Who on Earth is Tom Baker: an Autobiography
Tom
Baker
Harper Collins, 1997. 268pp
ISBN: 0 00 255834 3
The way Tom Baker tells it, Dr Who "was often pulled by women who were keen fantasists" and he just went along with it. But bondage of one sort or another seems always to have been part of his life. Firstly, he was enthralled by the incense and rituals of the church. He loved the clean smells, got high on the "holy smoke", became an alter boy and earned his first acting "fees" by crying well at funerals. So enthralled by the church was he that, after years of learning self-abnegation there and at Catholic school, he became a monk.
Reading Baker's bawdy, blasphemous and often very funny accounts of his early life, a more unlikely candidate for a life of modesty and chastity would seem hard to find. But he did take monastic vows and for six years he kept his eyes modestly on the clogs of other monks, only once raising them to the face of another man.
After leaving the monastery, Baker's bondage was to the Army where, after so much heaven, he was looking for hell and damnation. But the monastic life had destroyed what social skills he had, so most of his sinning was done vicariously by listening to the barrack-room stories of his fellow National Service recruits.
Work, family, acting, drinking: all have been a kind of bondage to a man who was taught very young that he was "nothing". And whilst this book is often very funny, it also shows Tom Baker to be a rather sad and insecure individual.
Baker grew up in a working-class Catholic family in war-time Liverpool. His father was away at sea for most of his childhood and his mother worked at several jobs. At times there were fourteen people living in the house. Young Tom's ambition was to be made an orphan so that he could get the attention of the generous American people, receive a card from the American President, and be sent some funny American hats and smart jackets. Since God declined to answer his prayers, he spent his time scavenging for shrapnel and attending "Wanking School" in the house of a schoolfriend who "had a prodigious cock".
Baker is very good at recalling the crude, scatological language and concerns of his childhood and at conveying the feeling of growing-up in a small, working-class, Catholic community. His chapters on monastery and army life are also lively and funny. He is less good at charting his later career as an actor and, like so many other actor-writers, he tends to list everything he has been in and with whom, and to dwell morosely on failures and missed opportunities.
For Dr Who fans (who will surely be the readers most interested in this book) the chapters on this phase of Baker's life come late and are disappointingly skimpy. There are a few photographs, a few comments about other actors and producers, a complaint about being mistaken for John Purtwee, and a longish explanation as to why it looked to watching undergraduates at Cambridge as if he couldn't handle a punt pole - when he could, really!
Baker must have a wealth of anecdotes to tell about the Dr Who series but, whilst saying that rehearsals were hilarious and would have made a good light entertainment programme on their own, he tells very few. Had he told more, and brought more of the skill and energy he shows in the early chapters to the chapters on Dr.Who, this would have been a much better book. As it is, the book is like the curate's egg - very good in parts.
Review by Soho_Black.
April 2nd, 2006
Degree of Information: High
How easy was it to read / get information from: Relatively easy
How interesting was the book? Mildly stimulating
How useful was it? Pretty useful
Would you read it again? Maybe
Value for money: Satisfactory
Advantages: At last, someone famous who doesn't find themselves brilliant
Disadvantages: Rather stiff and formal in tone
Recommend to potential buyers: yes
Full review:
Along with many of my generation, Tom Baker was "my" Doctor Who. By this, I mean that he was the first Doctor I knew about and will always be the person I first think of as playing the role, despite Christopher Ecclestone's best efforts recently. Whilst those slightly older than I may recall William Hartnell and Jon Pertwee, they were before my time and I didn't enjoy anyone's roles as the Doctor as much after Tom Baker as I did his.
I may not be alone in this remembrance of Tom Baker's Doctor Who, either. After all, he played the Doctor for a lot longer than anyone else did, thereby giving him access to a wider audience than those before or since. Plus, he was playing the role at a time when the series was really rather popular and so had a potentially larger audience than many.
What I'd never really stopped to wonder was what Tom Baker had done before he was Doctor Who and what he might have done since. There must be a fair amount of this "other" life, as Baker is now seventy years old and he was only Doctor Who for seven of those years. So what has been going on with the other ninety per cent of Baker's time on earth?
