Pop Culture: The David Burton 'Doctor Who'
- Thread starter DG Valdron
- Start date
Terry Nation at Home at Work
“Nation here.”
“Hello Mr. Nation, we’re calling on behalf of Paul Salzman’s production company, Sunrise Productions.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with at company.”
“We’re a Canadian company. We’ve produced Danger Bay, Matrix, My Secret Identity.”
“Ah, I see. Yes?”
“We’re just doing preliminary due diligence. Do you know a Mr. David Burton.”
“I am familiar with the gentleman, yes. May I ask what this is about?”
“Yes. Mr. Burton is apparently shopping a project called The New Doctor, and he indicated that you were involved.”
“Ah. Yes, that is correct, Mr. Burton and I worked with together on the New Doctor, in England.”
“Are you currently involved?”
“David and I are collaborating on some projects.”
“Including the New Doctor?”
“That’s a principal one, yes. Listen, I’m terribly sorry, but I have an appointment coming in right at the moment. Can I call you back? Where are you from?
“We’re a Toronto production company, in Canada.”
“Canada? Lovely country. Just let me write down your address and contact information. That’s Salzman? How is that spelled....”
Nation wrote down the information quickly, said some pleasantries, and then hung up.
After the call, he stared thoughtfully into the distance, tapping the pencil against his teeth. Then he signed onto the internet, looking up this new service, the Internet Movie Database. He tapped in Paul Salzman.
*****
IMDB - Paul Saltzman, Bio,
Filmmaker, Photographer, Author, Hockey Player: Paul Saltzman Toronto-based director-producer for and television productions. After briefly studying Engineering Science, he did congressional civil rights lobbying in Washington, D.C., and voter registration in Mississippi, in the summer of 1965, with SNCC. His film and television career began in 1965 at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation as a researcher, interviewer and on-air host, before working at the National Film Board of Canada. In 1968-69 he assisted in the birth of a new film format as second-unit director and production manager of the first IMAX film, produced for the Osaka 1970 World's Fair. In 1969, he attended the Woodstock Music Festival, later producing a Leonard Cohen concert tour as well as producing and directing his first film, a documentary on Bo Diddley. In 1973, Paul founded Sunrise Films Limited. In 1983, he turned to drama, producing and directing the premiere of HBO's Family Playhouse and a special for American Playhouse. In the same year, he co-created and produced the family action-adventure television series Danger Bay. The hit CBC-Disney Channel series ran for 6 years and 123 episodes. He has produced television series like My Secret Identity, Matrix and Max Glick, as well as miniseries and MOW's.
* Matrix, 1993 - drama - 13 episodes, Nick Manucso and Carry Ann Moss. A hit man dies, ends up in hell, and is sent back to earth to track down damned souls.
* Max Glick, 1990-1991 - young adult - 26 Episodes. Jewish boy growing up on the prairie.
* My Secret Identity, 1998-1991 - young adult. 72 episodes, Jerry O’Connell. Teenager acquired modest superpowers.
* Danger Bay, 1986-1990 - family adventures. Donnely Rhodes. 78 episodes.
*****
There was more prior to 1990, but nothing after 1993. Had he run out of juice, Nation wondered. Or taking time off. He hadn’t heard of any of these programs, he assumed that they must have been local in Canada. What did he know of the industry up in Canada? Nothing. He chewed his pencil, thinking of who he could ask, where he might learn.
Still, that was quite an impressive run of shows. At the very least, this Saltzman had been quite a pitchman, for a while at least.
Jerry O’Connell? There was a Jerry O’Connell staring in a Hollywood series called Sliders. Nation had pitched for it. The same? He tapped the screen. Yes. What about Nick Mancuso? That sounded familiar. Donnely Rhodes. He did another search. So... real actors, known in the United States. He'd never heard of Danger Bay, but Disney had bought it.
Nation stared thoughtfully at the screen.
“Sometimes,” he said out loud, “even a blind squirrel finds a nut.”
David had clearly pitched Saltzman. He wasn’t surprised. The oily little weasel was clearly on the make, he wondered where else Burton had taken the project. Canada? He was really going far afield.
Still, that was an impressive record.
Nation hadn’t been impressed by David Burton. He was just an actor, and Nation found the type unreliable. The Millennium group had struck him as thoroughly unprofessional. There had been good people there, and they’d worked it out, but it had been awkward all around. Once burned, twice shy.
Clearly, Burton had name dropped him, and perhaps stretched things a bit. So they were calling him to verify. If they were checking his assertions, that meant that they were interested.
“David,” he said out loud, “what have you gotten yourself into.”
If they were calling him, then that meant that they’d checked up on him a bit. They’d looked up his credentials. He ran the conversation over in his mind. Had he said too much? Too little? No, he’d left the door open.
Nation ran through his options.
The simplest thing to do was to just ring them back, tell them that he’d met Burton once but they had no relationship, his impression was that Burton was all show, even describe how sketchy the Millennium group had been. They’d thank him, tell Burton to shove off, and that would be the end of it. He had nothing against Burton, but they weren’t friends, he owed him nothing, and he didn’t appreciate his name being bandied about as part of Burton’s hustle.
He picked up the phone, set it back down.
He turned to the computer, looking Salztman’s production credits over once again.
On a whim, he looked up David Burton - two series of The New Doctor, years ago and nothing else. He wasn’t surprised.
A further impulse had him look up his own entry. He smiled at his old triumphs, the good old days as a comedy writer, the Daleks, Doctor Who, Blake’s 7, Survivors, McGuyver. But there hadn’t been much lately. The New Doctor credit stuck out. But these were real credits, British and American, far more impressive than a few made in Canada children’s series. Or he hoped that’s how it would read.
It was Hollywood, he decided, ignoring his own failing health. Everything in Hollywood was process, everything was in turn around, a man could spend a lifetime here, making money, working on projects and never see a thing produced.
That was an impressive list of production credits, even if it was Canada.
Of course it might not mean anything. Saltzman might be one of these perpetual hangers on. Or he might simply be a journeyman, working as a producer on other peoples projects. His career might have imploded.
But... Saltzman was still in the game, even if that was reduced to getting chatted up by bottom feeders like Burton. So there might be something to it? Maybe there was money there? Work to be had? Credits to be won?
He should look into this a little deeper, Nation decided. First, call David and find out exactly what had transpired, what he’d said exactly to Saltzman, what he’d said about Nation. Perhaps read him the riot act, set him in his place.
And see exactly what his authority was to traffic in the New Doctor, that incident a few years ago left him suspicious. These Millennium chaps weren’t exactly professional.
And perhaps a little more asking around, learn more about this Saltzman fellow.
Then when the ducks were lined up properly, give him a call.
“Hello Mr. Nation, we’re calling on behalf of Paul Salzman’s production company, Sunrise Productions.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with at company.”
“We’re a Canadian company. We’ve produced Danger Bay, Matrix, My Secret Identity.”
“Ah, I see. Yes?”
“We’re just doing preliminary due diligence. Do you know a Mr. David Burton.”
“I am familiar with the gentleman, yes. May I ask what this is about?”
“Yes. Mr. Burton is apparently shopping a project called The New Doctor, and he indicated that you were involved.”
“Ah. Yes, that is correct, Mr. Burton and I worked with together on the New Doctor, in England.”
“Are you currently involved?”
“David and I are collaborating on some projects.”
“Including the New Doctor?”
“That’s a principal one, yes. Listen, I’m terribly sorry, but I have an appointment coming in right at the moment. Can I call you back? Where are you from?
“We’re a Toronto production company, in Canada.”
“Canada? Lovely country. Just let me write down your address and contact information. That’s Salzman? How is that spelled....”
Nation wrote down the information quickly, said some pleasantries, and then hung up.
After the call, he stared thoughtfully into the distance, tapping the pencil against his teeth. Then he signed onto the internet, looking up this new service, the Internet Movie Database. He tapped in Paul Salzman.
*****
IMDB - Paul Saltzman, Bio,
Filmmaker, Photographer, Author, Hockey Player: Paul Saltzman Toronto-based director-producer for and television productions. After briefly studying Engineering Science, he did congressional civil rights lobbying in Washington, D.C., and voter registration in Mississippi, in the summer of 1965, with SNCC. His film and television career began in 1965 at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation as a researcher, interviewer and on-air host, before working at the National Film Board of Canada. In 1968-69 he assisted in the birth of a new film format as second-unit director and production manager of the first IMAX film, produced for the Osaka 1970 World's Fair. In 1969, he attended the Woodstock Music Festival, later producing a Leonard Cohen concert tour as well as producing and directing his first film, a documentary on Bo Diddley. In 1973, Paul founded Sunrise Films Limited. In 1983, he turned to drama, producing and directing the premiere of HBO's Family Playhouse and a special for American Playhouse. In the same year, he co-created and produced the family action-adventure television series Danger Bay. The hit CBC-Disney Channel series ran for 6 years and 123 episodes. He has produced television series like My Secret Identity, Matrix and Max Glick, as well as miniseries and MOW's.
* Matrix, 1993 - drama - 13 episodes, Nick Manucso and Carry Ann Moss. A hit man dies, ends up in hell, and is sent back to earth to track down damned souls.
* Max Glick, 1990-1991 - young adult - 26 Episodes. Jewish boy growing up on the prairie.
* My Secret Identity, 1998-1991 - young adult. 72 episodes, Jerry O’Connell. Teenager acquired modest superpowers.
* Danger Bay, 1986-1990 - family adventures. Donnely Rhodes. 78 episodes.
*****
There was more prior to 1990, but nothing after 1993. Had he run out of juice, Nation wondered. Or taking time off. He hadn’t heard of any of these programs, he assumed that they must have been local in Canada. What did he know of the industry up in Canada? Nothing. He chewed his pencil, thinking of who he could ask, where he might learn.
Still, that was quite an impressive run of shows. At the very least, this Saltzman had been quite a pitchman, for a while at least.
Jerry O’Connell? There was a Jerry O’Connell staring in a Hollywood series called Sliders. Nation had pitched for it. The same? He tapped the screen. Yes. What about Nick Mancuso? That sounded familiar. Donnely Rhodes. He did another search. So... real actors, known in the United States. He'd never heard of Danger Bay, but Disney had bought it.
Nation stared thoughtfully at the screen.
“Sometimes,” he said out loud, “even a blind squirrel finds a nut.”
David had clearly pitched Saltzman. He wasn’t surprised. The oily little weasel was clearly on the make, he wondered where else Burton had taken the project. Canada? He was really going far afield.
Still, that was an impressive record.
Nation hadn’t been impressed by David Burton. He was just an actor, and Nation found the type unreliable. The Millennium group had struck him as thoroughly unprofessional. There had been good people there, and they’d worked it out, but it had been awkward all around. Once burned, twice shy.
Clearly, Burton had name dropped him, and perhaps stretched things a bit. So they were calling him to verify. If they were checking his assertions, that meant that they were interested.
“David,” he said out loud, “what have you gotten yourself into.”
If they were calling him, then that meant that they’d checked up on him a bit. They’d looked up his credentials. He ran the conversation over in his mind. Had he said too much? Too little? No, he’d left the door open.
Nation ran through his options.
The simplest thing to do was to just ring them back, tell them that he’d met Burton once but they had no relationship, his impression was that Burton was all show, even describe how sketchy the Millennium group had been. They’d thank him, tell Burton to shove off, and that would be the end of it. He had nothing against Burton, but they weren’t friends, he owed him nothing, and he didn’t appreciate his name being bandied about as part of Burton’s hustle.
He picked up the phone, set it back down.
He turned to the computer, looking Salztman’s production credits over once again.
On a whim, he looked up David Burton - two series of The New Doctor, years ago and nothing else. He wasn’t surprised.
A further impulse had him look up his own entry. He smiled at his old triumphs, the good old days as a comedy writer, the Daleks, Doctor Who, Blake’s 7, Survivors, McGuyver. But there hadn’t been much lately. The New Doctor credit stuck out. But these were real credits, British and American, far more impressive than a few made in Canada children’s series. Or he hoped that’s how it would read.
It was Hollywood, he decided, ignoring his own failing health. Everything in Hollywood was process, everything was in turn around, a man could spend a lifetime here, making money, working on projects and never see a thing produced.
That was an impressive list of production credits, even if it was Canada.
Of course it might not mean anything. Saltzman might be one of these perpetual hangers on. Or he might simply be a journeyman, working as a producer on other peoples projects. His career might have imploded.
But... Saltzman was still in the game, even if that was reduced to getting chatted up by bottom feeders like Burton. So there might be something to it? Maybe there was money there? Work to be had? Credits to be won?
He should look into this a little deeper, Nation decided. First, call David and find out exactly what had transpired, what he’d said exactly to Saltzman, what he’d said about Nation. Perhaps read him the riot act, set him in his place.
And see exactly what his authority was to traffic in the New Doctor, that incident a few years ago left him suspicious. These Millennium chaps weren’t exactly professional.
And perhaps a little more asking around, learn more about this Saltzman fellow.
Then when the ducks were lined up properly, give him a call.
