The mid-1970s and Gerry Anderson’s career was in flux. The Supermarionation series that had made him a household name were no longer in production, and his first two live-action series (UFO and Space: 1999) had been popular but not runaway successes, UFO being replaced by Space: 1999 and that second series having not received a firm recommissioning.

Anderson’s next project fell into this production gap: a potential pilot for a series that never made it to fruition. However, in a crowded field of interesting-but-flawed Anderson projects that never were, The Day After Tomorrow – shown in the UK as Into Infinity – has the most potential. A surprisingly emotionally and scientifically engaged exploration of humanity’s near future, it takes the exciting design and special effects of Space: 1999 and refocuses them onto a scientific framework combined with Lost in Space-style family-in-peril. It’s a lost gem.

First broadcast as part of NBC’s after-school special series Special Treat, which would include everything from documentaries to classic literary stories, the episode was originally seen by NBC executive George Heinemann as part of seven one-hour episodes designed to teach children science in the form of an action-adventure: not too divorced from early concepts of Doctor Who or Star Trek: The Original Series. NBC would further promote the series by distributing leaflets containing the science behind the shows to schools. As Anderson had not received a guarantee from ITC Entertainment that there would be a second series of Space: 1999, Anderson and Space: 1999 script editor Johnny Byrne came up with an idea that could – if needed – go to series.

Scientific Accuracy in The Day After Tomorrow

In a 1979 edition of Starlog, George Heinemann spoke on his reasons for producing the special:

“I wanted young people to watch this film on television and find it exciting enough that, in the course of viewing the program, they would be able to acquire an understanding of Einstein’s theory of relativity. When the teacher wrote E = mc2 on the board, I wanted the young viewer to recall the program and say, ‘Yeah, I saw a programme about that. I want to learn more about it,’ instead of, ‘It's just one more thing I have to memorize and what good is it gonna do me?’”

However, as neither Byrne nor Anderson had a scientific background, it was more difficult to conceive of textually than a pure sci-fi-fantasy like Space: 1999: Byrne recalled, in a 1993 edition of TV Zone, that “Once I got the go-ahead I suddenly realized I knew very little about the theory of relativity... I went out and read Relativity for the Layman, and realized I was in deep trouble because there were so many aspects of it.’ Professor John G. Taylor of the University of London, known as both an expert on black holes (following a successful book on the subject in 1973) and investigator of parapsychology, was engaged as scientific advisor.

However, like many a televisual scientific advisor before him (see The Tomorrow People for a truly staggering inclusion of the role—no one in TTP even gave a hoot for accurate science) Taylor was unable to contribute much, and Byrne instead focused on including the Doppler effect, the death of planets, and the potentials of black holes. Time dilation was also included, a factor which again added an emotional side into proceedings: Dr. Anna Bowen (Joanna Dunham) emphasizes that in even the earliest possible return time (fifteen years) that “My parents your father… they’ll be old. Even dead by now.”

Byrne wrote that part of the special’s scientific ethos was writing the characters to only give partial explanations of the phenomenon they encountered, encouraging the audience to research the topics themselves—perhaps through a handy NBC branded leaflet?

The Theory of Special Relativity suggests that light, either refracted or emitted, travels at the same velocity whether the object is moving or stationary: tl;dr, the speed of light is absolute and nothing can travel faster. Although E=MC2 is the most famous element of this theory, the consequences it suggests for science fiction are much more fantastical, such as Time Dilation, wherein time slows down for the crew of the Altares relative to those left on Earth. These elements become plot points but are not expanded on.

Altares is the first spacecraft to ‘harness the limitless power of the photon’; moving at the speed of light, which may cause those ‘effects predicted by Einstein's theory of relativity – effects that could shrink the very fabric of space, distort time, and perhaps alter the structure of the universe as we understand it.’

The “lightship” concept is derived from Eugen Sanger’s reformatting of Einstein’s theory into the concept of a ‘photon rocket’, the “mutual annihilation of matter and antimatter to produce an energetic gamma ray ‘exhaust’ which like all other photons of electromagnetic radiation (visible light, radio waves etc.) travel at the speed of light.” Impossible in real life due to the failure to channel gamma rays into a useful exhaust rather than turning the ship into a bomb, if possible the photon drive could accelerate a ship to 95 percent the speed of light- although with no propellant left for orbiting around Alpha Centauri or returning to Earth. Similarly, only Pluto goes through the Doppler Effect of distorting light, with the asteroids and sun remaining only one color.

If as Carl Sagan estimated a trip to Alpha Centauri would take four years, then why do the crew fail to age?

The ship is hit by a meteor shower: meteors impacting at 95 percent the speed of light would almost certainly cause catastrophic damage to the Altares. The ship’s acceleration is implausibly quick, and the crew would be crushed beyond existence by the G forces, rather than being lightly blown with a hair dryer.

