Set on the planet Karn, this is the simple story of renegade Time Lord Morbius and his surgeon friend Mehendri Solon. Solon’s trying to piece Morbius back together as you see he’s just a brain sitting in a tank for the moment and he’s keen to get back out there and rule the galaxy. Also on Karn are the Sisterhood, led by Maren, who was present at the trial of Morbius and saw him executed and believes him long dead. The Sisterhood also worship and maintain the sacred flame that produces an elixir of life, thus allowing them to be immortal. Then the Doctor and Sarah turn up…

Looking at the story from a 2006 perspective, it's holds up remarkably well and offers new and veteran viewers alike a rich palette of ideas and concepts.It's fascinating from a symbolic and psychological perspective as well as being an interesting story redolent with past influences.

To being with, let's take a look at what I think is the core of the story the dichotomy between the head (masculine rationalism) and the heart (feminine emotion and intuition). Morbius is literally torn apart by the dispersal chamber at his execution and this is an apposite act by a society that was threatened by his disruption. His punishment cuts him off from an instinctive free relationship with nature and he becomes an irrational figure who has lost contact with the personal experience of life. 

Solon’s after the perfect head in which to house Morbius’ brain, the Doctor becoming the preferred option. Solon’s obsession about having the perfect head is understandable. Morbius has effectively been castrated and left to his own torment in a dark Underworld devoid of senses. The head is symbolically regarded as the domain of the masculine with the heart being its feminine counterpoint. One can see that the Solon/Morbius relationship is concerned with the dominant male progressing in the world through the application of science. The Sisterhood are the feminine principle of the story, driven by intuition, forces of nature and relying on the mind and matter approach of magic and sorcery. The head is also symbolic of the fully conscious mind, of the full awareness of reality – something which Morbius lacks in order for his masculine ego to be freed from the Unconscious. ‘The crowning irony’ as Solon informs Morbius that his new head will be that of a Time Lord.

Morbius fears the feminine and has no masculine power until Solon can provide him with a new head and body. The Sisterhood fear Morbius and the Time Lords and have an aversion to progress through scientific rationalism. It takes the Doctor to demonstrate that science and magic can be one and the same thing. Hence, his firework aided chimney sweeping of the Sisterhood’s sacred flame, his instant analysis that the elixir could actually be synthesised and his cyanide solution to getting out of the laboratory to stop Morbius. And of course, he will eventually need the elixir himself if he is to survive the ordeal with Morbius. 

Emotionally, there are also things to note. Solon is driven by his work and is obsessed to the point of madness in trying to give Morbius his freedom. His is a life absent of real joy. He only sees the material potential of the bodies around him with no concern for sentiment and feelings. He is all about the disintegration of the personality which leads to schizophrenia whilst he physically is attempting to stop the material disintegration of Morbius. As he feverishly sews up bits of bodies to re-integrate Morbius, he is inside shattering psychologically.

Secondly, a brief discussion of the female principle in the story as formed by the Sisterhood and Sarah. The Sisterhood, through their disavowal of the benefits of science, are impotently immortal. Any intrusion through science – the crashed spaceships on Karn are the result of their handiwork – meets with destruction. Their immortality is a curse, their magic brings them no progress. They are static and isolated even though through their femininity they are able to co-operate with the blind forces of nature. This force is literally evoked through Maren’s temporary blinding of Sarah. Sarah as an active, free feminine influence in the narrative is punished with blindness and isolation because of their fear. She’s the potential of what they could all be (progress) and Maren brings her down a peg or two for rescuing the (masculine) Doctor. In the end, the Sisterhood are as equally isolated as Morbius – they through their fear of the masculine penetration of science and he through the mis-application of science – Solon’s attempts to reanimate his body and the effects of the dispersal chamber. The Doctor is the figure that reconciles all of these elements – he uses a science/magic approach to vanquish Morbius and to hopefully bring progress to the Sisterhood.

Appropriate to this era's supposed use of the Gothic, the story has a number of very visceral and physical elements present within it. Condo's arm is highly symbolic of this. Condo experiences his body directly through pain and because he can see his own arm as an external object grafted onto the Morbius body. It is symbolic of Condo’s humanity and with it he would be a complete person again. It is also the only recognisably human part of the Morbius body, capable of vain gesticulation. Condo’s also capable of feeling and emotion and appreciates Sarah’s feminine beauty and does not understand why it should be destroyed. He recognises the power of his emotions through seeing his promised physicality given to the Morbius creature and through his affection for Sarah but Solon ultimately punishes him for it. For that, it’s an astonishingly brutal story. One particular sequence in Part Three is rather notorious. As Solon prepares Morbius’ brain for the surgery, he faces an angry Condo (Condo has seen his arm on the creature). Solon shoots him, they fight and the brain falls on the floor. It’s at once violent – Condo’s chest explodes very gorily in full frame – and blackly comic – the brain plops out onto the floor rather satisfyingly in a pool of slime. It is hilarious, repulsive and fascinating. It’s a sophisticated range of reactions produced in a short sequence and is highly typical of the Hinchcliffe/Holmes attitudes to overt violence and black homour in the series. Solon is attempting to further disintegrate Condo’s body and expunge the outpouring of feminine emotion and feeling into his isolated male prison of science.

