The reasons and functions behind the use of Deus Ex Machina in Doctor Who
On Saturday 18June 2005 the 6.92 million viewers[1]who watched the final episode of the first series of the revived Doctor Who (The Parting of the Ways, DW 1;13) saw the Doctor faced with an impossible ethical dilemma. Surrounded by Daleks and armed with a deadly and uncontrollable weapon he must take the decision whether to use the weapon to wipe out all the Daleks, with the inevitable consequence of simultaneously destroying the Earth and all humankind, or refuse to use the weapon, sparing the Daleks as well as the Earth, and thus putting the universe at mortal risk. As the tension ratchets the audience waits to see whether the Doctor will choose the act of genocide necessary to save the universe or the act of pacifism that lets evil win - as the Emperor Dalek puts it, whether he will prove “a killer or a coward” (DW 1;13).
Of course this is Saturday night family television and convention – along with the potential risk of complaints from parents of distressed children – tells us the Doctor must find a means to triumph. And besides, as the Doctor himself tells us “I’m more than clever, I’m brilliant” (DW 1;13) so, when the Doctor refuses to use the weapon, we feel certain he will instead produce an ingenuous scheme at the last possible moment that both defeats the Daleks and saves the humans. We watch to see exactly what the Doctor will do.
In the event he does nothing at all. Just at the crucial moment when his destruction and the Daleks’ victory seems assured they are interrupted by the unexpected arrival of the TARDIS carrying his companion Rose Tyler. Unbeknownst to the Doctor Rose has looked into the ‘heart of the TARDIS’ and inadvertently absorbed the ‘time vortex’, thus imbuing her with mastery over time and space. Rose uses this power to destroy the Daleks, revive the dead and save the world. The Doctor has been saved by a Deus ex Machina, or a God from a machine.
“It's just too quick and simple, too much Deus ex Machina (quite literally if you think about it); almost as though Russell (T Davies, Executive Producer and Lead Writer) had written himself into a corner with this overwhelming Dalek invasion of Earth in 200,100 and couldn't come up with a convincing way of getting our heroes out!” [2]
The above quote was just one of many responses to the episode from fans, critics and message boards levelling a similar charge at Russell T Davies. The accusation was common enough that the phrase “Davies ex Machina”[3] has entered the lexicon of many fans of the series.
Deus Ex Machina
The etymology of the phrase Deus ex Machina dates back to Greek Tragedy and refers to the then not-uncommon practice amongst playwrights of resolving apparently unsolvable plots by the sudden introduction of an actor playing a God - winched down via a crane or raised onto the stage via a riser – who would impose his will on the characters, using his divine powers and supreme judgement to bring about a satisfactory conclusion to the narrative. The term is nowadays applied to any narrative device in which a contrivance of fortune outside of the natural progression of the story is unexpectedly introduced to solve a seemingly impossible problem for a character in such a way that their success is based on luck being on their side rather than their own ability to influence events.
Criticism of the use Deus ex Machina has existed for almost as long as the narrative device itself. In Ars Poetica[4] Horace called for “no improbable interventions”[5] in tragic plots and in Poetics[6]Aristotle argued a conclusion must be organic to a plot.
“In the structure of the plot…the poet should always aim either at the necessary or the probable…just as this event should follow that by necessary or probable sequence. It is therefore evident that the unravelling of the plot…must arise out of the plot itself, it must not be brought about by the Deus ex Machina… Within the action there must be nothing irrational.”[7]
Nietzsche was also a fierce critic of the device, considering the intervention of a God to resolve plots in a fair and just manner wrongly implied a link between virtue and reward, and sin and punishment.
“Now there must be a necessary visible link between virtue and knowledge, belief and morality, now Aeschylus’ solution of transcendental justice is degraded to the shallow and impudent principles of ‘poetic justice’ with its usual Deus ex Machina.”[8]
More recently screenwriting theorist Robert McKee describes Deus ex Machina as “the Writer’s Greatest Sin”[9], regarding it not only as a lazy way for writers to resolve “stories they can’t end”[10] but a device that strips a story of its meaning and emotional significance as it takes a character’s fate out of their own hands and denies them responsibility for their own choices.
“Deus ex Machina not only erases all meaning and emotion, it’s an insult to the audience. Each of us knows we must choose and act, for better or worse, to determine the meaning of our lives. No one and nothing coincidental will come along to take that responsibility from us, regardless of the injustices and chaos around us. You could be locked in a cell for the rest of your life for a crime you did not commit. But every morning you would still have to get up and make meaning. Do I bludgeon my brains against this wall or do I find some way to through my days with value? Our lives are ultimately in our own hands. Deus ex Machina is an insult because it’s a lie.”[11]
Deus Ex Machina In Doctor Who
Although contemporary Western storytelling rarely relies on literal divine intervention, similar contrivances of fate still appear all too frequently in modern storytelling.