Last edited:
Sunrise Films, Production Offices, Toronto, Canada
So Sherry, what’s the due diligence on our Mr. Burton?
I must say, I’m surprised by your interest. I thought you were on an extended break from the industry. You were going to live in India.
I come back now and then. If something interesting comes up I don’t mind taking look. So you’ve met him. What’s your impression of Mr. Burton?
Canned ham.
I thought the same, and yet a star in England. Standards must have been dropping, eh?
He’s pretty much exactly what he presents himself to be. A British actor who starred in a TV series for a couple of years, and is looking for financing for another season. He wasn’t just the star, he was a partner in the Millennium Group, but it looks like the other partners have gone off to other projects, so he’s carrying on.
And his show?
The New Doctor. It’s a licensed spin off of a BBC production, Doctor Who, some kind of Children’s show.
I think I caught a bit of it when I was in England back in the seventies. Black and white, some English lord who lived in a phone booth and helped the military out, sort of science fiction. Peculiar thing to relaunch. I didn’t really get it.
Yes. Apparently, a number of groups were interested in this property, but Millennium got lucky.
And they still have the rights to it?
Sort of. BBC Enterprises has given them a non-binding option to buy. Which means that if they produce something, they can offer it to BBC, and BBC can decide whether to say yes or no.
Yes, David showed it to me. Normally, I’d say it’s a joke option. No one is going to give you money on the basis of a non-commitment like that. No wonder he hasn’t been able to put financing together.
But apparently, they did it twice. They had two seasons that way.
Makes no sense to me.
Must be some kind of British thing, they apparently do things very differently over there.
Must be.
And his partner, Terry Nation.
The real deal. Expatriate Brit, he’s lived in LA for the last ten or fifteen years. He was pretty active over there, he had a few series, and apparently owns a part of the Doctor Who franchise somehow. He has the copyright on the Daleks. They’re apparently the robot villains of the franchise. I’m not sure how it works.
Another one of those British things, I suppose? What’s he done in LA?
McGuyver. TV movies. He’s connected with a lot of projects that didn’t turn out, for one reason or another, the usual sort of thing. He hasn’t been very active lately.
Impressions?
He’s a pitcher, not a player. But he’s probably got connections in London and LA.
I see.
So why the interest?
I don’t know. Burton was a charming old ham. And I like the premise - a Space Doctor who travels the universe helping people. There’s too much militaristic science fiction, wars and police and guns. This seems positive. Honestly, I can see real potential. I could see Nick Mancuso in the role, or Maury Chaykin, Wayne Robson. We could go in a lot of directions, depending.
Still...
I’ll tell you a secret. Moses as acquired the rights to a Science Fiction Channel, and he’s looking for content. This might be a sellable property.
I must say, I’m surprised by your interest. I thought you were on an extended break from the industry. You were going to live in India.
I come back now and then. If something interesting comes up I don’t mind taking look. So you’ve met him. What’s your impression of Mr. Burton?
Canned ham.
I thought the same, and yet a star in England. Standards must have been dropping, eh?
He’s pretty much exactly what he presents himself to be. A British actor who starred in a TV series for a couple of years, and is looking for financing for another season. He wasn’t just the star, he was a partner in the Millennium Group, but it looks like the other partners have gone off to other projects, so he’s carrying on.
And his show?
The New Doctor. It’s a licensed spin off of a BBC production, Doctor Who, some kind of Children’s show.
I think I caught a bit of it when I was in England back in the seventies. Black and white, some English lord who lived in a phone booth and helped the military out, sort of science fiction. Peculiar thing to relaunch. I didn’t really get it.
Yes. Apparently, a number of groups were interested in this property, but Millennium got lucky.
And they still have the rights to it?
Sort of. BBC Enterprises has given them a non-binding option to buy. Which means that if they produce something, they can offer it to BBC, and BBC can decide whether to say yes or no.
Yes, David showed it to me. Normally, I’d say it’s a joke option. No one is going to give you money on the basis of a non-commitment like that. No wonder he hasn’t been able to put financing together.
But apparently, they did it twice. They had two seasons that way.
Makes no sense to me.
Must be some kind of British thing, they apparently do things very differently over there.
Must be.
And his partner, Terry Nation.
The real deal. Expatriate Brit, he’s lived in LA for the last ten or fifteen years. He was pretty active over there, he had a few series, and apparently owns a part of the Doctor Who franchise somehow. He has the copyright on the Daleks. They’re apparently the robot villains of the franchise. I’m not sure how it works.
Another one of those British things, I suppose? What’s he done in LA?
McGuyver. TV movies. He’s connected with a lot of projects that didn’t turn out, for one reason or another, the usual sort of thing. He hasn’t been very active lately.
Impressions?
He’s a pitcher, not a player. But he’s probably got connections in London and LA.
I see.
So why the interest?
I don’t know. Burton was a charming old ham. And I like the premise - a Space Doctor who travels the universe helping people. There’s too much militaristic science fiction, wars and police and guns. This seems positive. Honestly, I can see real potential. I could see Nick Mancuso in the role, or Maury Chaykin, Wayne Robson. We could go in a lot of directions, depending.
Still...
I’ll tell you a secret. Moses as acquired the rights to a Science Fiction Channel, and he’s looking for content. This might be a sellable property.
Sunrise Films - Internal Memo - Confidential
SUNRISE FILMS - INTERNAL MEMO
From: Paul Saltzman
To: File
Status: Confidential
Re: The New Doctor - Sci Fi Channel Project
I’ve had the chance to view the research on the background of the New Doctor and Doctor Who, and I definitely think we have a winner here. The Doctor Who concept trails just behind Star Wars, Star Trek, Buck Rogers, Aliens as far as being iconic film or television science fiction. I’d say it easily stands somewhere in the top dozen. It will probably be superseded by new brands like Stargate and Sliders. As a brand, it’s mainly limited to England, and a cult audience here in North America. But for Moses purpose, a cult audience is just fine.
The main issue with the brand, apart from its narrow audience and lack of wide appeal, is that it’s largely obsolete. But the basic format is sound, and I think that there are several ways to revitalize it.
I think the strongest part of it is the Space Doctor concept, a physician who travels through time and space helping people, getting involved, curing the sick, tending to injuries. There’s a long history of medical drama, but this is unique and it opens wonderful storytelling possibilities. Let’s keep that.
I don’t like that blue box, or the red phone booth. That’s a really obscure bit of british culture, and I don’t think it carries over. What I’d like to see is a Medical Van - something white, with a big red cross on it, that the Doctor and his Assistant can drive in and out of wormholes. Note to get that costed out. That would be a really great special effect.
The original concept of the blue box was that it would change shape to blend in, but got stuck. I like that idea. So we’ll give the medical van a chameleon circuit, so that we can dress it up for whatever era it’s in. For the future, we’ll stick rocket boosters on the back. For the past, we’ll cover the sides with canvas like an old fashioned wagon. Easy to do. I just love this concept.
Oh, and the Doctor should always carry around an old fashioned Doctor’s bag, which will be bigger on the inside, and can contain anything he needs for any situation, including a full automated lab. Maybe we can have it float on anti-gravity and follow him around? Cost it out? Maybe it will be talking? He can call it K9.
From what I can tell, he just shows up randomly. That doesn’t work for me. He should go where he’s needed. I think that there should be a secret signal to call the Doctor, that people in distress can find, and when they activate it, he comes calling. Sort of like the A-Team. We’ll open every episode with people in trouble, they call the Doctor.... and he drives his van through the wormhole. It will be great. I can see it.
What about the society that the Doctor comes from? The Time Lords. He’s part of medical division, maybe he has a superior who monitors how he performs with case, gives him assignments. There’s probably more than just the medical division of the Time Lords. Police or Security, perhaps. Every now and then, his missions conflict with a police mission of the Time Lords? There are some angles there. Potential story ideas.
The Doctor should have an assistant. I think a nurse, or a trainee, someone who is clearly madly in love with him. The Doctor should be aloof though, professional. Except in times of stress, when he would let his romantic feelings come out.
As for enemies - I like Terry Nation’s Daleks concept, and I’m glad he’s bringing them on board. I think that they need more of a redesign. At first, I thought they were robots, but apparently, that’s just the shell, they’re alien cyborgs. I think that they could use a redesign. I’m thinking the bottom half would be mechanical, a vehicle. The top part could clearly be a combination of organic and mechanical parts - head, torso, arms. A sort of mechani-centaur. Half machine, half person. Very creepy.
Serial format has got to go! Stand alone half hour episodes. Keep it moving fast.
I don’t think David is right for the Doctor. He did all right in the British version, but I think we can do better. We’ll come up with a list of good solid TV actors. Besides, I think David is willing to step down. He’s clearly seeing himself, and has stepped up into the role of, a producer. That’s not going to give him any time or energy to actually act. I haven’t asked him flat outright, but we’ve explored it and he clearly sees the writing on the wall and is receptive. I think that handled gently, he’ll be okay with it. Note to make sure he gets to participate in the process of selecting the next Doctor.
This was excellent brandy. I’ll have to remember the brand.
I’m very excited about this. I think that this is something we can sell. I think Moses will go wild for it. Sherry, type this up for me.
From: Paul Saltzman
To: File
Status: Confidential
Re: The New Doctor - Sci Fi Channel Project
I’ve had the chance to view the research on the background of the New Doctor and Doctor Who, and I definitely think we have a winner here. The Doctor Who concept trails just behind Star Wars, Star Trek, Buck Rogers, Aliens as far as being iconic film or television science fiction. I’d say it easily stands somewhere in the top dozen. It will probably be superseded by new brands like Stargate and Sliders. As a brand, it’s mainly limited to England, and a cult audience here in North America. But for Moses purpose, a cult audience is just fine.
The main issue with the brand, apart from its narrow audience and lack of wide appeal, is that it’s largely obsolete. But the basic format is sound, and I think that there are several ways to revitalize it.
I think the strongest part of it is the Space Doctor concept, a physician who travels through time and space helping people, getting involved, curing the sick, tending to injuries. There’s a long history of medical drama, but this is unique and it opens wonderful storytelling possibilities. Let’s keep that.
I don’t like that blue box, or the red phone booth. That’s a really obscure bit of british culture, and I don’t think it carries over. What I’d like to see is a Medical Van - something white, with a big red cross on it, that the Doctor and his Assistant can drive in and out of wormholes. Note to get that costed out. That would be a really great special effect.
The original concept of the blue box was that it would change shape to blend in, but got stuck. I like that idea. So we’ll give the medical van a chameleon circuit, so that we can dress it up for whatever era it’s in. For the future, we’ll stick rocket boosters on the back. For the past, we’ll cover the sides with canvas like an old fashioned wagon. Easy to do. I just love this concept.
Oh, and the Doctor should always carry around an old fashioned Doctor’s bag, which will be bigger on the inside, and can contain anything he needs for any situation, including a full automated lab. Maybe we can have it float on anti-gravity and follow him around? Cost it out? Maybe it will be talking? He can call it K9.
From what I can tell, he just shows up randomly. That doesn’t work for me. He should go where he’s needed. I think that there should be a secret signal to call the Doctor, that people in distress can find, and when they activate it, he comes calling. Sort of like the A-Team. We’ll open every episode with people in trouble, they call the Doctor.... and he drives his van through the wormhole. It will be great. I can see it.
What about the society that the Doctor comes from? The Time Lords. He’s part of medical division, maybe he has a superior who monitors how he performs with case, gives him assignments. There’s probably more than just the medical division of the Time Lords. Police or Security, perhaps. Every now and then, his missions conflict with a police mission of the Time Lords? There are some angles there. Potential story ideas.
The Doctor should have an assistant. I think a nurse, or a trainee, someone who is clearly madly in love with him. The Doctor should be aloof though, professional. Except in times of stress, when he would let his romantic feelings come out.
As for enemies - I like Terry Nation’s Daleks concept, and I’m glad he’s bringing them on board. I think that they need more of a redesign. At first, I thought they were robots, but apparently, that’s just the shell, they’re alien cyborgs. I think that they could use a redesign. I’m thinking the bottom half would be mechanical, a vehicle. The top part could clearly be a combination of organic and mechanical parts - head, torso, arms. A sort of mechani-centaur. Half machine, half person. Very creepy.
Serial format has got to go! Stand alone half hour episodes. Keep it moving fast.
I don’t think David is right for the Doctor. He did all right in the British version, but I think we can do better. We’ll come up with a list of good solid TV actors. Besides, I think David is willing to step down. He’s clearly seeing himself, and has stepped up into the role of, a producer. That’s not going to give him any time or energy to actually act. I haven’t asked him flat outright, but we’ve explored it and he clearly sees the writing on the wall and is receptive. I think that handled gently, he’ll be okay with it. Note to make sure he gets to participate in the process of selecting the next Doctor.
This was excellent brandy. I’ll have to remember the brand.
I’m very excited about this. I think that this is something we can sell. I think Moses will go wild for it. Sherry, type this up for me.