The mental battle betwen the Doctor and Morbius is as much about the apparatus being a mirror reflecting the opposing forces within the psyche. The combatants are as much a reflection of each other, a reverse of each other. The contest is also conducted in reverse in so far as to reach the desired goal it is necessary to regress to your origins e.g. we see all their previous incarnations. The hero must descend into the depths of infancy in order to move on towards maturity. The Doctor’s trick is to get Morbius to gorge on his own Ego, to fly too close to the sun and therefore come crashing down to earth when his brain literally fries. He is overcome by his own narcissistic reflection of himself. The mirror is also earlier a trigger mechanism for the Morbius creature to go on the rampage as he sees his true reflection in the laboratory.

Looking back at the story now, it is worth noting that it’s entirely studio bound, complete with sets representing the exteriors of Karn. Now, admittedly, the construction of those sets does affect our reception of the story. Wood is used to represent stone for the exteriors and you can clearly hear Lis Sladen’s feet clomping about. However, the production’s overt staginess actually doesn’t destroy the illusion but rather contributes to the feeling that this is an entirely closed environment, hermetically sealed. It reminds me of some of the BBC’s studio bound Shakespeare productions of the late 70’s and early 80’s. Let’s also not forget that much of studio based television was still using theatrical modes of presentation at this time. The camera very rarely moves in this story, is fairly static and the lighting, flaring into the lens on occasion, often heightens the sheer theatricality of it e.g. the sun rise at the Doctor’s execution. Barry Newbery’s design is also a huge contribution to this ‘play’ and the sets in Solon’s castle are a bricolage of design styles and the almost Himalayan atmosphere these create is very similar to the pressure cooker environments of Powell and Pressburger’s ‘Black Narcisscus’. The combination of the ‘hippy Tibetan’ vibe of the Sisterhood’s costumes and make-up, the radiophonic wind chimes and other sound effects for the planet surface and the Nepalese flavour of the production design really build up that effect. There is also a nod to the Expressionist lab designs of umpteen Universal and Hammer horror films too.

As far as influences are concerned, this is ‘Frankenstein’, primarily. But there are also nods to ‘The Island Of Doctor Moreau’, Rider Haggard’s ‘She’, ‘Beauty And The Beast’, ‘The Hunchback Of Notre Dame’, 50’s B movies and Top Of The Pops (the Sisterhood do a delirious Pan’s People number to capture the TARDIS and to sacrifice the Doctor)

Visual effects are on the whole pretty good. The vista of crashed ships is just about acceptable. The brain tank in the cellar with Morbius’ brain is a triumph of physical effects, especially the trembling bit of material that vibrates as Morbius’ voice rants on. One favourite effect is the blast from Maren’s ring directly into camera as Sarah escapes. That would still pass muster today. The ‘monster’ is so self-referentially ridiculed within the context of the story (‘pot pouri’ and ‘Chop Suey’) that there’s really no need to highlight how daft it looks now. The intentional and unintentional humour implied by the monster costume combine to offset some of the more visceral moments – the shooting and the brain on the floor for example as well as numerous strangulations and a burning at the stake.

Tom and Lis are at their best here. It’s a solid relationship of mutual respect and admiration. Sarah is a tad too much of victim here but who can forget that chill up the spine as she advances, blind, toward that big glowing brain and Michael Spice’s delicious, ranting performance as Morbius. Philip Madoc is superb as the twitchy Solon, desperately trying to rescue his own career as a surgeon whilst trapped in the dungeon of Morbius’ own mind.

It’s interesting to watch a Doctor Who story that I haven’t seen in years, especially when I remember it so well that I’ve practically memorized parts of the dialogue. I’ve seen “The Deadly Assassin” more times than I can remember, but as with so many episodes, a fresh viewing causes me to see it in a different light. I’ve always thought it was a good story, but now I think it’s outstanding. It doesn’t water down the Time Lords as much as I seem to remember. The Time Lords of “The Deadly Assassin” are a varied lot, as any society would be, from the down to earth Spandrell to the haughty and politically astute Borusa to the ruthless and determined Goth. There isn’t a bland face among the supporting characters. 

There are a few unique aspects to the story that make it stand out among the others in the series. The most obvious aspect is that the Doctor is travelling alone, which is almost unique in the series history. This leads to more than the usual amount of the Doctor talking to himself, something which jumped out at me more than it had on past viewings. It’s not unknown for Baker’s Doctor to talk to himself or make asides, so it’s not out of character, but it is noticeable. Later in the story Castellan Spandrell fills the companion’s role, but he is a character of authority who moves independently of the Doctor and is essentially a peer, so he’s not typical companion material. 

Another aspect that could be considered somewhat unique is the utterly unobtrusive use of continuity. JNT’s Who contained a lot of references to past stories, many of which whacked you over the head with all the subtlety of a sledge hammer. While sometimes enjoyable, at other times that approach could get tiresome rather quickly. Here we are treated to a mention of the Doctor’s trial (The War Games) his exile (seasons 7 8 and 9) and subsequent remission of that exile (The Three Doctors), and it’s perfectly natural. It makes sense that Spandrell and Engin would discuss the Doctor’s history in relation to a criminal investigation. Notably, the Doctor’s history in relation to the Time Lords does not dictate the plot of the story, it simply provides some background and behavior motivation since the Doctor is regarded as a criminal by Spandrell, even before he’s accused of killing the President. In addition, Runcible's question "Have you had a facelift" and the Doctor's reply of "several so far" again feel quite natural, as two old acquaintances catching up would naturally discuss what they'd been doing in intervening years. It’s rare to find continuity handled so well within the context of a story. 

