There was another element lurking in my mind. I wanted to surprise the industry. The idea of me playing the Doctor was very, very leftfield. So, so bizarre – and I liked that.
I considered, too, the nature of the Doctor himself. ‘Time Lord,’ I mulled. ‘That means he’s travelling through time. He’s never at home. He’s lonely.’
I had a thought – ‘I can do lonely.’
The more I deliberated over the nature of the Doctor, the more I began to see the character as separate and apart.
When I got home from my run, straight away I emailed Russell and asked to be put on the list for the auditions.
His reply was instant – ‘What!!!!!?’’
But Russell took the idea to the BBC, and it appealed to them. I can see now that attaching my name to the production, at that point a risky enterprise with no guarantee of success, gave them credibility. Along with a handful of other British actors, I was foremost among my generation for being associated with integrity. I didn’t do advertisements, or even voiceovers for advertisements, and still don’t to this day, but I had been in landmark dramas playing conflicted men. Therefore, I was regarded as a serious actor. If they were going to reinvent Doctor Who, a series that had ended in 1989 in a mire of disdain, my name delivered a much-needed dose of authority. The other names in the frame only added to that theory. I’m pretty sure Bill Nighy and Hugh Grant turned down the sonic screwdriver before it came to me. Maybe I should have asked myself why. What I now realise is that practically everybody else in the industry was thinking the return of Doctor Who was going to be a car crash. It had failed at the end of the ’80s and there was no great reason to suggest it would do any better now. I, however, was seeing it differently. I felt it would be a success because of Russell T. Davies. Not for the first time, I believed in the writer.
And yet as the production date neared, I began to feel uneasy. Whereas in any series there will be discussions over personality and tone – a gradual portrait of the character being painted on a mental canvas – here there was nothing.
‘The Doctor appears in a leather jacket,’ stated the script for episode one. No more information than that. ‘OK,’ I thought, ‘so he’s modern.’ But that was all that single scrap of information gave me.
I could have looked at any of the old series for a character. It was either a mistake or a virtue, but I didn’t. Instead I decided I’d play Russell. Right in front of me was a man who wore a leather jacket and whose brain was genius level, a tinder box of ideas. Russell had energy, he had humour. And there was no one who wanted to be the Doctor more than he did. I took the fizzing of thought in Russell’s head and gave it to the Doctor. It wasn’t a new tactic. In Our Friends in the North, I decided I would play the writer Peter Flannery. In any Jimmy McGovern drama, I feel like I’m playing Jimmy. With the Doctor, however, while Russell gave me a physical embodiment, the sketchiness of the character in the script still made me feel uneasy. How do I get a handle on this? And if I can’t get a handle on it, how can I expect the audience to? It felt like I’d been given a platform I didn’t understand. Perhaps I’m not alone in that search for the Doctor. It’s an interesting fact about the show that a lot of actors, including myself, have been highly criticised for their performances, for being wacky, zany, or whatever other characteristics they injected into the role. It might be a fundamental flaw in the character that you can never quite get him right.
Russell’s real brilliance was in the writing – I’m not sure he knew what he wanted from the Doctor. I don’t think he had a very strong take on the character. There was never any discussion, for instance, about me being a ‘northern’ Doctor. But nobody told me not to and so I did it. As a working-class kid off a council estate, I certainly wasn’t going to repeat what had gone before. I thought about people like Alan Turing, the scientist and codebreaker, born in Moss Side and credited by Winston Churchill for shortening the Second World War by two years, and Anthony Burgess, a brilliant and original literary figure, born in Harpurhey, both of whom would have spoken with my accent. I was aware also that, down through time, those with high intelligence, great scientific knowledge, a poetic gift, sensitivity, status, who made it on to radio or TV, had all spoken like the Queen. But brilliant people don’t all sound like the narrator on a 1950s newsreel. I knew that for sure because I’d been brought up by two of them, Ronnie and Elsie Eccleston. I was always going to use my accent, and I think, in terms of tone and characterisation, it was one thing that definitely did work. It became a defining part of the Doctor. Just look at that beautiful line that Russell wrote – ‘Lots of planets have a north.’
