You have to laugh at second-generation clichйs, where one clichй is used to avoid using another. For example, how many reviews of The Talons Of Weng-Chiang begin with “classic is such an overused term, but…”? Now, you could argue that I’ve just said the same thing myself in a roundabout and rather smug way, and you’d be right. I also might have just given birth to the third-generation clichй. So before I digress any further I’ll lay my cards down straight: Pyramids Of Mars is an all-time top-tier platinum-card officers’-club classic. Despite this is has its share of detractors, and maybe one day I’ll understand why. Nah, probably not.

It rocks and rolls from the very beginning, with a brilliantly atmospheric introduction in the Egyptian tomb. It’s jarring to see Bernard Archard playing an ordinary bloke as it’s at odds with what I’m used to from the rest of the story, but the idea of him stumbling into a hidden chamber only to be blasted down by an unseen something within is magic. Also of note is Ahmed, the one credited cast member who doesn’t die (and that’s only because he flees for good having uttered his one line); from here on in it’s doom and gloom all the way with a massive 87.5% mortality rate.

The opening TARDIS scene is one of many from this story that had a particular effect on me in my youth, for reasons that will shortly become clear. The dialogue between the regulars is up to Robert Holmes’s usual high standard (apart from the Prince Albert joke which I never laughed at, ever) with the Doctor going through a mid-life crisis moment when suddenly all gives way to one of Doctor Who’s top three scariest moments ever: a transparent, disembodied nightmare-face materialises on the wall of the TARDIS. My word, I had nightmares for weeks and weeks when I was small, and I still feel a bit nervous every time I know the scene is coming up.

It’s a nice idea for once that the TARDIS should arrive too early for once rather than too late, especially because it leads to one of the most successful studio recreations of period detail there ever were. The shot of the sarcophagus in the mirror reminds us that Paddy Russell is at the wheel; a fearsome lady by all accounts but a superb director, so fair enough.

One notable thing about this story is how perfectly it’s constructed, with the first episode building up the premise in layers in order to make sense later. Here then we have unexplained missing professors, walking mummies, and so forth. Collins’s death makes good use of the unseen, with something emerging from a sarcophagus (can you guess what it is yet?). Namin shifting the weightless polystyrene sarcophagus lid looks just like it does every time anyone ever tries to make weightless polystyrene seem heavy, but such trivialities are forgotten with the first sight of one of the mummies: slow, silent, lumbering but unstoppable killers, which look just amazing.

The sight of blood on Warlock’s hand is a funny thing: common in Hinchcliffe (Terror Of The Zygons and The Brain Of Morbius to name two examples just from this season) but rare elsewhere. Perhaps that’s why I can’t make my mind up about whether it’s jarring or not. I’ll admit it though, the first episode does contain too much running about in the woods. That said it is one of the most effective uses of location ever with the mummies looking amazing as they stalk between the trees, and Dudley Simpson scores it with some of his best ever work.

Now we meet the late Michael Sheard putting in a bumbling but sympathetic performance as Laurence Scarman, and the dialogue between him and the Doctor over the marconiscope is priceless. “Beware Sutekh” provides us with the next layer of the plot; those who criticise the “glacial pace” of the original series (step forward Radio Times, turncoat that y’are) should be silenced by this expertly constructed yet deliberately slow-paced story.

I’ve always thought that the space / time vortex effect looks like a load of flying smarties, but it’s actually a pretty good effect for the time and in this instance it leads to one of the most terrifying cliffhangers of them all. The black-clad figure, whose footsteps cause the floor to smoulder, striding forward to kill his loyal servant…and some people don’t like this.

With the intro over part two starts telling us how all the pieces fit together, and so begins the most exposition-heavy episode that concerns itself about mummies building rockets and power sources on Mars. It’s well written and a great concept though, so you’ll not here complaints from me. I also get some ironic humour from the idea of Egyptian aliens being worshipped as gods – maybe the new series got its giant budget from Stargate’s royalty payments.

The Doctor getting caught in the vortex is a very contrived way of getting the TARDIS key to Sutekh (and yet the Doctor has a spare, handily) and lacks explanation apart from that “parallax coil” jive which is no help to anyone. However, the following scene of the mummy being caught in the badger trap in the dawn light is as atmospheric a moment as the series has ever made. This is followed by the deflector shield, leading to a brilliant effect as Clements throws a stick at it. Clements is really just a means of showcasing Sutekh’s power, and this simple task is performed very well indeed. After this comes another great moment: the death of Warlock is chilling in the extreme, featuring a brilliant performance from Bernard Archard.

The priest-hole scene shows up the limitations of the time as all characters have to stay facing the camera rather than each other. However, Marcus’s comment that “there are other humans within these walls” is a brilliant bit of wordplay that I’d never noticed before and the sight of him getting shot in the back only for the bullet to come hurtling out again is one of the show’s defining moments. 

Laurence sees inside the TARDIS – now he has to die. The return to 1980 is a wonderful moment (and freaky to people watching this in 1975), and puts some thought into Sarah’s question which is often asked about time travel.

The swirls as Sutekh communicates with Scarman are much more effective than the Tunnel of Smarties; this is our fist experience of Gabriel Woolf’s virtuoso vocal performance as Sutekh. The casting is perfect; and to think Hinchcliffe wanted to use a ranting “bwa-ha-ha” type.