As mentioned, the Time Lords are a varied lot. They do not appear to be the awesomely powerful beings of ‘The War Games’ who put force fields around planets and dematerialize dangerous criminals, though since we see them in a different context, it’s easy to assume we’re simply seeing a different side of the Time Lords. However another option is presented us. Engin and Spandrell bring up the Celestial Intervention Agency, an agency which shares it’s initials with the American CIA, which leads me to assume that the name is something of a joke. Regardless, the existence of such a group does allow for the coexistence of the feared interventionists we saw in “the War Games” and the Time Lords of “Deadly Assassin” who assume much of Rassilon’s technology is a myth and whose society is apparently stagnant. It’s an believable society we’re presented with: the Time Lord aristocracy who rule the planet, who enjoy ceremony and are governed by a president and constitution; who are (like any group of politicians) concerned with the opinion of the general public. They don’t intervene in outside affairs, and despite being one of the most technologically advanced races in the universe have seemingly forgotten or lost much of their past technological prowess, while the covert CIA actively intervenes and has access to more technology and information than Time Lords in general. Perhaps the Doctor’s trial altered the strict noninterventionist stance of the Time Lords and he’s had more of an impact on his society than he knows. Perhaps the CIA was formed as a result of his opening the eyes of some Time Lords to the dangers in the universe. More on this later. 

Borusa and Goth are the two main Time Lords we get to know in the course of the story. Borusa’s relation to the Doctor is enjoyable since this is one of the few instances where the Doctor is confronted by an authority figure whom he seems to respect, and certainly remembers well. The Doctor is the perpetual outsider, but that’s not really the case here. He’s not comfortably at home in Time Lord society, but he knows it well and operates within it like an expert. Witness his use of the law to save his life in episode two, and his knowledge of the chapters and their reputations as he sneaks into the Panopticon in episode 1. He shows no favorable sentiment at being home, but is rather eager to leave when he gets the chance, which is entirely in keeping with his character. He mocks Borusa’s ‘adjusting the truth’ despite his respect for his old teacher, and Borusa seems quite fond of the Doctor despite being an apparent willing participant in the trial which would have led to the Doctor’s execution. It’s a unique relationship, expounded upon nicely in ‘The Invasion of Time’. Borusa comes across as pragmatic, recognizing the responsibilities of high office, but willing to mislead the public for what he considers the good of the Time Lords in general. 

Goth is an altogether different man, ruthless and ambitious, though seemingly charismatic as seen in his dealings with Spandrell. He’s more hard-edged with Borusa, who gives as good as he gets in exchanges with Goth. The conflict between him and the Doctor gains (unintended at the time of this was made I’m sure) depth since Bernard Horsefall played one of the Time Lords at the Doctor’s trial. In one of those happy accidents when I was taping Doctor Who off PBS, I taped the end of "the War Games", and then story that follows it on that tape is “the Deadly Assassin”, so it’s easy to watch the trial of the second Doctor and then go straight into this story. Of course it’s never stated that Goth and the Time Lord are the same character, but why not draw that conclusion since the first character is never named? It alters the way I see the characters of Goth and the Doctor relate in the story since they’ve met before and have some small history together. Goth presides over two trials of the Doctor and is almost responsible for his death. In the first instance he’s clearly out for justice by Gallifreyan standards, but in the second his motives are not so noble. However, it’s hard not to feel sympathy for him, since despite his evident character flaws, he’s under the influence of the Master and thus not entirely to blame. Goth seems out of his depth during the hunt through the Matrix dreamscape in episode three. Despite being armed and knowing the terrain, he makes several mistakes which cost him the struggle. 

Another aspect of Goth that distinguishes him from other Time Lords is the fact that he’s been off planet. As I mentioned above, it’s easy to imagine that his exposure to the outside universe during the Doctor’s trial opens up his mind to the responsibility of those in power to fight evil, and so he begins to examine the universe and its problems, and to travel. He mentions meeting the Master on Terserus, and like the Doctor and the Master, Goth has had his mind broadened by spending time outside Time Lord society. His dream world in the Matrix does not reflect the environment of Gallifrey, but contains a lot of imagery from Earth. Perhaps it’s been tailored by Goth to be something familiar and disturbing to the Doctor (and of course the viewer), and it is worth noting. 

Peter Pratt’s interpretation of the Master is a far cry from Roger Delgado. Seen for the first time since “Frontier in Space”, the Master is ghastly looking and is as ruthless as he ever gets. His plan is dangerous but sound enough, and had he exercised restraint and not involved the Doctor, it would have succeeded. Just like “Colony in Space”, he puts the knowledge of the Time Lords to better use than they do, as he uses the information about the artefacts Rassilon left behind in an attempt to perpetuate his life. This Master is a far cry from the lunatic we see in Logopolis or Castrovalva. Unlike those stories, the Master doesn’t kill for no reason and doesn’t chuckle insanely, and most of all isn’t stupid enough to cause the destruction of half the universe by not doing his homework. He knows the effect that releasing the power of the Eye of Harmony will have, and he’s prepared a way to survive it. He plans ahead and considers consequences. He’s simply out to survive and take his revenge on the Doctor. However, as the Doctor observes, hatred is the Master’s weakness, and it proves his undoing as the Doctor, being the master improvisationalist that he is, lies about the sash and distracts the Master long enough to avert total disaster. 