One area where I was definitely on wobbly ground was playing light comedy, an absolute requirement of the role, but one I wasn’t used to. I loved comedy but I’d never done any. I’d positioned myself as this overly earnest actor. I wanted to be Hamlet. And to a large extent that was because I felt my mum and dad and so many others of my class hadn’t been taken seriously. I wanted to navigate a path where someone of my background would be given that respect. Now, though, I was in a massive role, with massive responsibility, working in a style of light comedy I knew little about. Because hitherto I’d been so dour and serious, so tombstone solemn, when I started smiling on Doctor Who, it looked over the top. ‘He’s overdoing it. He’s Timmy Mallett.’ Watching it again now with Albert and Esme, I can see that actually, all I was doing, albeit a bit clumsily, was trying to create another character. I’d done it with Nicky Hutchinson in Our Friends in the North, and a dozen other TV characters, and now I was simply trying to create the Doctor.
Russell’s great legacy would be the feminisation of the show. As a progressive man, he made Rose an equal, not a sidekick. It is she who, on several occasions, saves the Doctor, rather than the other way round. As can any parent with a daughter, I now look at Esme and think, You could be the Doctor. In 2005, as recently as that, such a thought would have been a pipe dream.
When it came to the Doctor’s relationship with Rose, I was occupying the same territory as Russell, firm in my mind that she should never be one of those assistants we’d seen before – women basically there to be awestruck by the Doctor and tell him he’s amazing. I knew even before I’d seen anything of the characterisation of Rose what Russell would want to do. I’d already seen it with his depiction of Lesley Sharp’s character Judy in The Second Coming, a woman with an independent mind willing to confront received wisdom. In Doctor Who, where that was let down a little was in the kissing between the Doctor and Rose. I never wanted that. I was always against it. I felt it made the relationship too explicit. To me, the Doctor and Rose’s love was pure and any physical expression weakened that precious commodity. Myself and Billie Piper had a chemistry that allowed the relationship between Rose and the Doctor to live in the mind of both them and the viewer. Better preserve that than make it too obvious. In my view, the Doctor loved this person – not this woman – and that was a trait of the Doctor I clung on to for all thirteen episodes.
Billie was magnificent as Rose. I knew she was good at the time but looking back now I can see her absolute brilliance. It reminds me how much we loved working together, which is palpably obvious on screen. Actors work at chemistry; it doesn’t just come with a snap of the fingers, but we were fortunate enough to have something there from the start. We were also professionals and knew how to achieve on-screen banter. What truly amazes me is I know how nervous Billie was at the start. She thought I was some big serious performer and she didn’t have the belief in herself as an actor. She proved herself, of course, to be way better than any of the rest of us. Her luminosity on screen comes from herself, not those around her, and instinctively she made Rose exactly the person she should be. When Doctor Who won a BAFTA for Best Drama, it was Billie for whom I was truly delighted. The reception she got when the show was screened made any lingering reservations on her part about her ability evaporate. It was admirable in her that she had zero arrogance that she could do it. The work
she has done since has shown her to be worthy of every accolade that comes her way.
Watching our characters now reinforces what I concluded at the time: Russell enjoys writing more for women than he does for men. If so, I’m glad – there’s been a lot of writing for men. Rose arrives on screen fully formed, one of the strongest female characters of any show of any year, painting a solid line leading directly to Jodie Whittaker. If you think about it, the relaunch in 2005 was actually the chance to create the first female Doctor. Why not do it then? Perhaps, really, we should be looking back on Billie Piper not as Rose but as the Doctor.
Billie made Doctor Who a delight but so also did Steven Moffat’s scripts, which delivered my best work, bringing me closer to finally knowing exactly who the Doctor was than any other time during the shoot. Directors Joe Ahearne and Euros Lyn also allowed the character to blossom and thrive. I loved Joe. If he’d directed the show from day one, I’d probably still be playing the Doctor now. Joe, like Euros and Steven, had really done his homework. He spoke with the passion of a proper fan who had the knowledge that Doctor Who, along with comic books and sci-fi, is drawing on the bigger-picture stories of Greek myth. There’s a hugely intellectual and emotional content to that kind of output. If a director doesn’t get that, they shouldn’t be anywhere near the show.