Sunrise Films, Board Room, Toronto, Canada
BOARDROOM, SUNRISE FILMS PRODUCTION OFFICES
MORNING, TORONTO, CANADA
MEETING - Partnership meeting, 'The New Doctor' project
Attending: Paul Saltzman (Sunrise Films), Terry Nation (TN Enterprises), David Burton (Millennium Productions)
Paul Saltzman stood up as David Burton and Terry Nation were lead into the boardroom. He strode forward to greet them, first taking Burton’s hand.
“David,” he said, “wonderful to see you again.”
He turned.
“And this is the famous Terry Nation,” they shook hands.
Nation seemed out of breath. That was odd. Had he been working out or something. Nation should have arrived in Toronto yesterday with his wife. He’d stayed at the same hotel as Burton. He should have been well rested.
But the former Welshman’s grip was firm, as if to make up for the shortness of breath. Saltzman sized up the tall man, instantly reading him as far more formidable and businesslike than the somewhat flighty Burton.
He lead them to their seats. Sherry brought in coffee. Neither asked for anything stronger. Saltzman took that as a good sign. There were too many hard drinkers in the trade. She took her place with her notepad and recorder.
“So,” Paul began, “I’m very glad that the three of us can get together. I think that there’s an opportunity here for The New Doctor. A serious opportunity. As we’ve discussed on the phone, the Canadian Science Fiction Channel is starting up. As a condition for their television license, they have to invest in new, original programming. This means that they’re looking for projects. Projects like this one.”
He glanced at them. David looked elated, he couldn’t help but grin. Paul could understand that, David had been pushing The New Doctor for years without a glimmer of hope, before their chance meeting on that convention panel.
Nation, on the other hand, was more self contained. Positive but noncommital. Just watching and listening. Again, Paul marked him as the real professional.
“I’ve gone over the proposal thoroughly,” Paul said, “and I’ve made a few notes for discussion. Just my ideas on where we should go with the project, and how best to sell it.”
Taking a deep breath, he started in on his vision for The New Doctor.
Fifteen minutes later, he concluded with a sunny, “so, what do you think?”
It wasn’t good.
David Burton was red in the face. Visibly angry.
“What do I think?” he demanded. “What do I think? I’m not sure what I think matters, from the sound of this. You want to know what I think?”
David got up from the table, shoving his chair back roughly.
“It’s not on! That’s what I think! Who do you think you are?”
“David,” Saltzman said, trying to placate him, “it down, we’ll talk about it.”
“No,” snapped Burton. “I’m not going to talk. I’m going back to the hotel.”
Burton glanced at Terry Nation. “Are you coming, Terry.”
“I’ll be along in a little bit,” Nation said easily. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel. I’ll call up to your room, and then we’ll have a drink and hash it out.”
Burton hesitated, unsure of himself for a second. He’d clearly expected Nation to be as outraged as he was.
“Fine,” Burton snapped, he left the boardroom, slamming the door.
Paul was surprised and concerned. Was Burton really that unprofessional? Or were the two of them playing some version of good cop / bad cop on him. Either way, Paul wasn’t interested in game players, the project was interesting, but not that interesting. Saltzman had long ago learned that toxic people were never worth the time.
Now just he and Terry Nation were in the Boardroom.
“I have to say....” Nation began thoughtfully, “I liked it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Saltzman said.
“It’s a good spin on the concept,” Nation said. “Changes things up, while remaining true to the core. I liked the idea for the medical van, and driving in and out of wormholes, very topical, very current. Like Stargate or Sliders. I think it’s very doable.”
“The Outer Limits guys,” Nation said, “Wright and Glassner, I hear they’re doing a pitch for a Stargate series.”
It wasn’t just making conversation. Nation was showing off his command of the industry. Saltzman nodded.
“Too military. I’m an ex-hippy at heart,” he said. There was also the fact that it was probably outside his price range. “I like a more positive spin. Positive messages.”
Nation nodded.
“That’s what Doctor Who was always about. Positive messages for children.”
Saltzman allowed himself to relax a little.
“Don’t mind David,” Nation said, changing the subject, “actors... you know how excitable they can get. He’s less experienced, doesn’t fully understand the way things work, not the way we do. I’ll talk to him, he’ll come around.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Paul said. “I guess he’s really invested in playing the role.”
“That he is,” Nation replied. “But there’s reality. Back in the day, the BBC did this amazing production of 1984, starring Peter Cushing. But when they made the movie, it starred someone else. For the Doctor Who movies in the 1960's, they didn’t cast Hartnell, the cast Cushing. That’s how it goes. Same with Quatermass.”
“Or Ghostbusters,” Paul offered. “Ernie Hudson, from the movie, tried out for his character on the cartoon... They gave it to Arsenio Hall instead.”
“That’s how it goes.”
“So is David going to be a problem?”
Nation appeared to think it over.
“Nah,” he said. “I’ll sit him down and talk some sense to him. He’ll come round. He just has to get used to it.”
“Good,” Saltzman replied.
“There is just one thing....”
“Yes?”
“The Daleks. I love your suggestions, but...”
“But?”
“It’s not on.” Nation leaned forward. “Now here’s the thing, if it was a different situation, I’d be with you.”
“So what’s the issue?”
“But the problem with the Daleks is that they’re an established property. They’ve been so for twenty five years now. Movies, televison, public appearances, toys. There’s a lot of contracts tied up in merchandising. In particular, there’s a lot of interest holders, from the BBC down to toy makers, that are invested in a particular rendition of the Daleks.”
“It’s just not viable,” Nation explained, “to re-do the Daleks. We’d need to get too many parties on board, tear up too many contracts. That’s no easy, believe me. I tried back in the 60's. And frankly,” Nation concluded, “I’ve got royalties. I’m not going to mess with that.”
“I thought Daleks were part of the project,” Saltzman said.
“They are,” Nation replied. “Or they can be. But licensed through me. That’s a separate deal.”
“So you’re part of this project,” Saltzman said, “but you’re also arms length licensing the Daleks to the project.”
“That’s right.”
“And collecting a licensing fee.”
“Correct.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest,” Paul asked.
Nation shrugged.
“It’s just business, the way I see it.”
"So if you're not contributing the Daleks, if all you're doing is licensing them... what's your equity?"
"What's yours?" Nation asked, smiling.
"Look," Nation said, "cards on the table. We're all here talking now, because we think we can sell this to someone. That's the equity, someone will buy it. That's how it works."
Paul Saltzman leaned back and thought it over carefully.
“All right,” he said finally. “Sounds fair.”
Nation smiled.
“I’m glad we can see eye to eye,” he said.
“What about David?” Paul asked.
“David understands that the project comes first,” Nation replied. “We all have to make sacrifices for the project. If it takes a new actor to make the New Doctor succeed... Well, that’s nothing new. Don’t worry about David. I’ll bring him around.”
Nation paused. "And if he doesn't.... well, he's not the only bloke in Millennium Productions."
MORNING, TORONTO, CANADA
MEETING - Partnership meeting, 'The New Doctor' project
Attending: Paul Saltzman (Sunrise Films), Terry Nation (TN Enterprises), David Burton (Millennium Productions)
Paul Saltzman stood up as David Burton and Terry Nation were lead into the boardroom. He strode forward to greet them, first taking Burton’s hand.
“David,” he said, “wonderful to see you again.”
He turned.
“And this is the famous Terry Nation,” they shook hands.
Nation seemed out of breath. That was odd. Had he been working out or something. Nation should have arrived in Toronto yesterday with his wife. He’d stayed at the same hotel as Burton. He should have been well rested.
But the former Welshman’s grip was firm, as if to make up for the shortness of breath. Saltzman sized up the tall man, instantly reading him as far more formidable and businesslike than the somewhat flighty Burton.
He lead them to their seats. Sherry brought in coffee. Neither asked for anything stronger. Saltzman took that as a good sign. There were too many hard drinkers in the trade. She took her place with her notepad and recorder.
“So,” Paul began, “I’m very glad that the three of us can get together. I think that there’s an opportunity here for The New Doctor. A serious opportunity. As we’ve discussed on the phone, the Canadian Science Fiction Channel is starting up. As a condition for their television license, they have to invest in new, original programming. This means that they’re looking for projects. Projects like this one.”
He glanced at them. David looked elated, he couldn’t help but grin. Paul could understand that, David had been pushing The New Doctor for years without a glimmer of hope, before their chance meeting on that convention panel.
Nation, on the other hand, was more self contained. Positive but noncommital. Just watching and listening. Again, Paul marked him as the real professional.
“I’ve gone over the proposal thoroughly,” Paul said, “and I’ve made a few notes for discussion. Just my ideas on where we should go with the project, and how best to sell it.”
Taking a deep breath, he started in on his vision for The New Doctor.
Fifteen minutes later, he concluded with a sunny, “so, what do you think?”
It wasn’t good.
David Burton was red in the face. Visibly angry.
“What do I think?” he demanded. “What do I think? I’m not sure what I think matters, from the sound of this. You want to know what I think?”
David got up from the table, shoving his chair back roughly.
“It’s not on! That’s what I think! Who do you think you are?”
“David,” Saltzman said, trying to placate him, “it down, we’ll talk about it.”
“No,” snapped Burton. “I’m not going to talk. I’m going back to the hotel.”
Burton glanced at Terry Nation. “Are you coming, Terry.”
“I’ll be along in a little bit,” Nation said easily. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel. I’ll call up to your room, and then we’ll have a drink and hash it out.”
Burton hesitated, unsure of himself for a second. He’d clearly expected Nation to be as outraged as he was.
“Fine,” Burton snapped, he left the boardroom, slamming the door.
Paul was surprised and concerned. Was Burton really that unprofessional? Or were the two of them playing some version of good cop / bad cop on him. Either way, Paul wasn’t interested in game players, the project was interesting, but not that interesting. Saltzman had long ago learned that toxic people were never worth the time.
Now just he and Terry Nation were in the Boardroom.
“I have to say....” Nation began thoughtfully, “I liked it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Saltzman said.
“It’s a good spin on the concept,” Nation said. “Changes things up, while remaining true to the core. I liked the idea for the medical van, and driving in and out of wormholes, very topical, very current. Like Stargate or Sliders. I think it’s very doable.”
“The Outer Limits guys,” Nation said, “Wright and Glassner, I hear they’re doing a pitch for a Stargate series.”
It wasn’t just making conversation. Nation was showing off his command of the industry. Saltzman nodded.
“Too military. I’m an ex-hippy at heart,” he said. There was also the fact that it was probably outside his price range. “I like a more positive spin. Positive messages.”
Nation nodded.
“That’s what Doctor Who was always about. Positive messages for children.”
Saltzman allowed himself to relax a little.
“Don’t mind David,” Nation said, changing the subject, “actors... you know how excitable they can get. He’s less experienced, doesn’t fully understand the way things work, not the way we do. I’ll talk to him, he’ll come around.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Paul said. “I guess he’s really invested in playing the role.”
“That he is,” Nation replied. “But there’s reality. Back in the day, the BBC did this amazing production of 1984, starring Peter Cushing. But when they made the movie, it starred someone else. For the Doctor Who movies in the 1960's, they didn’t cast Hartnell, the cast Cushing. That’s how it goes. Same with Quatermass.”
“Or Ghostbusters,” Paul offered. “Ernie Hudson, from the movie, tried out for his character on the cartoon... They gave it to Arsenio Hall instead.”
“That’s how it goes.”
“So is David going to be a problem?”
Nation appeared to think it over.
“Nah,” he said. “I’ll sit him down and talk some sense to him. He’ll come round. He just has to get used to it.”
“Good,” Saltzman replied.
“There is just one thing....”
“Yes?”
“The Daleks. I love your suggestions, but...”
“But?”
“It’s not on.” Nation leaned forward. “Now here’s the thing, if it was a different situation, I’d be with you.”
“So what’s the issue?”
“But the problem with the Daleks is that they’re an established property. They’ve been so for twenty five years now. Movies, televison, public appearances, toys. There’s a lot of contracts tied up in merchandising. In particular, there’s a lot of interest holders, from the BBC down to toy makers, that are invested in a particular rendition of the Daleks.”
“It’s just not viable,” Nation explained, “to re-do the Daleks. We’d need to get too many parties on board, tear up too many contracts. That’s no easy, believe me. I tried back in the 60's. And frankly,” Nation concluded, “I’ve got royalties. I’m not going to mess with that.”
“I thought Daleks were part of the project,” Saltzman said.
“They are,” Nation replied. “Or they can be. But licensed through me. That’s a separate deal.”
“So you’re part of this project,” Saltzman said, “but you’re also arms length licensing the Daleks to the project.”
“That’s right.”
“And collecting a licensing fee.”
“Correct.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest,” Paul asked.
Nation shrugged.
“It’s just business, the way I see it.”
"So if you're not contributing the Daleks, if all you're doing is licensing them... what's your equity?"
"What's yours?" Nation asked, smiling.
"Look," Nation said, "cards on the table. We're all here talking now, because we think we can sell this to someone. That's the equity, someone will buy it. That's how it works."
Paul Saltzman leaned back and thought it over carefully.
“All right,” he said finally. “Sounds fair.”
Nation smiled.
“I’m glad we can see eye to eye,” he said.
