Coming at the end of Season Five, ‘The Wheel in Space’ ends the season not with a bang, but with a whimper. It is hard to believe that the man responsible for writing ‘The Power of the Daleks’, ‘The Evil of the Daleks’ and ‘The Enemy of the World’ is responsible for this, and it is tempting to lay the blame at the door of Kit Pedler, who provided the basic story. Unfortunately, some of the story’s deficiencies are script related, which rather undermines this theory. 

‘The Wheel in Space’ does some things right. For the most part, the characterisation is up to David Whitaker’s usual standard, with Gemma Corwyn and Leo Ryan standing out. Bill Duggan and Flanagan also come across well. Unfortunately, the major weak link is Jarvis Bennett, who is the archetypal unstable base commander. I could excuse Robson in ‘Fury From the Deep’, because it seemed as though he had reasonable leadership qualities under normal circumstances, but quite how Bennett got his job is beyond me. Firstly, there is his reaction to the Silver Carrier. Surely, blowing up seemingly abandoned spacecraft out of hand is not a good idea? For starters, if it really had wandered millions of miles off course, there might be something to be learned from trying to find out why exactly this has happened. Not to mention trying to recover any bodies from it, if only to find out what happened to the crew, about whom somebody somewhere must care. His justification for this pyromania is that the ship might at any time crash into the wheel, but if he’s worried about this, why doesn’t he have the crewmembers that he sends to rescue Jamie and the Doctor break into the locked control cabin and make sure that this isn’t going to happen? Because they’d discover the Cybermen and the rest of the plot would have to be rewritten, that’s why. Consequently, Jarvis is portrayed as an idiot who likes blowing things up, and thus not the sort of man that should be in charge of a remote space station. His later breakdown on learning of the Cybermen is also astronomically fast; the fact that the crew all have capsules implanted to detect mind control suggests that the crew’s training at least allows for the possibility of hostile action from some party or other, so his complete inability to even deal with the possibility is absurd. Frankly, Jarvis is an unnecessary plot contrivance. 

Would that Jarvis were the only problem with ‘The Wheel in Space’ however: the actions of the Cybermen are beyond belief. Their plot to gain control of the wheel is ridiculously over-complicated and raises the question of why they don’t just take it by force. After all, they can get Cybermats on board. And even if they couldn’t, they can destroy entire stars, so I find it hard to believe that the Wheel’s defenses pose a problem. The excuse given in the script is that they need to destroy the crew’s ability to send messages, but it’s a fairly flimsy excuse. Since their ship approaches whilst the laser is functioning, its defenses are presumably enough to protect it, had the Doctor not wired the time vector generator into the works, so they may as well have just attacked out right; I find it hard to believe that if they can blow up stars they can’t block transmissions from the Wheel. Why all the rubbish with the Bernalium rods when they need the Wheel’s laser to function? Why not just hijack the Silver Carrier, pilot it to the Wheel, send an automated distress signal, and take over the minds of the rescue party? Ironically, their preferred method would have caused them to be blown up if Jamie hadn’t unexpectedly been on board and able to send a signal to the Wheel. And then there is the aforementioned business with the star. Now I can suspend disbelief when watching Doctor Who, but even with only a basic grasp of astrophysics I can spot twaddle. As The Discontinuity Guide points out, blowing up a star in a different galaxy not only wouldn’t affect the Wheel that quickly, it wouldn’t affect it at all. Perhaps the Cybermen’s control device (which I’m going to refer to hereafter as the Cyber Co-ordinator) isn’t well schooled in the field either. Perhaps it’s taking the piss. That might explain why it gets the name of the Silver Carrier wrong…