Doctor Who has left its mark on me. People from both inside and outside the industry still say, ‘I don’t know why you did it in the first place. It just didn’t seem to fit.’ That reaction comes from my departure, which was enormously negative for me. Yes, I have felt bitter, and yes, I have felt betrayed, but I know also that Doctor Who was the best thing that, professionally, ever happened to me, not so much a learning curve as a plunge down a well and a long climb towards the sunshine I see now. These days, I feel nothing but positive about the show, to the extent I have even started doing conventions, something I’d been wary of because I always wanted to earn my money from acting. What I’ve actually found is some amazing people who want to talk to me not only about Doctor Who but Our Friends in the North, 28 Days Later, Second Coming, Shallow Grave, Cracker, and so on. People bring memorabilia from across my whole career, which makes me feel good about my work and also about myself. It has healed something in me. Forget producers, forget politics – here are real people who have seen me do my stuff and want to shake my hand.
I sat here with my children again last night and watched myself. At first, some familiar nagging thoughts were apparent. Wow, I pondered, you’re young, and you have no idea what this is going to do to you.
As the minutes passed, though, I felt more upbeat about what I was viewing. I can see what you’re trying to do here, I thought, even if you’re overdoing it a bit. At other times, I’d think, That was all right – you’re actually pulling this off. I was watching it from a distance – and enjoying it. I liked what I was seeing.
So when anyone, including myself, tries to tell me Doctor Who wasn’t a good fit, I tell them straight – ‘But that’s exactly why I did it.’ I did something positive. The role – posh, received pronunciation – needed changing.
And I changed it.
14
DOCTOR DADDY 2
WHILE WATCHING DOCTOR WHO. EPISODE 6: ‘DALEK’
ALBERT: Daddy, what were you doing to that Dalek thingy?
ME: I was bullying him, trying to frighten him, getting my revenge on him because he’s always scaring me.
ALBERT: Have you seen him many times?
ME: Yes, I’ve fought the Daleks many times.
ALBERT: Was he being kind or unkind?
ME: Who?
ALBERT: The Dalek.
ME: The Dalek was trapped and chained up. I would say that the Doctor was being cruel. He was shouting at and threatening the Dalek. What did you think?
ALBERT: I just thought the Dalek didn’t mean any harm.
ME: So did you think the Doctor was being cruel?
ALBERT: No . . . I need to understand a lot of things.
ME: OK, I’ll explain everything I can.
ALBERT: Who made the Daleks?
ME: Er, well, the Master made the Daleks.
ALBERT: The one with the moustache?
ME: No, the one with the moustache is an American bad guy who controls the internet.
ALBERT: But, Daddy, do you outsmart him?
ME: Yes, in the end I outsmart him and I outsmart the Daleks. That Dalek gets free and lots of Daleks come and I fight them all.
ALBERT: What about Rose and her friend?
ME: I save them both.
ALBERT: What was that white robot that you saw earlier on?
ME: The one in the case? That’s called a Cyberman. That’s the Doctor’s second most frightening enemy.
ALBERT: What is a Cyberman?
ME: A Cyberman is a robot, an evil robot.
ALBERT: What does it do?
ME: It tries to take over the planet and destroy all human life on it.
ALBERT: What does Cyber mean?
ME: Cyber . . . er . . . it, er . . . what does it mean? I’m not quite sure. It’s a technical . . .
ALBERT: We’ll look it up on the internet.
ME: Yeah, OK.
ALBERT: You’ve no need to be ashamed.
ME: Thank you.
ALBERT: Who gave you the police box?
ME: I’m a Time Lord, and all the Time Lords . . .
ALBERT: Did you make it or did you not?
ME: Yes, the Doctor built the TARDIS.
ALBERT: But how could you move all those things?
