It’s called acting.
At the time, of course, I took the compliment in the spirit it was intended and thanked Philip for his kind words. Later that night I pondered further. Do you know what, you’re my new producer and you don’t really know anything about me, do you? It’s one thing having Barry choose your Doctor for you, but soon enough you’re going to want your own girl to accompany him, aren’t you?
In that moment my whole future crystallised. As much fun as I was having with Tom, I began to think about life after Who.
When I go, it’s going to be my decision. It’s going to be when Sarah Jane Smith is still popular – I’m not going to be pushed.
And from that moment on I knew I had to leave.
Chapter Eight
Tom, I Don’t Need A Coat!
MORE THAN thirty years later, I can’t believe how long it took me from deciding to leave to actually going through with it. The important thing, I guess, is having that epiphany; realising you don’t need to do a job for the rest of your life. Once you appreciate that – and it’s the same whether you’re an actress, a bank teller or a waitress – you have the upper hand. You’re free. I always like to know there’s a door to walk through when I’m ready. I’m not saying break a contract, just don’t be afraid to walk away. Too many people stay in jobs because they’re scared to leave. Embrace the freedom – I did.
But not yet …
The Sontaran Experiment was the first two-parter for ten years. I think it worked. Some of the six-episode serials could drag on; you wondered whether the end result justified the airtime. But it was the last one I would do. A week after nearly freezing to death in Devon, we were back at the Acton Hilton working our way through The Ark in Space. The good news: this one was entirely studio-bound. And the bad news: Rodney Bennett sat once again in the director’s chair.
The Ark in Space enjoyed quite a tortuous conception. Eventually Robert Holmes took the writer’s credit, with input from others, including John Lucarotti. As it was part of his master plan to split a single recording period into two separate stories, Robert had a lot riding on it.
The end result is one of Russell T Davies’s favourites. In fact, the second episode would go on to win 13.6 million viewers in February 1975 – a record audience for the programme. I can see why you’d enjoy it. The sets by Roger Murray-Leach were out of this world – literally. Holmes’ script was almost hypnotic in its rhythms, as expected. The costumes for the Wirrn were terrifically convincing as well. In fact, the whole thing was beautifully done.
But I felt invisible.
I blame Rodney for that. He got such a kick out of working with Tom that the rest of us struggled for any recognition whatsoever. I don’t think anyone else was in the frame. Subsequently, I found myself in a really uncomfortable costume on a set where there were so many possibilities to run and crawl and bend and really express myself physically. If Philip had been impressed by my bondage scene he would really like what I could do on this vast spaceship. As a result of feeling hampered by the costume and overlooked by the director, I just found myself standing around a lot. I wasn’t happy with myself in that one at all, so much potential untapped.
There were highlights. I enjoyed the verbal jousting with Harry. All his ‘independent sort of bird, isn’t she?’ talk focused attention on Sarah Jane’s more modern outlook, which was very welcome. Robert and Philip were keen to keep the feminist edge going, so it was important that my character had a life – and sub-plots – of her own and wasn’t just arm candy. It was imperative not to agree with the male characters out of habit. Decisions had to be questioned – even the Doctor’s.
Ian was the opposite of Harry in real life but equally chivalrous. When I had to lie down in a dress in one scene I was suddenly aware of the camera’s position.
‘Ian, can you see my knickers?’
‘’Fraid so, old girl! But don’t worry. When we do it for real, I’ll pull your dress down.’
And, bless him, he did.
Tom showed himself in an equally gallant light in Ark when we had to crawl through a ventilation shaft. I don’t know what exactly went wrong but we were going through this pipe and I got stuck. The script goes out the window for a few moments as Tom attempts to cajole me out, all in character, and I’m desperately trying not to fall flat on my face. Somehow he gave me the shove I needed without breaking stride – and without me landing in a heap. That, for me, was another epiphany moment. It was a genuine, overwhelming emotion of: ‘Oh God, I love you for that.’ That was the point when I thought, Oh, I adore working with you.
It really was an epoch-defining moment. So much so, that nearly forty years later it would come back to haunt me when Matt Smith, the Eleventh Doctor, referred to it when he joined me in The Sarah Jane Adventures.
Tom really was on fire on Ark. I wasn’t the finest authority on all things Whovian, but the word on set was that he was the first Doctor who really ‘got’ the fact that he was an alien. I would read the script and try to predict how Tom would attack certain lines. Nine times out of ten I was wrong. Whatever I predicted, he would find another way. And it would be perfect.
For a Time Lord.
Sometimes, however, I just needed Tom to be Tom. I remember working on the third and fourth episodes at North Acton. We were meant to be looking at a screen and, being a rehearsal, it was just a prop with the name of a character written on it for a guide. I turned to Tom and said, ‘This should be interesting – he died in Episode 2.’
Then Tom turned round and said, ‘Rodney – Lis has raised a very good point, I think.’
I’d like to think the director would have listened to me, but I wouldn’t have bet on it. That became our pattern for future episodes. I’d bring something to Tom’s attention and he’d puff up, summon all his immense gravitas and say, ‘Leave it to me, Elisabeth.’ Then off he’d go to sort it out.
* * *
Robert’s money-saving drive in his first season hit upon the idea of having the same set used twice. I can see why this would be attractive. Somehow, though, he needed to conjure a plot that could make sense of revisiting the same place. By contracting Gerry Davis to reinvigorate his old creations, the Cybermen, he found his answer. More importantly, after a bit of a rummage down the back of the BBC sofa, Philip also found enough money for a location shoot. That’s how, on 18 November, just six days after Ark’s final studio date, I found myself on the bus down to Somerset.
Wookey Hole, in Somerset, is a series of caves supposedly inhabited by primitive man 50,000 years ago. It’s a major tourist attraction now and when you step inside you can certainly picture primaeval Britons scrabbling around. For the purposes of Who, however, the caves were designed to serve as the catacombs of the golden planet Voga in Revenge of the Cybermen.
Whereas Jon used to give me the heads-up on recurring monsters, there was no one around to plug the return of the Cybermen. When I first saw them, I confess, I wasn’t impressed. It was the only serial where I couldn’t pretend. Daleks, Exxilons, Zygons, yes, yes, yes. All plausible when you’re sharing the same stage – but Cybermen? You’d see them lurching around, huffing and puffing in their silver Wellington boots, and just think, Not very robotic, are they? I couldn’t see past the costume.