There are other problems with ‘The Wheel in Space’. Bill Duggan sees a Cybermat and decides to dismiss it as a space bug. Now even assuming that he’s so stupid that he can’t see that it has obviously been built by someone, I find it astonishing that he just ignores it. It could be the space equivalent of a rat, or a locust. Surely it’s worth reporting? Just in case? The actual use of the Cybermen seems pointless, as for the first time they are truly reduced to the role of generic robots form outer space. This can work if the story is decent enough, but here it isn’t. Even the Doctor, who has met them at least three times, tells the crew that the Cybermen need the mineral treasures of Earth. Surely they need the human population of Earth? They’re Cybermen, it’s the whole point of them. A bad script and plot can sometimes be partly rescued by decent production values, but the production here is lacklustre to say the least. There are some nice aspects; the corridors in the Wheel are quite nicely designed to avoid looking generically functional, and the redesigned Cybermats look much more sleek and deadly than in ‘The Tomb of the Cybermen’. They also get to kill someone, which makes them seem dangerous for the first time, and their ability to fire some kind of invisible beam from their eyes works quite well. I also have a soft-spot for the bulbous Servo-robot too, although this is another plot contrivance; there is no actual reason why the Cybermen couldn’t just stay awake and pilot the rocket themselves (I know, their trying to conserve power but the robot clearly needs to be powered instead, so…), but if they had (a) Jamie and the Doctor would be real trouble in episode one, and (b) the cliff-hanger to episode two would be blown. The actual Cybermen however don’t really benefit from being redesigned. The teardrop shape cut into the eye sockets looks quite good, but the one in their mouths somehow makes them look like slack-jawed imbeciles. Which would actually fit in with their silly plan, I suppose. Their new voices are a bit weak and lack the impact of their predecessors, which seems unnecessary since the Co-ordinator actually retains the voice used for the Cybermen in ‘The Moonbase’ and ‘The Tomb of the Cybermen’. The space walk sequence doesn’t do them any favours either, as the actors involved appeared to have decided to make them look like ballet enthusiasts. 

The costumes of the Wheel personnel don’t look too bad. The model work varies; the Wheel is passable, the Silver Carrier is rubbish, and the Cyber ship is really rather good and avoids the cheap saucer designs of ‘The Tenth Planet’ and ‘The Moonbase’. Most of the sets on board the Silver Carrier and the Wheel are poor, and contrast strangely with the less-functional looking corridors I mentioned above. So amidst all this dross, is there anything good about ‘The Wheel in Space’?

Actually, yes. The plot device used to separate the Doctor and Jamie from the TARDIS (the time vector generator) is quite novel, although I find it hard to believe that after the trouble he had during ‘The Mutants’, the Doctor doesn’t keep spare stocks of mercury (as a lab worker, with knowledge of current safety regulations, it’s also quite funny to see a jar of mercury just sitting about on a bench in the Wheel – we aren’t even allowed to buy mercury thermometers anymore!). As usual in a Cyberman story initiated by Kit Pedler, there is a well-intentioned attempt to show international cooperation on board the Wheel, but this inevitably results in some dubious accents, most notably Chang’s. Troughton gets some lovely character moments, including his obvious guilt and distress when Leo Ryan tells him off for engendering Jamie and Zoe in episode six, and when he quietly talks the Cybermen in the same episode and then calmly electrocutes one of them. He’s also visibly affected by the death of Gemma Corwyn, for whom he quickly develops respect during the earlier part of the story. Jamie also gets to do more than just fight too, as he is forced to look after the concussed Doctor early on. He works out how to use the Time Vector Generator to signal for help, and also comes up with a cover story to explain why they were on board the rocket in the first place. Gemma sees straight through it of course, but he tries his best. And the fact that she realises that he is reluctantly lying says a great deal about his basically honest character. His rapidly developing friendship with Zoe is also convincingly scripted and acted and establishes the new companion team nicely. Zoe is initially rather irritating, but as she is forced to face up to the problems of her training and comes to realize that she needs to develop emotionally, she becomes a good choice for a companion. In stark contrast to Victoria, whom the Doctor took under his wing because she had nowhere else to go, Zoe is keen to join the Doctor on his travels, even after having encountered the Cybermen. This bodes well for the new TARDIS dynamic. 

Finally, despite the plot holes and the fact that it feels horribly padded, ‘The Wheel in Space’ does at least achieve an air of suspense from the moment that the TARDIS materialises on board the Silver Carrier. This is partly due to the unobtrusive but effective incidental score, but is largely due to the director making the most of a bad job. There are also one or two nice moments, my favourite being the vaguely pointless but visually effective sequence of the Cybermen “hatching” at the end of episode two (or rather, at the start of episode three, which is of course how I was able to see it!). Overall however, the good points of ‘The Wheel in Space’ don’t manage to outweigh the bad, and it proves to be a disappointing end to what is otherwise one of my favourite seasons in Doctor Who’s history.

