Doctor Who: The Cartmel Legacy

It's been said recently (and with some justification!) that the recent rebooting of Doctor Who's backstory in Auntie's latest (and wokest yet) series of her sometime top show was little more than an attempt to revive the old so-called "Cartmel Masterplan". And yes, there is a very obvious sense in which as the current 21st-century version of Doctor Who flags with viewers (albeit not so much with the critics) it is not just making the same mistakes as its 20th-century predecessor (i.e. alienating its core audience, being too on-the-nose with its leftist politics, changing but not in a good way, etc.) but also reaching for the same solutions (i.e. trying to inject a bit more magic into the mythos, not to mention some morally questionable attempts at "darkness" and ham-fisted stabs at social realism).

So how long actually is a generation? It's an important enough question in Doctor Who, and the Doctor's own answer of "twenty-five years" (in Four to Doomsday, if you don't believe me) is one that for a long time I've used subconsciously as a rule of thumb. Looking back over Doctor Who at the (finally!) respectable age of fifty, it was startling quite how easily the division between "old" Who and "new" Who became a generational one. What was startling about it though was quite how old "new" Who really was.

The truth of course is that far from being a twenty-first century phenomenon, the "new" version of Doctor Who that we know today in the shape of the post-2005 TV-series was very clearly conceived in the last few years of the pre-1989 one. Though it may come as a shock to some, the "modern" version of Doctor Who is to a large extent the Sylv McCoy/Andrew Cartmel-version (or, to put it yet another way, the Cartmel/Ben Aaronovitch/Marc Platt-version). Or at any rate it was up until Peter Capaldi's ill-advised passing on of the torch to the Lady Doctor, but then since I have never watched Jodie Whittaker's take on the Time Lord (and have no desire to either) I'll let that slide.

To put it another way, to a large extent it was Sylvester McCoy's Doctor who was the turning-point - the half-way house between the Edwardian Doctor of old and the hip, cool, "modern" space Gandalf we know today, between the TV-plays of yesterday that used to go out in time for tea and the slick mini feature films that nowadays get broadcast in the early-evening slot. He's an oddly mid-Atlantic figure too, stuck halfway between the nonchalant tea-and-crumpets Britishness of the first half-a-dozen Doctors and the gun-toting, finger-wagging Americanism of the 2000s bunch.

Indeed, even things that we now think of as being standard, such as the Doctor speaking really quickly and being vaguely manic, were inventions of the McCoy era. Before Sophie Aldred, the female companion was there to look pretty and to scream. Ace was genuinely the first one who didn't. The broad, subtle story-arc as a concept never really existed before Fenric*, but in the RTD and Moffat eras it was part of the very fabric of the show. And perhaps most importantly there emerged the idea of the Doctor as not just a mythological hero - or at any rate as a Merlin/Odin figure - but as a comic-book superhero-type one at that.

The character of the Doctor has of course always been evolving. William Hartnell gave us the serious scientist/aloof sage with the mischievous inner child, and in fact in doing so laid down most of the groundwork for his successors. Patrick Troughton added the idea that the Doctor was funny. Jon Pertwee added the action man (in part because, thanks to budget cuts, the male companion character had by his time been ditched by the producers). Tom Baker cobbled on the idea that the Doctor should be slightly crazy. Peter Davison's Doctor saw an ill-advised attempt to strip away the Doctor's darker, alien side and make him "nicer", and Colin Baker's saw an even more cack-handed attempt to make him "nastier" again. But it was Sylvester McCoy, who carefully and deliberately modeled himself on the Troughton Doctor but with aspects of Hartnell and Tom Baker thrown in for good measure, who went on to redefine the role of the Doctor was that of the actual protagonist.

He didn't do it alone, of course, and in fact he did it much less than the modern Whovian race memory relates. Just as popular mythology remembers William Hartnell's Doctor as "grumpy" and "crotchety" (when in fact he was perfectly likable in a surprisingly childlike, giggly sort of way), and just as according to media cliches we all watched Doctor Who from behind the sofa (when in fact we watched it with our noses pressed against the screen, drinking in every magical moment), so it's become an established assumption that in every story of the Seventh Doctor's era the Doctor knows everything that's going on from the outset and he's always playing some sinister psychological chess-match at his companions' expense. In reality, of course, the manipulative Seventh Doctor only really arrived on the scene in Remembrance of the Daleks, which worked well enough for him to re-emerge in Silver Nemesis - albeit belatedly, as it's inferred that in that story he's really only following through on a plot that he originally set up in his second incarnation. After that, with the one genuine exception of Fenric, all of the Sylvester McCoy stories proceed in pretty much the same way Doctor Who stories always used to: by and large, the Doctor and Ace arrive in the middle of a mysterious situation and then set about investigating and sorting things out. There are a couple of Seventh Doctor stories such as Dragonfire and The Happiness Patrol where the Doctor has heard about strange things going on somewhere and wants to find out more. Ghost Light even slightly deconstructs this in that when the TARDIS materialises at Gabriel Chase the Doctor knows where they are but hasn't told Ace, but then by the end of 'Part One' Ace has found out where they are, and then thereafter until the story's climax she actually knows more than the Doctor does. But the fundamental dramatic principle remains the same.

