Why can’t Doctor Who just follow the rules?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Doctor Who. I just don’t like it as much as I should. When it’s good, it is inventive, exciting and whip-smart. When it’s bad, it is mawkish, sentimental, contrived nonsense. Mostly, however, it sits somewhere in between though occasionally it manages to ricochet from one extreme to the other within three minutes.

The main issue I have with the programme, though, is the way that I get annoyed when it’s bad. It’s just unnecessary. The show-runners have given themselves the whole of time and space to play with. What other show is so free of constraints imposed by period, place or setting? The central character is impossibly old, literally containing multitudes, but remains eternally youthful enough to be free of any geriatric limitations. The roster of supporting characters is thin enough and transient enough to prevent long-established relationships from burdening the character while rich enough that they can always throw in a familiar face to add context or spice.

And yet… something is rotten in the state of Gallifrey. (Or is it Cardiff?) And the root cause is a casual disregard for rules.

Rules are essential for any programme. And things never go well when writers and producers succumb to the temptation to flex the rules.

Usually, there aren’t many. Soap operas usually have a single principal rule — their limited setting is the extent of the known universe. Eastenders has the square, Corrie has the street, as does Neighbours. When characters “moved to Brisbane”, that was the end, except for a “phone call” once every six months, usually just ending as the scene begins, and most commonly to explain exactly why they wouldn’t be attending their sister’s wedding or father’s funeral. But that’s the rule and it would be ruinous if they started following characters beyond the edge of the map.

Only Fools and Horses had a single rule. The Trotters were losers. Everything they did had to fail. Unfortunately , John Sullivan eventually felt sorry enough for his characters that he contrived for them to effectively win the lottery by discovering a Harrison chronometer in their old lock-up. The set-up no longer worked with the characters as millionaires so as soon as possible afterwards they were unceremoniously returned to their original setting. Too late though — it’s impossible to recover from a shattered universe.

Happy Days coined the phrase with one shark too many. Roseanne also broke all sense of willing suspension with sudden unimaginable wealth and eventually ended up falling into the Dallas “it was all a dream” bargain bin. Glee was bearable for about season but almost immediately stopped respecting its core DNA by focusing on individuals at the expense of the collective. No character should be bigger than the show. You want to follow them to Broadway? That used to be called a spin-off. Joey failed because the rules for that character (he’s an idiot) didn’t allow plausible development to the level required to sustain a series. Frasier succeeded because the rules governing his character allowed flexibility without requiring compromise.

The rules don’t have to be simple — they just have to be maintained. Game of Thrones has dozens but the tightly written source material helps enforce them. Examples:

• No guns or cannon. Not even a sniff of sulphur or saltpetre* in the air.
• Some humans can use mind control on animals but it’s hard.
• Dragons are real but hard to domesticate.
• Zombies are real but really hard to domesticate.
• Everyone is vulnerable. No-one is Rambo or Arnie.

So far, so obvious, you might say. But it’s easy to imagine an executive producer asking that the Grand Maester “discovers” how to build a pistol / rifle / Gatling gun. Or that one of the zombies has a heart of gold and saves Jon from another zombie. Or that Jaime is suddenly able to fight off twenty swordsmen with his left hand before swinging through a window onto a horse and riding to safety. It would feel wrong. You would feel slightly unclean after watching it because you would know that you were complicit in the rules being broken.

So back to Doctor Who. Everyone’s favourite episode, “Blink”, was Doctor-light but had one simple rule. There were stone angels who moved when you couldn’t see them. That’s it. Maintaining that rule is easy and the programme is effective. Later episodes featuring the Weeping Angels tried to add additional back-story and almost ruined the idea.

“Love and Monsters” with Peter Kay as an Abzorbaloff was widely panned but I thought it was quite effective due to the simplicity of the premise. The bit that was least “likely”, having established the rules, was the use of the bloody sonic screwdriver to keep the love interest alive as a paving slab.

What are the rules governing the sonic screwdriver? Does it work on wood? Sometimes, sometimes not, because, err, well, plot. Does it work on machines? Umm, sometimes, depending on, err, well, plot. How is it that the reasonably bulky technology can be compacted into sunglasses? Just because Steven said so?

What about regeneration? How often can a Time Lord regenerate? Definitely sufficient for one more. Can he/she pass on regeneration energy to someone else? If necessary, but not always.

Can the Doctor choose where the TARDIS takes him and his companion? Sometimes. Sometimes the TARDIS decides. Apparently. Sometimes wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey. Sometimes he’s so good at flying the damn thing that he can travel the universe getting all his mates out of a spot of bother before he dies.

Are the Daleks emotionless, ruthless killing machines or do they get a bit nervous when the Doc is about, even if he’s just standing there, unarmed and surrounded? Where did the Cybermen come from and why is it always different? Why aren’t they that bothered by gold any more?

It goes on, and on, and on. And on. Rules exist only as temporary plot constraints and disappear as and when required. In the episode “Heaven Sent” (shown last week in the UK) the Doctor effectively relived the same day again and again every day for 4.5 billion years. Unlike Groundhog Day, though, he had no memory of the preceding days. Fine. No problem.

But in the following episode, “Hell Bent”, he gives Clara the impression that he did all this work for 4.5 billion years to get back to her and that it was that long since he saw her last. No, sorry — you can’t have it both ways. Either he experienced all the days or only the last one. Choose.

Aye, there’s the rub. It seems a small thing but it is entirely typical. A rule was created and disposed of to suit the situation. The illusion was shattered because of the constant chipping away at the foundations of plausibility.

Russell T. Davies suffered badly from it and Steven Moffat is also demonstrably vulnerable. It’s a fundamental lack of discipline, self-control and respect for the audience and I’m not sure if I can take it any more.

Well… maybe just once more.

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*Except for “Salt, Petyr?” “No thank you, my lady, vinegar is sufficient…”