The ending of the Parting of the Ways turns on a number of forms of Deus ex Machina. The first of these, which McKee highlights above, is the use of luck to resolve the narrative. As far as the Doctor is concerned he has sent Rose to Earth permanently and he does not anticipate or expect her return. Rose, meanwhile, has no actual plan beyond returning to him and it is simple luck that her chosen method of returning (looking into the heart of the TARDIS in the hope that its psychic capabilities prompt it to return her to the Doctor) bestows her with the Godlike powers that save the day.
The major problem of this is that it renders the Doctor, who is of course the ‘hero’ of the series, a passive figure at the climax of the story. The world is not saved by his own intelligence and abilities but by a moment of simple luck. This diminishes the Doctor as a character, reducing him from a heroic figure with the ingenuity and skill to solve problems nobody else in the Universe possibly could to somebody who luckily escapes a dilemma he has failed to resolve because fortune happens to smile on him. It also cheapens the choices the Doctor does make in the episode, as he escapes the consequences of his decision to surrender to the Daleks rather than destroy the world. What had begun as noble act of self-sacrifice ends simply as an irrelevant answer to a hypothetical question as the world is saved regardless of the Doctor’s decision. The use of coincidence changes the message of the story from one which suggests “one man’s heroism saves the world” to one which suggests all actions are meaningless as chance rather than skill will determine your fate.
A second form of Deus ex Machina employed in the story is the use of a miracle cure-all solution to resolve multiple problems. In one fell swoop, the Daleks are defeated, Jack Harkness is restored to life, “Bad Wolf” is explained and the perils the Doctor faces are essentially conjured away. Such cure-all solutions are not a new occurrence in Doctor Who – for example, the Doctor carries a sonic screwdriver which penetrates any locked door and resolves innumerable other non-violent dilemmas. Again the use of this device diminishes the power of the Doctor as, by introducing a simple solution to the dangers he faces, it makes those dangers appear easy to negotiate and thus the Doctor’s ability to overcome them a far les impressive feat. If the Doctor can simply press a button and escape from a prison, or if Rose can simply disintegrate half a million Daleks with no effort at all, the triumphs take far less significance than had they been hard-fought victories.
A third form of Deus ex Machina in the episode is introducing new plot elements in a story's conclusion in order to resolve a script (in direct contrast to Aristotle’s suggestion the solution to a plot should come from within that plot itself). Both the idea that looking into the heart of the TARDIS could result in the absorption of the Time Vortex and the idea that absorbing the Time Vortex will give a human the powers of a deity are concepts that are only introduced at the climax of the Parting of the Ways. This gives a sense that the solution has been plucked from thin air rather than carefully planned and set-up within the story. For example a murder mystery where the murderer turned out to be a character never before mentioned in the story would leave an audience feeling cheated. Just as in the murder mystery we admire the sleuths’s ingenuity as they sift through the clues and show the solution was there all along, in Doctor Who we admire the Doctor’s brilliance as he fashions a solution to the danger threatening the world from the information that has already been laid out on the screen[12]. We want to believe the answer was there all along if only we, like the Doctor, were smart enough to see it. The introduction of new elements deprives us of this and makes the conclusion unsatisfying.
Use of Deus Ex Machina in the revised Doctor Who was not confined only to The Parting of the Ways[13]. Two episodes previously, in Boom Town (DW 1;11) the Slitheen Margaret Blaine successfully tricked the Doctor and his companions into using the TARDIS to open a rift in time and space that would allow her to escape the Earth and only failed because, like Rose, she had looked into the heart of the TARDIS, only with the rather different outcome of Blaine regressing to an infant. Again, the Doctor was a passive figure saved by a twist of fate and again, a major element of the solution to the plot was introduced only in the conclusion itself – the plot can only work if you accept the psychic capabilities at the ‘heart of the TARDIS’ have the power to regress her into the form of baby, which was not apparent from the series mythology up to that point and arguuably contradicts, rather than foreshadows, Rose’s transformation in The Parting of the Ways.
A from of Deus Ex Machina even occurred at the climax of the very first episode of the revised Doctor Who (Rose, DW 1;1). With the Doctor held prisoner by the Autons and powerless to stop the Nestene Consciousness from destroying all human life, Rose suddenly uses a gymnastic prowess never referred to before or since in the series to save the Earth.
Why Does This Matter?