Despite the less than stellar quality of my old off-air copy, I have to admit that the Panopticon set looks impressive. The Time Lord robes and high collars are very fitting for this austere race, and the Master looks suitably emaciated, though he would be a bit more convincing if his mouth moved better. And the poor guy can’t even close his eyes! No wonder he’s in such a bad mood. The chancellery guard don’t seem incompetent so much as outclassed by the Doctor and the Master, despite Spandrell’s sarcastic remarks to Hilred. The commander gets some exercise in police-work, since Spandrell mentions running Shobogans in for vandalism, so crime is not unknown on Gallifrey. Crimes on the scale that the Master attempts to perpetrate are another matter entirely. 

The story itself plays around with the four episode structure in a creative way. Episode One sets up the conflict and tension beautifully by showing the viewer the presumed assassination of the President by the Doctor, and ending with the same event. In between we are introduced to all the characters and situations as the Doctor works with the limited time he has to try and prevent what he has forseen from actually taking place. Episode two deals with the fallout from the events of episode one and sets up the Doctor's enemies and allies. Now the plot is a little thin for four episodes, so rather than drag out episode three with empty running around after false leads, etc., the story takes a brilliant left turn into surrealism and the wonderfully depicted duel between the Doctor and Goth, which is an outstanding bit of drama. Part four finishes the story up with a suitably grand threat and climax. Never does the story feel strung out, and so it's a triumph on the structural level as well. 

I used to be irritated that Robert Holmes had diminished the Time Lords from the high-and-mighty beings that were seen in the War Games. I’ve changed that opinion to a large degree. They are certainly de-mystified, but still interesting and in many cases equal to the Doctor, and believable as an aloof race that has turned away from the universe. As such, they no longer grow as a society. Having achieved the pinnacle of technological achievement, they’ve diminished and have become self-absorbed and complacent. The Doctor’s boredom with their society is entirely understandable. Anyone who would rather risk death time and time again at the hands of numerous hostile alien races would be out of his mind with boredom on Gallifrey. In short, “The Deadly Assassin” adds to rather than ruins the Time Lords, and is a minor masterpiece of characterisation and drama. Highly recommended.

One of the most patronising things that anyone can say about a good sixth Doctor story is “wow, that’s really good for Colin Baker.” It’s as if it’s impossible for one of his stories to be genuinely good on its own terms, and people have to instead make the best of things by saying “oh well, it could be Timelash, so count your blessings.” Now when a bona fide classic comes along like Revelation Of The Daleks this is rendered nonsense, but I can sort of see why this view comes about in relation to The Mark Of The Rani; while it’s not quite good enough to be counted as able to survive its own era like Revelation or Vengeance On Varos, it’s still streets ahead of one or two other moments of Colin’s brief era. Therefore what reputation it has largely rests on the fact that it comes in the same season as Timelash and Attack Of The Cybermen – personally, while I understand this viewpoint I think it’s unfair to attack the entire story because the reasons it gets laughed at occasionally can be isolated into just a couple of scenes.

Immediately noticeable is the vast quantity of location shooting (a figure of 50% is one I’ve heard passed around), and thanks to some quite superb direction from Sarah Hellings – sadly her only story for Doctor Who – there’s a much classier feel to this story than I might have expected from an era not known for its taste. It’s helped by some pleasant incidental music, even though the dated sound of the synthesisers is highlighted by the period setting and their attempt at imitating actual instruments. The studio sets are also pleasantly subdued (particularly the Rani’s TARDIS, of which more later), possibly earning this the title of best looking sixth Doctor story.

Unfortunately, a sixth Doctor story will at some point involve the presence of the sixth Doctor. Dreadfully misconceived though his character is, Colin just about manages not to embarrass himself too much in this story, apart from his first scene with its notorious “malfunction!” shriek. It’s made all the worse by being his first scene and therefore devoid of context, and his theatricality disrupts the peace of the opening scenes like a sneeze in a library.

In case anyone doesn’t notice when they watch the story, this is what first introduces us to Pip ‘n’ Jane Baker, two decent plot-writers but whose tortured dialogue has earned them a reputation as two of Doctor Who’s worst writers. To be honest in comparison with some of their later work The Mark Of The Rani seems alright, even if they undo their good work in the second episode by providing the programme with one of its most infamously stupid lines. Nevertheless it’s quite sweet to see them pitching their episodes firmly at a family audience, as the miners’ newfound aggression manifests itself in them whipping each other with towels and kicking over stalls of potatoes. 

I don’t know why the Master’s dressed as a scarecrow, alright? It’s just spooky looking, I suppose, although I’ve never approved of elements in a story – technically good though they may be – that emphasise effect over sense. However, a serious mitigating factor is that Anthony Ainley tones down the ham in a story that in many ways doesn’t allow for that sort of thing. However, there are still one or two annoying scenes as the writers advance the plot by having him talk to himself. There’s a good scene where he meets the miners for the first time, and the deliberate irony of having the Doctor chide Peri for her smugness is amusing.

Terence Alexander gets most of the best lines in the episode, although he throws himself into the Victorian-gentleman trope a bit too enthusiastically to make him believable. He certainly has a dramatic entrance though in a decent action scene over the pit.

To be honest, neither Ainley nor Kate O’Mara is terrific in their roles, but O’Mara comes off the best here even if Ainley is still above average. The exchanges between the Rani and the Master are always fun to watch; what scores this story serious points in my book is the way it uses the Rani – a character with clear-cut needs and motivations – to send up the Master’s cliché of causing mischief for its own sake, without a proper reason.