“You will agree to being me… This side of madness or the other.”

Few Doctor Who stories have raised such wild passions for and against them as Kinda. Yes, I was one of those ten-year-olds who helped vote it bottom of Peter Davison’s first season for DWM back in 1982, largely through a vivid last memory of ‘that snake’; at the other end of the spectrum, some fans have announced that anyone who disagrees with their assertion that this is the best Who story ever is an emotional Nazi. I shall leave it to your own judgement any irony involved in people who use ‘Nazi’ to decry those whose precise tastes do not absolutely accord to theirs…

I started a re-evaluation of Kinda through my wobbly audio copy, in those days before video. The old wise woman’s “Wheel turns” speech was quite hypnotic, and so I gradually found myself thinking Kinda was rather interesting – despite one of Uncle Tewwance’s least lively books trying to convince me otherwise. Nowadays, with repeated video viewings, I’ll admit that I can’t see how I ever thought the story worse than Four to Doomsday or Time-Flight, and I’ve got a lot closer to the adoring end of the spectrum than the embarrassed end I used to sit at. But will I go all the way? Well, I don’t think so, though I’ll waver between eight and nine out of ten. Let me explain.

On the whole, Kinda is interesting and refreshing, one of the Who stories with the most ideas, married to one of the Who stories that looks most like a pop video. The Dark Places of the Inside are fantastically imagined and realised, and the ‘time’ sequence is hardly less impressive. Resonantly, the subversive ‘menaces’ of the trees, the ‘primitives’, Hindle, Dukkha and The Dark Places of the Inside or wherever, all combine tantalisingly to disrupt expectations and are carried off brilliantly. 

In the story’s second half, however, and especially after the main hallucinatory effects sequences end, the action-based director and thoughtful script start to work against each other (notably from the blown cliffhanger to part 3 on), particularly as the author’s ideas become less successful. The fourth episode is definitely the weakest, despite quite a strong scene with Hindle’s toy madness and Panna’s consciousness passing on to demonstrate that no-one actually dies in the story (albeit the three ones who went missing…?). Studio floors, technobabble and ‘that snake’ summing up a glib and dull resolution – not to mention interminable Adric / Tegan bitching scenes - make it a curiously uninventive and unimpressive ending. This story is probably best watched as a whole, rather than an episodic let-down. 

I’ve recently taken to watching Who again on an episodic basis. Yes, that’s right – as god intended! As you might expect, with all stories written that way, most of them work much better that way. And it’s become clear that a key reason so many of us disliked Kinda on first watching – other than the shame of (all together now) “that snake” at school the next day – was that this story didn’t. For a few stories where not all the episodes work, the resolution is the killer. Watch a rather good story with a poor part 4 (Paradise Towers or The Creature From the Pit spring to mind to tease you with, or perhaps The Leisure Hive if you want one that fewer people hate so much), and it’s plain that only watching ‘the bad bit’ in one sitting leaves you with a nasty taste in your mouth that wouldn’t be so strong if you’d watched it as a ‘movie’. Watch Kinda episodically, rather than all of a bundle as video encourages you to, and it’s striking that it wasn’t just the increasing sophistication of the viewing fans that has led to Kinda’s shocking turnaround. It was the ‘poor part 4’ effect at work in a devastating way when we first watched it.

Oddly, watching Kinda episodically, I’m also struck that it isn’t a Tegan story at all – more of an Adric story. He has quite a lot to do throughout the whole story (though achieving little, at least he only pretends to side with the villain this time. Clearly Hindle responds to another boy to play with), while her strong role in the first two parts vanishes almost completely later. She is superb when oppressed and then possessed by Dukkha (though an effective ‘rape’ scene apparently unlocking her sensuality is an unpleasantly disturbing message), but her appearance in part 3 is just that. Aris merely steps over her unconscious body at one point, and she neither moves nor speaks in a ‘blink and you’ll miss her’ cameo. As all the companions are buried way down in the cast list to start with, it seems particularly unfair on Matthew Waterhouse that he still gets later (and shared) billing than Janet Fielding for part 3, and that Sarah Sutton gets no billing at all for the middle episodes.