“What about David?” Paul asked.
“David understands that the project comes first,” Nation replied. “We all have to make sacrifices for the project. If it takes a new actor to make the New Doctor succeed... Well, that’s nothing new. Don’t worry about David. I’ll bring him around.”
Nation paused. "And if he doesn't.... well, he's not the only bloke in Millennium Productions."
Last edited:
Grandville Hotel Bar, Toronto, Canada
AFTER THE BOARDROOM MEETING
GRANDVILLE HOTEL, HOTEL BAR
AFTERNOON
"I don't like it," David Burton raged. "I don't like it at all."
"Oh don't be so wet," Nation replied. "It's not that big a deal."
"You've got to be kidding. It trashed the entire concept. There's not one thing left there from Doctor Who, or the New Doctor. It's just some random thing now."
"David," Nation insisted. "It's not that big a deal."
"It is, they're just chucking the telephone box. That's iconic."
"Iconic my ass," Nation replied. "I was there back in the beginning. You know how they came up with the police box? Because they had no idea what a time machine should look like. No idea. And what's more, they didn't really care. All it was was a literary device to get them from one spot to another. You know how they came up with it? Because that's what was outside the BBC Comptroller's window. Simple as that. Nothing iconic."
"The red phone booth?" Nation continued. "Same thing. It was there, it was easy, end of story. There's nothing special to either. The magic medical van, it's just a device. Could have been a Delorean, or a School bus. At least it makes sense."
"The premise is changed completely."
"No it's not. It's still a bloke called The Doctor who ships about time and space helping people out."
"But the Doctor isn't a medical Doctor."
"Says you. He's got medical degrees, and every other kind."
"It's not a medical show!"
"Still isn't. The Doctor's going to be hopping through time and space, you think all he's going to do is treat sniffles and set broken arms? Have you even watched medical shows? Watched Quincy? It's just a device. The Doctor's going to be doing the stuff he usually does. Once in while, there'll be a some nod to medicine, and that's it. You're making too big a deal out of it."
David thought about it.
"I suppose when you put it like that...." David said sourly. He wracked his brain, but couldn't find a good response to Terry Nation's imposingly reasonable arguments. He didn't like it, but arguing just made him appear foolish and stubborn.
"Look, David," Nation said, "take it from me. I've been in the business a long time. These concept pitches always sound big and dramatic. But when it comes down to it, when things actually get made, they all tend to flatten out. This seems revolutionary to you, but it's not. Take away the bells and whistles, and it just goes back to being your old show."
"I'm not sure."
"Trust me," Nation assured him.
"I'm not stepping down from the role," there was that. David seized on it, stoking his anger.
"No one says you have to."
"What?" David blinked. "But Paul, Saltzman, he wants to recast."
"Sure," Nation said, "that's what producers do. He wants the best man for the part. He wants to make sure the project succeeds. That's you, we both know it. But you're an unknown quantity to him, and he's trying to sort the market. He'll come around."
"What if he doesn't?" David said. "Jesus, I'm insulted. I feel like walking away."
Nation sighed.
"All right, David, let me be blunt. How long have you been pitching the New Doctor?"
David, caught off guard for a second, had to think. "I'd say about five years or so, we got two series..."
"No," Nation persisted, "how long have you been pitching since the second series ended. Two years? Three? Four?"
"About that."
"And in all that time, not even a nibble. Closed doors. Polite 'no thank you's.' That's when you even got the courtesy of a meeting, and you don't get those often. The truth is, David, that 99% of the time, it all comes to naught. I could fill a room in my house with copies of projects that came to nothing. Hell, I could fill a house. So could Saltzman. So could anyone in the business. That's not because we're bad at it, David. We're very good. But it's the nature of the business, 99% of the time, things go nowhere."
"Right now," Nation continued, "you've got lucky, and between me and Saltzman, you've moved The New Doctor from the 99% that goes nowhere, into maybe the 1% that has a chance. The 1% that gets you money, and gets you credit and credentials. Maybe."
"But I'll tell you David, you walk away, then it's done. The New Doctor goes back into the 99%, it turns out to be nothing, you won't get lucky again, the doors aren't opening, no more interviews, meetings, prospects, nothing. These things, they get one chance, and if you blow it, then no one cares, because there's a thousand other projects waiting in line to take your place, and most of them, they're going to be smarter about it and not let their ego in the way."
"So here's the question for you, David. Suppose The New Doctor goes ahead, without you as the star? Well, you still make money. You still get credit as a producer. You still get notice. Hell, we can even sneak you a guest starring role if you want to be in front of the camera. The point is, David, you still make out well."
"But if the New Doctor doesn't go ahead.... Then you get nothing. Not a dime. Not a credit. Not a future opportunity. You come away with nothing, and if you've got any hopes of a future in this business, forget that too, because people will go 'Who is David Burton?' and the answer will be 'He's that guy who threw a series away for his ego. He's hard to deal with.' No one wants a prima donna, particularly one with no credentials."
"So what's it going to be David?"
GRANDVILLE HOTEL, HOTEL BAR
AFTERNOON
"I don't like it," David Burton raged. "I don't like it at all."
"Oh don't be so wet," Nation replied. "It's not that big a deal."
"You've got to be kidding. It trashed the entire concept. There's not one thing left there from Doctor Who, or the New Doctor. It's just some random thing now."
"David," Nation insisted. "It's not that big a deal."
"It is, they're just chucking the telephone box. That's iconic."
"Iconic my ass," Nation replied. "I was there back in the beginning. You know how they came up with the police box? Because they had no idea what a time machine should look like. No idea. And what's more, they didn't really care. All it was was a literary device to get them from one spot to another. You know how they came up with it? Because that's what was outside the BBC Comptroller's window. Simple as that. Nothing iconic."
"The red phone booth?" Nation continued. "Same thing. It was there, it was easy, end of story. There's nothing special to either. The magic medical van, it's just a device. Could have been a Delorean, or a School bus. At least it makes sense."
"The premise is changed completely."
"No it's not. It's still a bloke called The Doctor who ships about time and space helping people out."
"But the Doctor isn't a medical Doctor."
"Says you. He's got medical degrees, and every other kind."
"It's not a medical show!"
"Still isn't. The Doctor's going to be hopping through time and space, you think all he's going to do is treat sniffles and set broken arms? Have you even watched medical shows? Watched Quincy? It's just a device. The Doctor's going to be doing the stuff he usually does. Once in while, there'll be a some nod to medicine, and that's it. You're making too big a deal out of it."
David thought about it.
"I suppose when you put it like that...." David said sourly. He wracked his brain, but couldn't find a good response to Terry Nation's imposingly reasonable arguments. He didn't like it, but arguing just made him appear foolish and stubborn.
"Look, David," Nation said, "take it from me. I've been in the business a long time. These concept pitches always sound big and dramatic. But when it comes down to it, when things actually get made, they all tend to flatten out. This seems revolutionary to you, but it's not. Take away the bells and whistles, and it just goes back to being your old show."
"I'm not sure."
"Trust me," Nation assured him.
"I'm not stepping down from the role," there was that. David seized on it, stoking his anger.
"No one says you have to."
"What?" David blinked. "But Paul, Saltzman, he wants to recast."
"Sure," Nation said, "that's what producers do. He wants the best man for the part. He wants to make sure the project succeeds. That's you, we both know it. But you're an unknown quantity to him, and he's trying to sort the market. He'll come around."
"What if he doesn't?" David said. "Jesus, I'm insulted. I feel like walking away."
Nation sighed.
"All right, David, let me be blunt. How long have you been pitching the New Doctor?"
David, caught off guard for a second, had to think. "I'd say about five years or so, we got two series..."
"No," Nation persisted, "how long have you been pitching since the second series ended. Two years? Three? Four?"
"About that."
"And in all that time, not even a nibble. Closed doors. Polite 'no thank you's.' That's when you even got the courtesy of a meeting, and you don't get those often. The truth is, David, that 99% of the time, it all comes to naught. I could fill a room in my house with copies of projects that came to nothing. Hell, I could fill a house. So could Saltzman. So could anyone in the business. That's not because we're bad at it, David. We're very good. But it's the nature of the business, 99% of the time, things go nowhere."
"Right now," Nation continued, "you've got lucky, and between me and Saltzman, you've moved The New Doctor from the 99% that goes nowhere, into maybe the 1% that has a chance. The 1% that gets you money, and gets you credit and credentials. Maybe."
"But I'll tell you David, you walk away, then it's done. The New Doctor goes back into the 99%, it turns out to be nothing, you won't get lucky again, the doors aren't opening, no more interviews, meetings, prospects, nothing. These things, they get one chance, and if you blow it, then no one cares, because there's a thousand other projects waiting in line to take your place, and most of them, they're going to be smarter about it and not let their ego in the way."
"So here's the question for you, David. Suppose The New Doctor goes ahead, without you as the star? Well, you still make money. You still get credit as a producer. You still get notice. Hell, we can even sneak you a guest starring role if you want to be in front of the camera. The point is, David, you still make out well."
"But if the New Doctor doesn't go ahead.... Then you get nothing. Not a dime. Not a credit. Not a future opportunity. You come away with nothing, and if you've got any hopes of a future in this business, forget that too, because people will go 'Who is David Burton?' and the answer will be 'He's that guy who threw a series away for his ego. He's hard to deal with.' No one wants a prima donna, particularly one with no credentials."
"So what's it going to be David?"
Transatlantic Phone Call
"Hello?"
"Ian? Ian Levine?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"Hello Ian. This is Terry Nation, I believe we've met once or twice. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Millennium Productions, I may be having a bit of difficulty with David Burton..."
"Ian? Ian Levine?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"Hello Ian. This is Terry Nation, I believe we've met once or twice. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Millennium Productions, I may be having a bit of difficulty with David Burton..."
I'm curious as to feedback. How is it going for people? Is the narrative clear?
What's happened is that David Burton, reduced to doing second tier conventions, ended up in Toronto, where he happened to end up on a panel for defunct obscure TV shows - a sort of 'where are they now.' Also on the panel was Saltzman - who is a real person, with those real credentials.
Burton was used to talking up his third season project, another year of The New Doctor. His Millennium partners were no longer interested, but were prepared to let him try and sell it, as long as they got some money. Apart from that, they couldn't care less and didn't want to be involved. Burton tried to go it alone, but no one was interested. His career was diving. So he was doing conventions for the money. His only way to stay current was to keep on talking about a third season, like it was going to happen - otherwise all he had were old stories. But he'd just about given up hope.
When he was on the panel with Saltzman, he did his usual spiel, but Saltzman got interested and it became an actual pitch. He threw Nation's name in there to try and give himself more credibility. Which it did, sort of. But only at the price of Terry Nation inviting himself into the project as a partner. We are now discovering no one has anyone's best interests at heart.
How is that so far? Has it been clear, are we all picking up the clues? Reading between the lines? Or have I been too oblique? Should I be more blunt?
So what happens next?
Will The New Doctor fail utterly in a storm of recriminations?
Will the Doctor trade in his Tardis for a medical van, and be a fast talking, heroic physician?
Will Saltzman's vision hold sway?
Can Terry Nation be trusted? And if so, by whom? Whose side is he really on?
Will David Burton find himself evicted from his starring role?
And if so, who will be the New, New Doctor?
What about Ian Levine?
Who is this Moses?
And what about the mysterious Australian?
Stay tuned for the answers to these and other questions, in the strange and terrifying saga of The New Doctor!!!
What's happened is that David Burton, reduced to doing second tier conventions, ended up in Toronto, where he happened to end up on a panel for defunct obscure TV shows - a sort of 'where are they now.' Also on the panel was Saltzman - who is a real person, with those real credentials.
Burton was used to talking up his third season project, another year of The New Doctor. His Millennium partners were no longer interested, but were prepared to let him try and sell it, as long as they got some money. Apart from that, they couldn't care less and didn't want to be involved. Burton tried to go it alone, but no one was interested. His career was diving. So he was doing conventions for the money. His only way to stay current was to keep on talking about a third season, like it was going to happen - otherwise all he had were old stories. But he'd just about given up hope.
When he was on the panel with Saltzman, he did his usual spiel, but Saltzman got interested and it became an actual pitch. He threw Nation's name in there to try and give himself more credibility. Which it did, sort of. But only at the price of Terry Nation inviting himself into the project as a partner. We are now discovering no one has anyone's best interests at heart.
How is that so far? Has it been clear, are we all picking up the clues? Reading between the lines? Or have I been too oblique? Should I be more blunt?
So what happens next?
Will The New Doctor fail utterly in a storm of recriminations?
Will the Doctor trade in his Tardis for a medical van, and be a fast talking, heroic physician?
Will Saltzman's vision hold sway?
Can Terry Nation be trusted? And if so, by whom? Whose side is he really on?
Will David Burton find himself evicted from his starring role?
And if so, who will be the New, New Doctor?
What about Ian Levine?
Who is this Moses?
And what about the mysterious Australian?
Stay tuned for the answers to these and other questions, in the strange and terrifying saga of The New Doctor!!!
