1. I was ten years old when I first watched Love & Monsters. My memories of it are hazy, and, as it tried to remind me, childhood memories cheat. But I remember absolutely hating it. Of course I did; I was a kid. I had no idea what to do with this band of bizarre misfits, the absence of the Doctor, the idolisation of decades-old pop culture detritus, the grungy industrial sets. I was scared out of my wits by the Abzorbaloff, to the point of being unable to look directly at it on subsequent viewings. For a long time, I thought it was the worst episode of anything ever. But then I grew up, and realised it was all true.
2. A year or so ago, the marketing for Ready Player One was doing the rounds on social media, to a round of predictable guffaws. I haven’t self-identified as a geek for a number of years now (but that’s another story), but I commented at the time that the best story about ‘being a geek’ was still Love & Monsters. Which I stand by. The marketing for Ready Player One seemed to revolve entirely around remembering arcane trivia, but the things we were asked to recognise were… completely mainstream American pop culture artefacts from the last 30 years or so, i.e. stuff most of the film’s audience would recognise with little-to-no effort. Which is so often the paradox of geekhood, or indeed fandom in general; we’re the people so invested in the most popular commodities that we forget their own ubiquity. Perhaps because we must.
3. Fandom discourse around Love & Monsters, at least in my experience, is bizarrely blind to Peter Kay. We’ll talk about his petitioning Davies for the role, the idea he was asked to play Elton, and even (especially) the fact he was a fan of the show. But there’s comparatively little talk of just how weird it is that the biggest comedian in the country ended up on Doctor Who playing a low-rent bully in a comparatively tiny episode. For a better idea of this weird anti-stunt casting, imagine if Michael McIntyre had played Tim Shaw. Or if Adam Sandler had played the Kerblam! Man. At the very least, going from watching Peter Kay’s Car Share to this was… actually a fairly smooth transition. If Elton had been into a wider range of pop music, you can absolutely picture him in that show.
4. ‘Look at your hands!’ The grasping hands of Victor Kennedy are a repeated motif of this episode; he not only reaches out, he snatches, clutches, and at one point grabs directly at the camera before pulling back. Jack Graham and Niki Haringsma have written fascinatingly about Victor Kennedy as the embodiment of Doctor-Who-as-commodity, and Haringsma points out that Victor Kennedy can also represent sexual predators who use fandom as cover. There’s a reason Bliss and Bridget are the first to disappear; why he marks Ursula out as ‘most likely to fight back’. Victor Kennedy is the bad fan, with all the implications of that term, literally sustained by a clenched, silver fist. Given this, it’s notable that breaking the cane also sees that fist unclench; Victor Kennedy can be defeated, but not without taking an entire community down with him. LINDA, I let you go.
5. Except, of course, we don’t quite. The episode’s final speech is, if we’re being honest, a little overplayed in fandom — darker, madder, better, etc. — the ‘hello Stonehenge’ or ‘can you hear them singing’ for a more cynical age. Like both those speeches, the lines themselves are undermined by the episode they appear in; they’re exactly the kind of awkward, fumbling attempts at profundity you would expect from a sermon which begins by quoting Stephen King, delivered by a man whose primary aesthetic influence is Jeff Lynne. And yet, they clearly do move; the joy of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass. Personally, my favourite bit of this scene is that Elton has finally got the remote control zoom he said he needed in the opening; I believe the technical term is ‘Character Development’.
6. Besides which, the episode’s most moving moment actually comes a few minutes earlier. It’s just a shame we have to get there via the Doctor standing silently over yet another dead woman; a cynical pop culture trope that Doctor Who really ought to be smarter than, even now. But as Haringsma points out, LINDA is aptly-named; this was always a detective story. The fact that Elton’s mother does not get a single line of dialogue, despite being the emotional lynchpin of the story, would be a contradiction were it not for the already-established tradition of such things. None of which is to disparage the episode; only to contextualise it.
7. Specifically, to contextualise Elton’s mother walking away, leaving the little boy on his own. That fade to white, with the mournful, distorted chant of ‘Please… Turn… Me… Over’ is among the most moving things in Doctor Who history.
The happy contexts of sad memories;
the cynicism in the heart of all optimists;
the loneliness embedded in the popular.
Niki Haringsma’s Black Archive on Love & Monsters, which I had the pleasure of proof-reading an early draft of, is out now, and is brilliant. You can buy it here.