getting shot. Like 2001: A Space Odyssey or Citizen Kane, it's a movie most people feel is deserving of respect even as they're reluctant to actually sit still and watch the thing. Which is too bad because its visual artistry is an absolutely breathtaking interpretation of nature. Meanwhile, its story of an animal community with human characteristics is as fascinating an interpretation of human nature.

Disney's artists clearly studied forests and animal anatomy but the film isn't an exercise of painters and animators capturing photorealism. The soft pastels and gently washed out browns and greens accompany happier springtime scenes.

More serious, anxious moments switch to cool gloom and ominous silhouettes.

Action sequences leap into saturation and the forest fire, composed of stylishly curling flame, complements its oranges and reds with an anachronistic but perfect purple.

One can see the influences of Arthur Rackham, Caspar David Friedrich, and the Impressionists. In this strange version of reality, a young deer, Bambi (Bobby Stewart, Donnie Dunagan, Hardie Albright, John Sutherland), is the prince among a community of mostly herbivorous animals--the exceptions mainly being the birds. Disney's artists evoke the mannerisms of human children with awesome skill and it's incredible to think Thumper (Peter Behn, Tim Davis, Sam Edwards) is composed of a series of hand drawn still images.

Animation of adolescent and adult animals is less evocative of humanity but the film never truly fails visually.

What is this story of a perfect, innocent world intruded on by murderous man? The film has famously made many vegetarians and animal activists, including Paul McCartney, yet it was made by men who weren't and who didn't become vegetarians. In fact, the film's based on a book written by a hunter, an Austrian author and critic named Felix Salten.

Why on earth would a sport hunter write a story like this? Like Pinocchio and Dumbo, the underlying values at play in the story are almost completely alien to-day. In 1961's The Misfits, also a masterpiece, Marilyn Monroe's character doesn't understand how Clark Gable's character can capture and kill wild mustangs to sell their corpses for dog food. Gable explains to her that nothing can live without something else dying. He later clearly decides mustangs are too good for dog food, and rightly so, but, again, neither he nor Monroe became vegetarians because of it.

Perhaps it's because in those days, when the United States was more predominantly agricultural, the unpleasant reality of the costs of continued human existence were a more visible part of every day life. They aren't any less intrinsic to-day, they're just less visible.

You could have your heart broken by Bambi, you could really and truly sympathise with him, and you could still dine on his mother at the end of the day. Maybe, though, a respect for the beauty and undeniable sensitivity in nature might make you respect nature and refrain from taking savagely and greedily from her.

Bambi is available on Disney+.

The Inevitable Head

The trouble with revolutions about destroying hierarchy is that they require leaders. 1969's Tepepa presents characters wrestling with this problem in the context of revolutionary Mexico in the early 20th century. A Spaghetti Western, or in a subgenre called "Zapata Western", it presents the terrific violence and memorable personalities associated with the Italian/Spanish productions from the 60s with an ambition to be something a bit like David Lean's epics at the time. It doesn't quite reach those levels, it's too cartoonish, and the double moral centres, in the form of a cool Englishman and a little Mexican boy, make the film insubstantial in an effort to make it less ambiguous. But Tomas Milian and Orson Welles both turn in good performances and, of course, Ennio Morricone's music is fantastic.

The irrepressible pluck against the frustrated oppressor suggested by the music is nicely complemented by Tomas Milian in the role of Tepepa, a sort of Errol Flynn-ish version of Zapata. Friend or foe, joy or misfortune are as likely to provoke a hearty laugh from this charismatic hero. But he's quite shrewd.

Real life Mexican President Madero is here played by Paco Sanz looking a lot more like Vladimir Lenin than Madero did in real life. When Tepepa helps him take over the country he's quick to notice the same fat cats end up in charge of things. For the purposes of the film, the villain and key fat cat is embodied ably by Orson Welles.

Welles plays Colonel Cascorro, as weary and cynical as Tepepa is lively and positive. But both men are of the unusual kind best suited to be leaders, men who can see the big picture and make decisions outside the confines of crowd mentality or public opinion. Cascorro keeps order with brutality sometimes, Tepepa decides life and death for reasons sometimes unclear or dubious to his followers. He kills one man, formerly loyal, for betraying him and he kills him right in front of the man's son. This is the little boy who becomes somewhat awkwardly symbolic as the movie progresses, leading to an ending in which the boy actually makes a statement on behalf of the spirit of Mexico. In case it just wasn't clear.

The other moral centre befriends the child briefly and almost adopts him. Henry Price (John Steiner) is a doctor from England, perhaps representing the foreign perspective on the political conditions in Mexico. He comes across as faintly psychotic and he's in Mexico to avenge the rape and murder of his fiancee at the hands of Tepepa. At least, that's what he's heard. But he rescues Tepepa from Cascorro at the beginning of the film for reasons he doesn't seem to understand himself.