Despite these quibbles though, the point stands that before 1988 the Doctor was always very much the catalyst in his adventures, as he had originally been intended to be by Sydney Newman back in 1963. From 1988 onward though he started actively to take charge of the stories. Looking back, that was a big change, and it was Cartmel and his team who did it. And so when confronting the Daleks in 1963 (in 1988), the Cybermen in 1988 (same year), and Fenric in 1943 (in 1989), the Doctor was very much the man with a plan, leading the action from the word go in a way that he never had before, not just with a trick up his sleeve but with a veritable "masterplan" that he would only allow the viewer (and, by extension, his companion) to see bit by bit. He set out to defeat his enemies from the start, and when he did so he showed an uncompromising ruthlessness that had never been seen before.

It would have been unthinkable for any Doctor before McCoy, for example, to win the day by blowing up an entire planet (Thals and all, by implication!), let alone deliberately† committing genocide - much less follow this up by talking his arch-enemy into committing suicide, or go on intentionally to break his companion's faith in him. But since 2005 the writers have been quite comfortable with the idea of the Doctor being bad-ass, not to mention functioning on a higher, more epic moral scale than his human companions. Back in the 1970s it was the Doctor who acted as a civilising nay "moralising" influence on his companions††, but by the late 1980s, although ostensibly the Doctor disapproved of Ace's constant resorts to violence, as often as not it was he who would call on her firepower to blow up Daleks, spaceships and even an archaeological dig when the greater good required it. By the time the Tennant Doctor was finally reunited with UNIT it was taken as standard practice for the Doctor to turn children into warriors.

In many ways then Russell T Davies himself just picked up where the authors of the Cartmel Masterplan left off, and this should of course come as no surprise. The reason why Davies's Ninth Doctor seems so much more like the Seventh Doctor than like any of his predecessors is probably because Davies had already written for Doctor Who for the Seventh Doctor (in his otherwise forgettable novel Damaged Goods). Sophie Aldred herself notes in the commentary on the DVD release of Survival that the tower blocks and council estates in 'Part Three' of that story directly influenced the setting of Rose sixteen years later. More importantly, Rose is very much Spearhead from Space for the post-Fenric generation: the Doctor knows exactly who the enemy is before he even appears on screen (it's the Nestene Consciousness) and exactly how he's going to defeat it (with a magic trick he's had up his sleeve the whole time, in a manner that would become all too familiar during Rusty Davies's tenure on the show).

So what caused the change? In my opinion the real pivot was surely Cartmel and his gang's new awareness of science-fiction lore generally and their interest in American comic-books in particular. Before Cartmel, most of the sci-fi stories in Doctor Who were determinedly British, whether they were fantasy versions of the the British Empire (Frontier in Space, and in fact all stories about the Earth "empire") or the Second World War (The Dalek Invasion of Earth) or pompous little disquisitions on anti-colonialism (The Sensorites, The Mutants, Kinda, etc.). Knock-off versions of Alien tended to be the exception (Dragonfire) rather than the rule. And with the notable exception of Chris Boucher's dual homage to Asimov's robots and Frank Herbert's Dune in Robots of Death, American science-fiction rarely got a look-in.

But then the comic-book geeks arrived and changed everything. The Time War was something of a hackneyed cliche long before the TV-series came back. Indeed the first Doctor Who time war in real life (and for all we know in the Whoniverse itself) appeared in one of the "back-up" comic-strips in Doctor Who Weekly - written, as it happens, by a little known scribbler geek called Alan Moore. More to the point though, it was the Time War that helped to complete the final transformation of the Doctor into the comic-book superhero that Cartmel and chums had seemingly wanted him to be all along. From the Ka Faraq Gatri to Time's Champion to the Destroyer of Worlds (etc. etc.), by the time David Tennant's Doctor eventually took his long overdue bow we had surely had too much of a Good Thing.Yes, it's exciting for the Doctor to have a "darker side". But the real Doctor is the eternal child rebel and runaway. He's not effing Superman.

One's hope towards the end of the Moffat era was that what with Auntie's inevitable budget cuts the Capaldi Doctor might end up being a bit more old school than maybe some of the Internet's Tennant-fanciers were used to. My view at the time in fact was that if you want the Doctor to be a geeky, swaggering, sarcastic teenage heart-throb then it's probably Peter Parker you should be fantasising about rather than a thousand-year-old Gallifreyan. After a generation's worth of comic-book exploits it was time for the Doctor to grow up a bit - and go back to being a children's character again. Alas, it wasn't to be! Capaldi's attempt at playing the Doctor as a lovable curmudgeon was arguably more successful than Colin Baker's, but those who predicted that, just as Rose was the new Spearhead from Space and Tennant was the new Tom (etc.), Capaldi would inherit Colin's short straw as the "screw-up" Doctor, ended up being more right than they could possibly have known. There was in the end something of an inevitability about Whittaker's bringing NuWho full circle (to coin a phrase) and pulling in the worst viewing figures since Battlefield 'Part One'.