Meanwhile, back on the other side of the plot, the Doctor’s logic in piecing together the peculiar events so far is interesting to listen to, but the villains have been given too much screen time too early on (with consequent plot revelations) to build up a decent sense of mystery. And, just in case you’d forgotten who wrote this story or felt their reputation was undeserved, we get the ridiculous line “fortuitous would be a more apposite epithet.” That said, there is much to enjoy in the Doctor’s confrontations with the Rani and it’s always nice to see his costume covered up. The only serious problem with the episode so far, as far as I can see, is that it’s shallow. Apart from the send-up of the Master there’s little here beyond the basic plot for me to really get my teeth into.

The cliffhanger to the first episode, at least this side of the episode break, is pretty good with some excellent film editing and good stunt work from whoever the poor sap was inside that casket (“so you want a job, do you?”). Unfortunately episode two has the famously lazy resolution where the reprise is re-edited and extra footage spliced in showing that the Doctor was never actually in any danger. They might have got away with this five or ten years before when episodes were being watched only on transmission, but by 1985 the era of the home video recorder was well underway and the production team short-changing the viewer like this isn’t so easy to overlook as it might have been in a black and white episode.

Episode two sees a definite drop in quality over episode one, and the interplay between the Rani and the Master is still a highlight of the story. However, having the Master repeat “the mark…of the RANI!” as if it’s an incantation a second time is a very unsophisticated piece of writing. There is a genuinely touching moment as the Doctor waxes lyrical about the Rani’s morals, and the mustard gas moment is a nice idea that worked better when I was a kid, I think.

The Rani’s TARDIS is seen for the first time at this point, one of the classiest sets ever seen in the series. I could easily believe that the entire budget of the season was used up on this one set, and it seems like an affront to designer Paul Trerise to allow Colin Baker on it while wearing his full costume. It’s all complimented by more superb location shooting (like the spider’s web shot – Hellings is possibly in the top twenty Doctor Who directors, maybe top ten for location filming). However, now we come to the most contentious issue in the entire story, and the easiest target for its detractors: the Rani’s landmines.

Is it plausible to have a device that can turn a human into a tree in a small explosion? Since it’s Time Lord technology, I don’t see why not. Is it a good special effect? I think so, yes. Was it a good idea to have the character formerly known as Luke reach down a branch and grab Peri? No. It’s compounded by that stupid line I alluded to earlier, the hilarious “don’t worry Peri, the tree won’t hurt you!” What elevates the line from just another clunker and into a piece of loopy genius though is that it makes perfect sense in context, which rather detracts from the whole concept of the scene, really. The story’s wound up with some more dodgy lines, like calling the Master a “crack-brained freak”, and a non-resolution where the Rani’s TARDIS is sent flying away faster than it should, and all’s done. I still like it, but I can’t help but feel a sense of waste.

I do like this story, but it’s got just a few too many flaws to really qualify as above-average. Whereas stories like Day Of The Daleks settle quite comfortably into average ratings, I feel more disappointed by The Mark Of The Rani because, despite all that works against it – the writers being the chief example – it comes very close to being something more.

Dragonfire is the best episode of season 24, on the grounds that something had to be. By that I mean that were this episode part of almost any other season then it would never achieve the title of that year’s best story; but even so, while it’s hardly up against stiff competition, it’s actually pretty good in its own right and while its success is to an extent default, it’s unfair to focus on this entirely. John Nathan-Turner’s production lays on the glitter, but scratch the surface and there’s an intelligent writer struggling to make his voice heard, and Dragonfire is in many ways an extremely dark story.

>From the opening shot it’s clear that this story is efficiently budgeted and reasonably well directed by Chris Clough, with expansive, mist-shrouded sets. Acting is one of the story’s weaker features, and watching a crewmember stick his hand in liquid nitrogen only to recover instantly and ask for an explanation is not an inspiring start to the story. The action scenes are similarly stagy but benefit from some well designed pyrotechnics and lead on to the mysterious and eerie scene where Kane recovers the ruined gun from the frozen liquid, only to kill it’s owner; it’s a good scene in itself, and in the context of the season (coming immediately after Doctor Who’s all-time low point, Delta And The Bannermen) it must have been absolutely magnificent. While the story retains a certain degree of campness it is in the aesthetic sense, arguably a natural product of looking back at the late 1980s – for the first time of the season the show is taking itself seriously without being too up itself, concentrating on telling a decent story. Surprisingly given the track record of the last few years, it’s mostly successful.

Even Mel is almost bearable this story, given a more proactive role (although her scream is still painful to listen to – seriously, if she’d been a Troughton companion Fury From The Deep would have been two episodes long). For the most part she’s better than Sophie Aldred, who makes a poor first impression here and who wouldn’t really come into her own until the writers allowed her to grow up a bit in season 26. She’s just a horribly misconceived character, a foul-mouthed teenage delinquent on a show that isn’t allowed any swearing (leading to some crazy alternatives, such as the truly bizarre line of “I know what unimpeachable means, bird bath”). It doesn’t help that’s she’s played by an actress nine years older than the character who delivers her cockney dialogue in her natural RP accent, although her creator Ian Briggs does write her better than most of the other writers who got lumbered with her.

The deliberately excessive names of the various locations on Glitz’s map give the episode’s premise an artificial feel, which is appropriate in context; it is later emphasised that everything down there was built for a purpose. It just raises the question of how Glitz fell for Kane’s scheme in the first place; although Tony Selby is fun to watch Briggs has an uphill struggle in characterising consistently a character who was invented by the late Robert Holmes, the undisputed king of loopy, poetic dialogue. Glitz in this episode works much better in company, and his most effective scenes come with Belazs, who despite not being the best acted character in the story is certainly the best written. His opening scenes in the café are enjoyable though, and the Doctor ordering a milkshake is a nice quirky touch. All in all, Dragonfire gets off to a promising start.