I am not sure Saltzman is getting Doctor Who- a 90's minivan is hardly going to work in medieval England is it- though a working chameleon unit might be actually nice to see.
Maury Chaykin? No.
Saltzman seems o be leaning on the 'medical' side of the Doctor too much here.
Also cannot see Burton being too willing to give up the acting.
Maury Chaykin? No.
Saltzman seems o be leaning on the 'medical' side of the Doctor too much here.
Also cannot see Burton being too willing to give up the acting.
I'm definitely following and really enjoying the narrative. I wonder if the minivan would end up as a sort of semi-working chameleon circuit where it usually disguised itself as a period-appropriate equivalent but either always had something iconically, visibly wrong with it, or abruptly reverted to mid-90s at the least convenient moment?
K9 as the Doctor's medical bag is one of those things that absolutely won't work. Just do the Mary Poppins thing and have done with it. But there could be some great backstage drama in the prop not working, the Sci-Fi Channel vintage CGI not working, the New New Doctor objecting to playing second fiddle to a cheap prop...
Sales Meeting - CHUM TV
STRANGES RESTAURANT, YONGE STREET TORONTO, CANADA
11:00 am
“So,” Terry Nation asked, “who is this Moses we are meeting for lunch?”
Paul suspected that Terry already knew. The man did his homework. The question was for the benefit of the third man, David Burton, who had grown much colder and more wary since the board room meeting. Enough so that Paul might have dropped the project, but for Terry Nation’s easygoing charm, and his promises that he could keep Burton in line.
“Moses Znaimer,” Paul took a breath, “is one of the most innovative and influential creative personalities in Canadian television right now. He started out with the CBC back in the 60's, the same time as I did, but he stayed with them. We were both inspired by Marshall McLuhan. In 1972, he started City-TV in Toronto. In the 1980's he and City-TV merged CHUM-TV, as their head of programming. A couple of years later, he started Much Music, a 24 hour music video channel.
“Since then, CHUM as basically expanded as Canada’s third network, after the CBC and CTV. Following up on Much Music, Znaimer’s launched a series of specialty channels: 24 hour news, Fashion Television, Court TV, Drive in Classics, you name it.
“Now CHUM is launching a Sci Fi Channel, scheduled for later in 1997. The Canadian Radio and Television Corporation assigns channels. The make it a condition that whoever they give a license to has to generate local programming. Usually, that means talking heads, documentaries, low budget stuff. But they prioritise drama.
“So, Moses needs to develop programming for his channel...” Paul concluded. “And here we are.”
David looked up.
“Local programming,” Terry asked tentatively. Paul didn’t pay attention.
“This is it, gentlemen. This lunch is make or break. If Moses says yes, then we’re in business. If he says no, then it’s over. We call it a day and go our separate ways.”
Terry Nation nodded. Paul dared to look directly at Burton.
“Best behaviour guys, if we screw it up, it’s finished,” Paul said. “Let me take the lead. We need to make a good impression.”
They got the message, and for the next half hour the conversation around the table was polite and civil. David showed no sign of another tantrum like the one in the Boardroom. Apparently, Terry was good at talking him down. Paul put that down to their long association together.
Finally, Moses showed up, a balding hippy, with a kind of elfin look. Paul stood to greet him, they shook hands, he introduced them to his partners.
“Down to business,” Moses said. “You said you had something big?”
It was time for a spiel...
“What we’ve got, is a legacy franchise,” Paul said, putting excitement into his voice. “A big one, up there with Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, contemporary with Star Trek and Star Wars.”
“Doctor Who is a worldwide phenomenon,” he continued, “starting in 1963, it’s been going strong for over thirty years. It’s the biggest show in Britain, and it’s got a worldwide cult following---”
“I’m aware of the show,” Znaimer cut him off. “I used to catch it on PBS once in a while back in the 1980's. The fellow with the scarf. Very eccentric. Sort of low budget. The blue phone booth. I get it. How does this relate to ‘The New Doctor’?
“Doctor Who ran from 1963 to 1986 with the BBC,” Paul explained. “And then the franchise was licensed out to Millennium Productions, which retitled it as ‘The New Doctor’ to distinguish the private production from the BBC production.”
“That’s us,” Burton chipped in. “We ran two seasons. I play the Doctor, it was a straight up continuation, with some changes. We still have a BBC license.”
Znaimer glanced at Burton without much interest.
“I’m aware of the BBC Enterprises license agreement. It’s not particularly valuable, according to our lawyers,” he said.
Burton deflated under Saltzman’s glare.
“Nevertheless, it is a legacy series, with a thirty year history, just waiting to be picked up. Yes, it was cheap, but if you look at my proposals for updating it, I think we can bring Doctor Who into the modern age and make it a 21st century production, with universal appeal. The same, but different, modernized in key ways, like Star Trek, and Star Trek: Next Generation.”
“I’ve looked at your proposal,” Znaimer said. “I didn’t particularly like it.”
“Oh,” said Paul.
“But,” Terry Nation said genially, “you’re here. You’ve clearly done your homework.”
Znaimer turned his calm gaze upon Nation.
“So...”
“So,” Nation said, “there must be some appeal. There’s something in it that works for you.”
Znaimer shrugged, refusing to make a commitment, one way or the other.
“So tell us what you don’t like, we’ll see if we’ve got a show if we take that out.”
Znaimer leaned back thoughtfully.
“I like the basic concept,” he said finally, “this man who goes through time and space helping people. It’s a very basic format at heart. A lot of the time, it’s militaristic, so that is a nice change. Or it’s wanderers who get lost and stumbles around into situations. So this... positivity, is appealing. And the idea of picking up a legacy series, that’s appealling.”
“What doesn’t appeal to me,” Znaimer said, “is the format. This medical van blasting through wormholes. That’s just Sliders combined with Danger Bay. I’m seeing this ‘wormhole’ thing everywhere since Stargate, and I think we’ll see a lot more of it. I can see the appeal of that kind of visual, that motif, but it doesn’t work for me. Not for this project. Maybe on a different project.”
“So what do you have in mind?” Paul asked.
“I liked the Blue Phone box,” Znaimer said. “But it’s inaccessible. Most people won’t recognise it. But something along those lines. Remember Bill and Ted, their time machine was a phone booth. People get behind that. Phone booths, time machines, teleport pods, cryogenic pods. That’s all very recognisable.”
“Something like that,” Znaimer was staring above their heads. “But a phone booth like Bill and Ted’s is too universal. The blue phone box in Doctor Who, too obscure. You want something both recognizeable, but still exotic. You want something that will say ‘British’ to connect it with the legacy, but still striking and distinctive....”
“What would you say too, instead of all this nonsense of medical vans and wormholes.... Using a classic British red phone booth?”
For a second, everyone was speechless.
Then Terry Nation applauded.
“That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed.
Znaimer tilted his head and gave a half smile.
“That could work,” Saltzman said.
“And it could be bigger on the inside than the outside,” Burton offered.
Znaimer frowned. “That’s stupid. It makes no sense.”
“How about if the phone booth is a gateway,” Nation said quickly. “You go into it, and it leads to, connects to some home base or headquarters. Like the cabinet to Narnia. Or all those innocuous little shops that lead to spy headquarters... Except that the phone booth can appear anywhere.”
“I like that,” said Znaimer. “That works. Also, I liked the eccentricity of the British series. I’m not as interested in a standard action adventure. I’d like something eccentric and quirky.”
He paused.
“It would be excellent if we could get the man in the scarf... But he must be what? Seventy by now. Someone like him thought.”
“I’ve been called the new Tom Baker,” Burton offered.
“Who?” Znaimer said, his gaze passing over Burton and dismissing him.
“I liked the complicated stories,” Znaimer said. “I’m not sure you can do that with this half hour format you’re proposing.”
“I was thinking, two parters,” Nation said. “That way, we can sell them to markets as half hours, or full hours. Maybe even do a three or four parter - TV movie length.”
Znaimer thought it over. “Clever.”
He looked at Saltzmann.
“What do you think, Paul. Would this work for you?”
“I like it,” Paul said enthusiastically. “I like it a lot. I think your approach solves a lot of problems, it really ties us to the legacy, while going forward with some unique aspects.”
“I like it too,” Nation said, “you’ve really tied it together for us.”
“Definitely!” Burton said. Znaimer glanced at him, eyebrow raised, as if wondering why he was at the table. But then he dismissed the thought.
“Good,” Znaimer said finally. “I’m prepared to offer you a contract for a thirteen episode season, half hours, standard rate, with deliveries commencing September/October 1997. Acceptable?”
“Definitely,” Paul said. Burton and Nation chorused agreement.
“Then, gentlemen,” Znaimer said, “our business is done. It’s been a pleasure, but I have another meeting to prepare for....”
He shook hands, and departed.
After he was gone, a waiter came by to take orders, and then departed. David looked at his companions.
“Is it me?” he said, with just an edge somewhere between gloating and bitterness, “or did we just come full circle?”
Paul was unperturbed. “It does feel like that. Funny, isn’t it.”
“I’ve seen it happen,” Nation said, “you start out with a pitch, and then you get feedback, and feedback, and feedback, and eventually you end up back where you started. Or at someplace completely unrecognizeable. Happens all the time in California.”
“It doesn’t bother you,” Burton persisted. “That he just threw out all your ideas, and replaced them with ours.”
“Not really know,” Paul said cheerfully chewing on a breadstick. “He didn’t throw out ‘all’ of my ideas. And he replaced them with his own, not yours. They just happen to be the same as yours, but he got there on his own.”
“Congratulations though,” Paul said, “it shows you’ve got good instincts. The concept is sound.”
“It really doesn’t bother you?” Burton asked.
“Why should it?” Paul said. “We sat down at this table with nothing, and now we’ve got a thirteen episode series. The rest? That’s just window dressing. You can’t keep an ego in this business David, you’ve got to be looking at the big picture."
"It may strike you as odd, David," Nation said, "But that's how it goes. If they're interested, they start bringing ideas. If they're not, it's just a flat no. Everyone in this business fancies themselves creative. If they're engaged, they want to contribute. Once Moses started going on about his suggestions, I knew we were in. It was just a matter of jollying him along."
"Nothing’s personal, it’s all just business.”
“Solid attitude,” Terry Nation said. “We’ve got a series. We could take it back to England an start shooting tomorrow?”
“What?” Paul asked. “No!”
“Why not,” David asked in turn. “We’ve got a contract for thirteen episodes. It’s all locked up.”
“Well, for one thing,” Paul said, “it’s not like the BBC where they pay the whole shot. There’s not that much money around. Moses commitment is maybe 5% of production costs. We still have to find the other 95%.”
“Bloody hell!” Nation swore.
“And we’re not going to shoot in England. The whole point of Moses buy in is that it has to be shot mostly in Canada, with Canadian crew, talent and stars. Maybe even a Canadian Doctor.”
“Bloody hell!” Burton swore.
11:00 am
“So,” Terry Nation asked, “who is this Moses we are meeting for lunch?”
Paul suspected that Terry already knew. The man did his homework. The question was for the benefit of the third man, David Burton, who had grown much colder and more wary since the board room meeting. Enough so that Paul might have dropped the project, but for Terry Nation’s easygoing charm, and his promises that he could keep Burton in line.
“Moses Znaimer,” Paul took a breath, “is one of the most innovative and influential creative personalities in Canadian television right now. He started out with the CBC back in the 60's, the same time as I did, but he stayed with them. We were both inspired by Marshall McLuhan. In 1972, he started City-TV in Toronto. In the 1980's he and City-TV merged CHUM-TV, as their head of programming. A couple of years later, he started Much Music, a 24 hour music video channel.
“Since then, CHUM as basically expanded as Canada’s third network, after the CBC and CTV. Following up on Much Music, Znaimer’s launched a series of specialty channels: 24 hour news, Fashion Television, Court TV, Drive in Classics, you name it.
“Now CHUM is launching a Sci Fi Channel, scheduled for later in 1997. The Canadian Radio and Television Corporation assigns channels. The make it a condition that whoever they give a license to has to generate local programming. Usually, that means talking heads, documentaries, low budget stuff. But they prioritise drama.
“So, Moses needs to develop programming for his channel...” Paul concluded. “And here we are.”
David looked up.
“Local programming,” Terry asked tentatively. Paul didn’t pay attention.
“This is it, gentlemen. This lunch is make or break. If Moses says yes, then we’re in business. If he says no, then it’s over. We call it a day and go our separate ways.”
Terry Nation nodded. Paul dared to look directly at Burton.
“Best behaviour guys, if we screw it up, it’s finished,” Paul said. “Let me take the lead. We need to make a good impression.”
They got the message, and for the next half hour the conversation around the table was polite and civil. David showed no sign of another tantrum like the one in the Boardroom. Apparently, Terry was good at talking him down. Paul put that down to their long association together.
Finally, Moses showed up, a balding hippy, with a kind of elfin look. Paul stood to greet him, they shook hands, he introduced them to his partners.
“Down to business,” Moses said. “You said you had something big?”
It was time for a spiel...
“What we’ve got, is a legacy franchise,” Paul said, putting excitement into his voice. “A big one, up there with Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, contemporary with Star Trek and Star Wars.”