For what it's worth, I suspect Whittaker will be the last TV Doctor we'll be seeing for some time, and any plans Auntie has for a brown-skinned version of David Tennant (which actually wouldn't be the worst idea in the universe) will come to nothing. After that, bar a possible 60th anniversary reunion special, it's unlikely there'll be much Doctor Who on British telly ever again.

And if anyone asks they'll blame Boris.

*The nearest attempt at a "subtle" story-arc before Fenric was of course Season 18's "entropy theme", though in practice it was a bit too subtle and the idea didn't catch on. Stories that just happen to segue into each other (all the stories between Planet of the Spiders and Planet of Evil, say) don't really count as arcs (much as one would love to make a pun about The Arc in Space), nor indeed do clumsy attempts to turn whole seasons into long-running serials (Seasons 16 and 23 being the prime offenders).
†The Trial of a Time Lord notwithstanding!
††The Doctor's infamous attempt to murder a sick cave man in 'The Forest of Fear' notwithstanding!

Theories about The Prisoner: Drama vs. Allegory

Why did No 6 resign?

• He found out about the Village, or at least that he was working for the sorts of people who ran the Village. He perceived either that the British secret state - perhaps even the entire British Establishment itself - had become so morally decadent (or had been so subverted) that it was no longer behaving constitutionally. It may even have been infiltrated by a malign agency or agencies unknown. In any event, No 6 felt in conscience he could no longer work for these despotic and amoral "new masters" (quite possibly some sort of X-Files-type shadowy one-world government sort of conspiracy!), so he resigned.
• He did not necessarily know about the Village, but he knew what sorts of things were going on there.
• It's possible that he did already know about the Village in principle, possibly even because he helped to devise it, only late finding out how his plan was actually being implemented - or perhaps, rather, abused.
• He found out that he was No 1 - or at least that his superiors were doing what they were doing at least partly in his name as Britain's number one spy. He no longer wanted to be a leading light in such operations.
• He may even have resigned in the hope of avoiding being sent to the Village (or somewhere like it) himself - though he would probably have been aware of what a vain hope this was. During the scene of his actual abduction, there is more than a hint of Stoic resignation in those blue eyes as he realises he's being gassed. Besides, his "beach holiday" doesn't seem like the sort of holiday he would really have enjoyed (being more of a skiing man), so it's possible that he didn't actually expect to get that far - though it's also possible that the beach holiday really was just an old professional cover he intended to use. (He doesn't actually deny the possibility in A.B.C., merely that he did not intend to "sell out".)
• Patrick McGoohan resigned - from Danger Man. Lew Grade asked him why. Though McGoohan never seems to have said so in so many words, clearly Danger Man was for him too idealised a version of the morally questionable reality of covert surveillance, subversion and guerrilla warfare that all modern governments perpetrate, both internationally and domestically!

Why do the No 2s keep asking No 6 why he resigned?

The original purpose of the Village was simply to protect the data of retired secret agents. If they just wanted to prevent No 6's information from falling into the wrong hands though, the No 2s would simply have killed him, but they didn't. They want to extract the information he has first. In order to do this they will destroy his individuality if necessary (or perhaps even if it's not necessary). In the "allegory" of The Prisoner, according to McGoohan, this was the actual point of the Village - to destroy the individual.

• At first the No 2s think No 6 resigned because he discovered something valuable and they want to know what that was. 
• Later on it becomes clear (e.g. in 'The Chimes of Big Ben') that they hope that if he answers just one simple question (i.e. about his resignation) he'll crack and tell them everything else he knows as well.
• It's also possible that they suspect and fear that he has discovered too much about their own operations - perhaps even the identity of No 1 himself.
• The No 2s themselves almost certainly don't know who No 1 is. This can perhaps be inferred from the evasive answers that many No 2s give about No 1. It is also stated implicitly in 'Hammer into Anvil' and explicitly in 'Fall Out'. In 'Free For All', when No 6 and No 2 are discussing the consequences of being elected No 2, the older man states, 'Number One will no longer be a mystery to you, if you know what I mean.' This sounds like an implicit admission that he doesn't believe there really is a No 1, except in a philosophical sense (e.g. No 1 is some sort of version of God in the Village's quasi-Masonic cult of "government power" - perhaps even Rover himself, which is not impossible, given that Rover is in one sense the supreme symbol of power in the Village. Indeed, at one point at that story's climax No 2's toughs actually seem to be worshipping Rover in some sort of inner sanctum within the Green Dome). For some of the No 2s then, No 1 is a "noble myth", though it's possible that there are others who know that the idea that No 1 is a noble myth is itself a lie. Some of the No 2s may indeed want to know more, so for some of them breaking No 6 to discover whether he knows who No 1 is - or at least whether he knows more about the Village and the powers behind it than they do - is a matter of personal concern to them, as well as of personal honour.
• It's even possible that some of them know (or suspect) that he is No 1 and wish to break him in order to replace him. (This may actually have happened by the time of 'Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling' and apparently has happened by the time of 'Fall Out', in which No 1 seems to be No 6's doppelgänger Curtis.)