Edward Peel is mostly superb as Kane, although his rather lyrical dialogue borders on the parodic. It’s carried off with enough aplomb not to undermine the credibility of the character though, and is therefore actually quite impressive. He and Patricia Quinn are both quite haughty in their opening scenes which can make it hard for the viewer to engage with what they actually say, but it is paid off by their development later in the story. He taunts her, asking if she has memories of a home – as well as adding another layer to his relationship with her (cruelty to subordinates is rare in Doctor Who, where most junior villains only ever say “yes sir”; it’s one reason I think The Dominators is so underrated, but that’s another story), it becomes ironic on repeated viewings.

Things get taken down a peg with Ace pouring milkshakes over people’s heads – the scene gathers the episode’s worst actors together, and makes it feel like an early rehearsal. Ace’s squalid room highlights the bleakness of her situation and of the episode itself – it is set in a gleaming, utilitarian way station where nobody really matters particularly (Kane has no hesitation about killing his most senior lieutenants), and everyone is stuck in a rut. The episode, and this scene, emphasise a sense of pointlessness, making Ace’s explosives a form of pressure-valve; if only they were left in the hands of a more competent actress, as Aldred never seems so old as when she’s trying to emphasise her character’s youth. The scene where she blows up the ice jam is sweet, but I think Briggs’s dialogue places too much faith in the BBC’s effects department.

We see Kane freeze his blood but it’s a long time before we’re told why he needs to do this, or what he is – he becomes an enigmatic figure, who seems very human on one level but is disconcertingly different on others. His “twelve galaxies” speech owes a debt to Rutger Haur’s famous death soliloquy in Blade Runner, but it would be churlish for me to call season 13 my favourite of all time and then criticise this for being derivative, especially as this story’s references are all reasonably well integrated and find their own identity.

There is the infamous cliffhanger to come of course, which loses the episode some points. No one to my knowledge has adequately explained why the Doctor spontaneously decides to lower himself over a vast precipice with his umbrella and then just hang there – the excuse that it is a deliberate parody seems weak to me, as it’s executed so poorly that it becomes what it attempts to mock: a bad cliffhanger. It’s never explained how Glitz gets him down, and we also have to put up with the contrivance of Ace pulling a ladder out of her bag (it might as well have been from her sleeve).

Kane’s reference to his “former feelings” for Belazs are less effective and seem a bit tokenistic – the best characterisation is in the moment, and Belazs’s reaction is more illuminating to the viewer than the line itself is. This is the first episode that features the time-filling, sweeping shot of the planet; I mention it not because of the visuals (more on them later) but because of the score. Dominic Glynn provided possibly the worst ever theme arrangement for season 23 but his scores for the McCoy era are without exception excellent (he also did The Happiness Patrol and Survival), and his grand-yet-melancholic work here is no exception. Bear in mind that viewers at the time had just been sentenced to eleven weeks of Keff McCulloch, without possibility of parole.

The very jokey scene with the guard (you know the one) is believable for season 24 but jars a bit with this specific episode; while much of the comedy in this story works quite well this is so obviously an artificial and constructed gag that it undermines the entire illusion somewhat. It is followed by a superb scene in the cockpit of Glitz’s ship, where the Doctor sees right through the tormented Belazs and is sad that he cannot offer her any comfort; her death is sad, as it reveals her hopelessness. Kracauer is a less rounded character though, and his willingness to kill his boss is harder to believe.

Pudovkin’s reappearance as a zombie is potentially effective, but McCoy (the seventh Doctor is a good idea on paper but McCoy’s range is too limited for it) fails to lend it the right gravitas and the mercenary is a bit too articulate to be believable as someone who’s just had their neural pathways shut down. The friendly dragon is a mixture of the kind of silliness and creepiness that I suspect the entire season was attempting to pull off, but never quite managed it.

The hologram scene is notably high on the exposition, making up for the lack of it earlier in the story. Having a holographic archive read out Superman II style is an unusual way of revealing a plot and works quite well. Exposition also provides the cliffhanger and would have worked better without the pantomime moment of Kane talking directly to camera, which is the kind of directorial touch that only Graeme Harper ever managed successfully. To an extent the revelation of the Dragonfire undermines the story as it really isn’t plausible – while the idea of a criminal being exiled and trapped rather an executed is nothing new, giving him a means of escape within reach is harder to swallow. Did it really take him three millennia to find people to track down the dragon, find out its secret and kill it? The guards’ ANT-hunt exchange doesn’t help as it’s the only scene of the story that’s truly embarrassing to watch, which isn’t something I say often in stories featuring Langford.

The out-of-date star chart comes at the perfect moment, maintaining an enigmatic sense of mystery even at this late stage of the proceedings. The tracker picking up the little girl (a gimmicky character, but quite creepy to watch wandering around on her own and freezing her teddy bear) seems like a parody of Aliens but is indirect enough not to seem too smug.

The explosion of the Nosferatu showcases the story’s brilliant special effects – possibly the season’s strongest feature – and Iceworld turning out to be a spaceship itself is a surprising twist. Kane’s ultimate failure caps the story’s overarching theme of pointless endeavour, and his melting (more great effects) is one of Doctor Who’s top three scary moments, severely spooking me as a child.