“Doctor Who is a worldwide phenomenon,” he continued, “starting in 1963, it’s been going strong for over thirty years. It’s the biggest show in Britain, and it’s got a worldwide cult following---”
“I’m aware of the show,” Znaimer cut him off. “I used to catch it on PBS once in a while back in the 1980's. The fellow with the scarf. Very eccentric. Sort of low budget. The blue phone booth. I get it. How does this relate to ‘The New Doctor’?
“Doctor Who ran from 1963 to 1986 with the BBC,” Paul explained. “And then the franchise was licensed out to Millennium Productions, which retitled it as ‘The New Doctor’ to distinguish the private production from the BBC production.”
“That’s us,” Burton chipped in. “We ran two seasons. I play the Doctor, it was a straight up continuation, with some changes. We still have a BBC license.”
Znaimer glanced at Burton without much interest.
“I’m aware of the BBC Enterprises license agreement. It’s not particularly valuable, according to our lawyers,” he said.
Burton deflated under Saltzman’s glare.
“Nevertheless, it is a legacy series, with a thirty year history, just waiting to be picked up. Yes, it was cheap, but if you look at my proposals for updating it, I think we can bring Doctor Who into the modern age and make it a 21st century production, with universal appeal. The same, but different, modernized in key ways, like Star Trek, and Star Trek: Next Generation.”
“I’ve looked at your proposal,” Znaimer said. “I didn’t particularly like it.”
“Oh,” said Paul.
“But,” Terry Nation said genially, “you’re here. You’ve clearly done your homework.”
Znaimer turned his calm gaze upon Nation.
“So...”
“So,” Nation said, “there must be some appeal. There’s something in it that works for you.”
Znaimer shrugged, refusing to make a commitment, one way or the other.
“So tell us what you don’t like, we’ll see if we’ve got a show if we take that out.”
Znaimer leaned back thoughtfully.
“I like the basic concept,” he said finally, “this man who goes through time and space helping people. It’s a very basic format at heart. A lot of the time, it’s militaristic, so that is a nice change. Or it’s wanderers who get lost and stumbles around into situations. So this... positivity, is appealing. And the idea of picking up a legacy series, that’s appealling.”
“What doesn’t appeal to me,” Znaimer said, “is the format. This medical van blasting through wormholes. That’s just Sliders combined with Danger Bay. I’m seeing this ‘wormhole’ thing everywhere since Stargate, and I think we’ll see a lot more of it. I can see the appeal of that kind of visual, that motif, but it doesn’t work for me. Not for this project. Maybe on a different project.”
“So what do you have in mind?” Paul asked.
“I liked the Blue Phone box,” Znaimer said. “But it’s inaccessible. Most people won’t recognise it. But something along those lines. Remember Bill and Ted, their time machine was a phone booth. People get behind that. Phone booths, time machines, teleport pods, cryogenic pods. That’s all very recognisable.”
“Something like that,” Znaimer was staring above their heads. “But a phone booth like Bill and Ted’s is too universal. The blue phone box in Doctor Who, too obscure. You want something both recognizeable, but still exotic. You want something that will say ‘British’ to connect it with the legacy, but still striking and distinctive....”
“What would you say too, instead of all this nonsense of medical vans and wormholes.... Using a classic British red phone booth?”
For a second, everyone was speechless.
Then Terry Nation applauded.
“That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed.
Znaimer tilted his head and gave a half smile.
“That could work,” Saltzman said.
“And it could be bigger on the inside than the outside,” Burton offered.
Znaimer frowned. “That’s stupid. It makes no sense.”
“How about if the phone booth is a gateway,” Nation said quickly. “You go into it, and it leads to, connects to some home base or headquarters. Like the cabinet to Narnia. Or all those innocuous little shops that lead to spy headquarters... Except that the phone booth can appear anywhere.”
“I like that,” said Znaimer. “That works. Also, I liked the eccentricity of the British series. I’m not as interested in a standard action adventure. I’d like something eccentric and quirky.”
He paused.
“It would be excellent if we could get the man in the scarf... But he must be what? Seventy by now. Someone like him thought.”
“I’ve been called the new Tom Baker,” Burton offered.
“Who?” Znaimer said, his gaze passing over Burton and dismissing him.
“I liked the complicated stories,” Znaimer said. “I’m not sure you can do that with this half hour format you’re proposing.”
“I was thinking, two parters,” Nation said. “That way, we can sell them to markets as half hours, or full hours. Maybe even do a three or four parter - TV movie length.”
Znaimer thought it over. “Clever.”
He looked at Saltzmann.
“What do you think, Paul. Would this work for you?”
“I like it,” Paul said enthusiastically. “I like it a lot. I think your approach solves a lot of problems, it really ties us to the legacy, while going forward with some unique aspects.”
“I like it too,” Nation said, “you’ve really tied it together for us.”
“Definitely!” Burton said. Znaimer glanced at him, eyebrow raised, as if wondering why he was at the table. But then he dismissed the thought.
“Good,” Znaimer said finally. “I’m prepared to offer you a contract for a thirteen episode season, half hours, standard rate, with deliveries commencing September/October 1997. Acceptable?”
“Definitely,” Paul said. Burton and Nation chorused agreement.
“Then, gentlemen,” Znaimer said, “our business is done. It’s been a pleasure, but I have another meeting to prepare for....”
He shook hands, and departed.
After he was gone, a waiter came by to take orders, and then departed. David looked at his companions.
“Is it me?” he said, with just an edge somewhere between gloating and bitterness, “or did we just come full circle?”
Paul was unperturbed. “It does feel like that. Funny, isn’t it.”
“I’ve seen it happen,” Nation said, “you start out with a pitch, and then you get feedback, and feedback, and feedback, and eventually you end up back where you started. Or at someplace completely unrecognizeable. Happens all the time in California.”
“It doesn’t bother you,” Burton persisted. “That he just threw out all your ideas, and replaced them with ours.”
“Not really know,” Paul said cheerfully chewing on a breadstick. “He didn’t throw out ‘all’ of my ideas. And he replaced them with his own, not yours. They just happen to be the same as yours, but he got there on his own.”
“Congratulations though,” Paul said, “it shows you’ve got good instincts. The concept is sound.”
“It really doesn’t bother you?” Burton asked.
“Why should it?” Paul said. “We sat down at this table with nothing, and now we’ve got a thirteen episode series. The rest? That’s just window dressing. You can’t keep an ego in this business David, you’ve got to be looking at the big picture."
"It may strike you as odd, David," Nation said, "But that's how it goes. If they're interested, they start bringing ideas. If they're not, it's just a flat no. Everyone in this business fancies themselves creative. If they're engaged, they want to contribute. Once Moses started going on about his suggestions, I knew we were in. It was just a matter of jollying him along."
"Nothing’s personal, it’s all just business.”
“Solid attitude,” Terry Nation said. “We’ve got a series. We could take it back to England an start shooting tomorrow?”
“What?” Paul asked. “No!”
“Why not,” David asked in turn. “We’ve got a contract for thirteen episodes. It’s all locked up.”
“Well, for one thing,” Paul said, “it’s not like the BBC where they pay the whole shot. There’s not that much money around. Moses commitment is maybe 5% of production costs. We still have to find the other 95%.”
“Bloody hell!” Nation swore.
“And we’re not going to shoot in England. The whole point of Moses buy in is that it has to be shot mostly in Canada, with Canadian crew, talent and stars. Maybe even a Canadian Doctor.”
“Bloody hell!” Burton swore.
Journal of David Burton
JOURNAL OF DAVID BURTON
As it turns out, I came to miss the old days with Millennium. That had been straightforward. We’d gotten together, did a demo, made a pitch, and if it sold, that was that. It had been straightforward.
This was anything but straightforward. It was a roller coaster, and I kept rushing through screaming highs and lows, and occasional full loops. Nothing ever went as predicted, and even the things I took for granted as fixed, suddenly they’d be up in the air.
I thought I had finally had a lucky break, running into Paul Saltzman. And it had been a lucky break, because I don’t mind saying I was at the end of my tether - couldn’t pay the rent, couldn’t pay the bills, I was only eating because I was cadging meals on the convention circuit, and I could see the end of that.
One chance meeting, and suddenly, I was back on top of the world.
Then on the bottom, when the project was completely rewritten into something I didn’t recognize, and I was even out as the Doctor. A role that I thought was guaranteed, and I was going to have to fight for it every step of the way.
At least I had Terry Nation in my corner, backing me.
Then we peaked again, when Moses Znaimer set it all back, and signed a purchase. I thought... “finally!”
And once again, a plunge of the roller coaster, when I find that the deal we all worked so hard for wouldn’t even pay for catering? What the hell were we going to do? Was this some kind of joke?
As it turns out, it’s the way they do things out, away from the sheltering bosom of the BBC.
What was important about Moses commitmen, it turns out, was not the money, but the commitment. It was a marker of good faith, proof that someone believed in it and would pay for it.
Once you’ve got that key commitment, it’s like a tent pole. Then you take the project around to other funders, other buyers, and you go “we’ve got this commitment, it’s a real project and it’s happening. Who else wants to buy in?”
And someone else does. Telefilm Canada, and the Canadian Film and Television Fund, they’re government funds whose job is to just throw money at things. Well, now they’ve got an assurance that something might get made, so they contribute money. There’s provincial funds.
The price though, for the Canadian science fiction channel, and for federal and provincial funding, was that we had to throw them our business. We had to reserve a certain number of acting roles for Canadian talent, a certain number writers, directors, designers, crew. A proportion of the shooting had to be done here. There were different ways of making up your numbers, but it all had to add up to a minimum commitment. And we had to divide it up between two or three provinces, so we had to spread it a bit.
Which was one reason Paul wanted a Canadian Doctor. That and he was a backstabber.
We make international sales. A little sale to Greek Television, a little sale to Nigeria. Estonia. All these small markets. Netherlands and Belgium. Argentina. It adds up.
If you can get a syndication sale to the United States, that’s a big market. You’re in. We didn’t get in there, not right away, but you keep trying.
And in the meantime you add up all your pennies, a bit here, a bit there, and it adds up. It adds up until you have the financing. Or most of it.
But you have to be careful. It’s like building a house of cards, or sticks. Or that game, jenga. You have to keep all of the pledges balanced. Lose one, the whole thing can come toppling down.
Looking at it, it’s the wonder anything ever manages to get produced at all.
And it was all on Paul, who had become my nemesis, because he kept wanting to replace me as the Doctor. I distrusted him, how can you not, and I’ll confess, there were times I hated him. It’s hard to avoid that, when you realize your partner considers you disposable.
But the truth was that I couldn’t do what he was doing, and neither could Terry. So it was up to Paul.
But even he couldn’t put it all together, not completely. We couldn’t get past 60% or 70%.
We needed a partner to get us all past that last leg. Terry’s contacts couldn’t help. The BBC wouldn’t help.
The whole thing was looking like it was going to fall apart once again, this time after a lot of hard work and no lack of infighting. The roller coaster, having climbed slowly and painfully to the peak, was now perching on the precipice, about to head into the great plunge that might well be the end.
But at the last minute, we found a partner.
The Australians.
And there began a new set of troubles....
As it turns out, I came to miss the old days with Millennium. That had been straightforward. We’d gotten together, did a demo, made a pitch, and if it sold, that was that. It had been straightforward.
This was anything but straightforward. It was a roller coaster, and I kept rushing through screaming highs and lows, and occasional full loops. Nothing ever went as predicted, and even the things I took for granted as fixed, suddenly they’d be up in the air.
I thought I had finally had a lucky break, running into Paul Saltzman. And it had been a lucky break, because I don’t mind saying I was at the end of my tether - couldn’t pay the rent, couldn’t pay the bills, I was only eating because I was cadging meals on the convention circuit, and I could see the end of that.
One chance meeting, and suddenly, I was back on top of the world.
Then on the bottom, when the project was completely rewritten into something I didn’t recognize, and I was even out as the Doctor. A role that I thought was guaranteed, and I was going to have to fight for it every step of the way.
At least I had Terry Nation in my corner, backing me.
Then we peaked again, when Moses Znaimer set it all back, and signed a purchase. I thought... “finally!”
And once again, a plunge of the roller coaster, when I find that the deal we all worked so hard for wouldn’t even pay for catering? What the hell were we going to do? Was this some kind of joke?
As it turns out, it’s the way they do things out, away from the sheltering bosom of the BBC.
What was important about Moses commitmen, it turns out, was not the money, but the commitment. It was a marker of good faith, proof that someone believed in it and would pay for it.
Once you’ve got that key commitment, it’s like a tent pole. Then you take the project around to other funders, other buyers, and you go “we’ve got this commitment, it’s a real project and it’s happening. Who else wants to buy in?”
And someone else does. Telefilm Canada, and the Canadian Film and Television Fund, they’re government funds whose job is to just throw money at things. Well, now they’ve got an assurance that something might get made, so they contribute money. There’s provincial funds.