Who is No 1?

• The original answer (and the only acceptable answer) to 'Who is No 1?' is of course that No 1 is No 6. He is the most important person in the Village, after all, and certainly its most important prisoner. It's not necessarily clear though whether or not he knows that he is No 1.
• The question is of course No 6's equivalent of 'Why did you resign?', the implication being that if he can get them to answer one of his questions then he will have turned the tables on them decisively. 
• He probably either knows the answer or suspects it even as he's asking the question. The difference though is that the No 2s themselves don't know who No 1 is. Whatever they may suspect, they only know that No 6 is important, not that he is No 1.
• It would be most satisfying to imagine that 'Who is No 1?' and 'Why did you resign?' actually have the same answer. Originally the idea was that No 6 had devised the idea of the Village but then resigned when he discovered how/that his idea had been realised. The Prisoner therefore is No 1 and he resigned because he is No 1 and had a change of heart about the Village and what was being done there - or at least he had a change of heart about his job once he realised the sorts of things that were being done by the people he was working for (i.e. the sorts of things that were going on in the Village). Having been the best agent in the service he became its most implacable opponent.
• If he knows that he is No 1 but knows that they don't know, then the question is really little more than a taunt.
• If he knows that he is No 1 and doesn't know that they don't know, then the question is presumably a genuine attempt to discover if any of them knows that he is.
• It's just possible that despite having resigned he, or rather someone posing as him, is still recognised as No 1; and so, in a classic game of bluff and double bluff, whereas the No 2s' objective is to discover whether he realises this, his intention is to discover how it is that the Village continues to function even though he himself is now a prisoner.
• It's just possible that the impostor who has replaced him as No 1 - the figure unmasked by No 6 in 'Fall Out' - is No 6's doppelgänger Curtis, who was not killed by Rover in 'The Schizoid Man' but only stunned. (Does Rover ever actually kill anyone?) It's also possible that Curtis was revived after 'The Schizoid Man' in much the same way as No 2 is in 'Fall Out'. Despite being brain-damaged by his trauma, he was given No 6/the true No 1's place at the "controls" of the Village.
• Implicitly there's not just a No 1. Above and beyond (or, indeed, below) the Village, there's also a No 0 - who is quite possibly the Butler, who still controls No 6 (but more subtly) even after he has left the Village.
• Another good candidate for No 0 is of course Rover - not just the supreme symbol of power in the Village but also the "reset", who returns escapees and thus returns everything to the status quo ante each time they attempt to escape.

Patrick McGoohan, who plays No 6, came up with the idea of the Village based around Portmeirion, which had been one of the locations for Danger Man. According to McGoohan though, No 1 is No 6's self. By implication then, No 1 = No 6, '1' is 'I' and '6' is 'me': one is the self as seen by oneself (the Prisoner himself) and the other is the self as seen by society (the Village). The Prisoner is his own worst enemy because he constantly "looks out for number one". McGoohan also made the point that you can't rebel against society all the time, otherwise you'd go crazy. So No 6 wants to escape from the Village because he rejects society. (He may even deny that there is such a thing as society.) But, as a member of society (i.e. as a number), he cannot escape it, even if he appears to have escaped and,for a time, to have shrugged off its label.

To a certain extent it's necessary to "retroject" this fable's moral onto some episodes, but it works remarkably well. The Prisoner cannot escape the Village because one cannot escape society, and even if one can escape society one cannot truly achieve the individuality of pure subjectivity without either going mad or accepting, to some extent, that one must also be an object of others' actions, observations and labels. One will always be numbered by other people, and even as oneself one must have a number - even if that number is, indeed, 'One'.

It follows though that in all probability each and every individual is No 1, and that anyone else who pulled off No 1's ape mask would see his own face. In as far as he has objective reality, No 1 is a faceless, protean being who represents the dark, utterly selfish, animal side of each man's nature. He can be unmasked and confronted, but he cannot be caught or restrained, let alone imprioned. It's quite likely that he is in charge not only of the Village but also of the world itself: the Village has its nukes, just as the outside world does. As such it it quite likely that he is the Lord of This World that Christ warns of in the Gospels - the Antichrist, Satan himself.

McGoohan: 'I think progress is the biggest enemy on earth, apart from oneself.' 

...  

Audience member: 'Do you think there's going a strong popular reaction against "progress" in the future?' 

McGoohan: 'No!'

Was The Big Bang Theory the most conservative TV comedy ever?