Mel’s leaving scene seems tacked on, a very self-conscious passing on of the baton, although McCoy does get some good lines. From what this episode shows us the prospect of Aldred signing on is not an attractive one (although it seems a bit rich to be complaining about the person whom Bonnie Langford is leaving to make room for), but in fairness she did put in a good performance in Survival.

Dragonfire is, for the period at least, extremely good and it’s a shame that its reputation is contaminated by blanket statements regarding season 24. It has its share of annoying moments, but then so did The Impossible Planet, which I awarded top marks. Dragonfire isn’t at that level by any stretch, but it is still an unusually interesting episode that has a lot to say and manages to win out over the gaudy production in its effort to say it.

"Oh dear, a six-parter," I thought. I watched the two surviving episodes and my suspicions appeared to be confirmed. Part three barely feels like a part two, while part six feels like a part three. I was taken aback by the destruction of the Cybership and the spinning away of the Cybermen into space, which would be an unsatisfying ending for just one episode, let alone the climax of a six-week epic! I was ready to bash this thing to matchsticks...

...but then I read the scripts. It makes such a difference to see the whole story. If you put the surviving episodes in context, you can see the structure. It's still creakingly slow, but tension does build over the six weeks. (...Finn says provisionally, not having heard the audios or seen the reconstruction.) As in The Seeds of Doom, the traditional "four and two" six-parter pattern is turned on its head with a claustrophobic prologue on the Silver Carrier leading into the main story on the Wheel. A doom-laden atmosphere builds up and I'm prepared to bet that episode five was downright scary. The New Zealand censor clips look intense and Gemma Corwyn's murder is sinister even on the page, going so far as to get its own cliffhanger.

I decided that I like the script and even admire the production. It's a solid piece of work from everyone: designers, actors and direction. Check out the Cyber-murder in part six. They're repeating the "lift someone over their head" trick from Tomb, but this time they get it right. You can't see the Kirby wire! In fact the whole sequence looks brutal. That's a better directed and scarier Cyber-murder than anything from the colour era.

The model work is great, but the spacesuits are fantastic! Those may be the best-looking spacesuits in all of Doctor Who. I also love the new Cybermen. Leaving aside the fact that they're so bloody big, this is where they got their teardrops! I adore the teardrop. I'm absurdly pleased that the new Russell T. Davies Cybermen have teardrops. I don't think anyone will ever invent a more perfect visual metaphor for the tragedy of the Cybermen, or incidentally execute it better than the DWM comic strip did with That Shot of Junior Cyberleader Kroton. It's a beautiful accident of design.

On the downside, again a director thinks that Cybermen need to move when talking. Earthshock somehow got away with it, but here it looks almost as stupid as it did in Attack of the Cybermen. (Hell, if you must indicate which one's speaking, add a visual effect like the glass jaw or the Tomb/Moonbase mouth flaps.) The difference is that 1980s Cybermen did little boogies, but their Wheel predecessors incline their upper bodies as if bowing Japanese-style.

The Cybermen are famously absent for much of this story, but the Cybermats and possessed humans take up the slack nicely. I liked the Cybermats, which look far more effective than they deserved to. As in Tomb, it's one of television's miracles that the Cybermats didn't make the entire nation fall about laughing. Doctor Who has made a pig's ear of far less unpromising ideas. Unfortunately their victim in part three takes up the comedy slack by being terrified even before the cuddly toys have blasted a crowbar from his hand. His actual death is effective, though.

The accents are interesting, though. We had 'em in Moonbase and we have 'em again here. The Troughton-era 21st century was self-consciously international. I want to blame Star Trek and its cosmopolitan crew, but unfortunately it only reached the UK three years after its US début in 1966.

As an aside, that's an amazing combination of writers! Dr Kit Pedler rewritten by David Whitaker, the man who reinvented Clarke's Law: "Any sufficiently badly written science is indistinguishable from magic." Thus we have the fluid links coming back in a story with hard sci-fi and painstakingly crafted spacesuits. Forget the sexual air supply. That's just a goof, albeit a rightly famous one. More startling is a throwaway line: "Reinforce the anti-matter field around the Wheel." Reinforce the WHAT??? We're only in the 21st century! It wasn't not my imagination either, since the scene continues with: "Switch on the anti-matter field projectors." However David Whitaker obviously meant this to mean just a matter-repelling field, while it's not as if anti-matter got a rigorous scientific treatment in stories like The Three Doctors and Planet of Evil.

Yet again in Doctor Who, a commander goes insane. I guess it's saying something about the show's attitude towards authority, but couldn't they introduce extra screening for these people at the interview stage or something?

Personally I think this story suffers more than most from being incomplete, though I'm prepared to be contradicted by someone who's heard the audios and/or seen the reconstructions. Cyber-fans are lucky that all their stories are well-represented, though. Of their five 1960s stories, one is complete, two are nearly complete and the other two both have two surviving episodes. These ones don't stand up very well as individual instalments but at least they look pretty, with Troughton on good form ("Hello, I think I've got company" before a lovely Cyber-confrontation). I hadn't known what to expect from this, but in the end after some thought I decided that was impressed.

Possibly one of the most "referenced" stories in the series' history.

Seems like almost every other episode of any story featuring UNIT mentions "that business with the Cybermen". Of course, the "Web of Fear" is mentioned quite frequently too in this context, but somehow I've always been more fascinated with "The Invasion". Probably because it's got the Cybermen in it and they're still my all-time favourite monster. So, imagine my delight when a copy of the story was finally released with episode 1 and 3 missing and some linking narration from good 'ole Nick Courtney (who almost seems wheelchair-bound or something since he never rises from his seat!) thrown in to fill the gaps. 