His continuing investigation into whether this Tepepa fellow is worthy or not mirrors Tepepa's own dissatisfaction in the inevitability of human nature to produce corrupt leaders. If Tepepa turns out to be such a leader himself, does he have the capacity to see it? It's an interesting question perhaps posed a little too cartoonishly in the end.

Tepepa is available on Amazon Prime.

Ennio Morricone

Yesterday one of the greatest, if not the greatest, of film composers, Ennio Morricone, passed away at the age of 91. He had a genius for melody and his experimentation with sound gave us the peculiar yet perfect vocals in The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, the synthesiser paired with strings in The Thing, and the eerie electric guitar in my favourite of his scores, Once Upon a Time in the West.

People writing about Morricone are justly including The Mission and Once Upon a Time in America as among his finest scores. But I thought I'd make a list of some of his lesser known but also astounding works.

Navajo Joe

As with Once Upon a Time in the West, his Navajo Joe score impressively weaves seemingly discordant screams with a sharp, electric guitar driven melody.

The Great Silence

The great exercise in bitter cold, Morricone offers a light touch to capture the every day truth of Klaus Kinski's villain.

Theft is No Longer a Crime

Like parts of his scores for The Thing and Allongsanfan, Morricone predates Rasputina in being able to really rock with a cello, lending a carnal impulse to this economic satire.

Finally, I leave you with this beautiful, underappreciated song he composed for Django Unchained:

Twitter Sonnet #1370

The granite holds a swirling wind for keeps.
Untidy doors would clutter jambs and knobs.
Above the buildings Locust Woman leaps.
The corn exceeds the biggest bin of cobs.
The quicker pen consists of bolts and light.
Extended time consumed the cheaper watch.
The lines of song removed the will to fight.
Defining shades reduced the mental blotch.
A signal look imputes the word to mess.
Mistaken tools were broken down the side.
Restraint prevents a foreign, errant bless.
A flimsy bag contained a soapy tide.
The pistol barrel's scream attends a glow.
A silent flute remembers rivers flow.

The Waters of July

I'm home early to-day because there was a state of emergency called due to the thunderstorms. The school closed and everyone went home. This past weekend there was flooding in Kyushu with some deaths. But to-day here in Kashihara things seemed like they'd already settled down again by the time I got home. The river was calm.

So far the worst thing to happen to me to-day is this cat stuck his tongue out at me.

He doesn't even know me.

This was all pretty fortuitous since I got hardly any sleep last night. Now hopefully I have the discipline to send myself to bed early.

A Doctor and Aliens on Ice

Rarely have the heroes on Doctor Who had such a strangely consistent colour scheme as they do in 1987's Dragonfire. Red, black, charcoal, and off-white. I also tend to forget how intriguing the teleplay is for this story.

We have this alien exile, Kane (Edward Peel), a sort of ice vampire nursing a grudge for three thousand years, and his followers who all bear a mark and are bound to his service. Kane sounds like Cain, of course. Who's Abel? Maybe the cuddliest xenomorph ever.

The costume bears a strong resemblance to the xenomorph from Alien. The Seventh Doctor (Sylvester McCoy) is friendly to him, of course, just like the Third Doctor with the Silurians, though maybe this story bears more resemblance to The Hand of Fear. Kane turns out to be a little like Eldrad, the civilisation that exiled him turning out to be long gone. The set design is more like Richard Donner's rendering of The Fortress of Solitude, though.

I love the Doctor handing his map to the xenomorph. No wonder Ridley Scott thought his monster was overexposed when he made Prometheus (he was right, you know). Decades before Avatar, this episode inverts the story of Aliens, and the substance in the alien's brain is something the ice vampire sees as a resource the ice vampire is willing to kill for.

I like bored Ace (Sophie Aldred) and Mel (Bonnie Langford) playing "I Spy"=="Something that begins with 'I'"--"Ice."

This was Ace's first episode, a strangely matter-of-fact introduction for a modern day girl who's gotten herself lost in time and space before meeting the Doctor. It fits perfectly with how naturally odd Sophie Aldred is, a massive relief after the irritating penny whistle that is Mel.

I love Glitz (Tony Selby), a welcome carry over from the Sixth Doctor era. The mercenary, like Ace, is brought in with so little fanfare, jumping right into the story. It would be kind of great if he popped up in the new show in exactly as abrupt a manner.

This is Mel's final episode and as bland as she is her final scene with Sylvester McCoy is one of McCoy's finest.

Silly Natural Misfortune

Happy Independence Day, my fellow Americans. I wanted to watch a particularly American movie for to-day but for some reason I ended up watching 1988's The Great Outdoors, a comedy starring two Canadians, Dan Aykroyd and John Candy. It is shot and set in the U.S., though, albeit shot in California and set in Wisconsin. Written by John Hughes, it's one of his films about irreparably flawed people at odds with each other nonetheless finding their bonds stronger than their foolish ire. A bit sillier than Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, its comedy is cartoonish and effective. There's also a little teen love subplot thrown in for those who bought tickets hoping to see a Brat Pack movie somehow.

