The Implausibility Problem: Comparisons from RED DWARF, BLAKE’S 7, and DOCTOR WHO

There's a time and place for crazy plots. Take, for example, the Red Dwarf episode "White Hole" (4.4). Here the crew must rescue themselves from a time-spewing "white hole" by closing it up with a planet. Perfectly mundane sci fi so far -- but wait: this planet must be knocked into the white hole according to the principles of a game of pool, as if a solar system and a pool table were equivalent physical entities, or as Lister (Craig Charles) explains to Rimmer (Chris Barrie):

LISTER. It's the same principle.

RIMMER. Of course it isn't.

Rimmer may have failed his astro-navigation exam upwards of ten times, but here he’s hit the nail on the head. Nonetheless, Lister accomplishes this marvel. His success is just as likely a freak accident as a result of his fine grasp of pool and physics. But luck or skill, the plot is implausible. In any kind of "realistic" white-hole-bearing universe, the Red Dwarf's crew would all be dead.

But who cares? Red Dwarf doesn’t need plausible plots because it's a comedy. Holding a fun house mirror to life, Red Dwarf amuses precisely because it doesn't feel real. Consider Lister’s response to the show's basic premise that he’s been in stasis for the past three million years:

LISTER. Three million years! [pause] I've still got that library book. ("The End" 1.1)

We watch the show because it removes us from serious, worldly concerns and, for half an hour, lets us filter our experience through an ironic lens in which anything can be an excuse for a joke.

Psychologically realistic science fiction, in contrast, asks us to take human drama seriously, to invest in characters' emotions. But if we are to accept characters as "real people" facing "real problems," their writers must present them with situations they can address realistically. The watch words for this type of realism are internal consistency. Particularly in TV science fiction, there has seldom been a demand for rigid scientific plausibility. If there were, we'd have no warp speed, no "humanoid" aliens, no "M-class" planets that look suspiciously like Southern California or that quarry in Dorset. But once a realist narrative has established a set of rules for its universe, it breaks those rules at its own risk. Award-winning science fiction writer Orson Scott Card cautions, "Before you can tell a meaningful story, you have to hone and sharpen your understanding of the world [you've created], and that begins with the fundamental rules, the natural laws" (36). When a fictional universe's own internal laws are fractured, so is viewers' suspension of disbelief, and without suspension of disbelief, there's little reason to invest in a narrative. It’s hard to sympathize with a character's heroism or sacrifice if you’re busy musing, "How did he get that planet into that white hole thing?"

The Blake’s 7 episode "Gambit" (2.11) is a case in point. Despite its wobbly sets and big hair, Terry Nation’s 1970s BBC science fiction series is a dark, dystopian, tightly arced story that takes itself seriously and usually earns to the right to do so. The narrative focuses on rebel Blake (Gareth Thomas) and his four to six rather dubious followers as they attempt to overthrow the corrupt Federation. "Gambit" is a light episode by Blake’s 7 standards, and by the tail end of season 2, one could argue it was time for one. In this episode, Blake tracks down a Guy with Vital Information while two of his cohorts, Avon (Paul Darrow) and Vila (Michael Keating), go on a gambling spree. Leaving aside the question of whether it is in character for Avon to frivolously ditch his post (it’s plausible for Vila), the chief problem with the episode is what I like to call "the Incredible Shrinking Orac."

Orac is the crew's ace in the hole (almost literally in this episode), a supercomputer capable of accessing and manipulating almost any other computer system. Physically, Orac is a plastic box a bit less than a meter in his longest dimension. How can this cumbersome box be conveniently hidden for maximum ease in cheating a casino? Aha, thinks Avon, Orac is a very clever box; let's tell him to use his cleverness to shrink himself to a manageable size. And so Orac does. Unfortunately, it's not really Avon thinking this; it's really writer Robert Holmes, a fact it is impossible to forget because the idea that Orac can shrink is so internally inconsistent that it wrecks continuity for the entire series.¹ Think of the implications of Shrinking Orac. Is Avon just an idiot in the many later episodes in which he races around alien planets carting this giant box? Did he not bother to mention the shrinking to Soolin, who finds herself in "Headhunter" (4.6) breathlessly hauling Orac along flights of stairs? And if Orac is smart enough to shrink himself and if he can access other computer systems, couldn’t he shrink other things too? At the very least, shouldn't the crew be talking about how they could use Orac’s incredible control of atomic physics to develop tiny devices to infiltrate the Federation?

The show -- very wisely -- never asks these questions. Instead, the writers opted for the "damage control" option of pretending that Incredible Shrinking Orac never happened. To accept the shrinking idea would mean incorporating a massive new power into the arsenal of Blake's crew that – realistically -- would affect almost every decision they make. For the shrinking concept to work, it would have to dominate the series. As it is, we can say "Gambit" was a silly episode and move on.

The fact remains that, despite some amusing and memorable moments, "Gambit" damages Blake’s 7: not a lot, but it does. Instead of forming a solid story contributing to the overall narrative, the Orac plot of "Gambit" is an error that, at best, we can erase from our minds: rather a waste of viewers’ time (and the BBC’s famously limited money).