The Production of The Day After Tomorrow

Production took place in the break between the drastically different Season 1 and Season 2 of Space: 1999, using much of the same personnel in front and behind the camera, as well as much of the same visual style. Designer Reg Hill recycled sets from Space: 1999 to form the interiors of the Altares.

The main personnel change was the composer Derek Wadsworth, better known at the time primarily for his work as musical director and session musician, as for the musical Hair and for Dusty Springfield. However, Wadsworth had been making ventures into the world of score since the early 1970s, and would later help score David Bowie’s The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976). Early 70s plans to create a puppet popstar had first brought him into contact with Anderson, who asked him to create the score for The Day After Tomorrow. And what a score it is: standing shoulder to shoulder with the best of Anderson’s other collaborator Barry Gray, it has a sense of grandeur, melancholy, and groove perfectly fitting both the existential and psychedelic aspects of the production.

Brian Johnson and Nick Allder’s effects included the use of freon gas to simulate rockets fired in space, later used in Space: 1999 Season 2, and the space warp effect which would also appear in that series. Space station Delta was cannibalized from Space: 1999’s spaceship Daria, and was then reused as part of season two’s moonbase alpha. Pilot control panels were recycled from Space: 1999’s Voyager, the computer panels make a reappearance with their original labels in the second season’s command center, and Nick Tate’s firesuit (made proudly in Slough) reappears on Alphan firemen.

The film’s budget was £120,000. Byrne’s script was dated 27th June 1975, amended on 3rd of July, and began filming at Pinewood Studios on the 21st of July.

Premiering on 9th December 1975 in the US, and on the BBC (unusually for Anderson series at the time) on December 11th, before being repeated in December 1977, it seems to have become an oddly Christmassy program (not the least in that it was reshown in the UK in November 2014).

Time Dilation and Doppler Shift

The show does bear many similarities to other Gerry Anderson properties, from the exciting opening montage to the ship going wildly out of control multiple times in the episode, but at others is startlingly unusual: there is no one called Alan in the production, for starters. The human cast receive much warmer treatment than in other live-action productions such as UFO, where the cast were, in their own words, directed somewhat like puppets. The opening sequence ends by showing Jane in distress: our emotional engagement before the story begins is prioritized over our excitement at the effects.

We see the whole trajectory of the mission, from ‘space station delta: the jumping off point for humanity’s first momentous journey to the stars’, to their eventual arrival in a new universe. Science is also foregrounded, as Ed Bishop’s narrator lists actual scientific facts about how photons could work in the ship, and that these could “create the effects suggested by Einstein’s theory of relativity… effects which no man has yet experienced and you will share it… the first to share man’s dream to step outside our planet… orbiting a small cool star we call the Sun.”

In this sentence alone, Johnny Byrne piques the viewer’s interest by teasing the scientific theories behind the show, addressing them directly, and echoing the language used in the Apollo missions. Interestingly, Ed Bishop’s narration was originally written as commentary by an Earth television announcer, similar to the exposition dump by Stanley Kubrick in the second part of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1970).

At the same time, there is a sense of possibility and excitement: “what dangers will they face when they take this first giant leap into the unknown,” linked directly with the theory (“Einstein’s time dilation effect could create huge problems for the crew”). However following this science-heavy introduction we once again delve into the emotions, as Jane is forced to leave behind the “one exception” to the ‘family units’ rule: her dog. There is of course a sense of unreality in the presentation of the children—they are all extremely competent—but they are also integral to the programme in a way missing in previous Anderson productions. It’s nice to have a variation on the male-dominated, middle-aged actors of live-action Anderson.

Time is the other recurring emotional element: base contact Jim (Don Fellows) emphasizes that “I may not be around when you youngsters return – old age could’ve got me or something.” The crew attempts to maintain a linkup to Earth for as long as possible, desiring to be tethered to what they know before being completely on their own – and unlike in Space: 1999, of their own volition.

Later, “the acceleration effect is as predicted… into red section of Doppler shift […] as predicted by Einstein’s theory.” David (Martin Lev) then explains to Jane (Katharine Levy) that Pluto “isn’t really blue we’re traveling so fast… that it only looks blue […] it’s called the doppler shift,” but Byrne ensures that a little dramatic tension is introduced by Jane undercutting David: “You think you know it all’. Jane further proves the emotional and childlike heart of the story by waving a sad goodbye to both Pluto and the solar system. Jane’s father, Captain Harry Masters (Nick Tate), teases her (“you work here or are you just window-shopping”), a display of human emotion that reinforces their emotional closeness and the audience’s connection to it.

An unintentional undercurrent also addresses the limits of human knowledge:

Harry Masters: David if everything goes well… would you really wanna go further?’
David Bowen: Yes I do want to know what’s out there in space. Just imagine there’s something like a million Earth planets.

The show immediately returns to scientific emphasis:

“The crew have little time to express the wonder of seeing what no man has seen before. Their program of scientific exploration has priority” and they launch probes in order to help an Earth where “natural resources squandered… future of humanity in jeopardy.”