When I first watched (or perhaps I should say caught sight of) The Big Bang Theory in daily early-evening repeats on E4, my initial response was simply to write it off as a cross between Friends and Frasier - those two 1990s stalwarts of America's sitcom export market, who taught us between them that it's OK to jump into bed with anyone you feel like provided you're young and attractive, make lots of arch, quippy remarks about everything, and somehow make enough money in your dead-end job to live in a palatial high-rise apartment.* It took a while for the penny (ahem!) to drop that this was actually quite a good formula for a sitcom - tried and tested, and only eventually (i.e. after a decade or so) becoming tired and testing.

The oddest thing for me about The Big Bang Theory in retrospect though isn't even its longevity, so much as its particularly peculiar brand of conservatism. For all its obsession with making up-to-date references to geek culture and "real world" science, there was actually something strangely old-fashioned about the multi-camera/studio-audience format. In fact although the sexual mores were 21st century, The Big Bang Theory was pretty much hawking the same American Dream as its sitcom predecessors had in the heyday of comic-books and astronauts in the early 1960s. The characters all live in clean and tidy houses and apartments. Religion, it has to be said, doesn't get much of a look-in, but at the same time when married female characters get pregnant "choice" is not even mentioned. And by the end of the series it turns out that friendship and family, intelligence and hard work, and eventually marriage and children - in that order, unusually enough - are the important things that make for personal fulfillment and happiness.

What made it feel even more old-fashioned in the dying days of the Obama era (not to mention amidst the woke hysteria that greeted Trump's election) was that it was a survivor from the time of Dubya. Back in them thar days, for example, it was still acceptable to have dark-skinned comedy characters like Apu and Rajesh in mainstream TV-shows. (Once the One become President, interestingly enough, it became politically incorrect to make fun of such people: for all their talk about not punching down, it was only once they finally had an opportunity to punch up that America's comedians stopped punching at all. I suppose it's funny how nakedly political political correctness can be!)

In actual fact the sub-textual racism of the way Raj's character was treated is quite troubling, dramatically at least as much as politically. Yes, it's lamp-shaded from time to time. Raj does occasionally call out his friends' ignorance about his culture. But it never changed the fact that the show's writers' fundamentally didn't know anything about people like him or indeed know what to do with him in particular. Even Enoch Powell thought that to all extents and purposes Indian people are basically like white people, but as far as the The Big Bang Theory was concerned they may as well be from Mars. So for most of the show's run Raj says and does comparatively little, and when there's a female character in the room he doesn't say anything at all (because he has selective mutism - hilarious!) and by the show's end he's the only one of the main cast who's still single (but he still has a Felix and Oscar-style relationship with Howard - hilarious!). In short, that Rajesh Koothrappali was only ever in the show as the token ethnic was definitely "problematic", and not just in the hip modern sense of the word. (The only other non-white regular character in the series is a black lady who works in HR. I'm not quite sure what that means, but just saying.)

Even more absent than unwanted pregnancies and ethnics, oddly enough, were gays. Perhaps one underestimates how spoiled one was for gay gags when watching actual Friends and actual Frasier (not to mention Ellen, or indeed their 1990s contemporary series on this side of the pond Absolutely Fabulous), but so far as I can remember there were no gay characters in The Big Bang Theory to be laughed either at or with. Indeed, most of the "comedy" of Raj and Howard's relationship depends on the ancient gag that they're not gay but they behave as if they are. Jim Parsons, who plays Sheldon, actually came out of the closet during the show's run, but his character on screen remained fussily heterosexual. And if there was an episode when one of show's character's started questioning his or her sexuality (like Frasier did one time, as did Malcolm and Reese, etc. etc.) I certainly don't remember it.

A legitimate question then I suppose is Why? Until he started fornicating with Amy (and he'd use the word himself), Sheldon Cooper was arguably the most moral character on American television (at least since Capt Janeway returned to Earth) - hardworking, clean-living, generous to a fault and (for all his annoying quirks) utterly loyal both to his friends and to non-optional social conventions. One possibility is that an old-fashioned format leads to an old-fashioned sort of show, complete with old-fashioned characters and golden oldies-type humour. After all there's only so much in-depth character development you can do when you have a studio audience always waiting for the next gag, and so the tendency is to cleave to perennial archetypes (or, if you like, the same sorts of stock characters who have been serving comedy for literally thousands of years). And so the show's first episode started with the original straight man joined with the idiot savant with a heart of gold, who were then in turn joined by the blonde bimbo with hidden strengths (the chief of which ends up being an ability to hold her liquor), the quippy Jew-boy with hidden weaknesses (especially his mom and his blonde Catholic wife), and, of course, the token ethnic.

By the end of the series, interestingly enough, all the important story-arcs have been tied up. Having started their first episode with a single timeless male-male relationship†, the show then built outwards eventually to include suitable female partners for all its male characters (apart from Raj, of course, but even including Stuart!). Penny meanwhile has given up drink (because she's up the duff), and Raj and Howard have accepted that their friendship is special but in a non-gay way. Most importantly though, Sheldon has got a Nobel Prize and used his speech to thank and apologise to his friends and to tell them he loves them. If this is "conservatism" then it's both old-fashioned and unapologetically elitist to boot.