Baker's early life was never really set up for him to be an actor. Indeed, his first ambition was to be an orphan as, growing up in Liverpool during the Second World War, he would get more presents that way. The harshness of life during the war and the strictness of his Catholic upbringing seem to be the main points from Baker's early life that he remembers most vividly.
This resulted in his first going to a monastery to be trained as a priest and then spending a period in the Army. It was during this time that he discovered his talent for entertaining people, although he was to spend some time in a rather unhappy marriage being bullied by his mother-in-law, which resulted in two children and a suicide attempt.
From here, the Tom Baker that we know as an actor began. He followed a long and particularly undistinguished career that proved to be nothing of a success, apart from the odd triumph, until he landed the role of Doctor Who. This was the be a brief shining period in the darkness of Baker's life and life after "Doctor Who" would prove to be no more of a success story than life before.
Unusually for an autobiography, this is not a story of success after success and a chance for the author to boast about how well things have gone and how good they are. If anything, Baker seems to revel in his lack of success, being completely open about his shortcomings and not giving much room to the show that made him a star, of sorts.
The style the book is written in is pretty interesting as well. Like the man himself, the writing is somehow quite stiff and almost seems impersonal at times, as if Baker isn't entirely happy with talking about himself. It's not a book that easily lends itself to being read for pleasure as it does seem quite stilted. Whilst the life it describes is fascinating, leading as it does from the austerity of the monastery to the hedonism of being an actor with a major television role, it isn't a pleasurable journey to be on.
The other major concern I would have with this book is that it seems to be aimed towards fans of his work as Doctor Who. The title of the book itself, the type face used for the title and the cover picture, showing Baker wearing his famous scarf all trade on that role. Whilst that may have been the major and most successful part of his life, it isn't a part that gets undue attention paid to it in this book. Indeed, the seven years of his life as Doctor Who seem to be less prominent that his six year period in the monastery, for example. The whole marketing of the book based on that part of his career does strike me as being slightly misleading.
However, the general approach of the book does offset that. It's sometimes difficult reading, but this isn't that surprising when you come to realise that it's a recollection of a sometimes difficult life. It's tremendously worthwhile if for no other reason than that it is not a chance for Tom Baker to boast or gloat or settle scores. He hasn't always been the great and the good in any of his attempted careers and he doesn't make himself out to be. There is a little of the somewhat traditional name dropping involved, but without the feeling that there is jealousy of the success of others or delight in their failures. For the first time in any autobiography I can remember reading, the failures the author seems to delight in most are his own.
If you're a fan of "Doctor Who", you may be a little disappointed by how little of that there is in here. If you're a fan of autobiographies, however, you may find yourself delighted by the subtle difference between this and many others. Whilst it is a difficult read, it is one worth persevering with, for the unique style and insight it provides.
Disappointingly, this book seems to be out of print at present. However, there are copies to be found at the Amazon Marketplace, with prices seen in the past from £3.00 or from eBay, with prices from 99 pence. It's certainly worth a look at a price like this. You may not find yourself with a decent answer to the question posed by the book's title, but you'll know plenty about Tom Baker by the time you're done.
Review by: Timothy C.
Tom Baker if you do not know is the longest lived of the incarnations of Dr Who and in my opinion the best. He was born in Liverpool before the Second World War and when still at school decided he wanted to join the priesthood. On leaving school he became a monk, but decided that he would like to break 9 out of the 10 commandments and so he thought that it would be prudent to leave. So from monk he ended up as a medic in the Royal Medical Corps. Then from there he became a struggling actor until he went on to the National Theatre and was then finally “discovered” by television and became Dr Who for the next seven years. This book will give you an insight into the life and marriages and the ups and downs of a man who is either a lunatic or a genius. As it is a very fine line between the two I will leave it to others to say. This is a touching, moving and on occasions a dark, almost black, comedy that I think sums up the life one of my favourite TV actors.
Review by: Robin Askew.
