Doctor Who (Classic): "The Mind Robber"

"The Mind Robber" (season 6, episodes 6-10. Originally aired Sept. 14-Oct. 12, 1968)
The great thing about Doctor Who's format is its flexibility, something that the program took far more advantage of in its early days than it does now. The TARDIS can take you anywhere in time and space, which means that it's child's play to segue between a Wild West gunfight, a moonbase threatened by malevolent cyborgs, and the bloody murk of the French Revolution. In doing so, the show didn't just change settings, it changed genres, most often between straight-up science fiction adventure and historical costume drama. Especially in the William Hartnell era, Doctor Who often pushed as far as it could from the science-fiction underpinnings that made its genre-hopping possible. But "The Mind Robber" takes the show somewhere farther than it's ever gone—not just out of its physical universe, but out of its storytelling universe, and into the overarching nature of fiction itself. At the time, that didn't sit well with its viewers, many of whom were confused and irritated by what they saw as an unnecessarily silly and fantasy-laced premise. But the reputation of "The Mind Robber" has, quite deservedly, grown over time. No serial so closely embraces Doctor Who's roots as children's literature, with the possible exception of Hartnell's "The Celestial Toymaker." And yet, "The Mind Robber" is also one of the series' most genre-breaking and forward-thinking stories. If it's sometimes sloppy and doesn't make total sense, that actually has the weird effect of strengthening what's at the heart of the tale: This is a story about the Doctor in which the main threat is to the Doctor's ongoing narrative itself.
Change was in the air during Patrick Troughton's final season as the Second Doctor, in more ways than one. Viewership was down, for one thing, which meant that the creative team was ready to shake up the format a little—not hard to do, since Troughton's first two seasons had been dominated by "base under siege" stories, in which the Doctor and his companions arrive at some isolated location like a space station and help the friendly humans there defend against alien invasion. There's nothing wrong with that basic plot, but it had gone stale from overuse. Troughton himself was also preparing to leave, overworked and ready to do something else. And the series was starting to look a little shopworn compared to its rivals—The Avengers had been in color and shooting outside the studio since 1965, and in 1967 The Prisoner rewrote the rule book on what you could get away with conceptually in TV science fiction. Though the production team made a stab at modernizing Doctor Who in Season Six, it didn't really take, which led to the massive overhaul the following year starting with "Spearhead From Space."
1968 was also the height of the psychedelic era, which was working into pop culture in a big way. It had been part of Doctor Who since the beginning as well, though usually not overtly. Original script editor David Whitaker loved alchemy and repeatedly drew associations between the Doctor and the wandering trickster figure Mercury—it was no accident that the widget they need to fix in "The Daleks" is called a mercury fluid link. (See Philip Sandifer's excellent TARDIS Eruditorum blog for a longer discussion of this.) But "The Mind Robber" puts those mind-altering aspects front and center, playing around with the nature of reality in ways that it finds hard to shake off.
The main cast at this time consisted of Troughton; Frazier Hines as Jamie, a happy-go-lucky kilt-wearing Scots kid from the 1700s; and Wendy Padbury as Zoe, a perky genius from a moonbase in the distant future. (At least, 1968's distant future—the year 2000.) Like most of the stories around this time, "The Mind Robber" starts off with what now seems like startling abruptness, picking up directly after the cliffhanger that ended the previous story, "The Dominators," in which the TARDIS is in the path of an oncoming lava flow. Don't worry about that; what matters here is what they do to get away from it. The Doctor can't simply dematerialize the ship because the lava has overheated the mercury fluid links (there they are again—and surely not chosen at random by script editor Derrick Sherwin). So he activates an emergency unit that yanks them out of normal time and space. They land in a featureless white space, where Jamie and Zoe are lured outside by tantalizing visions of their homes. They're menaced by a squad of white robots, but the real threat is some kind of mysterious dream-force that's working on their minds. It overcomes them, breaking the TARDIS into pieces and catapulting them into a strange forest that's made of letters which form gigantic sentences. This, they discover, is the "Land of Fiction," literally the place where stories come from. Things get increasingly weird as they encounter mythological creatures, bizarre clockwork soldiers seemingly out of The Nutcracker, a motley crew of creepy children who pester the Doctor with sinister puzzles and psychedelic rebuses, and a strange man in a tricorner hat who turns out to be Gulliver from Gulliver's Travels, with dialogue largely drawn from Jonathan Swift's text. The greatest threat isn't bodily harm or death, but the prospect that the TARDIS crew will be turned into fictional characters themselves. (More on that little detail in a moment.)
It's notable that almost nothing in "The Mind Robber" is played for camp—all this stuff is positioned as creepy and frightening, even elements that are almost inherently campy, like the toy soldiers. That could be a bit of influence from The Prisoner, but I think it's more likely that the choice to present all this surreality in a serious way is the result of embracing Doctor Who's roots as a children's adventure story, where ironic detachment just gets in the way. It's significant also that it's coming from a specifically British tradition of children's literature, which is steeped in mysticism and dreamlike imagery from Swift to Lewis Carroll and beyond—and which was heartily embraced by the 1960s psychedelic movement. (Pink Floyd's first album, for example, was called Piper At The Gates Of Dawn in reference to The Wind In The Willows.)
Soon enough the Doctor meets the nominal ruler of this world, a bearded old man called "The Master." He's not the rival Time Lord we've come to know from later eras of the show, but a children's author kidnapped years ago to serve the Land of Fiction's real ruler, a disembodied brain. But the Master's getting on in years, and reveals that all the hazards they've faced to get to him have been tests to find out whether the Doctor is a worthy successor to rule in his place. The Doctor refuses, and defeats the Master by using his own powers to turn fiction into reality, in a fight that consists of one-upping each other with new characters and plot twists to finish the story—which may be impossible, since they're characters in the story also. Zoe and Jamie save the day by overloading the master brain, after which the TARDIS crew frees the Master and they all escape back to reality.
The end. Is it, though? That's unanswerable, because one of the most compelling parts of "The Mind Robber" is the question of whether it actually happened at all—and if so, what exactly did happen.
To start with, there's no clear indication of when the fantasy elements of the story really take hold, and where the transition to the Land of Fiction actually begins. Is it when the TARDIS breaks up at the end of the first episode? Arguably, it begins about nine minutes in, when the Doctor closes his eyes to fight the influence of the dream visions. Or maybe it was when they made the first jump into the featureless white area—a blank page, perhaps? Or maybe it was when they were breathing in all that mercury vapor, which has got to be bad for your brain. Or maybe they've always been there—after all, the Doctor already is a fictional character. Which makes you wonder if it's even possible for him to escape the traps that threaten to make him fictional. Isn't he caught already? What does it mean for a fictional character to be terrified by the idea that he'll be turned fictional?