In the DVD commentary for "Gambit," producer David Maloney remarks, "I sensed somehow in this episode [that Holmes] was sending us up." ² Maloney suggests that "Gambit" was written as a bit of Blake’s 7 self-satire, and given the sheer camp of the episode, he's almost certainly correct. There's nothing inherently wrong with self-satire. It made for some of The X-Files's finest episodes, but only because the satire did not break continuity with more serious plot threads. To assault the continuity of an entire fictional universe for the sake a passing effect in one episode, however, does a disservice to a series.

In the season 1 finale of the new Doctor Who, "The Parting of the Ways" (1.13), writer and producer Russell T. Davies aims for emotional impact rather than light satire, but though his goal -- and his results -- are weightier, he falls, nonetheless, into Holmes's error of placing a particular episode's needs above continuity in the series and, thereby, damages both the series and the episode. In this case, the problem is the TARDIS core.³ The episode tells us that the time machine's core is capable of comprehending and manipulating every atom at every point in time in the universe. (In other words, the TARDIS is rather like God.) Like Shrinking Orac, this idea is so grandiose that to take it seriously would require rewriting much of Doctor Who canon, no mean feat for a show then in its 27th year.

Outpost Gallifrey reviewer Shane Anderson sums up the absurdity of having Rose (Billie Piper) absorb the TARDIS core and thereby destroy all the Daleks, rescue the Doctor (Christopher Eccleston), and bring Jack (John Barrowman) back from the dead:

Others have addressed the flaws of using the TARDIS as a magic cure all plot device, so I won't belabor that point. Suffice it to say, it's too bad that the Time Lords didn't figure it out if it's so easy. I get mental pictures of Time Lord technicians doing routine TARDIS maintenance, accidentally looking at the power source and becoming demigods. "Castellan, we've got another one here..."

Indeed, one might ask, if opening up the TARDIS and absorbing its essence can enable someone to instantaneously wipe out all Daleks throughout history, why didn't the Doctor do that during the Time War instead of destroying his entire people to eliminate the Daleks? True, there are "consequences" to absorbing the core: once the Doctor absorbs the TARDIS's energy to save Rose, he must regenerate (move on to a new body). But that's a comparatively small consequence, especially since he seems to have regenerated as a result of the Time War in any case. And if TARDISes have this power, why didn't the evil Master ever use it to try to take over the universe -- or even for the modest aim of rejuvenating himself after he used up his regenerations? Are Time Lords in general very stupid?

Or must we do as the writers of Blake’s 7 did and pretend it never happened? This pretense is more difficult in "The Parting of the Ways" than "Gambit." Shrinking Orac is a stand-alone subplot that the larger narrative doesn't need, whereas the TARDIS core plot-line is the explanation for the ninth Doctor's death: a major event in Doctor Who history. I, for one, can’t really forget about it -- but I can't quite accept it as having happened either, a curious mental contortion for a viewer.

No doubt I sound as if I'm taking this all too seriously. Does "The Parting of the Ways" wreck Doctor Who (or even its first new season)? Of course not. In fact, in many respects, it's an excellent, gripping episode. Still, the "TARDIS core" notion does damage. As a viewer watching Rose risk her life to save the Doctor and the Doctor give his ninth life to save Rose, I should be moved by the depth of their sacrifices. I should not be sidetracked by thoughts of, "That can’t really happen, can it? What about the Time War? What about...?" Yet I am, and I always will be.

The issue, again, is not the need for hard science. Davies has stated, "I can't yet see [Doctor Who] doing a hard sci-fi episode [ . . . ] [W]e've got to keep it strong and clean, emphasise the drama above the sci fi." He has the right idea. But drama requires plausibility, which is based on internal consistency. A world unbound by rules is outside our human experience. And a story that is not related to our experience will not move us. Stories that intend to be moving, therefore, must adhere to the rules of their own universes. Every time they don’t, they lose us a little, which is all the greater shame when these stories are the ones we love.

Notes

¹ It only seems fair to balance my criticism of the writing of the late Robert Holmes with BBC producer David Maloney’s assertion that "[Holmes] wrote some of the very best Doctor Who scripts" ("Gambit" DVD commentary). Holmes also wrote other (better) Blake’s 7 scripts and is fondly remembered by fans for his skill at depicting Avon and Vila’s relationship.

² David Maloney recently passed away (July 18, 2006). He will be deeply missed.

³ The idea that the TARDIS core can restore the dead to life did not originate with Davies. It was previously put forward in the 1996 TV movie. While this creates continuity between the movie and "The Parting of the Ways," however, the idea remains inconsistent with the majority of Doctor Who canon.

Works Cited

Anderson, Shane. Reviews: “Bad Wolf” and “The Parting of the Ways.” Outpost Gallifrey. 21 August 2006. http://www.gallifreyone.com/review.php?id=2005-1213.

Card, Orson Scott. How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy. Cincinnati, OH: Writer’s Digest, 1990.

Davies, Russell T. Doctor Who News. BBC.co.uk. 8 June 2005. 23 August 2006. http://www.bbc.co.uk/doctorwho/news/cult/news/drwho/2005/06/08/19858.shtml.

Maloney, David. Commentary for "Gambit." Blake's 7: The Complete Season Two. Dir. Vere Lorimer, David Maloney, Derek Martinus, George Spenton-Foster, Jonathan Wright Miller. Perf. Gareth Thomas, Sally Knyvette, Paul Darrow. 1978. DVD. BBC Worldwide, 2004.