Chet (Candy) takes his family to the same lake resort his father took him too in the name of family tradition and instilling an appreciation of nature. Neither goal is terribly appreciated by his two sons, Buck (Chris Young) and Benny (Ian Giatti).

It's Buck who has the romance after a mildly raunchy meetcute involving his pool cue and the scanty coverage afforded by cut-off denim shorts worn by a lovely young Lucy Deakins.

Deakins, perhaps best known for The Boy Who Could Fly, has left her acting career and has been a practising attorney in Denver for over ten years. And she's only 48 now. Well done, Lucy.

The subplot is oddly disconnected from the rest of the film as though it was added completely after everything else was shot. Buck is the only character from the main plot to interact with Deakins and shots of him looking at his watch at a dinner scene feel conspicuously inserted. He's angry because, for some unexplained reason, he feels compelled to stay at dinner while his father accepts a challenge to devour a legendarily oversized steak. Otherwise, this is one of the best scenes in the film. I love how director Howard Deutch avoids showing the blood-stained cook until after the moment the steak lands in front of Candy.

The subplot is fine, especially if you haven't seen Sixteen Candles or Pretty in Pink for a while. It's like a Brat Pack hors d'oeurve.

Mostly the film is about the enmity between Roman (Aykroyd) and Chet. Roman brings his family, including wife Annette Bening (in her first role), sister of Chet's wife (Stephanie Faracy), unannounced and uninvited to the cabin. He immediately starts doing and saying obnoxious things, like videotaping Chet and his wife in sexual foreplay. An incident where he accidentally drags Chet across a lake on waterskis is maybe more forgivable. Generally it's Roman's manner and obnoxious attitude about his wealth that's so irritating.

When the film presents a situation where there might be an actual, permanent rupture, though, you can tell the story is working because, for no rational reason whatsover, you don't want them to fight. It's weird being human.

It's also weird being a bear. Bart the Bear gives a really good performance in this film, it should be noted. The climax is actually really harrowing.

Twitter Sonnet #1369

A sudden change created slower days.
The noodles late arrived to sup a yam.
When danger sells a bridge, the action pays.
Concerted thoughts awoke the sleeping lamb.
The carried carrot caught the winner's nose.
And running now the distant schnoz decides.
The picture shot detects the instant pose.
The jockeys whispered strange oblique asides.
The massive forest shook with friendly deer.
The mountains tipped the waves of snowy dust.
Some ashes topped the morning's jolly beer.
The fam'ly car was lost in dreams of rust.
The stars remain at dawn to light the land.
Connected birds create a feathered band.

Displaced Anthems

This is one of my latest doodles from the art club at the Japanese junior high school where I work. I stayed late to-day to help the students clean up. Instead of janitors, in Japanese schools students and staff are expected to clean. On Wednesday, a group of girls in the art club were humming the tune to "The Star-Spangled Banner" so to-day I printed Francis Scott Key's lyrics for them to learn it. They seemed pretty tickled when I sang it for them.

The school where I work is very big so I keep having to make self-introductions to new classrooms even though I'm coming to the end of my fourth week now. One of the questions students often ask me is what anime or manga I like. I change my answer regularly to gauge the popularity of different titles. Everyone's heard of Neon Genesis Evangelion, only two girls had heard of Haruhi Suzumiya, some people knew Urusei Yatsura and Ranma 1/2, not one soul had heard of Cowboy Bebop, not the students or the Japanese teacher. Everyone likes Kimetsu no Yaiba. Though I still wonder if it will be known by students three years from now.

To-day one boy approached me to share his love for Evangelion. I'd heard for decades how popular the series was in Japan but it always seemed incredible that this weird story about traumatised kids in giant biomechanical robots enduring grotesque alien nightmares could have the kind of wide range appeal Star Wars has in the U.S. But it seems too.

Star Wars is well known, too. In fact, every day I leave school while the school band practices "The Imperial March". I reflected to-day on how integral that tune was to my youth and now here it is prominent in my life in Japan. It's weird what things persist in life.

Homer's Achievement in Excellence

"I used to be rich. I owned Mickey Mouse Massage Parlours," says a homeless man in an episode of The Simpsons on Disney+. "Then those Disney sleezeballs shut me down. I said, look, I'll change the logo, put Mickey's pants back on. Pfft. Some guys you just can't reason with." This is from the season three finale, "Brother Can You Spare Two Dimes", which sees the return of Danny DeVito as Homer's long lost brother Herb. Good for you, Disney, though I wonder if the episodes just weren't combed through carefully enough. Well, then again, maybe they were. There are plenty of jokes involving Mickey Mouse with his pants off in the new Mickey Mouse cartoons. It all sits oddly beside the fur on Daryl Hannah's butt. But I guess there's just nothing natural about that.