My other reason for recently re-evaluating Kinda is that I’ve now read the book that’s said to be one of its main sources, Ursula Le Guin’s The Word for World is Forest. Now, this isn’t a story that can simply be explained by reference to any one of the mountain of references it makes, whether Judaeo-Christian Garden of Eden symbolism, Buddhist analogies or Vietnam-era sci-fi. However, as the Buddhism’s been written about in great detail, I found comparisons with Le Guin’s book intriguing, and they helped crystallise why I don’t think Kinda is quite as clever as many take it to be – or quite as enjoyable.

Despite some clear similarities in the setup, including a sophisticated sexual division of labour in the ‘primitives’, idiot (‘insane’) colonial military leavened by a sympathetic anthropologist, and dreaming, sophisticated ‘primitives’ (as well as blatant nods like Planet S14 in Kinda for World 41 in the book, Aris’ captive brother for Selver’s enslaved and murdered wife, or ILF – ‘Intelligent Life Form’ – for ‘hilf’ – ‘High Intelligence Life Form’), the story itself has remarkably little in common with The Word For World is Forest. Quite funny that the villain of the book is Captain Davidson, though, as it’s of course the Doctor who enables the snake to enter Eden! Kinda is far less successful in getting across an idea of the local people as sophisticated – with the dubious exception of Panna and the double helix jewellery, it’s merely told, rather than shown. How do they have access to molecular biology? On the face of it, nicking the necklaces from an alien spaceship crashed in the jungle would be more logical an explanation. Shouldn’t we have had some shared dreaming, or something to put the Box of Jhana in context? Instead, *these* ‘primitives’ are really telepathic, which even the Mara correctly notes is a very boring way to communicate. 

Instead of evidence of intelligent thought, the Kinda (surely everyone in this story bar the Doctor, Todd and Panna are just that – ‘children’?) follow Aris like sheep, and flee after a ludicrous attack on the Dome using a TSS-style ‘wicker man’ (instead, Selver’s attacks on the Terrans use their own bombs against them, as well as showing the lethal effectiveness of ‘primitive’ weapons. The Kinda merely appear stupid). Of course, the whole effect is engineered by the Mara to bring about their misery, but instead of a powerful, co-dependent, co-defending (“the dreaming of an unshared mind”) group intelligence, they merely combine into a herd. This is especially obvious in contrast with Aris and Panna / Karuna, who are intelligent and resourceful because they are individuals. The extremely collectivist ideological slant of the story is objectionable both because it isn’t to my personal taste anyway, and because the author’s clear wish to impose it on us has not led him to consider whether it works – in the context of the story, it doesn’t, and it fails even to make an attractive case. It seems not only philosophically disagreeable, but artistically unsuccessful. 

The message that progress is horrid and only leads to destruction, and that people are much better off as happy sheep, is despairingly poor. Even the ‘dangers of progress and exploration’ message of The Green Death, for example (which I rather like), is leavened by the saving grace of individuality. Even that other anti-questioning Buddhist parable, Planet of the Spiders, notices the danger of not having a mind of your own as well as of unrestrained ego. Again unlike The Word For World is Forest, which shows the destructive effect of progress on the Athshean culture, Kinda is a zero-sum game – there has been no effect on the tribe by the end; again, intelligent life is changed by experience, while the Kinda appear like drones. 

Perhaps Christopher Bailey should have read the author’s Introductions to The Word for World is Forest. Le Guin talks of art as the pursuit of liberty, ‘escapist’ from reality into the freedom of imagination. She also warns of the power an artist has over their characters leaching into desire for the power to influence other people. “The desire for power, in the sense of power over others, is what pulls most people off the path of the pursuit of liberty,” she warns, and notes that when artists believe they can do good to other people, they forget about liberty and start to preach. Bailey has failed to heed her warning, and has been “inextricably confusing ideas with opinions”.