The price though, for the Canadian science fiction channel, and for federal and provincial funding, was that we had to throw them our business. We had to reserve a certain number of acting roles for Canadian talent, a certain number writers, directors, designers, crew. A proportion of the shooting had to be done here. There were different ways of making up your numbers, but it all had to add up to a minimum commitment. And we had to divide it up between two or three provinces, so we had to spread it a bit.
Which was one reason Paul wanted a Canadian Doctor. That and he was a backstabber.
We make international sales. A little sale to Greek Television, a little sale to Nigeria. Estonia. All these small markets. Netherlands and Belgium. Argentina. It adds up.
If you can get a syndication sale to the United States, that’s a big market. You’re in. We didn’t get in there, not right away, but you keep trying.
And in the meantime you add up all your pennies, a bit here, a bit there, and it adds up. It adds up until you have the financing. Or most of it.
But you have to be careful. It’s like building a house of cards, or sticks. Or that game, jenga. You have to keep all of the pledges balanced. Lose one, the whole thing can come toppling down.
Looking at it, it’s the wonder anything ever manages to get produced at all.
And it was all on Paul, who had become my nemesis, because he kept wanting to replace me as the Doctor. I distrusted him, how can you not, and I’ll confess, there were times I hated him. It’s hard to avoid that, when you realize your partner considers you disposable.
But the truth was that I couldn’t do what he was doing, and neither could Terry. So it was up to Paul.
But even he couldn’t put it all together, not completely. We couldn’t get past 60% or 70%.
We needed a partner to get us all past that last leg. Terry’s contacts couldn’t help. The BBC wouldn’t help.
The whole thing was looking like it was going to fall apart once again, this time after a lot of hard work and no lack of infighting. The roller coaster, having climbed slowly and painfully to the peak, was now perching on the precipice, about to head into the great plunge that might well be the end.
But at the last minute, we found a partner.
The Australians.
And there began a new set of troubles....
Armquist Productions, New South Wales, Australia
The phone rang.
Jerome Armquist picked it up.
“Armquist Productions?”
The accent was strange. He couldn’t place it. American? No. English?
“Yes.”
“I’m looking for Jerome Armquist?”
“Speaking.”
“I see.” There was a note of surprise.
“My secretary is out, I was just leaving as the phone rang, so I picked it up. I was expecting someone else,” he lied. Armquist Productions consisted solely of Jerome.
“Oh, I see,” the voice said. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all,” Jerome said easily, he leaned back in his chair. “What’s up?”
“My name is Terry Nation of TN Productions...”
A pause, as if he should recognise the name. He didn’t.
“We’re working with a consortium that includes Millennium from England, and Sunrise Films from Canada...”
“Yes?” Jerome jotted down the names. He hadn’t heard of any of these companies, but it was no surprise. Production companies came and went like mayflies. Thankfully there was no pause, as if he should have recognized any of these.
“We are working on a project, ‘The New Doctor’ and we’re looking for a co-production partner. We contacted the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, and they informed us they didn’t do that sort of thing.”
Actually, ABC did, but to reputable parties, not strangers that rung up out of the blue.
“But they did provide us with a list of people we might approach, and your name was at the top of it.”
Jerome paused with his pencil, and chewed it thoughtfully. ABC wasn’t getting directly involved, but if they were making referrals, that told him it was a serious project, and it also told him that ABC intended to buy in. He wasn’t sure why they’d referred him though.
In truth, what no one knew, was that Jerome would normally have been far far down any realistic list. But the secretary who had typed it up and faxed the list to North America, had done it in alphabetical order. Nation had just called the first name on the list.
“That’s very flattering,” Jerome said. “Tell me about this project, and what you need?”
He listened patiently as Nation outlined the project, and discussed the financial requirements.
He’d never heard of The New Doctor, or Doctor Who. Frankly, it all sounded like dire rubbish to him. He had never been interested in sci fi, too fantastical for his tastes.
Jerome sketched out numbers with his pencil. The revenue from likely sale to ABC, contributions from the Australian Film Commission, the Television fund. The New South Wales fund and tax credits. He liked the way the numbers were shaping up. He added Queensland into the equation. Even better.
“Yes,” he told Nation. “We can definitely help you out. Why don’t I talk to my partner. In the meantime, send me your information, we’ll send you back a proposal, and if it meets your needs, you can fly down to Sydney, and we’ll sort it out....”
After the call ended, Jerome sat, staring at his notes.
Jerome wasn’t an actual producer. Not in the sense of hiring and shooting and all that bother. Rather, he had a very specific niche in the community. He was one of those people who helped to put money together. People hired him for projects, he made the paperwork come together, and he took a fee. It was a decent living.
Nation and company very definitely needed that. Every production needed funding, and someone who could help pull it together.
But this was rather different than his usual wicket. This was an outright co-production. That meant that for the money, there’d have to be an investment in Australian actors, creators, crew, location shooting. None of that was what he did. Typically, all that was worked out and in place and he didn’t need to bother with it.
Which meant, he needed to find a real producer, and hand the project over to them, at which point he’d resume his usual role, take his usual fee, and see the lion’s share of money walk off.
Or...
Or, he could keep the project for himself, find a production manager to do all the bothersome stuff, hire cheap, and pad the expenses everywhere, and literally make out like a bandit, squeezing every last dollar and penny from his end of the project, as if through a wringer.
He could make quite a bit of money, if he did this right.
Jerome Armquist picked it up.
“Armquist Productions?”
The accent was strange. He couldn’t place it. American? No. English?
“Yes.”
“I’m looking for Jerome Armquist?”
“Speaking.”
“I see.” There was a note of surprise.
“My secretary is out, I was just leaving as the phone rang, so I picked it up. I was expecting someone else,” he lied. Armquist Productions consisted solely of Jerome.
“Oh, I see,” the voice said. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all,” Jerome said easily, he leaned back in his chair. “What’s up?”
“My name is Terry Nation of TN Productions...”
A pause, as if he should recognise the name. He didn’t.
“We’re working with a consortium that includes Millennium from England, and Sunrise Films from Canada...”
“Yes?” Jerome jotted down the names. He hadn’t heard of any of these companies, but it was no surprise. Production companies came and went like mayflies. Thankfully there was no pause, as if he should have recognized any of these.
“We are working on a project, ‘The New Doctor’ and we’re looking for a co-production partner. We contacted the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, and they informed us they didn’t do that sort of thing.”
Actually, ABC did, but to reputable parties, not strangers that rung up out of the blue.
“But they did provide us with a list of people we might approach, and your name was at the top of it.”
Jerome paused with his pencil, and chewed it thoughtfully. ABC wasn’t getting directly involved, but if they were making referrals, that told him it was a serious project, and it also told him that ABC intended to buy in. He wasn’t sure why they’d referred him though.
In truth, what no one knew, was that Jerome would normally have been far far down any realistic list. But the secretary who had typed it up and faxed the list to North America, had done it in alphabetical order. Nation had just called the first name on the list.
“That’s very flattering,” Jerome said. “Tell me about this project, and what you need?”
He listened patiently as Nation outlined the project, and discussed the financial requirements.
He’d never heard of The New Doctor, or Doctor Who. Frankly, it all sounded like dire rubbish to him. He had never been interested in sci fi, too fantastical for his tastes.
Jerome sketched out numbers with his pencil. The revenue from likely sale to ABC, contributions from the Australian Film Commission, the Television fund. The New South Wales fund and tax credits. He liked the way the numbers were shaping up. He added Queensland into the equation. Even better.
“Yes,” he told Nation. “We can definitely help you out. Why don’t I talk to my partner. In the meantime, send me your information, we’ll send you back a proposal, and if it meets your needs, you can fly down to Sydney, and we’ll sort it out....”
After the call ended, Jerome sat, staring at his notes.
Jerome wasn’t an actual producer. Not in the sense of hiring and shooting and all that bother. Rather, he had a very specific niche in the community. He was one of those people who helped to put money together. People hired him for projects, he made the paperwork come together, and he took a fee. It was a decent living.
Nation and company very definitely needed that. Every production needed funding, and someone who could help pull it together.
But this was rather different than his usual wicket. This was an outright co-production. That meant that for the money, there’d have to be an investment in Australian actors, creators, crew, location shooting. None of that was what he did. Typically, all that was worked out and in place and he didn’t need to bother with it.
Which meant, he needed to find a real producer, and hand the project over to them, at which point he’d resume his usual role, take his usual fee, and see the lion’s share of money walk off.
Or...
Or, he could keep the project for himself, find a production manager to do all the bothersome stuff, hire cheap, and pad the expenses everywhere, and literally make out like a bandit, squeezing every last dollar and penny from his end of the project, as if through a wringer.
He could make quite a bit of money, if he did this right.
Co Australian-Canadian project with filming requirements in both locations?
This is getting more and more murky. I would not be surprised if the BBC doesn’t chip in and demand some filming in Britain!
Given its shaping up to be such a Commonwealth production I wonder if there is any pan-Commonwealth fund they can tap into?
Did like the cycle round to the Red Phone Box though.
This is getting more and more murky. I would not be surprised if the BBC doesn’t chip in and demand some filming in Britain!
Given its shaping up to be such a Commonwealth production I wonder if there is any pan-Commonwealth fund they can tap into?
Did like the cycle round to the Red Phone Box though.
Armquist Productions Part Two, five days later, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia
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.
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.
I suppose I didn't have to do the cycle round. I just liked to play with the idea of the way ideas sometimes morph uncontrollably because everyone thinks that they have to make a creative contribution.
The classic example was J.M. Straczynski and his Babylon 5/Crusade projects, where he literally constantly had to fight enthusiastic but incompetent meddlers - studio executives who knew nothing, but constantly gave him 'notes' and sometimes 'demands.' Apparently, Sliders was also a victim of that syndrome. The level and sort of interference or 'creative input' varies a lot, but it can be hard to say 'no' too.
If you're sitting with an Executive, or a Producer, who goes "I love your proposal and I want to back it, but I think that what you need is a three breasted stripper from the planet of sex-amazons, and a cute robot." What do you do? If this is a guy with in a position to bury your idea forever, or at least put you back on the merry go round of pitching, or a who can say yes.... There's a lot of temptation to just go with the amazons and robot.
That kind of thing can extend to basic concepts for the show, or backstory, who gets cast, angles and approaches, or trivial things like costumes. It can be maddening.
But the reality is that the Entertainment Industry is full of people who either are, or want to be creative. The business side is full of people who need to justify their existence. The guy who looks at a proposal and says 'that's fine the way it is.' Well, what contribution has he made, apart from saying 'OK.' Any idiot can say 'Okay. Why was he needed, what's he offering. But if he can give a few notes, show he's made creative input, he justifies (hopefully) his involvement. He's not a rubber stamp, he's a 'contributor.'
And there's another side of it. Putting those ideas in, gives you a sense of ownership, commitment to the project. Makes you feel valued, and part of it. You're more inclined to support it. You're personally invested.
In fact, in some areas, its vital. Whenever a new writer comes on a project, the first thing they do is change all the names of characters that the previous writer did on the script. That's the easiest way to make your mark. They'll go through, and literally strip out the best lines, to replace them with their own shittier lines (hopefully, they wanted to write better lines, but sometimes they make things worse). They'll rearrange order, change scenes, drop some, write new scenes. Why do this act of vandalism? Because of credit - whose name goes up on the screen. Writers guilds have arbitrations and criteria to see who gets that movie credit on screen. If you can get that movie credit, you get more money, you get recognition, and you get more and higher level (credited work). So as a new writer, almost your first duty to yourself is to sabotage the previous writer. I've seen script editors brought into perfectly good scripts, and they just trashed it. Why? Because if they said it was fine, then they couldn't justify their fees.
Ideas, concepts, plots and themes constantly get massaged. Even with Doctor Who, if you look at the documentaries about the genesis of the show, you'll see that the initial ideas changed, sometimes dramatically, and continued to change. The Doctor was originally a human from the future. His Tardis was invisible. The Doctor was actively senile.
So, I wrote Saltzman's ideas as kind of a modernist take on the concept, without the historical baggage, but with the progressive sensibilities of someone who produced an environmentally friendly family adventure series with messages, like Danger Bay, someone not invested in the lore, but who took inspirations from contemporary sources like Sliders and Stargate.
Also, I wanted to see if I could make Doctor Who fans have a stroke.
And it was fun to do this, and then have Moses Znaimer set it all back. Although technically, it's not going back to the way it was, it's just adopting Znaimers new ideas.... which coincidentally happened to be the old format. In a sense, it's different perspectives. Saltzmann may actually have had quite a decent grasp of the underlying spirit of Doctor Who.... he's very in line with Sydney Newman's objectives for the show, for instance, and he's at least on side with the idealism of the Doctor. Znaimer's approach is less engaged, and more surface - he wants something equivalent to the police box, and the red phone booth is the easiest reach. For him it's part of the image, like requiring a starship Enterprise for Star Trek.
There's no commonwealth film fund I'm afraid, just national ones. The US market is so gargantuan that it doesn't have or need this. But small countries, including Germany, England, Canada, Australia etc., invest government money to support cultural industries.