Again Jim appears to stress the emotional cost of their mission, as it is a “heart-rending decision” and that “whatever your decision, all the nations of Earth will remember your work with pride.”

Jane, clearly the viewer substitute, then asks about Einstein’s relativity, Anna replying that his theory was “just a small part of it. he spent the last 20 years of his life in America working on an even more fantastic theory … but he died before he could complete it,” perhaps implying that their mission or subsequent episodes might solve what this theory was.

Meteorite Showers and Black Holes

Danger appears as a meteorite shower. Them being unable to cut the drive and are forced to accelerate, possibly traveling faster than light, then immediately first bit of danger where they switch to backup. The space-time coordinates are lost, meaning that the “computer can’t recognize any of the stars out there,” and “Altares is [then] caught in the gravitational pull of that sun out there.” Here appears the threat of death, as Harry has to fix the drive, in doing so putting himself at risk of dying in 15 minutes. Jane is extremely worried about her father’s safety, which is then capitalized on as the crew explains the concept of a red giant and discovers the star outside their window is about to go supernova.

The adults try to comfort Jane by reminding her of training, but she replies:

“I know they told us it would be dangerous. I just didn’t think it would happen to us.”

Harry of course survives and is emotionally reunited with his daughter, before the possibility is floated that they could actually return to Earth. But there is a final disaster to befall the crew: they start being pulled into a black hole, which “don’t only bend light, they actually swallow it.” Here the science once more gets a little silly:

Harry Masters: It means we may have a chance. Some say that if you pass through a rotating black hole you end up in a new universe. A new dimension even. If we do survive this, there’s no way back.
Jane Masters: And if it’s nonrotating?’
Harry Masters: Then we’re crushed out of existence.

Of course, they aren’t (this isn’t quite that dark), instead traveling through the wormhole in a Kubrickian explosion of color, alongside a less Kubrickian demonstration of emotion as the crew repeatedly reach for each other. Discovering themselves in a new, hyper-colorful world, the narrator says that the crew “have survived their journey and crossed the frontiers of human knowledge. They know it is impossible… they must come to terms with their existence on the other side of a black hole. One thing is sure: this is not the final world... only time will tell.”

Except, of course, it won’t.

Looking Back at The Day After Tomorrow

Funding and support were unavailable to take the production to full series, so alas, despite the voiceover, the adventures of Altares are the final word… at least until a much later series of novelisations produced by Anderson Entertainment, which pick up the stories that never were.

And so what of  Altares? Critical reactions to the special have varied. Andrew Pixley considered that the premise “fell flat,” achieving the tone of a “scantily-illustrated physics textbook,” whilst science journalist Elizabeth Howell praised its colonizing ethos, again placing it closer to the Star Trek mentality than that of Star Wars. Vincent Law’s review for fanzine Andersonic viewed the spaceship’s failing mission as a response to attitudes towards space travel in the 1970s, when “optimism in the space program was on the wane.” John Kenneth Muir describes the final sequence as “a Kubrickian wonder, a montage dominated by double images, slow-motion photography, and the use of a creepy distortion lens. Pretty powerful stuff for a kids’ show.” Science fiction writer Christopher Mills’ view of the characters as “cold and inexpressive” is a disservice to them: ironically they are some of the warmest in Anderson, shown to intensely care for and comfort one another.

Marcus Hearn and Simon Archer’s biography What Made Thunderbirds Go (2002) contains scance reference to the special, barring that Anderson met his third wife at the afterparty and that “after the whole show was completed and [Anderson] had done all [his] research, [he] still didn’t understand Einstein’s theory.” There was even less coverage in the contemporary press: December 1975’s Variety said that “NBC is keen on another Anderson project, a pilot which the British producer turned in earlier this year.”

The official Gerry Anderson primer on YouTube, much like the original broadcast trailer, stresses the excitement (“in true Anderson fashion, disaster follows”) and it being a “visual treat,” but also highlights that the story “managed to balance its goals of scientific education and adventure with admirable skill […] delivered in such a way that it doesn’t feel like a lecture.” The special’s most lasting legacy in popular fandom (by which I mean the official Gerry Anderson podcast) is as a story connected to Derek Wadsworth, as his score was stolen, lost, and has still not been recovered, ridding the world of one of the liveliest mid-70s instrumental suites.

Richard Houldsworth of TV Zone sums up Into Infinity’s sad fate:

“As Anderson concentrated on making 1999 ‘bigger, better, and more exciting than ever,’ Into Infinity just got swallowed up in its own black hole, and stayed there.”

But it shouldn’t have. Into Infinity is surprisingly engaging for a one-off, bringing together an interesting new dynamic (a better take on Lost in Space) with the gorgeously rendered effects of Space: 1999 and an engagement with science that, if pursued further, could have stimulated some really fantastic stories. Into Infinity was officially released on DVD alongside strange Anderson curios ranging from Koala stories to infomercials presented by Nicholas Parsons, but deserves a much better fate, and critical respect, than those.