But, even as I purchased this release, a slight shade of hesitancy passed over me. What if this was another notorious example of JNT's famous addage: "the memory cheats"? What if this story really wasn't all that it was cracked up to be and that all the talk that has revolved around it is really "just talk"?

Turns out my concerns were largely unfounded.

"The Invasion" is a thoroughly enjoyable epic. It's got that really "clunky" moment towards the end with ProfessorWatkins getting rescued and some pretty dodgy-looking model work with the Cyber-fleet. But, otherwise, it's a really enjoyable eight episodes. Well, technically six episodes - which means that maybe there was some awful padding in the two parts that no longer exist but I'll never be the wiser!

I know lots of you folks go on endlessly about how great the "old" Cybermen were. I've seen all the existing footage in "Tenth Planet", "Moonbase" and "Wheel In Space" and the unearthed complete story of "Tomb of the Cybermen" and I honestly think these stories have as many flaws to them as any of the Cybermen stories from the 80s. And, in some cases, I'd even take "Earthshock" or even "Silver Nemesis" over some of these older stories any day. But "The Invasion" is the exception to this rule. This really is a fantastic Cybermen story. Mainly because of the way the plot actually uses them. Their involvement in the adventure is kept a secret for the first four episodes so that when they finally break out of the cocoon, it's one of the best entrances a recurring villain ever makes. Also Tobias Vaughn and the Cyber Planner serve the same purpose Davros did in Dalek stories of the 70s and 80s. They handle the bulk of the expository dialogue, thus leaving the Cybermen to do what they do best: lumber around menacingly whilst being really hard to kill. The sewer sequences are an excellent example of this. And the march in front of St. Paul's Cathedral, for my money, is far more effective than when the Daleks coasted around London way back in the "Dalek Invasion of Earth" (if nothing else, we didn't have to endure that endless drumbeat pounding away over and over!). More superficially, this particular "look" for the Cybermen was also one of the better costumes they ever designed. And, it was nice to finally see Cybermen toting around rifles. Not sure why I like that so much, but it was still cool!

Another great strength to this story is the magnificentportrayal of the evil Tobias Vaughn. Kevin Stoney knows how to play his villains. So well, that it almost makes you wonder what the man is like in real life. And it's impressive to see that Vaughn isn't just a copy of Mavic Chen, but rather, a completely different interpretation. He's far more charming, if anything and considerably more calculating. But, like Chen, Stoney allows himself just enough OTT moments to make the villain fun in places. But he never goes too far with it. And there are definitely some really chilling moments for Stoney to sink his teeth into. Particularly the sequence where Watkins shoots him and we see the smouldering bullets in Vaughn's chest as he smiles evilly. Magnificient stuff. 

I suppose, like many fans, I do find it a bit hard to believe that Vaughn would use somebody like Packer as his second-in-command. He seems a bit too incompetent and panics too easilly. Although, I have found that the complaints about Packer are greatly exaggerated (as is the case with many of the things fans like to "niggle" about in the series). The only time Packer really seems like a boob is during the whole "escape through the lift shaft" sequence with the Doctor and Jamie. Otherwise, he does handle things fairly well, overall, and it's not entirely ridiculous that Vaughn would employ such a blatant sadist. Packer is there to handle Vaughn's dirtywork so that he can look "squeaky clean" in his public profile. This seems a logical set-up and doesn't push plausibility too far. 

And then, of course, there's UNIT. A good first story. Although I do feel that Nick's portrayal of the Brigadier is still a bit rough in places. It's tough though, really. The Brig did become such a well-crafted character that it is a bit difficult to see him still a little unpolished in his early days. Even the first Pertwee story has a bit of this going on in it too. But it is nice to see the Doctor able to get some millitairy might to back him up. And, unlike a lot of later UNIT stories, the back-up is actually somewhat instrumental in resolving the conflict. 

Which leads me neatly into commenting on the effectiveness of the final two episodes. These are the ultimate testament to Douglas Camfield's directorial skills. Aside from the afore-mentioned poor model work, I consider the execution of these last two episodes virtually flawless. Especially when you consider how much of the action had to be handled through just actors standing around in control rooms pretending to react to events being announced on radios. Somehow, we feel as though we are still part of all this action and tension and we can suspend our disbelief adequately as Douglas cuts away to stock footage and bad models. It's all rather impressive, really. 

And when Douglas is able to handle some legitimately visual action, it's truly breathtaking. The Doctor and Vaughn sneaking through the compound and the attack from UNIT on the Cybermen are breathtakingly well-done. Particularly when you consider the budget limitations and the time period in which this was all shot. Camfield really surpasses himself here - and we can see why his status as a director for Who has become a bit legendary.

Finally, we hear a lot about how wonderful Season Five of Who was. But I'm still more impressed with what I've seen of Season Six. This might simply be because I've seen a lot more footage from this season, but I'm more inclined to believe that there is a better variety and quality to the stories of this season. We have the wildly imaginative "Mind Robber", the fun little runarounds in "The Dominators" and "Seeds of Death" and the climactic grand finale of "The War Games". Sitting, quite beautifully, in the middle of all this is fantastic little contemporary epic called "The Invasion". Easily, one of the best Cybermen stories - and an excellent Troughton tale to boot! Even with the conveniently written-in "break" that Frazer Hines gets in the last two episodes!