Wisely though, the show's writers end the final episode with a final scene that is a return to the show's beginning. Nobody gets on a 'plane to LA. No one goes off to become President. No one gets married who wasn't already. We see the same group of friends, albeit with their relationships deepened and their circle expanded, returning to the same apartment and to their same positions, eating together around the same table and implicitly (slightly Simpsons-style) in front of the same TV-screen. And so even the show's ending is comfortingly conservative: a reminder that true growth and prosperity are ultimately spiritual in nature, and that "change" is not always either necessary or desirable.

*The Simpsons at the same time could somehow afford to live in a similarly palatial suburban villa, though their show at least had the sense to hang a lampshade on that from time to time.
†Apparently the only thing that worked in the show's ill-fated pilot episode was the relationship between Parsons's Sheldon and Galecki's Leonard.

The X-Files: The Shape of the Conspiracy - Part One: Sceptics and Secret Smokers

Carl Busch and Ronald Pakula - the assassin and the liar?

The "shape" of the conspiracy in the early episodes of The X-Files is actually remarkably simple. Mulder and Scully go out to investigate UFOs, and Mulder repeatedly stubs his toe against the US military, who are responsible (a) for recovering crashed alien spaceships and harvesting their technology and (b) for keeping this secret from the public - which explicitly is all for the sake of national security. Governments have the right to keep their military secrets under lock and key, after all, and the inference is left dangling that if the public were to find out that "we are not alone" there would be mass panic. And if that also means covering up that the aliens are abducting human children and doing obscene experiments on them then that's just too bad! (We later find out that the abductions in the first episode were actually all about turning humans into super-soldiers, so we can perhaps legitimately infer some background military interest there as well. But perhaps we're getting ahead of ourselves!)

All this is more or less confirmed later on. We find out in 'Redux' that in 1947 the Majestic 12 (MJ12) organisation was set up by the US Government to investigate the Roswell crash, and by inference we can connect the dots with other "military" episodes such as 'Deep Throat', 'Fallen Angel' (and its sequels 'Tempus Fugit' and 'Max'), 'E.B.E.', 'Little Green Men' and of course the 'Dreamland' episodes, in which we actually meet named MJ12 agent Morris Fletcher (not to mention his wife and children).

So far, so simple! No hybrids or clones, no Alien Bounty Hunters or Black Oil, no Syndicate or Rebel Colonists!

So, what then of the X-Files?

We're invited to imagine at the end of the pilot episode that Mulder's superiors at the FBI want to shut him down partly because they view him as an embarrassing crank who'll give the Bureau a bad name and partly because they see the X-Files themselves as a waste of money. It's only right at the end, with the appearance of the Smoking Man (the latterly named Carl Gerhard Busch, aka C.G.B. Spender) and his Spielbergian government warehouse in the bowels of the Pentagon, that we first get a suggestion that beyond the sceptics in the FBI there are other government agents out there who are actually rather interested in Mulder's work. The CSM clearly works for the Pentagon, who are apparently content for the time being to allow Mulder to investigate alien and/or "paranormal" activity on earth provided (a) it can all be kept under wraps and (b) they get to keep any physical evidence he discovers. (We see the Smoking Man filing away Ray Soames's tracking device, and in the first season's final episode he does the same with the alien foetus from Fort Marlene. And in the second season a not dissimilar fate awaits Dr Banton himself in 'Soft Light', thanks to Mulder's connexion with X - who is supposedly Mulder's contact at the Pentagon, not to mention his friend in the FBI, even though it's not always clear which of them is working for the other.)

In the second episode, the military situation is fleshed out, and we discover not only that the air force are flying their own UFOs but also that they're well up to date with the old government mind-control experiments. Indeed, they can pinch your most recent memories right out of your head if they want to. And we're introduced to another military secret agent who is also interested in Mulder's work and who, like the CSM, is also (we later learn) free to come and go at the J. Edgar Hoover Building.

In fact Deep Throat is even more interested in Mulder than the Smoking Man is. In fact he's willing to provide Mulder with inside information, the implication being that Ronald Pakula fancies himself as a latter day Mark Felt and that Mulder and (presumably) Scully are going to be his Woodward and Bernstein. He wants to expose the government conspiracy that he's been involved in "for a long, long time", but he'll need their credibility in order to do so. And he's well aware what will happen to him if he's caught.