I�d forgotten how good �The Aztecs� is. The production values are generally excellent, with both costumes and sets being detailed, impressive and convincing (the odd painted backdrop not withstanding). In fact, they are so good, that they only add insult to the injury of the loss of �Marco Polo�. So drawn into the story was I that at almost no point did I actually think, �hmm, nice set� whilst I was watching it � I believed that the Doctor was in a garden, that Ian was in that tunnel, and the TARDIS was in a tomb. But as good as the production values are, it is the scripting and acting that really makes �The Aztecs� shine. 

The Doctor is superb here; his accidental engagement to Cameca is at first just funny, especially when he first mentions it to Ian. It becomes touching however, when it becomes clear that he has grown genuinely fond of her, taking delight in her company, and seeming sad to take his leave of her. She in turn shows her worth by helping the Doctor and his companions to escape, despite the heartache it causes her, and the final scene in the tomb, when the Doctor leaves the brooch she gave him on Yetaxa�s sarcophagus only to change his mind and pocket it, shows that she has made enough of an impression on him for him to want to remember her. We are again reminded of just how much the Doctor has mellowed since �100,000BC�, as he sympathizes with Barbara�s inability to save the Aztecs and also as he shows genuine panic as Ixta traps Ian in the tunnel from the garden to the tomb. The scene in which he tells Barbara that even though she couldn�t save the Aztecs she perhaps saved one man is quite moving, and clearly demonstrates his concern for her. He also shows his determination and cunning once again, as he comes up with the pulley that they use to regain entrance to the tomb and thus the TARDIS, and he aids Ixta by improvising a sleeping drug from plants in the garden. In spite of their plight, he still seems to be having fun whenever he is challenged. Another memorable aspect of �The Aztecs� is his stern warning to Barbara not to try and tamper with history. This is particularly noteworthy considering that it will be subsequently shown in the programme that time travelers can change history, but that the consequences can be dangerous; here the Doctor merely flat out states that it is impossible to change history, suggesting that he is unwilling to explain why it should not be attempted. Indeed, as the travelers leave Mexico, he explains to Barbara that Tlotoxl�s victory was inevitable, which seems to me to be a lie designed to ward off further such attempts should the TARDIS materialize again in Earth�s past. His own care in not tampering with history is demonstrated, as he is careful to take the pulley wheel with them, since the Aztecs never invented the wheel.

Susan doesn�t get much to do in �The Aztecs�, but actually demonstrates some resolve in her flat-out and dangerous (though perfectly understandable) refusal to marry the Perfect Victim. Annoyingly however, she once more assails us with shrill and hysterical screams when she overhears the news of the sacrifice in episode one. Again, this is understandable, but her screams still grate on me. Ian on the other hand continues to prove his valour, facing Ixta without fear, even during battles to the death. From the start of the series, he has shown remarkable courage and resourcefulness and this continues here. Notice his grim look when Ixta tells him that they shall have one last encounter, as he replies, �yes� a final one�. He clearly is not going to roll over for anyone, even when facing a trained Aztec warrior with an obvious bloodlust. And as with the Doctor, he clearly seems to be having fun. Ultimately however, �The Aztecs� is Barbara�s story.

From the moment she poses as the reincarnation of Yetaxa, Barbara shines throughout this story. She is quick thinking and resourceful, frequently outwitting Tlotoxl, and her determination to change Aztec civilization even in the face of the Doctor�s warnings gives her strength and resolve throughout. Whenever Tlotoxl gains the upper hand, as when he arranges to have Susan publicly scourged, rather than give in to panic, she tries to find a way round the problem. When Tlotoxl and Tonila try to poison her, she admits to Tlotoxl that she is not a god, but stands her ground anyway and challenges him to expose her without losing credibility. She�s impressive, and she easily acts the part of Yetaxa, every inch the imperious goddess. Her very personal rivalry with Tlotoxl is possibly her finest moment in the series. 