At the risk of turning into one of those dreadful thirtysomething nostalgia bores, the Tom Baker incarnation of Dr Who has a special place in the hearts of those of my generation. Forever fixed in my mind is the time I queued for hours with hundreds of other grubby pre-teens in a smalltown bookshop awaiting the arrival of the great man to sign books he hadn't written. The cops sealed off the high street, which was lined with kiddies wondering where the Tardis would materialise to disgorge the tousle-haired timelord. Suddenly he appeared, striding down the middle of the road in full Who garb, dishing out jelly babies to the gobsmacked hordes.
My illusions took a slight dent a few years back when I saw one of those unbroadcastable out-take reels BBC technicians compile to amuse one another at Christmas, in which Baker was shown getting saucy with an assistant and taking the piss out of K9. But that's as nothing compared to the revelations in this indiscreet autobiography. It seems Baker's worst enemy during his years of national fame wasn't the Daleks, the Cybermen, or any of the other low-budget latex terrors, but the Shagmonster. And like all the best monsters, this one turned out to be - gasp! - himself. "While we were on our tours about the country to promote the programme, I was often pulled by women who were keen fantasists," he confesses, introducing tales of hotel room bondage sessions ("A good few of these women wanted to whip or cane me") and general pervery (a university don insisted on wearing his costume, "and as she threw herself wantonly on to the wide Holiday Inn bed she growled, 'Come on, Doctor, let's travel through space'"). Alas, the man with the sonic screwdriver had no advanced defence against venereal disease, and soon contracted a dose of the clap.
Dr. Who enthusiasts may initially be disappointed to find that the programme doesn't get its first mention until page 189, but to skip the first 15 chapters would be to miss a real treat since Baker seems determined to show himself in the least flattering light imaginable, as if to demonstrate the veracity of a remark he once overheard: "He's quite nice. But there's something odd about him, something slightly disgusting." The book opens in wartime Liverpool, where poverty-stricken young master Baker prayed for a bomb to drop on his mother so he'd be orphaned and eligible for treats from the Americans. By the age of nine he'd become a thurible swinger and learned to fake tears at funerals to get bigger tips. A year later, he discovered the joys of solvent abuse ("I couldn't walk past a tin of floor polish without having a furtive snort"), which helped set him on the path to a lifetime of misery and self-loathing, abetted by National Service, the National Theatre and a failed attempt to please his family by becoming a monk.
A recurring theme is that common actors' lament, the lack of any sense of identity, which isn't helped by the fact that he's so frequently mistaken for Jon Pertwee, Jonathan Miller and - bizarrely - Shirley Williams. But although he's understandably irked to be accosted by strangers about the havoc he wreaked on the grammar schools, Baker seems curiously flattered when people remark, as they often do, that he reminds them of a favourite aunt. Not that they want to be around him for long. "I'm afraid I have no gift for friendship," he writes at one point. "I quickly get tired of people and off they go. Only the other day I tried to think of a single friend I had made in my life and drew a blank."
But while Baker wallows in his own perversely appealing creepiness, he doesn't get anywhere near an answer to the question posed by the book's title. His long-suffering wives, who might have been invited to shed some light on this mystery, get the briefest of walk-on parts - barely a paragraph in the case of Lalla Ward, who buggered off to shack up with proselytising Darwinist Richard Dawkins - when Baker wishes to illustrate his talent for appalling misjudgement or self-pity. He once even failed to recognise an ex-wife at a party.
Nor does the story end, as one might expect, with timelord totty excess, as Baker went on to enjoy several Soho Boozing Years with the late Jeffrey Bernard, Francis Bacon and chums, which provide a further rich seam of anecdotes. These days he happily potters about in his local graveyard polishing his own tombstone, enjoying strange encounters with scary fans paying their respects, and occasionally treats himself to lengthy visits to the household goods department of John Lewis. "I particularly enjoy the ironing-board section. I find I can pass an hour or more admiring the various ironing boards. The Brabantia is my favourite. I have a very good model with a flowered cover, pretty though fading slightly. It folds so smoothly that all fear flees. It's the folding action of good modern boards that has removed the terror that so many men used to feel at the prospect of opening or closing the old, temperamental type of ironing board when naked."
Call me a sick puppy if you must, but I closed the book liking him even more.