For a few episodes at least, this arrangement holds. Deep Throat gives Mulder some scraps of background on a couple of military projects that people weren't supposed to know about (a mad computer, a creepy kiddy cloning programme, etc.*) He also winds him up something rotten by helping him land a couple of really big extraterrestrial fish (in 'Fallen Angel' and 'E.B.E.'). And he gets back... what exactly? It's worth bearing in mind that he initially approaches Mulder not to give him inside knowledge but to warn him off investigating Ellens Air Force Base. The quid pro quo may as well be that Mulder will get inside information provided he's prepared at times not to dig too deeply. So, is Deep Throat's job to control Mulder as much as it is to encourage him? (To be fair, that's often how UFO researchers have been treated by government agents in real life.) All we can say for certain is that he's testing and training Mulder and gaining both his trust (in a world where one should trust no one) and his personal loyalty (which, in a world of conspiracies within conspiracies, is an important thing).

We find out at the end of 'Fallen Angel' though that Pakula isn't just helping Mulder in secret. He's also protecting him from on high. When Section Chief McGrath asks him why he's protecting Mulder, he replies enigmatically

I appreciate your frustration, but you and I both know Mulder's work is a singular passion - poses a most unique dilemma. But his occasional insubordination is in the end, far less dangerous ... [t]han having him exposed to the wrong people. What he knows...what he thinks he knows... Always keep your friends close, Mr. McGrath... but keep your enemies closer.

By implication then, Pakula is telling Mulder that he's helping him to get at the truth whilst at the same time reassuring the FBI that it's better to keep Mulder on a short leash (or at the very least to have him inside the tent pissing out) - working under the supervision of a section chief (not to mention people like the Smoking Man), writing up X-Files that can then be safely buried away, and, of course, having Scully "spying" on him the whole time. Who are "the wrong people"? Again by implication (and it's a daring double bluff by Deep Throat) they're probably people like Deep Throat himself. (Of course, also by implication, Pakula is also admitting to McGrath that the military does indeed have secrets that it would be dangerous for Mulder to uncover.)

The point of the scene apparently though is simply to show that Deep Throat, like the Smoking Man, is an important figure at the FBI as well as in the "defence establishment". The assumption always seems to be that they belong to the "executive branch", which for some reason in the X-Files universe is far more influential than it is in real life, so presumably these people have enough clout with the Clintons and/or Janet Reno to be able to do and get effectively whatever they want. (According to X in 'Ascension', 'They have something on everyone, Mr Mulder. The question is when they'll use it.')

Of course in 'Fallen Angel' Mulder is to all extents and purposes working as Deep Throat's secret agent, spying for Pakula personally on an MJ12 UFO salvage and containment operation. We learn later on that the Syndicate have done a secret deal with the colonists, but the rest of the MJ12's policy is still to shoot first and ask questions later. So this may well be Deep Throat's cover plan if and when he gets found out by the Smoking Man - to claim that Mulder is his asset rather than vice versa.

The first real suggestion that Deep Throat himself is giving Mulder the runaround though (after a certain amount of unsubtle, dramatically ironic foreshadowing) comes in 'E.B.E.' Deep Throat is giving Mulder the truth in this story, but he's also giving him lies. Is he misdirecting him from time to time in order to protect him - because he claims that he's protecting Mulder from truths that (by inference) Mulder is not ready to know? Possibly! But he also tells Mulder that "they" are closely observing him electronically and can "still hear" him. The suggestion then, presumably, is that when Deep Throat says he lied to Mulder to protect him from "the truth", the real truth that he's trying to protect Mulder from is that he suspects that he, Deep Throat, has been rumbled, and so he is now bluffing his colleagues by openly (i.e. in Mulder's apartment) handing Mulder disinformation. Whichever way one slices it though, the point of the story is that by this point Deep Throat has got cold feet and therefore to some extent is prepared to help his military colleagues mislead Mulder. (And arguably this allows him to save Mulder's own arse at the end of the episode when - yet again, implicitly - his colleagues trust him enough to apprehend Mulder and then let him go again.) By the end, however, Mulder doesn't know which lie to believe, however much he wants to.

One subject about which Deep Throat may be telling the truth, on the other hand, is what is later referred to (in the Smoking Man's apocryphal 'Musings', that is†) as UNSCR 1013:

After the Roswell incident in 1947, even at the brink of the Cold War, there was an ultrasecret conference attended by the United States, the Soviet Union, the People’s Republic of China, Britain, both Germanies, France and it was agreed that should any Extraterrestrial Biological Entity survive a crash, the country that held that being would be responsible for its extermination.

Conspicuously missing from this little list of countries are the three "former Axis" nations represented by the officials who end up calling the CSM (and by implication Garnet) in 'Anasazi', specifically Italy, Japan and (presumably, rather than Germany!) Austria. In '731' we learn that the Japanese government is prepared to do a deal with Dr Shiro Zama to take on his still living human-alien hybrid (and, presumably, sponsor his research). So one can speculate that the reason these governments are interested in the MJ12 files is that unlike the goody-two-shoes UNSC permanent member nations they are still officially open to the possibility of doing deals with extraterrestrials. (Have they even, albeit unwittingly, been sponsoring the Syndicate from afar?)