In considering these criticisms it must be acknowledged that narrative criticism is an oft-derided form in itself and a lot of writers, not least Russell T Davies himself, are sceptical of prescriptivist attitudes towards how stories “must” be told. As Davies writes
“Wherever I looked, the writing of a script was being reduced to A, B, C plots, Text and Subtext, Three Act Structure and blah, blah, blah. And I’d think, that’s not what writing is! Writing’s inside your head! It’s thinking! It’s every hour of the day, every day of your life, a constant storm of pictures and voices and sometimes, if you’re very, very lucky, insight”[14]
It is hard to dispute Davies’ argument. As a successful, respected screenwriter who has had more than his share critical acclaim and popular success he has every reason to be dismissive of critics, academics and script-writing self-help gurus with more theoretical ideas than actual scriptwriting credits. The resurrection of Doctor Who has seen Davies praised as everything from “the saviour of Saturday night television”[15] to Edinburgh Festival’s 2006 “Industry Player of the Year”[16] and he has certainly earned the right to feel confident in the face of criticism.
Furthermore he raises valid points. It is easy to sympathise with the view that over-analysis of scripts and storytelling potentially reduces a story to merely dry mechanics and religious adherence to scriptwriting rules remove the sparks of originality that create excellent work. Even Robert McKee, damned in some quarters (the film Adaptation (2002) being perhaps the highest-profile example) as being at the forefront of scriptwriting-by-numbers-Prescriptivism says
“All notions of paradigms and foolproof story models for commercial success are nonsense… No one needs yet another recipe book on how to reheat Hollywood leftovers” [17]
But at the same time the very idea of “screenwriting awards” and “critical acclaim” must suggest there some forms of storytelling are more effective than others.
“It is no use saying : ‘Painters and Poets are equal’
Of course – ‘and equally free to use their invention’.
Of course. I invent things myself and am not against others.
That does not mean that I tolerate any stupidity.
Of blots on canvas or words poured over a page.”[18]
Certain stories have endured for hundreds of years and there must be a reason that they resonate with audience after audience through generation upon generation whilst others have been swiftly forgotten. To dismiss all discussion of “good” and “bad” scriptwriting as an irrelevance and to accept storytelling skill as purely subjective is to give the lie that all stories are essentially of equal quality. Not only does this ignore the evidence of our own senses (almost all of us at one point will have been to the cinema or turned on the television and watched a story which we felt was not well-told) but it denigrates and downplays the achievements of successful scriptwriters such as Davies as it implies that absolutely anybody has the ability to match their achievements.
McKee suggests the emphasis must be on understanding principles of storytelling rather than rigidly implementing rules.
“A rule says, “You must do it this way.” A principle says, “This works…and has through all remembered time.” The difference is crucial. Your work needn’t be modelled after the “well-made” play; rather, it must be well made within the principles that shape our art. Anxious, inexperienced writers obey rules… Artists master the form”[19]
Reasons for the Use of Deus Ex Machina
If this is true then the focus of any discussion on the use of Deus ex Machina in Doctor Who must focus on the reasons why Davies and other writers use it in defiance of conventional norms of ‘good’ scriptwriting. Certainly the previous pedigree of Davies and his colleagues along with the acclaim bestowed on the revised series, suggests the show is written by people who have mastered the form of storytelling[20] - and indeed the very literal nature of the God by machine in The Parting of the Ways would imply awareness of the storytelling faux pas being committee – which would imply a conscious decision, rather than scriptwriting inexperience, is involved.
Furthermore Howarth & Lyons (2006; 38) point out ten examples of the use of Deus ex Machina in the 1963 – 1987 run of the series, suggesting that reliance on Deus ex Machina is not a new development from the 2005 series and undermining the suggestion the reason for its employment is simply poor writing on behalf of any one individual.
Indeed it easy to see the prevalence of Deus ex Machina as part of a perhaps flawed yet ultimately understandable compromise to balancing a number of contradictions that have sprung up through the show’s history and negotiate the fine line the show treads to preserve both mainstream popularity and cult fandom.
Cult respect vs. Mass Audience
Many US sf and fantasy shows sustain themselves as cult television, reaching a small yet significant audience. For example Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s peak season for viewers (Season 3) attracted 5.3 million US viewers[21], enough viewers for the WB (and subsequently UPN) network to fund its production but certainly not enough for it to be regarded as a ‘mainstream’ show. In a country with a population of around 306 million people, it was watched by 1.73% of the population – relatively speaking this would equate to around 1.04 million viewers in the UK (around 15% of the 6.92 million who watched The Parting of the Ways). A British show aimed at such a nice audience would not be primetime BBC1 television and, without the high-profile and budget afforded by the show’s audience, it would be a much less spectacular proposition if it even got made at all.