alternatehistory.com

Ken Roarch, was sometimes called Roach, but never to his face. Not twice, at least. He preferred the pronounciation, Roark.

He’d been in the film and television business in Australia all his life, first as a grip, then as a production assistant, and then up and down the line. He worked union and non-union shoots, and had gotten a reputation as a man good at organizing a crew.

Film and television in Australia was always feast and famine. There was a tier of people who worked regularly, who worked in house, who got the plum jobs. And then there as the steadies, men and women who were independent, but good enough, and working long enough, that they got regular calls.

Below them were the desperate and the dedicated. People trying to break in, people hanging on the edges and margins, people living on hopes and dreams. The truth was that the industry depended on such people, on their enthusiasm, on their willingness to work for free, or for pennies, to put up with awful conditions, to be called at short notice and abandoned even quicker.

Ken was good at putting crews together, the amateur, the semi-pro, the ones starting out and the ones hanging on. At times, he had a reputation for ripping people off, for pushing too hard and taking too much, or giving too little. Some of the people he worked with burned out and left the trade. Some refused to work with him again. Some passed him on the ladder, going up, and he never quite understood why the doors they passed through remained closed to him. But it was a tough business, and you had to be tough.

He was in Jerome Armquist’s small office, slouched on the couch, with his feet up on the coffee table. He knew Armquist by name at least. They’d even been on a few of the same projects, though their different work hadn’t ever put them in contact with each other.

He put down the prospectus.

“This is just a Doctor Who rip off!” He said. “How did the Canadians get a hold of this?”

“Actually,” Jerome said, “it’s a spin off. Apparently, the BBC licensed it out to a British company, Millennium films which called it The New Doctor. They couldn’t fund it, so they took it to Sunrise films in Canada.”

Ken grunted.

“This Terry Nation...” Ken said. “He’s the Dalek man. He’s rich as hell off the Daleks.”

“What?”

“Daleks. Squirbly Robots that go around yelling ‘Exterminate.’”

“I wouldn’t see much potential there.”

“Apparently, they were a gold mine. Huge in the 60's, and big sellers since then.”

“You seem to know a lot about this ... New Doctor Who?”

“Not about this ‘New Doctor’ bunch. But I was a fan of the original show, back in the 70's and 80's. Hell, I was in the fan club back in the day. I was a regular twat back then.”

He paused.

“Shame they went to the Canadians first. I don’t think the show even played there. Judging by some of this stuff from Sunrise, I’m not sure that they’ve got a handle on the show. Seems a little sincere pretentious, I wouldn’t be suprised if they decided to do something around Albert Camus, there’s a name every twelve year old will recognise.

He rolled his eyes.

“They should have come here. An Australian Doctor, wouldn’t that be a thing.”

“Indeed,” Jerome replied.

“So what’s the deal? They’re proposing a co-production, who are you taking this to?”

“No one,” Jerome replied. “I’m keeping it. I can put together the money just fine. Why should I give it to someone else, just so I can be an errand boy, collect my fee and bugger off.”

Ken thought it over.

“It’s not just putting together the money though,” he offered. “You need an actual production company to run participation. It’s not just a guy in the office. You need compliance, a crew, the whole works.”

“That’s why I’m talking to you.”

Ken’s eyes narrowed.

“There’s twenty companies that can do this for you, and I’m not on the list.”

Almost though, Ken thought. He had the skills, he had the people, what he’d never had was the chance. The door to that level was always shut for him. This was an opportunity. A career opportunity, definitely.

“Why me?”

“You’re cheap,” Jerome said bluntly, “and you have a reputation for getting things done and cutting corners.”

Ken leafed through the package again, and took a look at the revenue and costs budget that Sunrise had included. Then he pulled out the revenue sheet that Jerome had prepared.

“You don’t need to go cheap,” he said critically. “The money is there, or it can be.”

“It is. But it’s really a question of how we spend it, and on what.”

The two men stared at each other.

“So,” Ken said slowly, “what you might want is a production casting company, that charges a recruiting fee to everyone we hire, and then charges the production for its services.”

“I’ve already set one up.”

“I want 50% of that.”

“15%.”

“35%, and a Unanimous Shareholders Agreement, to make sure I don’t get screwed.”

“Deal.”

Ken resisted the urge to take out a pencil and start making calculations for a budget, how much money they’d need, what they’d get away with paying. Television, that meant union scales. ABC wouldn’t let them get away with anything blatant. He’d have to put together a crew... but that was jumping ahead, they’d need dates first...

“You know,” he said, “I know a writer. Back from the fan club days. He’d shave his mother’s balls for a chance to write for this.”

“That’s very vivid.”

“An Aussie Doctor Who. We could do stuff with this,” Ken said, his excitement building. “You know what, I’m betting there’s bootlegs of this New Doctor that I can track down, see what they’re doing.”

“That might be helpful.”

“I think I’d like to direct.”

“Why?”

Ken shrugged.

“Credit. Extra salary. It’s Doctor Who.”

Ken thought.

“If we’re co-producing, let’s do some Australian stuff. Not pretending to be American, or pretending to be British or generic. Something that shows the flag... How about an episode about backpackers! Backpackers and aliens!”

“Ken,” Jerome said carefully, “it’s a job. It’s only a job. It’s about clearing the money. Let’s not get carried away. Eye on the prized.”

“Yeah, right,” Ken said, chastened.

He thought for a moment.

“I’m just thinking there’s opportunities there. Like Daleks. You know how much Nation has made off of the Daleks.”

“I have no idea.”

Ken wasn’t actually sure, but he thought it must be formidable.

“A lot!” he said. “Now think of that. If we could do our own Daleks, or something like them. Some monster robot that just catches hold, but one where we owned the merchandising. We’d make a killing.”

“Hmmm,” Jerome didn’t seem convinced.

“Tell you what. I know some artists. Some toy designers. We can whip a few designs, something the kids might like, and we’ll pitch them. See if we can get them worked in.”

Jerome shrugged.

“If it’s about the money,” Ken pointed out, “let’s not miss a beat.”

“Agreed.”

“So do we have anything sorted out yet? Schedules. Division of the spoils?”

“No,” Jerome said. “It’s still to be worked out. We’ll get our share. It’s just a matter of how we all slice the pie.”

Ken thought about that.

“Well,” he said. “Since it’s all up in the air, let’s go for broke. We can demand at least a third of core cast... Why hot ask for an Australian Doctor? Just for the negotiating leverage, you know. Who knows how it will pay off.”

Jerome thought about it.

Insisting on an Australian actor for the Doctor would be a good opening gambit. If they got it, fine. If they didn’t, they could use that demand to exact concessions in other areas. The idea was sound. Still, Jerome found himself surprised by Ken’s enthusiasm for the project.

“Sure,” he said cautiously.