The next time we see the CSM, in 'Tooms', he seems to have graduated up the food chain from Section Chief Blevins's desk to that of Assistant Director Walter Skinner. It's confirmed that, unlike Mulder's superiors at the FBI, the CSM's concern with the X-Files is not that he thinks they're a waste of time and money but that Mulder may be too good at what he does - getting near the truth.

It's only in the very last episode of the first season though that we really get the first incontrovertible hints that there's more to "Government denies knowledge" than just the MJ12. For the first time it is implied that the Smoking Man is both of the Government and yet somehow not of it, and that within the official Government's official cover-up "conspiracy" there is another conspiracy even more ruthless, with its own even darker purposes. Deep Throat seems to imply that Dr Berube's experiments in human-alien hybridization are being shut down simply because they got out of hand - they were "too successful", and when one of the test subjects not only survived the experiments but was found to be running around outside alive and well, it was time for the military in "Los Alamos" to bring them to an end. But he also talks about 'so-called "black organizations"' and '[g]roups within groups ['[i]nside the intelligence community'] conducting covert activities, unknown at the highest levels of power'. In other words, this is the Syndicate in all but name. He seems to be trying to suggest that he doesn't really know about the actual Syndicate, though we can guess from what we find out in later episodes that he is quite probably a member. (Presumably he wouldn't want Mulder to associate him with them too closely when the latter does eventually find out about them. And of course it's also possible that Deep Throat knows or suspects that the real reason that Purity Control is being shut down is to stop the Colonists from finding out its real purpose - i.e. following on from his old friend "Bill Mulder's project" - to find a vaccine for the Black Oil. Perhaps it's for Bill's sake that he doesn't tell Fox any of this just yet - and of course he'll never get the chance to later!)

Indeed several things point to this being an operation by what we will later come to know as the Syndicate:

1. we will later discover that although the 'Purity Control' experiments probably were originally about creating super-soldiers for the military, after 1973 they came to be about: (i) creating the means to turn the Syndicate (and their families) into human-alien hybrids so that when alien colonization begins they will be immune to the Black Oil (aka Purity) and thus survive the colonization process (and not have monsters jumping out of their tummies), whilst at the same time "hiding in plain sight" (from their fellow humans, especially any who've survived without being stung into becoming hosts for alien foetuses) in order to serve as a "Vichy Government" for the invading extraterrestrials; and/or (ii) creating a vaccine for the Black Oil that will allow them and the human race generally to resist the colonization process;
2. we will also later discover that cover-ups of this sort, both for "the Government" and for the Syndicate, are almost always delegated to CSM's group Garnet, so the Crew Cut Man and his and his fellow nameless "men in black" goons are almost certainly working for Busch††;
3. Deep Throat's little speech to Scully just before he dies about 'That's the kind of people you're dealing with!' suggests (as does his dying 'Trust no one.') that there's more going on here than just "Government" secrets - because these are the sorts of people who would happily betray the US government in order to save their own skins; and
4. fourthly, it's not explained why the alien foetus that Scully manages to abscond with from Fort Marlene then ends up in the CSM's Pentagon storage facility.

On this last point, it's just possible that what we're seeing here in 'The Erlenmeyer Flask' is the first real evidence that although the CSM has a cushty billet at the Pentagon and although he and Deep Throat have various mysterious ways and means of pulling strings both in the military and at the FBI, the two of them have actually been loyal to their own "government within a government". In closing down Dr Berube's experiments and bumping off a man who by leaking to Mulder (whether it was misinformation or the truth!) had become a liability, it's the Smoking Man's people who have ended up getting their hands on '[t]he wellspring ... the original tissue'. Although in 'One Son' it's slightly retconned (because apparently the alien foetus did end up back at Fort Marlene), the final scene, mirroring as it does not just the final scene of the pilot episode but also that of Raiders of the Lost Ark, leaves hanging a very heavy inference that the Cigarette Smoking Man is someone we will see again.

*In 'Young at Heart' Deep Throat talks about "the Government" being interested in the dodgy doctor's research, and Mulder, who has never seen him before, speculates that the CSM is from the CIA. But the fact that both of them are interested in the case, and the perfectly reasonable suggestion some have made that the military might want the secret of youth for their super-soldier project, would suggest that "the Government" even in this episode means the Pentagon. (OTOH we also learn, albeit from the man himself in 'E.B.E.', that Deep Throat is ex-CIA - and we know from JFK that you never really leave "the Agency".)
†In real life UNSCR 1013 is a fairly boring resolution passed in 1995 about arms flows in Rwanda.
††The CSM is clearly the head of Garnet, but as such he evidently has two "hats": sometimes, when working directly for the MJ12, he can call upon military personnel (such as as in 'Anasazi', when he's trying to recover the stolen MJ12 files, and in 'Apocrypha', when he's moving a UFO that's mentioned in the MJ12 files); otherwise, he uses his own MIBs such as Krycek and Luis Cardinal, who are (supposed to be) loyal directly to him.