Not one of the best episodes of The Simpsons but still very funny, it begins with Homer (Dan Castellaneta) testing as sterile in a medical checkup at the nuclear power plant, prompting Mr. Burns (Harry Shearer) to concoct a scheme to avoid liability. So he tricks Homer into accepting a Lifetime Achievement Award in the Field of Excellence.

When Herb returns, it's this prize money he talks Homer into lending him so he can make a machine to decode the speech of babies.

The main story about Homer and Herb reconciling is fine but the episode's strong points are in its side gags, like Lisa (Yeardley Smith) wanting to spend the money on an encyclopaedia's Great Works of Literature series (including adjacent to classic titles like "Paradise Regained" and "Ethan Frome") or an expensive recliner that Homer covets in a scene referencing 2001: A Space Odyssey. It's season three, though, so it's guaranteed to be gold in some respects.

The Elephant Still Flies

I was going to wait a little while before continuing my survey of Disney animated films but with the way things are going now I figured I ought to watch 1941's Dumbo while I still can on Disney+. I'm glad I did, it's another film, like Pinocchio, the full genius of which I never appreciated as a child, at least not consciously. In a way, it presents the opposite of Pinocchio's argument. Where the strangeness of Pinocchio as a living puppet is something he must surpass to become real, or a normal boy, the idea with Dumbo is that the child must learn to embrace his peculiarities to become strong and survive.

The similarities to Pinocchio do not end there. There's another tiny companion character, not a conscience embodied by a cricket but a sort of promotional agent or manager in the form of a mouse named Timothy (Edward Brophy). Instead of trying to guide his charge away from show business, Timothy aims to make Dumbo a star attraction with the implication throughout the film being that in this the young elephant will find personal fulfilment despite the abusiveness of the circus staff, circus patrons, and even the other elephants.

Dumbo's mother can hardly be considered mad when she rages at the humans viciously mocking her baby. And it's certainly a sign of negligence on the part of the ringmaster and circus staff that patrons are able to lay unkind hands on an elephant calf directly in front of his mother. The obvious hazard would seem best avoided for multiple reasons, even in the less than safety conscious atmosphere of the mid-20th century American circus.

The clowns, who become Dumbo's co-stars and tormentors, are also presented as sadistic or at least terribly callous. There's not one person or animal, aside from Timothy and Dumbo's mother, who treats Dumbo with kindness and respect. And yet the implication is that Dumbo should want to earn the admiration of his detractors.

As a story about owning one's strangeness and making it work for you, it might be taken as very modern, but in its emphasis on fitting into a community and environment that often seems to take pleasure in putting down the vulnerable among them, it's rather old fashioned. In the hazy, glib philosophy of Captain Marvel, the harsh teacher played by Jude Law is someone whom the protagonist must learn not to desire approval from. And yet in that film, as well as in Dumbo, these instructor antagonists are indeed catalysts for the personal growth of the protagonist.

At one point, these attitudes of embracing the alien or new while pushing against it were not necessarily contradictory. In fact, it's how American capitalism was supposed to function--the bold innovator would present their ideas or products and then, in the crucible of practical use and competition, it would demonstrate whether it had wings, whether it was a viable contribution to civilisation. Going too far in either direction is obviously dangerous-- embracing novelty without consideration or restraint could result in wasted resources of time, money, or even lives while denying the new out of hand would naturally lead to stagnation. So the antagonists in Dumbo play a valuable role in resisting Dumbo as well as in embracing him in the end when his strangeness becomes a wonderful asset.

Dumbo couldn't have done it alone. He needed a mouse to believe in him, pink elephants to bring him outside the box, and finally a murder of crows to provide a supportive sounding board.

The pink elephants scene is regarded by many as a bit of a non sequitur, a detour into a surprisingly frightening and bizarre nightmare. But after awakening from the alcohol infused dream, Dumbo finds himself having performed the impossible when his conscious mind was not in control. Only in the dream state, divested of all conceptions imposed on him, is he able to express his physical potential and only is his faithful agent, the little Timothy, able to see it rationally. That is until the crows see it.

With so many brilliant and distinctive segments, it's hard to believe that, at just 64 minutes, Dumbo is one of Disney' shortest feature films. With the last thirty minutes of the film we have the lovely "Baby Mine" musical number, the pink elephants scene, the crow scene with the film's signature song, and also the climax where Dumbo proves himself in the ring. It may be for the film's short running time and the scene's crucial position in the plot that the crow scene will never be cut. And it shouldn't be.

