Making something out of nothing

It doesn't have to be fancy to be effective

I was supposed to be at the Long Island Doctor Who Convention this weekend, but Thursday morning, I woke up with a splitting headache. The last time I had a headache anything like that, it was the precursor to Covid, so I was suspicious. By early afternoon, it was clear that, whether it was Covid or not, if ,y symptoms didn’t clear up overnight, there was no way I was going to be making that unpleasant 3+-hour drive.

They did not clear up, so I ended up staying home for the weekend—a massive disappointment, to be sure. I’ve consoled myself by dipping in and out of my Classic DW Blu-Ray sets, and I have to tell you…I noticed something that really impressed me (don’t worry—you don’t have to know anything at all about the show to follow this post!).

If you aren’t familiar with Classic Who, which ran from 1963-1989, it’s a BBC production that was run on a shoestring budget, which is not necessarily a problem for an ordinary drama, but it matters more when you’re producing a science fiction series, even if it’s a family show rather than what we’d now call “prestige TV.” It’s very common in the DW fandom to laugh about wobbly sets, for instance, or aliens made of green bubble wrap.

Not kidding even one tiny bit

None of this is news to me, mind—I started watching this show back when I was in 9th grade, in 1986, when Classic Who was just Doctor Who, because there was no New Who yet.

But here’s the thing: what struck me this time is how much this show proves that you can create something out of nothing if you’re determined enough. And oh, baby, they were determined.

There’s the bubble wrap above, as one example. There’s also one of the two Big Baddies from the series: the Cybermen.

Three Cybermen from 1975

It was when I caught a glimpse of the 1975 version of these super-villains, whose appearance has evolved over the years, that it really struck me how they’re mostly made of ordinary stuff.

At the base, they’re a silver suit, probably some sort of leatherette, or maybe a wetsuit, spray painted silver. Those corrugated tubes that run from the chest unit up to the shoulders are no doubt the same material that makes the handles on the helmet, and at a guess, I’d say it looks a lot like the electrical conduit my electrical engineer/electrician dad used to use for his projects. There are a few other bits that hold that together, and then the helmet and the chest unit, which is undoubtedly also made of fairly random electronics bits and bobs. (My dad used to keep containers full of all sorts of dials, knobs, cords, antennae, and other miscellany, and I’ll bet they used those sorts of things, and a bit of whatever-they-could-find-that-looked-good.)

There’s just not much to it…and yet, this combination of “nothing,” plus a bit of willing suspension of disbelief, yields a metal monster that can still give you nightmares and have you hiding behind the sofa.

In another story, which features some magnificent robots where most of the effect is just clothing design with a fabulously stylized helmet head, the designers used a simple bicycle reflector as a prop indicating that a robot was deactivated. Of course, the audience doesn’t know that’s what it is (unless they’re really paying attention), but in the on-screen commentary, there’s a great moment where the Doctor holds one up and says, “Do you know what this is?” and the actors watching the show all say, “Yes! It’s a bicycle reflector!”

I’ve seen this particular prop many times in almost 40 years, and it never once occurred to me that that’s all it was.

Why am I telling you all this? It’s easy to think you have to have a big budget to do big things, to fuel your imagination and create the things you want to create.

Classic Who proves that it’s just not true. With some ingenuity and determination, you can come up with solutions that work just as well—maybe even better—than the big budget stuff.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it until I’m blue: the most important thing is to start with what you have.

This is my podcast “studio,” aka my closet. It’s not fancy. There’s no sound engineer (except me, such as I am). My laptop/mic/speakers are missing from this photo, but you get the idea. I assemble it every time I do an interview and I take it down every time I’m done. There’s also a 50’ ethernet cable that runs from my modem in the living room back to the laptop in the closet, which is always the last thing up/first thing down because otherwise, I’ll trip over it.

It’s not what most people would call ideal, but it works! It works better than I ever imagined it might. It’s kept me going for six years now (I started recording almost a year before I started releasing episodes). And you can’t beat the commute.

Most importantly, if I’d waited for the perfect studio, I may not ever have started at all.

So, yes, Virginia, it is possible to make something out of nothing. If you’ve been holding back, waiting for just the right time or the right setup, I strongly encourage you to figure out what you already have, or can pick up for very little money, that will get you started on whatever you’ve been wanting to do but are convinced you need the “right” things to get started.

I also hope you’ll tell us what that might be for you in a comment!