Review by: Stuart Buchanan.
EXTERMINATE ALL RATIONAL
THOUGHT
Book Review: ‘Who on Earth Is Tom Baker?’ by
Tom Baker
First published in 24:7, October 1997
There comes a point when infantilisation and regression gets out of control. Student culture, lad culture, the ironic pop culture, sci-fi culture - they are all to blame for hordes of seemingly intelligent human beings ski-diving back to their childhood. They are all guilty as hell for re-inventing their own history and, in being too terrified to move forward, they glorify their past.
Much of this comes in the form of glorifying television - fuck it, all of it comes from glorifying television. Sesame Street, Magpie, Sally James on Tiswas, Pugwash, Mr. Benn, Pipkins, Rhubard, Bod - all suddenly recast as genre busting classics. Suddenly, before we hit the age of thirty, we find ourselves saying “they don’t make them they used to.” And they certainly don’t make them the way that they used to make Doctor Who.
Doctor Who, despite his credentials, is not timeless. Contrary to popular belief, Doctor Who got old, withered and, somewhere in the black hole at the arse end of the Eighties, he dematerialised. In his last three incarnations, without the Sonic Screwdriver to guide him, he lost his way and suffered a fate worse than cold-blooded extermination. He found himself not on Skaro, but at the bottom of the pit of Ratings Hell. And not even the Americans, aided by Paul McGann and Julia Roberts’ brother, could bail him out.
Yet the infantilised adoration of the sci-fi community remains, a warped and twisted belief that Doctor Who was an outstanding piece of televisual achievement. Can they be so far in the dark, so determined to hide from the truth of the matter - that Doctor Who was, quite simply, the greatest situation comedy that the BBC never made.
Blasphemy to some, perhaps, but let’s not kid ourselves that the Doctor Who production crew thought any different. In his new autobiography, ‘Who on Earth Is Tom Baker?’, Tom Baker literally wets his scarf re-calling a myriad of anecdotes based on his pivotal position at the heart of Carry On Doctor.
Take Davros, the withered scientist, blind and crippled and strapped into a matt black Dalek wheelchair. To drag himself into character, the actor would strap a paper bag over his head and run around in a kilt. He would have food pushed under the bag during coffee break, and when he eventually wanted to have a fag, the production crew would cut a hole in the top of it. Similarly, although John Leeson was only required to provide the voice of K9, he insisted on scampering around the rehearsal room on all fours, wagging his tongue and begging for biscuits.
Baker went so far as to pitch the notion that, during the next Cybermen adventure, the legendary tight-arsed silver aliens would be so intent on understanding Earth culture that they would make the Doctor and Sarah perform a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers routine.
It becomes obvious from Baker’s book that his seven years as Doctor In Distress were fairly much a riot from beginning to end. And, strange though it may be to picture, there was also a good amount of sex involved. In a fate worse than extermination, Baker once entangled with a ravenous creature who insisted on wearing his costume whilst she mounted the bed, growling “Come on, Doctor, let’s travel through space.” Baker coyly recalls: “As we grappled like demented stoats, and her in my gear, I kept thinking I was shagging myself. At least she didn’t want to whip me, which made a change.”
Red Dwarf was never as funny as “Terror of The Zygons”. Third Rock From The Sun has light years to travel before it will encapsulate the larynx-ripping comedy of “The Pyramids of Mars”. And funnier still, the hundreds of actors, drafted in to play pseudo Dennis Hopper villains, took it desperately seriously. Pity them - they have to be the only ones.
Fortunately, there was more to Tom Baker than just playing Obi Wan Kenobi to a revolving selection of young Skywalkers. From his earliest acting days he was quaffing exquisite wines with Laurence Olivier and Anthony Hopkins and, following his regeneration, he wound up as a regular in Soho’s Coach & Horses, ensconced in a reprobate relationship with Jeffrey Bernard and Francis Bacon.
As for the series itself? It’s still there, still in video reissue mode, endless drifting through the bargain bin of time and space. The BBC are hoping that we’ll forgoe any form of rational thought, and stand in line for the latest re-release of their budget scifi nosense. Me? I’m right at the front of the queue.
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