Like everyone else, the crows laugh at Dumbo but unlike the other elephants or the human boys there's something strangely affectionate in the ribbing that comes from the crows. The song they sing with its string of amusing, clever comparisons, seems to both acknowledge the impossibility of what Dumbo will achieve while also heralding its inevitability. To say that they would "done seen about everything" when they see an elephant fly implies a lack of completion without that impossible sight. So along with acknowledging the absurdity of what Dumbo is, they also confirm him as someone with a natural and valuable place.

Which is certainly not the kind of role often seen for black characters in American films of the 1930s and 40s. The crows, unlike the buffoons exemplified by Stepin Fetchit or Sleep n' Eat, are clever and nuanced. Most of them were voiced brilliantly by black actors (James Baskett, Nick Stewart, and Hall Johnson) but the leader, "Dandy Crow," receives a great vocal performance from a white musician (Cliff Edwards).

In their cardinal act, in providing Dumbo with the "magic feather", is a perfect illustration of the kind of calculated delusion an innovator must have in order to feel encouraged. Dumbo knows on some very deep level that he has value but the normal world around him is so consistent in its oppression he needs an appealing dream to sustain him until he can achieve the real thing. This makes it fitting that the gift comes from members of the black American community, too. Of course, whether we are to take the voiceless Dumbo himself as black or white is not really clear.

A work of terrifically imaginative style and animation, Dumbo is another example of Disney at its very best. Like enduring myths and legends, Dumbo illustrates the psychology and the dreams of its time and people in a remarkable way.

Dumbo is available on Disney+.

Twitter Sonnet #1368

Between the spokes a theory rides ahead.
When gnashers spoke the corn was off the cob.
The many voices fell from out the head.
Mechanics storm the mall to make the snob.
The priceless birds were more than featherweights.
The time to drink between the eyes arrived.
To put beneath the hats the thinking pates.
The better angels better now contrive.
Protected pearls entrust the land to paint.
Approaching boats were manned to fish for squid.
The numbers add but don't create a saint.
A coffee bag conducts an op'ning bid.
The rolling clouds continue past the town.
Umbrellas black at dusk were dusty brown.

Finland is Lots of Miles from Japan

Behold, the fruits of an English lesson I gave to-day. I was asked to talk about Finland on short notice to a class of special needs students (I work at a junior high school in rural Japan). What do I know about Finland? All I could think of was the Monty Python song which, in retrospect, would've been pretty useful given that it specifically mentions Japan in the lyrics--the kids love it when their own country is referenced in the lessons. I also thought of Nightwish, the Finnish metal band I like, especially their stuff from when they had an opera singer on lead vocals. I drew a big bear (on the right) because I knew there were bears in Finland. Otherwise I had nothing until I remembered The Sampo.

Or as it's sadly better known in the U.S., The Day the Earth Froze, which is the version with bad English dubbing. It was famously featured on Mystery Science Theatre 3000. But the original film is based on Finnish mythology and was co-directed by the great Russian fantasy director Aleksandr Ptushko, whose films are criminally difficult to acquire decent copies of in the U.S. So I started by drawing trees and then the mountains and the lake. Then I explained how the hero rode on logs, and I explained what a log was, and told them how one day he saw a beautiful woman and how they both were victims of a witch's jealousy. It was easy to put it all into simple English and I think it was a pretty good basis for a lesson plan.

The Day the Earth Froze was always one of my favourite episodes of Mystery Science Theatre 3000, a case where there was a strange blurring of the line between mockery and appreciation, at least for me. The film has some genuinely amazing visuals.

I remembered the host segment where Joel and the bots ask the audience to figure out just what a Sampo is. So when I came to my own version of the story I put it to the students--when the witch, who lives on a miserable island, jealous of the people in the village, demands the Sampo in exchange for freeing the beautiful woman, just what might the Sampo be? One of the students suggested, "Life."

"Maybe!" I said, "Good answer!" After all, you might say a big lump that spews endless quantities of salt and gold is basically life.

On a slightly unrelated subject, here's a giant bug I saw outside my apartment this morning.

I thought it might be dead so I tapped one of its antennae with the tip of my umbrella expecting it to scurry away if it was alive. Instead, the antennae slowly, lazily swung back. As though to say, "Yeah, I'm alive, and you don't scare me, human."

Landing Landau(s)

The only thing more dangerous than Martin Landau is a pair of Martin Landaus. But their opponent is Lieutenant Columbo in the 1973 episode "Double Shock", an episode that also features Paul Stewart, Jeanette Nolan, and Julie Newmar.

Newmar's pretty scrumptious, too, playing the fiancée of murder victim Paul Stewart. She's overenthusiastic and her performance is as wonderfully campy as you might expect from the former Catwoman. She's a welcome spectacle but Landau provides something a bit stronger in two roles as the twin brothers implicated in the murder.

Which one of them did the deed, though? Like many murderers on Columbo, they stood to inherit a lot of money. Landau is amazing at subtly differentiating the two between a gregarious TV host and a repressed banker with a gambling addiction.