The supporting characters are also well portrayed, from the sensitive Cameca to the imposing Perfect Victim and the toadying, indecisive Tonila. The wise and gentle Autloc, Barbara�s closest ally amongst the Aztecs, is clearly set apart from his fellows, surprised by Susan�s refusal to marry, but also doing his best to spare her pain. The look on his face when Susan calls him and his people monsters is one of hurt and this almost certainly helps to reinforce his changing views in light of Barbara�s conviction that sacrifice is wrong. His eventual departure into the wilderness in search of truth is Barbara�s one success in her failed attempt to save the Aztecs, symbolized by his acceptance that perhaps the gods do not require sacrifice after all. In short, he is the individual who seeks answers within through careful thought, rather than blind acceptance of tradition. Then there is Ixta, a vicious, cruel bully whose hatred for Ian sits side by side with his smugness when he manages to beat him. He is a picture of brutal, animal cunning, ruthless in his desire for victory. His death serves as a victory of sorts for the TARDIS crew � Ian defeats his rival, despite Ixta�s determination to survive, and this and Autloc�s awakening allows them to leave with a feeling of triumph, for the viewer of for nobody else. Because ultimately, the Doctor and his companions don�t triumph here � Tlotoxl does.

Tlotoxl steals the show. John Ringham�s Richard the Third turn gives us a masterly villain, easily as memorable as Tegana. He is a scheming and manipulative, determined to prove Barbara false and ultimately successful. As Ian points out, it is Autloc who is the exception to Aztec rule, not Tlotoxl � he succeeds with both sacrifices Barbara�s attempts to stop them. The victim at the end of episode one commits suicide when �Yetaxa� intervenes, and the Perfect Victim throughout the story progresses serenely towards his death, considering it an honour. Tlotoxl�s glee as he tricks Barbara into accepting Susan�s punishment is marvelous to watch and his toothy smile whenever he has the upper hand is thoroughly machiavellian. In the end, he wins; Ixta may die, and Autloc may be saved, but as the door to Yetaxa�s tomb closes for the final time, he plunges his knife into the Perfect Victim�s chest in supplication to his god, leaving a morose Barbara to ponder on her failure. 

As one of the few surviving intact examples, �The Aztecs� is a fine instance of the Doctor Who historical stories. The Discontinuity Guide compares it to Shakespeare in terms of tone and feel, and I think this is a fair comparison. It is certainly an excellent choice to be the first Hartnell DVD.

Doctor Who’s tenth season commenced with “The Three Doctors”, the official anniversary story. In many ways, however, the real anniversary story is “Planet Of The Daleks” – a nostalgic space romp with the Doctor’s most famous adversaries, an epic six-parter in the style of the Daleks’ 1960s stories. 

The Daleks entered the colour era with “Day Of The Daleks”, but their spectacle was much diminished as the BBC only had three Dalek props at their disposal, and story-wise they were obscured by the Controller and the guerrillas. “Planet of the Daleks” returns them to centre-stage, their domination of Spiridon recalling the almighty Dalek Empire of “Evil Of The Daleks” and the twelve Dalek props enhanced by the special guest appearance of the impressive Dalek Supreme. Their next TV serial, “Death To The Daleks”, would see the Daleks reduced to a small crew on the planet Exxilon, and after the introduction of their creator Davros in “Genesis Of The Daleks”, their plans for total domination became replaced by internalised power struggles. “Planet Of The Daleks” is the last time we see the creatures as a force to be reckoned with.

The story follows directly from “Frontier In Space”, although describing it as a sequel is pushing it a bit. The “Frontier”/”Planet” story arc was an attempt to echo the audacious twelve-parter “The Daleks’ Master Plan”, hence these two stories have been given the unofficial umbrella title, “The Master’s Dalek Plan”! The scene of Jo in the TARDIS with the unconscious Doctor are quite touching, as we have seen this partnership become very close since their first meeting, and foreshadows the third Doctor’s ‘death’ before the giant spiders the following year. More pertinently, the scene towards the end, when Jo considers Latep’s invitation to stay with him, is a nice build up to the events in the next story, “The Green Death”.

The jungles on Spiridon are among the most effective seen on the series – imagine how much better “Kinda” would have looked with a lush jungle set like this – and the plants that squirt fluid have the ‘yuk factor’ important to any Doctor Who story!

