Doc Martin Revisited

In a Season II episode titled “Aromatherapy,” a pushy talk show host (Felicity Montagu) is dependent on prescription drugs and alcohol, inconveniencing Ellingham with frequent house calls.  Also, a new girl in town takes a fancy to Mark Mylow, the first police constable of Portwenn (Stewart Wright in fourteen early episodes).

The highlights of the episode are the doctor visits by a stooped, teetering old man (Hugh Lloyd), always carrying a battered satchel.  He emits the most horrendous smell.  Body odor?  Bad breath?  Doc runs tests and is puzzled—until that last visit, when, on his way out, the old man opens his satchel to give Martin’s always flamboyantly dressed receptionist Pauline (Katherine Parkinson) a match for her deodorizer candle and, low and behold, there’s a dead finch, covered with maggots.  “Freddie!” he moans.  On his first visit, he did say his pet bird had flown away.  Whatever his shortcomings as a person, Ellingham can’t be faulted as a doctor, though he should have at least wondered about that satchel!

Along with the array of character studies and generally excellent writing, most of the episodes have crafty stories that keep things moving.  Take for example Episode 3, Season IV, with the rather cryptic title “Perish Together as Fools.”  Here there are three substantial subplots and several sub-subplots.  As so often, there is Doc Martin’s dealings with Louisa, now with her continuing pregnancy and her attempts to find a residence closer to the school and not wishing to impose on Joan’s kindness.

Occupying the most screen time is the arrival of Joe Penhale’s brother Sam (Marquez’ real-life brother Martin).  It’s practically understood that everyone in Portwenn, no matter how young, has, or will have, an illness.  Sam is exhibiting moments of weakness and sporadic loss of the use of his hands.  As an artist, with skills in oils and pastels, he’s painting the walls of Doc’s office, even creating a caricature of Pauline, which Martin obliterates with a paint roller.

Ellingham suspects Sam’s illness might be inconsequential, but it also might be genetic, and this sends Joe into a tizzy, that he’s going to die, that the gene will skip his brother and sneak around and swat him.  “How long do I have?” he asks Doc.  One night Joe interrupts Sam while he’s painting a seascape and sees a bag of a powdery substance.  “Drugs!” he shouts.  “You’re a junkie!”  Sam, on cue, has a down-on-the-floor fit.  Doc Martin to the rescue!  He deduces immediately that Sam is forging a Samuel Birch painting and that the powder is, of course, a special base for paints.  Sam Penhale is suffering from—right, lead poisoning.

Interwoven among all these goings-on is the relationship between Al Large and Pauline who are living together.  She confides in Bert that his son isn’t romantic enough, that he’s seamy—but he’s not to tell Al.  When Bert, of course, does tell Al, the son replies that he doesn’t know what “seamy” means.  Father replies, “Neither do I, but it’s not good.”  Shape up or lose the girl he advises.

And still there’s more.  The lazy old man Louisa is trying to room and board with is always summoning Doc for imagined heart attacks, his attempts to be transferred to a nursing home.  There are added cameos.  An elderly couple, the man in a wheelchair, try to obtain medicine through trickery and lies, and later cause an automobile accident with Joan.  A woman with a suspicious rash bolts out of the office when Ellingham’s questions become too intrusive.  And, oh, yes.  Joe Penhale accidentally slams a car door on a stranded motorist.  So you see, any GP in Portwenn is always going to be busy!

There’s more, so much more—in all these thirty episodes: The man who eats his own hair, the hyperactive little girl who jumps on cars and rides pickup trucks bareback, the police constable bitten by a snake on a forest trek, the man with a ganglion cyst which the good doctor smashes with the whack of a book, a basement pharmacist who denies her sister critical medicine, a psychotic principal who kidnaps a school class, a naturopath who wants a share of Doc’s clientele, a husband continually injured from sexual bondage mishaps, a village diarrhea epidemic due to an incorrect dishwasher hookup with a sewer line, a funereal fire for a dead badger, a man who dresses like his late wife.  It never ends.  And wonderfully so.

In summarizing, the scripts are well written, the roles expertly acted, the Cornish scenery exquisite, the music by Colin Towns appropriately light and airy.  From one to the other, the episodes are surprisingly consistent in quality.  The pace never drags.

When considering the purchase of a DVD, certainly an expensive nine-disc set such as this Acorn Media release, packaging shouldn’t be a consideration, only the quality of the visuals and the value of the extras, which here are minimal, i.e., cast trivia, film credits and a rather useless photo gallery.  But I for one am annoyed by the unimaginative packaging (as with most DVDs)—for example, the same photo of Martin Clunes on the outer box and on each DVD, with only a change in the background landscape, and repetitious and simplistic still captions.  What I would most want is a season episode listing on each DVD case.

But, hey, even if you’re not in Portwenn to look down on its harbor—from the chemist shop, the school, the Large restaurant or, perchance, the GP’s office—even if you’re limited, instead, to one of those seventy-inch flat screens—the Doc Martin episodes make an excellent set, done in the best tradition of British comedy and, in scenes scattered here and there amongst the frivolity, British drama as well.  There are even the occasional words of wisdom.  Profundity, clearly, is not the intent here, only great fun—and a personality, despite a nasty disposition, which somehow manages to fascinate!

Portwenn being fraught with so much illness, this hygienic DVD set is a safe alternative—and highly, highly recommended.

Review copy provided by Acorn Media. Thanks!