There's also small but very rewarding plot garnish between Columbo and the murder victim's housekeeper played by Jeanette Nolan. Peter Falk shows up masterfully again playing a man heavily sleep deprived. As his cigar drops ashes on the crime scene, the victim's exercise room, Nolan quite justifiably is enraged by the disrespect. I was so happy for a scene like this to show that Columbo's untidiness is not a quirk without consequences. Though, of course, it indirectly leads to his discovering a clue.

Columbo is available with commercials on Amazon Prime.

Twitter Sonnet #1368

Remembered shells contained a taco taste.
Reported talks occurred beneath the sky.
When ev'ry lunch arrived we crushed a paste.
No mention made could yet repress a sigh.
A row of rice was reaching up to-day.
The boxes bulged with books to set the shelf.
Required moves were set against delay.
We all were looking past the central elf.
Pervasive orange in citrus decks the room.
A final link completes a golden chain.
Constructed horses fell the heedless groom.
Along the wall we wrote of painted pain.
The dusty campus trapped a rubber wight.
With glowing squares we built electric sight.

Connectivity of the Doctor

It's Sunday again and this time I bring you the final instalment of my Doctor Who fan fiction. Yes, there's an end. I hope you've enjoyed it.

(Part I can be found here, Part II can be found here, Part III can be found here, Part IV is here, and Part V is here.)

DOCTOR WHO

"The New Model Tomb"

by Setsuled

Part VI

“Doctor, this whole building will be filled with toxic gas within ten minutes,” said William. “Can you get us out of here before that?”

The Doctor raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. She looked back at the wall panel thoughtfully.

“Doctor?” said William insistently. “Doctor?!”

The Doctor's eyes wandered to the bare space of wall beside the control panel. Its metallic surface offered faint reflections of the five people standing in the corridor. “Inspector,” said the Doctor, “what are these walls made of?”

“Isharasteel,” said Marwat, her voice shaking, “re-reinf-inforced by divaranised mesh . . .” She stopped as the Doctor reached over to Rob's hip, grasped the hilt of his sword, and drew it. The looks of terror that suddenly overcame Marwat's, Judy's, and William's faces showed they'd suddenly realised leaving a prisoner armed didn't make very much sense. But instead of attacking them, the Doctor walked over close to the wall, raised the weapon, and began pounding the pommel into the surface.

Instead of the loud clang of metal on metal, there was a knocking sound accompanied by the sight of splinters. Splinters of wood. Very soon, the Doctor had made a small hole.

“It's—it's wood,” said William, stunned.

“It's plywood,” said the Doctor. “Made to look like metal.” She continued pounding, expanding the hole. Rob drew his dagger and started helping her, expanding the rupture and the red light started to filter into the darkness behind the wall. The smooth surface of some kind of oblong object on a rough hewn table slowly became visible.

“I don't understand,” said Marwat, something like awe coming into her voice. “There's nothing about this in the Cloud.”

The Doctor shrugged, stepping over the rough bottom edge of the hole, lifting her skirts. “There didn't need to be. It occurred to me . . .” She went over to the object and started twisting dials and flicking switches. “. . . that for a great security system, the most important thing is convincing people it's a great security system.” She stepped back, letting out a breath. “And when people voluntarily limit their sources of information, it becomes much easier to convince them of even absurd things.” The Doctor now looked at some lines running from the oblong object into the rough, pale wooden wall.

“Plywood?” asked Rob.

“Ah, yes, hm. Cheap, weak wood veneer,” explained the Doctor, gathering up one of the small lines and examining it. “Very good for . . . theatre and television. There was a show in Britain I liked--”

“Doctor, what about the gas?” said William.

“Ah, turned off,” said the Doctor, pointing at the oblong object. “There are others like this tank but I've hit the master control. We're quite safe.”

“No, we're not,” said Marwat, starting to get angry. “These are all relics of a Wanter infiltration. According to the folder 27115, this tracks with an attempt to infiltrate and monitor our prison!”

“Ha! That was fast,” said the Doctor. “Already writing articles to protect itself, eh?”

“The date on the article is from two years ago!” said Marwat, getting more confident. “In fact, the more I look, the more articles I find on how rooms like this have already been discovered and dealt with years ago.”

The Doctor raised her eyebrows and put her hands in her pockets, the corners of her lips turned down. “Well, who am I to argue with articles, eh?”

“And you shouldn't!” said Marwat, “because one of my colleagues has just uncovered an article that exonerates you. You and your companion are free to go.”

Rob didn't understand what was going on but he couldn't help smiling at the sudden look of delight that spread over the Doctor's features.

“So, now it shows me its belly!” she laughed. “Well, then, Rob. Let's go!”

“Now wait just a minute!” said William. “They can't go just like that. After everything she said.”

Marwat looked at William pityingly. “All I can say, William . . . is you would understand if you were still . . .” she couldn't finish.