The story reintroduces the Thals, the Dalek’s enemies and fellow inhabitants of Skaro, whose ancestors appeared in the second story ever. The third Doctor’s era is one of the most continuity-free in the series’ history, and Jon Pertwee made the role so utterly his own it was easy to forget that there had been previous incumbents, and the references to the first Doctor, Ian and Barbara is a lovely touch, almost like being reminded about old friends. The Thals are well portrayed by the actors, considering that they do not have much personality, although Bernard Horsfall is excellent as Taron, particularly when the Doctor gives him his philosophical lecture about bravery, and when he has to strike a balance between his duty as a leader and his feelings for Rebec. Tim Preece as Codal also has some good moments, but Prentis Hancock’s headstrong Vaber is not much different from Salamar, his equally one-dimensional character in “Planet Of Evil.”

The highlight of the story is the chase sequences set in the Daleks’ city on Spiridon. Most of these take place in the episode, which only survives in black and white. In a way I’m glad about this, as the entrance to the Dalek city looks much more impressive in monochrome, and the steel corridors are reminiscent of “The Daleks” and “Power Of The Daleks”. As I said before, “Planet Of The Daleks” is an old-fashioned space romp, and scenes such as the attempt to escape from the Daleks by ascending the chimney with the canopy are more reminiscent of scenes from “Dalek Invasion Earth 2150 AD” or the Dalek comic strips of the 1960s!

The only problem with the story’s structure, apart from the fact that six parters are almost always very tiresome in one setting, and tend to feature a bit of padding towards the end, is that the Doctor, Jo and the Daleks spend too much of the story apart. One of the highlights of the third Doctor’s stories is Jon Pertwee’s wonderful interaction with Katy Manning, which had matured into a strong, believable friendship from the tutor/student friction of “Terror Of The Autons”. Nevertheless, Jo’s scenes with the invisible Wester are nice, although she does seem separate from the story for a bit too much of the serial. The story also lacks those wonderful Doctor/Dalek showdowns, which are always a highlight of Dalek stories, from Hartnell’s “Conquer the world, you poor pitiful creatures?” to McCoy’s “Unlimited rice pudding, et cetera”.

As mentioned earlier, there are Daleks aplenty in this story – although most of them appear to be immobile. This is a great improvement on “Day Of The Daleks”, and things brighten up (literally) in episode six with the appearance of the Dalek Supreme, a modified version of the impressive movie Daleks, although his lights flash out of sync with his dialogue, which is a bit distracting. The Daleks’ voices have been giving a grating quality and are a big improvement on their last story. The concept of an frozen army of thousands of Daleks also gives the story much of its epic quality, and the shots of the cave full of model Daleks is quite effective in suggesting the scale of this army.

After the Doctor gives the Thals a typically Doctorish lecture on war, the Doctor takes a homesick Jo back to Earth. But the viewer is left with a couple of tantalising loose ends. The Dalek Supreme escapes, knowing that they still have an army of the Daleks they can defrost at any moment. More importantly, we are no closer a resolution to “Frontier In Space”. What happened to the Master? How come we never hear from the Draconian Empire again? Surely both Draconia and Earth would be after the Master for trying to start a war between them, and you can just imagine the Doctor being dragged into it, caught between the two empires and his arch-enemy? Maybe one day someone will complete the trilogy?

Everybody knows that The Talons of Weng-Chiang, broadcast in 1977, is one of the greatest Doctor Who stories ever created, but that doesn't mean that it isn't worth, once in a while, looking at it again and reminding ourselves of why it is so good. 

In fact, I hadn't seen it at all until the Christmas of 2001, when the video was given to me as a gift. When I watched it a second time today I was struck by how many of the little details I'd missed: little details which make it something you can watch and watch again. There are too many little things to mention, but they are everywhere: dialogue, set-dressing, looks, camera-angles. And they all compliment the big things. My favorite big thing is probably Litefoot. Trevor Baxter is given a script overflowing with Victorian cliches, but manages to produce a performance which plays on this, and doesn't get drowned by it. Litefoot is a Victorian oddity: quirky and unusual, but not a parody. Or, not a parody which turns the whole story into a farce. The whole of the story is like this: it is overflowing with cliches and Victorian silliness, but this doesn't destroy the ambience, ruin the tone. At no point does The Talons of Weng-Chiang feel as though it is over-treading the mark, turning its historical setting into a pastiche or a parody. 