All the stuff about how the money gets put together, the public funding, co-productions, house of cards, by the way, is essentially the way it really works for a lot of television and film production outside the United States. The situations where the BBC simply puts up the money and that's it, for example are rarer.
It can be overlooked, because often, productions aimed at the American market can look a lot less cobbled together. But that's because you're syndicating to multiple purchasers from essentially the same culture.
Paul Saltzman, and Sunrise Pictures, by the way, is a real person. I used to watch some of his programs, including Danger Bay, and My Secret Identity. By all accounts, he comes across as very principled, idealistic, professional, and decent. Perhaps a bit too sincere. But this is a guy who hung out with the Beatles in India, learned meditation, hung out with McLuhan and fell in love with India. I chose him because his career seems to have gone quiet at the right time. I think he probably made his money and took a few years off. But he was available. And his career suggested a good fit/not fit, a producer who might embrace Doctor Who, but also who might not get it. Who would end up as a force in conflict, trying to drag the show in certain directions.
This isn't in his record - but in the 1990's, Canadian companies were pioneering the use and development of CGI. So expect that to come in from that angle.
Moses Znaimer, is also a real person, as is City-TV, CHUM, and the Canadian Sci Fi Channel. And quite an interesting and accomplished one. His role in the story is limited, and now concluded. He's got a lot going on, and his casual purchase of a legacy series, and his feedback over lunch is as far as his involvement gets.
The Canadian Sci Fi Channel was called 'Space' and it premiered on October 17, 1997. As noted, part of its mandate was to support or generate programming - which they did through Lexx (space opera), Conspiracy Guy (low budget comedy), Innerspace (talking heads/documentary), short films etc.
The pathway of Burton meeting Saltzman, leading to Znaimer, leading to a Space Channel buy, leading to using that as a tentpole to build up a house of cards of funding commitments and international purchases, is plausible and has numerous precedents.
Terry Nation, is a real person, obviously. The notion of Nation inserting himself into the project is also plausible. Terry doesn't have enough credibility or juice to push a series on his own. But he's got enough to make a package like this seem more serious, if his name is attached to it. This is the deep sunset of his career, so he's inclined to grab onto it. Terry is charming, smooth, business savvy and loyal only to himself.
The model of international co-productions is also pretty solid. I can give you various examples. Lexx, Highlander, etc.
A great example is Starhunter, produced in Canada by Jackson/D'or. But as a British co-production, money had to be spent on British talent. So in the first season two of the five core cast members were British... and worked in England. One played a hologram who shot all his scenes separately in England and just got composited in. The other also shot in England, and did opening and closing 'commentary' as the Employer of the protagonists. Commitments from French and German television meant that the show had a lot of different accents, because actors were all over the place - they had to hire french and german actors to justify french and german funding. Behind the scenes, directors, writers, creative tech, special effects, were farmed out all over, based on funding commitments.
Sadly, Jerome Armquist and Ken Roarch are both fictional characters. I just have a lot less command of the Australian film and television industry in the 1990's, As far as I can determine, the Australian business and funding models are relatively accurate. While Jerome and Ken are fictional, they're also based relatively loosely on people I've known personally, or heard or read of in the business.
Jerome is absolutely mercenary. If Paul Saltzman may be a slightly misguided idealist out of tune with and occasionally at cross purposes with the show, then Jerome simply cares about the deal and the money, and making it happen. He has no interest in the creative side.
Ken on the other hand, is almost a fanboy. He understands the show almost as well as Terry and David. On the other hand he's also a hustler and b-movie guy, so his sensibilities are much coarser, and more flamboyant. His ideas for the series "tits and explosions." Gratuitious nudity, or as much as he can get away with for television. He knows, and would like to use martial arts choreographyers, stunt men, pyrotechnics, etc. He's a practical effects guy.
As an example of one of his ideas: He likes the Tardis console, but instead of a time rotor, he wants a greenscreen, so that they can project the top half of a naked woman (delicate parts carefully obscured by static), who can talk and interact as the voice of the Tardis, delivering exposition, and providing a slot for a credited cast member. The sort of idea that would leave Saltzmann horrified, and Burton stunned. He's about a pushy enthusiasm that can cause headaches.
Anyway, setting various personalities up for conflict behind the scenes.
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You succeeded. Can't say it wasn't enjoyable to read though, I really enjoy how personality focused this TL is insofar as you give plenty of insight into why the people involved in the project do what they do. Eagerly awaiting what comes next.
Conclusion. Setting up the Third Season timeline...
Timeline
* Burton meets Saltzman March, 1996.
* Nation gets involved in April, 1996.
* Znaimer approves a 13 episode buy in May, 1996.
* July, 1996 - Armquist and Roark become involved.
* September, 1996 - the shape of the show is more or less established.
-- Thirteen Episodes, five two-part serials, one three-part.
-- After a mighty struggle, David Burton, with the surprise assistance of Ian Levine, manages to hold onto the role of the Doctor;
-- There will be a companion named Nimue, from a post-holocaust future, played either by a Canadian or Australian actress;
-- Mr. Vise, the nemesis will be played either by an Australian or Canadian actor(s);
-- Guest stars and actors to be a mix;
-- Terry Nation insists on role as script editor for the series, also insists on use of Daleks as the three part serial, and will write the Dalek serial;
-- All 'tardis interior' scenes shot in Canada, regardless of which episode they're in;
-- All CGI to be done in Canada;
-- Ken Roarch to be one of the Directors, directors to be either Canadian or Australian;
-- Writers either Canadian or Australian (Burton will prove difficult - he's heavily invested in his character, and prone to rewriting his own lines);
-- Apart from Daleks, there will be a post-apocalyptic story, and an 'aussie backpackers' story;
-- Other stories will originate from competing viewpoints of Burton, Saltzman, Roarch;
-- Approximately 35% of shooting in Australia - Queensland and New South Wales, including a lot of location and some sets, approximately 60% of shooting to be in Canada - Ontario and Quebec, including all standing sets, some location; Saltzmann may push for some shooting in India; there may also be some shooting in the US or England;
* October 1996 / May of 1997 - Principle and second unit photography, off and on, and on locations - in different seasons and weather;
* December 1996 / June 1997 - Terry Nation initially starts out strong as script editor, butting heads with both everyone else. However, over the next few months, his work declines significantly as his health declines. He begins to fall behind on all projects. Some of the commissioned scripts are abandoned and replaced for various reasons. By February, 1997, the production is suffering badly and behind schedule because of Nation. By March, he has largely handed off all duties to an assistant, who is now de-facto script Editor. He produces only half a script and a full outline for his Dalek story, and leaves it to be finished. By April, he's basically out. Dies in June 1997 (as in real life) of Emphysema. His decline and departure produces various power struggles in the delicate balance of the show.
* April 1997 / September 1997 - Post Production, including pickup shots, coverage, ADR, proceeds more or less smoothly under Saltzman's guidance, subject to occasional eruptions and conflicts with Australian directors, including Roarch.
* October, 1997 - the series begins to air on the Canadian Space Channel, followed by ABC.
* Burton meets Saltzman March, 1996.
* Nation gets involved in April, 1996.
* Znaimer approves a 13 episode buy in May, 1996.
* July, 1996 - Armquist and Roark become involved.
* September, 1996 - the shape of the show is more or less established.
-- Thirteen Episodes, five two-part serials, one three-part.
-- After a mighty struggle, David Burton, with the surprise assistance of Ian Levine, manages to hold onto the role of the Doctor;
-- There will be a companion named Nimue, from a post-holocaust future, played either by a Canadian or Australian actress;
-- Mr. Vise, the nemesis will be played either by an Australian or Canadian actor(s);
-- Guest stars and actors to be a mix;
-- Terry Nation insists on role as script editor for the series, also insists on use of Daleks as the three part serial, and will write the Dalek serial;
-- All 'tardis interior' scenes shot in Canada, regardless of which episode they're in;
-- All CGI to be done in Canada;
-- Ken Roarch to be one of the Directors, directors to be either Canadian or Australian;
-- Writers either Canadian or Australian (Burton will prove difficult - he's heavily invested in his character, and prone to rewriting his own lines);
-- Apart from Daleks, there will be a post-apocalyptic story, and an 'aussie backpackers' story;
-- Other stories will originate from competing viewpoints of Burton, Saltzman, Roarch;
-- Approximately 35% of shooting in Australia - Queensland and New South Wales, including a lot of location and some sets, approximately 60% of shooting to be in Canada - Ontario and Quebec, including all standing sets, some location; Saltzmann may push for some shooting in India; there may also be some shooting in the US or England;
* October 1996 / May of 1997 - Principle and second unit photography, off and on, and on locations - in different seasons and weather;
* December 1996 / June 1997 - Terry Nation initially starts out strong as script editor, butting heads with both everyone else. However, over the next few months, his work declines significantly as his health declines. He begins to fall behind on all projects. Some of the commissioned scripts are abandoned and replaced for various reasons. By February, 1997, the production is suffering badly and behind schedule because of Nation. By March, he has largely handed off all duties to an assistant, who is now de-facto script Editor. He produces only half a script and a full outline for his Dalek story, and leaves it to be finished. By April, he's basically out. Dies in June 1997 (as in real life) of Emphysema. His decline and departure produces various power struggles in the delicate balance of the show.
* April 1997 / September 1997 - Post Production, including pickup shots, coverage, ADR, proceeds more or less smoothly under Saltzman's guidance, subject to occasional eruptions and conflicts with Australian directors, including Roarch.
* October, 1997 - the series begins to air on the Canadian Space Channel, followed by ABC.
James Kyle's Third Season of The New Doctor!
And what was the point of this strange excursion which horribly mangles my own continuity?
Well, James Kyle, mad genius that he is, has been enthralling me with his 'full length scripts' of the first series of The New Doctor.
Then he did a second series, which was even better, because apart from some advice and suggestions here and there, the four stories were entirely his own invention. So I got to read and enjoy them, and his plot developments without anticipation. It was almost completely brand new to me and a pleasure to read.
James second series extended the Ian Levine storyline even further, into a rather catastrophic melt down and collapse of the Millennium Group.
So then he started kicking around a third series, and a big finish series. His excerpts from the Big Finish series were enthralling.
So I set my mind to working out how a third series would come about given how horrifically the second series had imploded. I figured that Burton and the show had burned every possible bridge in England, so Burton's only chance would be to take the show on the road, and find unsuspecting innocents who would fall for his line. So... Canadian/Australian co-production. And post 176 through 200.
There's different ways it could come about. I think Kyle was thinking of the BBC massively dropping the ball and almost accidentally committing to a third series.
Maybe there's an American investor that jumps in. That's a workable line.
Doing the Burton and Benedetti Doctor Who storylines, and all their accessories, I find it's not just about Doctor Who per se, but a series of meditations on television and stage. It's fun.
Anyway, here's Kyle's titles for the third series. He's put up a bit in terms of synopsis, which I've used to integrate hints into the narrative.
But these stories, if they're told, will be James....
THE NEW DOCTOR SERIES 3 - ?????
How The World Ends (2 parts)
The Liberation of France (2 parts)
A Night At The Mausoleum (2 parts)
The Bone Stealers (2 parts)
Wanderlust (2 parts)
Dalekmania! (3 parts)
David Burton is The New Doctor: Debts Owed | The Doctor Who Forum at Gallifrey Base
I strongly recommend you wander on over to The Doctor Who forum, and check out his work....
Well, James Kyle, mad genius that he is, has been enthralling me with his 'full length scripts' of the first series of The New Doctor.
Then he did a second series, which was even better, because apart from some advice and suggestions here and there, the four stories were entirely his own invention. So I got to read and enjoy them, and his plot developments without anticipation. It was almost completely brand new to me and a pleasure to read.
James second series extended the Ian Levine storyline even further, into a rather catastrophic melt down and collapse of the Millennium Group.
So then he started kicking around a third series, and a big finish series. His excerpts from the Big Finish series were enthralling.
So I set my mind to working out how a third series would come about given how horrifically the second series had imploded. I figured that Burton and the show had burned every possible bridge in England, so Burton's only chance would be to take the show on the road, and find unsuspecting innocents who would fall for his line. So... Canadian/Australian co-production. And post 176 through 200.
There's different ways it could come about. I think Kyle was thinking of the BBC massively dropping the ball and almost accidentally committing to a third series.
Maybe there's an American investor that jumps in. That's a workable line.
Doing the Burton and Benedetti Doctor Who storylines, and all their accessories, I find it's not just about Doctor Who per se, but a series of meditations on television and stage. It's fun.
Anyway, here's Kyle's titles for the third series. He's put up a bit in terms of synopsis, which I've used to integrate hints into the narrative.
But these stories, if they're told, will be James....
THE NEW DOCTOR SERIES 3 - ?????
How The World Ends (2 parts)
The Liberation of France (2 parts)
A Night At The Mausoleum (2 parts)
The Bone Stealers (2 parts)
Wanderlust (2 parts)
Dalekmania! (3 parts)
David Burton is The New Doctor: Debts Owed | The Doctor Who Forum at Gallifrey Base
I strongly recommend you wander on over to The Doctor Who forum, and check out his work....