William clenched his fists.

Rob was kneeling beside Judy who'd slumped to the floor, her hands clutching her shoulders.

“Is there anything I might do for you, miss?” he asked.

“Leave me alone,” she said and, just like the man Jean, she said, “Don't look at me!”

The inspector saw nothing strange about telling the Doctor and Rob to find their own way out of the high security detention facility. The Doctor seemed to have no trouble finding it. Whenever a locked door or forcefield presented itself, a wave of the sonic screwdriver granted them passage. They found the Doctor's green velvet coat in the now deserted office. She put it on and they proceeded down a cold, dark stairwell before emerging from the base of the tower on the mountainside. By now it was quite late and the slumbering city of the Aeons lay below. Smooth, blocky buildings lit by evenly spaced, coordinated lighting.

“All the lights fit together,” said the Doctor, a subtle laugh in her voice. “No motley of shapes in a commercial district, no distinctive decorations on the homes in the residential zones. Little even to indicate which is which.”

“Aye . . .” said Rob, very tired and now not a little cold. “I can't believe men can build such a place.”

“Hmm, neither can I.” The Doctor eyed him, noting his fatigue. “Perhaps we'd have been better off in that cell, eh? Hmm.”

At this point, they both became aware of William standing behind them. He'd followed them down the stairwell.

The Doctor quietly looked at William expectantly while he fixed on her an intense gaze. He seemed ready to say something several times but caught himself each time and said nothing.

“It seems very strange, doesn't it?” said the Doctor slowly and loudly.

William frowned, his eyes flashing mutely.

“How can the inspector change her mind so swiftly, so completely . . .” the Doctor continued.

“If she's wrong . . .” said William, “then you're guilty of poisoning us. But how—how can she be right . . . ?”

“Ah, ha ha. I see your trouble,” said the Doctor. “Well, a stopped clock is right twice a day, you know! We didn't really poison the implants. But it's also not reasonable for the inspector to change her mind so quickly.”

He grunted and looked away, to the ground. He took a few steps to the right, his work boots scratching on the dirt. “There's something else, you see. It's not just losing part of ourselves now. It's losing the part of ourselves that lives on . . .”

The Doctor's body tensed as comprehension dawned on her. “Ahh . . .”

“Is it in the Great Tomb?” he asked, looking at the Doctor now. “Is it there waiting, like I'm—like I'm dead already?”

“Is it in the Great Tomb!” the Doctor repeated. There was a pause and then she pounded one fist into her palm. “One way to find out, eh? Let's go have a look, shall we?”

William scowled but started trudging down the mountainside. He stopped, looked back, and motioned for them to follow.

They passed in silence between rows of indistinguishable white buildings shaped like boxes occasionally connected by hard edged corridors. Rob wondered how anyone could find their way. Finally, there was an open square in the centre of which was a roughly three storey round tower that tapered slightly to a flat top. Eight smooth buttresses adorned the exterior. There were no windows and Rob could see only one double door which was open, revealing an interior dimly lit as though by candlelight except the light was a pale blue. As they stepped inside, they saw the interior was mostly hollow with two levels of platforms above ringing the edges. At the centre of the room was a small pedestal with what looked like a bell jar on top containing something within.

“Ah,” said the Doctor in a dark tone. “I can't say I'm surprised.”

As Rob came around the Doctor he had a better view of the thing on the pedestal, in the jar. It was a helmet, not one of the thin wiry ones the Aeons wore, but one that would fully cover the head. The remarkably smooth metal extended across the face and down the neck like a hard metal cowl. A sort of handle was attached at about where the ears would be and it ran over the top of the helmet. Two perfectly round holes for the eyes had smaller holes, like little tears, connected to them and the mouth was a perfectly rectangular, horizontal slit.

“You know what that is?” asked Rob.

The Doctor nodded. “The helmet of a Cyberman.”

“When we Aeons die,” said William, a curious look on his face, “the sum of our knowledge and skill goes to rest here and can be accessed by anyone.” He gestured at the wall and Rob saw that the walls were covered by little shiny black boxes, each with identical sets of little blue lights and tiny slots.

“So you would say your spirit, if you will,” said the Doctor, “descends from the Cloud to rest here, in the Great Tomb?”

William nodded slowly, contemplatively. “We don't call it a spirit. It's simply us. We are all of us one foot in the Cloud and one foot on the ground, as the saying goes. Most of us.” He reached up and touched his own thin, lifeless helmet which, it now occurred to Rob, never made the clicking noises of the helmets belonging to the other Aeons.

The Doctor nodded distractedly and started strolling along the wall, looking at the black boxes as though viewing paintings in a gallery. She came to one box that was different to the others. It was about the size of three of the others, roughly the size of a seaman's chest, and had no lights on it. The Doctor held her sonic screwdriver close to it, there was a wirring noise, and the box swung open, revealing a coil of black line. At the same time, the light inside the tomb changed from dim blue to dim yellow, quietly.