And because the setting does, even now, successfully evoke the dark and moody atmosphere (literal and metaphorical) of a Victorian reality, the story transcends its 25 year vintage, as gripping and entertaining today, in 2002, as it was then. However far from reality the depiction of London may actually be, the BBC, 70s depiction, contains the sense and quality of being real, and it is this sense and quality that allows the viewer to become absorbed in the murk, and fog, and sinister machinations of the setting. Some of the best BBC costume dramas recreate an era perfectly, but fail to actually have the feeling and buzz of reality that is here. I never bored of looking at it, just watching scenes and shots: and sometimes on this level Doctor Who can be really boring. 

The story in Talons of Weng-Chiang isn't anything more elaborate or clever than any other Doctor Who story, really. It works, and does the job, but it is the execution of the story which makes the whole thing tick: the atmospheric evocation of time and place, the stunning control of sub-plots and all characters (there are no 'secondary' characters, because each of the performances is strong, and highly watchable), and the structuring of the narrative. Another thing about The Talons of Weng-Chiang is that it isn't flabby - lots and lots of things happen, and the whole story feels more like four episodes than six. 

And the Doctor. The Doctor is classic. Each and every line of his dialogue makes you want to rewind and listen to it again: the scene where the assassin misses the Doctor, and is killed by Leela, is quite simply one of the best moments in Doctor Who. Tom Baker was often very good, and often just went on auto-pilot, but here is he very definitely very good. 

So yes, without going on too much, yes The Talons of Weng-Chiang, broadcast in 1977, is one of the greatest Doctor Who stories ever made.

The opening sequence of 'Four to Doomsday' is remarkably effective: an ominous and enigmatic score accompanies a series of panning and tracking shots of a dark, mysterious, and (presumably) gigantic spaceship; a tone both mysterious and threatening is established. The viewer (this viewer, at least) is not disappointed by what follows, for whatever the flaws of 'Four to Doomsday' it manages to work as an intriguing, textured, and sinister piece of science fiction. 

Although on a plot-only level 'Four to Doomsday' is a bit long, and a bit of a drag at times, it does succeed in telling a story tinged with engaging ideas and concepts. The first two cliff-hangers rely not on a terrible fate for the Doctor, but on a revelation: the drama for much of 'Four to Doomsday' is the discovery of more and more of the details of the science fiction set up. One theme which emerges from this SF set up is that of 'difference' and 'alienness': the themes split. Perception, and the different ways different people view 'others', is everywhere. There is Adric, in his usual, petulant self-important tone, making notably bigoted comments about what he sees as being the difference between men and women and girls. The whole premise of the plot is the fact that the spaceship is full of different cultures and races, collected from Earth at various points in history by the Urbankans. And although they are not fully developed, 'Four to Doomsday' touches on questions of how we define 'cultures', and whether it is possible that cultures can be recorded, and stored, and preserved in stasis. What the Urbankans fail to see is the speed with which culture changes: their ability to alter their appearance to become 'like' other cultures is flawed, because it does not allow for natural evolution and change, and also because it is only skin deep. Culture is more than just accent and clothing and native dances. 

On other levels, 'Four to Doomsday' is classic Doctor Who hokum. Questions of race, culture, and class aside, there is no doubt that the Urbankans neatly fill the role of the classic, unambiguous, atypical, nasty Doctor Who aliens we see so frequently, and hopefully will see more of soon! Monarch's eloquent, mannered, and 'civilized' English diction, rather than making him sympathetic, simply makes him more sinister, and more alien. There is a superb line during episode two (when Adric and Nyssa are suffocating) where Enlightenment notes that Adric and Nyssa "have lungs", and Monarch replies with sadistic pleasure: "Let them remember that." Chilling. 

Overall, deficiencies of plot aside (well, not 'deficiencies', as such'... there just isn't a lot happening), 'Four to Doomsday' is an entertaining story. And it has a brain. Recommended.