The Awakening

For some reason in my memory I used to remember The Awakening as being part of Season Twenty, probably due to its rather subtle pace and emphasis on atmosphere and suggestion, very Season Twenty-ish traits, and against the grain of Season Twenty One’s generally more gung-ho approach (bar Planet of Fire) to the programme. In this sense The Awakening was a welcome meditative two-parter after the bull and bluster of the messy Warriors of the Deep; even the following story, Frontios, though including some typical Chris H Bidmead scriptorial sophistication, still seems at least visually very symptomatic of its season, the least intriguing of Davison’s three seasons, although it concluded in arguably the most dramatically powerful story ever, Caves of Androzani.

What I like about The Awakening – and in this it shares some similarities with its two formulaic predecessors, Black Orchid and The King’s Demons – is its good straight-forward story telling, unpretentious execution, intriguing atmosphere, convincing pseudo-historical realization (though of course most of its historical details are meant as a Civil War re-enactment in the modern day) and seeming deftness of ease at feeling more like a four-parter than a two-parter. Even though the storyline fits neatly into its 50 minutes, with all threads tied up nicely, the story contains a fair amount of plot detail: Civil War re-enactment conjuring up dormant historical forces, alien energies and inevitable time disturbances; the Malus’s place in historical Earth superstition; its craft, a probe from Harkol, leaving deposits of Tinclavik, a ‘squigy’, malleable metal from the planet Raga (cue the Terileptils from The Visitation pleasingly and subtly alluded continuity worked in from Season Nineteen). Even the characters are, for such a short excursion, believable and fairly engaging, especially George Hutchinson, played by the impeccable and always engaging Dennis Lill (who was to recognize the impressive, follically-challenged portrayer of Dr Fendahlman beneath that cascade of hair?). Will Tyler is a memorable character also, and I always remember wishing he’d joined the Tardis crew at the time, his Stig-of-the-Dump-esque incongruity beside the infinitely more intelligent Doctor providing a highly enjoyable and comical combination (not to mention bringing the flame-haired, angst-ridden Turlough in to the bargain).

The sets in this story are typically convincing and detailed for the series’ long tradition of historically accurate backdrops. The Church set in particular is extremely well done and exudes a sufficiently eerie atmosphere; the details on the wooden pulpit are particularly impressive, showing carvings of what we later come to see in corporal as the alien intelligence known as The Malus. The later scenes with the strange gargoyle entity clinging to the wall of the Tardis are brilliantly done and very memorable. My favourite scene of all is the one towards the end in which a ghost Cavalier and a trio of ghost Roundheads are conjured up by the Harkol probe to threaten the lives of the Doctor et al; subtly realized, real actors in costumes painted white, these apparitions, apparently somehow physically manifest from the past, are suitably tangible and eerie – their realization goes to show how this sort of thing should be done, and how it can be done far more convincingly than CGI effects, with the right atmosphere and direction.

Perhaps the only real qualm about the story is the unnecessary and convenient plot device of including Tegan Jovanka’s grandfather, Andrew Bernie; although the crew intend to visit him in Little Hodcombe, it is still slightly peculiar that an Australian should be living in a hamlet in the British home counties. Having said that, they couldn’t exactly have a relative of Turlough’s living there due to his alien origins.

Over all then, a highly enjoyable story, deftly scripted by Eric Pringle, strangely memorable considering its brevity, as were the other two Davison two-parters at the time – Hartnell’s The Rescue excluded, no other era of Doctor Who managed to achieve such satisfactory examples of this 50 minute story formula than the Davison era. His two parters never seemed rushed and yet always seemed filled with detail and variety of plot elements, and in this glowing example of the 50 minute Davison era speciality, there is even time at the end for a little banter in the Tardis over a cup of tea. Consummate Who.