Having left behind the statue of the rather complex man Richard the Lionheart, the Palace of Westminster so rich in design and ornamentation, and its famous clock tower known as Big Ben (such an icon for movie-makers and TV directors), it came as a shock to find myself suddenly approaching Westminster Bridge. Just one of many that span the River Thames, the bridge welcomes one with its elegant simplicity. Like its sister, Lambeth Bridge, one of its original purposes might have been to provide the monarch a direct route between Lambeth Palace and the Palace of Westminster, but the colors the two are painted (green for Westminster, red for Lambeth) suggest that the modern politicians’ Houses of Commons (upholstered in green) and that of the Lords (upholstered in red) now wield the most influence over this island nation.
I feel a strong sense of belonging as I walk across it, watching the boats cruise beneath me in the Thames, and enjoying the busyness of the cars and the double-decker buses that transport London’s eight million citizens and countless visitors to their destinations. I try not to impede my fellow pedestrians, who stream around and past me, surging along the wide sidewalk at this city’s usual frantic pace. I pause for long moments to capture the perfect view of this bridge in my camera, or to photograph other nearby landmarks. I make way for those standing in line to buy a sausage or roasted peanuts from a man working off a barbecue grill fashioned from half of a metal drum. But along with what I see, other images rush to my mind, visions that enrich my sense of presence, of the history of this stretch of metal and concrete upon which I stand.
I feel a strong sense of belonging as I walk across it, watching the boats cruise beneath me in the Thames, and enjoying the busyness of the cars and the double-decker buses that transport London’s eight million citizens and countless visitors to their destinations. I try not to impede my fellow pedestrians, who stream around and past me, surging along the wide sidewalk at this city’s usual frantic pace. I pause for long moments to capture the perfect view of this bridge in my camera, or to photograph other nearby landmarks. I make way for those standing in line to buy a sausage or roasted peanuts from a man working off a barbecue grill fashioned from half of a metal drum. But along with what I see, other images rush to my mind, visions that enrich my sense of presence, of the history of this stretch of metal and concrete upon which I stand.
In “The Dalek Invasion of Earth,” the Doctor and his companions have become seperated. Barbara throws in her lot with the resistance in London, led by an injured scientist named Dortmun. She joins an attack on the Dalek spaceport, using new bombs created by Dortmun. But the bombs fail to injure their enemies, and their attack becomes a rout. With the resistance in tatters, Daleks scour the city, no longer taking captives, but killing any humans they find. Barbara and her friend Jenny must get the wheelchair-bound Dortmun out of the city. But in order to leave London, first they must cross the River Thames.
On a bright, clear morning, Barbara and Jenny push Dortmun along the walkway which hugs the Thames. They help Dortmun climb from his wheelchair and up the stairs to the top of the bridge. They look in every direction for the Dalek patrols. Then, each woman places both her hands on one of the wheelchair handles, digs her feet into the pavement, and together, they propel the injured scientist across the bridge, toward the Palace of Westminster and beyond.
Although “Doctor Who” has transported us to so many places in time and space, for me, this moment stands out. Filmed in Black & White, and accompanied by a sparse, martial beat, the camera carries us along on the group’s desperate flight. The group races past notable landmarks, barely avoiding Dalek patrols. For the most part, the camera focuses upon Barbara, Jenny, and Dortmun, upon the wheelchair’s spinning wheels and the women’s racing feet. Sometimes, all we see is the shadow the group casts as they travel a bridge and roads devoid of all other human activity. It is one of those moments that vividly captures the group’s desperation, their hope, and their valor. Like a red-hot branding iron, that film sequence has burned it way into my memory. Now I find their desperate flight superimposed upon the normal activity of contemporary London life.
I know it is just another bridge, one of many that transports pedestrians, cars, and tour buses across the River Thames. I understand that it is just another place that has served as a location shoot for a TV show or a movie. It is just a span of metal and concrete, not worth mentioning when compared with the city’s other sights and attractions. And yet, because of that singular moment in Doctor Who, Westminster Bridge has become so very much more.
Flooded with images both past and present, reality merges seamlessly with the fiction I hold so dear. I am complete.
On a bright, clear morning, Barbara and Jenny push Dortmun along the walkway which hugs the Thames. They help Dortmun climb from his wheelchair and up the stairs to the top of the bridge. They look in every direction for the Dalek patrols. Then, each woman places both her hands on one of the wheelchair handles, digs her feet into the pavement, and together, they propel the injured scientist across the bridge, toward the Palace of Westminster and beyond.
Although “Doctor Who” has transported us to so many places in time and space, for me, this moment stands out. Filmed in Black & White, and accompanied by a sparse, martial beat, the camera carries us along on the group’s desperate flight. The group races past notable landmarks, barely avoiding Dalek patrols. For the most part, the camera focuses upon Barbara, Jenny, and Dortmun, upon the wheelchair’s spinning wheels and the women’s racing feet. Sometimes, all we see is the shadow the group casts as they travel a bridge and roads devoid of all other human activity. It is one of those moments that vividly captures the group’s desperation, their hope, and their valor. Like a red-hot branding iron, that film sequence has burned it way into my memory. Now I find their desperate flight superimposed upon the normal activity of contemporary London life.
I know it is just another bridge, one of many that transports pedestrians, cars, and tour buses across the River Thames. I understand that it is just another place that has served as a location shoot for a TV show or a movie. It is just a span of metal and concrete, not worth mentioning when compared with the city’s other sights and attractions. And yet, because of that singular moment in Doctor Who, Westminster Bridge has become so very much more.
Flooded with images both past and present, reality merges seamlessly with the fiction I hold so dear. I am complete.
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