“William, may I borrow your helmet?” said the Doctor, her eyes remaining on the coil of line.

William's mouth opened and he didn't respond at first, clearly taken aback. “Doctor . . .” he said finally. “Doctor, I wouldn't let my own wife wear my helmet.”

She looked at him now and smiled gently. “I understand. But it's very important, William. I might be able to solve this whole thing.”

“You mean—you mean you could help me recover the part I've lost in the Cloud?” he took a step forward eagerly.

Her smile tightened. “I could possibly, William. But I'll need a helmet like yours to interface with the Cloud.”

“But—but it's poisoned. Broken. Isn't it?” said William, reluctantly pulling some tiny wires from his temple and lifting the frail looking headpiece.

As he slowly placed it in the Doctor's small, pale hands, Rob suddenly found himself saying, “'The cares I give I have, though given away; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.'”

“Richard II, eh?” the Doctor smiled at Rob. “Well,” she said, looking at William, “I hope it's not so bad as that.”

She placed the headpiece on her own brow, attaching the end of the coiled line as she did so. She lifted her sonic screwdriver to her temple and suddenly the little helmet started making the familiar clicking sounds.

William sucked in his breath. The Doctor's eyes widened and started moving quickly from side to side, as though seeing something Rob couldn't. He tried to follow her gaze and looking at the entrance to the tomb he saw a number of Aeons entering, all of them armed with rifles, led by Inspector Marwat.

“What are you doing, Doctor?!” screamed the inspector. “I demand you cease your activity immediately! Stop! Stop!” But she seemed unwilling to shoot at the Doctor. The dozen or so Aeons all watched with various shades of anxiety on their faces, each impotently clutching their rifles. All of them looked very tired, as though they hadn't slept in weeks.

Rob drew his sword and stood between the Aeons and the Doctor.

“There is no Cloud!” the Doctor pronounced loudly. “Only the Tomb! All of the data is here! All of your folders and your articles and your expertises are here, contained on these servers.” She frowned and there was silence. Then all of the Aeons screamed and fell to their knees, clutching their helmets. Some of them went quiet, some of them started weeping.

The Doctor removed the helmet. William looked bewildered and a little angry. “What have you done?!”

“I've 'poisoned' everyone else,” said the Doctor sternly.

“No!” cried William, lunging for her but Rob shoved him to the ground.

“I'm sorry,” said the Doctor, “But it was inevitable. This whole network is breaking down. It was built on a single outdated piece of Cyberman technology. Left as it was, it would have all shut down within a week. It couldn't support that kind of neurological interface any longer, your population has grown too large. But all the data is still here, intact. You can access it from this terminal.” She pointed to a screen and panel inside the larger box.

“That's not good enough!” screamed Marwat.

“All of the knowledge is here still,” said the Doctor. “But you'll have to learn it on your own.”

“You don't understand, you damned alien!” shouted William. “It isn't about knowing things . . . it's about—about being who we are!”

“Perhaps you aren't who you thought you were!” said the Doctor. “It can happen, you know. It certainly happens to me now and then. You don't look receptive to any advice I might offer,” she grinned apologetically at the furious faces arrayed about her, “but I would say . . . you'd be surprised how very much you can find in very little things. Sometimes you can find a whole universe in a daisy.”

One of the Aeons lifted a rifle and pulled the trigger. The thing clicked ineffectually.

“Yes, I'm afraid those won't be very helpful,” said the Doctor. She looked at Rob, “You know, I think we'd better go.”

The two of them walked out of the tomb, Rob sensing angry eyes burning holes into him the whole way.

It was a couple hours' walk back to the TARDIS and Rob was amazed at the Doctor's ability to find the way to the ruined Wanter town. Along the way, she tried to explain cybernetic implants and computers to him. He felt he might understand better once he'd gotten some sleep.

At last, standing beside the TARDIS, he took one last look about him.

“Will the Aeons be all right?” he asked.

“They're smarter than they give themselves credit for,” she said thoughtfully.

Rob was surprised. “They seem to accord themselves a great deal of credit.”

The Doctor grinned. “Hmm. Well, now they must put aside their resentment and sloth and learn to build. They can do it. Especially if they make peace with the Wanters who, despite what the Aeons say, are much more skilled at living than they are.”

“It seems the more tools people have at their disposal,” Rob said, “the greater the folly they create.”

“Ha!” the Doctor opened the door of the TARDIS. “Humans make some truly marvellous things, too.” He followed her inside, the door shutting behind him as she began operating the controls on that peculiar capstan. “I should show you the cathedral on Balyitsu Fourteen. Or the bathhouses on Konaral in the 6740s.”

“For now,” he said, “I'd like nothing more than a good hammock.”

She laughed and that strange wheezing sound filled the air again.