ME: Well, he’s a brilliant scientist.
ALBERT: When did you make it?
ME: I made it, er, millions of years ago.
ALBERT: When you were a teenager, or a little boy?
ME: Probably when he was a teenager.
ALBERT: Thirteen or fourteen?
ME: Probably, yeah. He had to make the TARDIS because his planet was destroyed by the Daleks.
ALBERT: That Dalek was making noises.
ME: Yes, he was screaming in pain because they were torturing him and keeping him in chains.
ALBERT: But who was going ‘Aaggghhh!’?
ME: Well, that’s a tiny green creature that lives inside the Dalek. There is a life force inside the Dalek.
ALBERT: But is that the one with the two things sticking out that goes ‘Ex-ter-min-ate’?
ME: Yes, that’s the Dalek.
ALBERT: Does he have lots of Daleks inside him?
ME: No, there’s just one little green creature inside. The Dalek is armoured to protect this very terrified little green creature.
ALBERT: What is it, this little green creature?
ME: Well, it looks like something off the bottom of the ocean.
ALBERT: Green seaweed?
ME: Not seaweed. It’s kind of like a mollusc or something.
ALBERT: If we could X-ray a Dalek, it might be useful.
ME: Would you like to see what’s inside a Dalek?
ALBERT: Yes, that Dalek.
ME: What’s it like seeing your dad be the Doctor?
ALBERT: Well, it’s a bit amazing. I don’t know how you could make that police box think, with all that amazing stuff.
ME: How I could make it think?
ALBERT: Yes.
ME: Well, it’s a cloaking device. When Doctor Who started, those blue police boxes were all over London. It’s a kind of camouflage.
ALBERT: But how do you keep it secret?
ME: Only the Doctor can open it and get in there.
ALBERT: Do you use your sonic screwdriver?
ME: He has a key for the TARDIS.
ALBERT: Oh.
ME: Do I look any different?
ALBERT: Yes, your hair looks Irish.
15
DOUBLE, DOUBLE, TOIL AND TROUBLE
Early in my career, I was cast in a play by the director Sam Mendes. Then, all of a sudden, I was out of it. He sent me a letter – ‘Let me explain to you . . . ’ He told me all a
bout the difficulty of casting a new play, the ins and outs, how these things work.
I wrote back: ‘No, let me explain to you about paying the rent for my bedsit.’
Actors don’t tend to be boat-rockers. They might want to impart a little motion, but they’d be worried they’d be thrown overboard somewhere down the road. There is a definite idea that you can say and do what you want to actors because they are desperate for work. I was very quick to say, ‘I’m not that desperate.’
The attitude exists that, in the relationship between producer, director and actor, they are the adults and we are the children. I agree, actors can behave like children, they can be spoilt – but not this one, and not a lot of others I know. A working relationship can’t operate on a basis of master and servant. If a director, or anyone else on set, comes in and has bad manners, then chances are they’ll hear from me.
This idea that actors can be manipulated and pushed around to suit the agendas of others irritates me. On Shallow Grave, prior to the shoot, myself, Ewan McGregor and Kerry Fox lived in a flat together for a week. We rehearsed, read scenes, and got to know each other. I considered it to be a budgetary and practical arrangement, but after the film came out Danny talked about it as being a social experiment, which I objected to because to me it was like the director playing God. If Danny wanted to conduct an experiment to gauge our reaction and interaction to one another, he should have told us. Had I known, I would doubtless have gained something from the situation. Danny, I expect, would argue otherwise, that the actors wouldn’t get it. Well, I’m more intelligent than that. As it turned out, Danny’s plan was counterproductive because all it did was give myself, Kerry and Ewan a week to realise we didn’t like each other very much and didn’t get on. We had entirely different backgrounds, approaches to acting, and sensibilities. All three of us were also very, very ambitious and insecure with it. Danny would probably argue that that tension then manifested itself on screen. I think that’s bollocks. This idea of pitting one actor against another is dangerous, manipulative and patronising. The film would have been better without all that nonsense.
I Love the Bones of You Page 15