Clements’s death is shocking in the extreme; how did this story ever get a U certificate? The cliffhanger lingers a bit too long though, with everyone holding their poses for the sting. This requires a bit of judicial editing for the reprise in part three, and thankfully it gets it.

Well, we know the plot now, so the goodies spring into action. The Doctor’s dismantling of the generator loop is a very tense scene with some good interplay between the Doctor and Sarah – but then, you have to spice up sonic screwdriver scenes somehow (SSSS…er, isn’t that taking alliteration a little too far?). The scene in Clements’s shed is fun amidst the seriousness, as Laurence’s death is unbearably intense (I had to skip forward through this when I was young). The Doctor’s reaction is an enlightening bit of characterisation and shows the regulars at the top of their game. The only thing that makes me wonder is the fact that Laurence’s body is still rocking in his chair when the Doctor walks in so Marcus could only have left seconds earlier, and yet nobody saw him.

Sarah’s missed a vocation as a costumer because her dressing up of the Doctor is flawless, rendering the covering line of “it doesn’t have to be perfect” redundant. She’s also a crack shot with a rifle, for some reason. This kind of contrivance I have a problem with. It’s a nice twist though to have Sutekh’s original plan failing at the end of part three; there’s no better way to pad a story up to length.

The Doctor’s confrontation with Sutekh is one of the show’s best ever scenes, as the two talk together almost as equals even though the Doctor remains firmly in the villain’s power. It’s let down by the sight of the TARDIS key wobbling about on a piece of string, but raised again with the possessed Doctor – will he make it?

Handily, Horus has filled the Pyramid of Mars with an oxygen atmosphere. I always liked the travel through the pyramid (I have a particular soft spot for The Crystal Maze), and the logic puzzle scene with Sarah trapped is fantastic – people still ask that riddle as if there isn’t an easy answer. However, the roll-back-and-mix effects are slightly crude in this story. Scarman’s final death is another spooky moment.

As Sutekh has apparently one the scene is set for a seriously dramatic showdown, but unfortunately endings was where Holmes’s genius often tended to falter a bit, as here he presents some naff deus ex machina worthy of Russell T. Davies himself: the Doctor grabs a random bit of machinery from the TARDIS and confines Sutekh to the Tunnel of Smarties forevermore. At least he won’t go hungry, and it leads to a great final shot of the priory burning down.

The disappointing ending is not enough to knock this story down of its pedestal. Always a defining episode of the show, despite naysayers I’m confident it will always be a favourite. It’ll certainly always be a favourite of mine – what more is there to say?

Enough has been said about the racism implicit in many of the characters in The Talons of Weng-Chiang. My only advice is that if you concentrate only on a few jibes that are correct for the Victorian era and ignore the brilliant character development, creepy period atmosphere, and some of the tightest plotting for a six-part serial; then you will miss all that is worth savouring about it.

The odd thing about The Talons of Weng-Chiang that may turn off some first time viewers is that no one knows what’s really going on throughout the entire story except for the villain, Weng-Chiang. And as The Doctor says of him when asked who he is, “I don’t know. He didn’t introduce himself.” Weng-Chiang – or Magnus Greel if you prefer – isn’t about to reveal his secrets to anyone. So the audience is almost as much in the dark as Leela, Litefoot, or Jago. The only advantage a viewer has is that we’re used to watching science fiction, so can follow ideas like time travelling cabinets and life essence transferral machines. And even at the episode six denouement, we only discover the true nature of Greel’s technology in quick snippets of easily missed dialogue.

The only other difficulty I can see people having with The Talons of Weng-Chiang is that all the supporting characters are so well-written that they overshadow The Doctor himself. He’s in fine form here, with almost every scene played perfectly. Example one – approaching the Chinese thugs carrying a dead body in episode one with the phrase, “Say, could I help you with that?” then going into Doctor Who’s most blatant (and bizarre) example of Kung Fu cinema. Example two – casually reminding the apparent Orientalist Litefoot that his authentic Chinese blunderbuss is in fact an imitation from Birmingham. Example three – walking into Litefoot’s dining room carrying a map and talking, sitting next to Greel, looking him straight in the face, and saying “Oh good! I see you let yourself in.” Example four, et al – every other scene he’s in. He’s a bit too uniformly serious in this story for my own Tom tastes. I prefer some of his crazier moments in Ark in Space or the occasional bit of City of Death-style madcappery. But if you like the more dour, moody Fourth Doctor of season 14, this is the perfect place to go.

Leela too has some excellent moments. Disguising herself as the dolled-up prostitute Teresa in episode three to infiltrate Greel’s secret hideaway is just right for her action hero persona. The way she spits curses at Greel as he’s about to suck the life out of her in episode six, you can almost feel the saliva on your face. And her dinner with Litefoot speaks perfectly to the Eliza Doolittle concept that was originally behind her character, in addition to being hilarious.

Just as a side note, Leela looks nothing like Teresa, even with her face covered, but Chang doesn’t notice. Pretty ironic considering his earlier comment regarding his character’s ethnicity, “I suppose we all look the same.”

It’s Professor George Litefoot and Henry Gordon Jago who most often steal the show from The Doctor, though. They had quite a bit of chemistry as a comical double act, but they didn’t even meet until episode five. So we first meet them as fabulous characters in their own right. Litefoot comes across quite well as an over-earnest, but very out-of-his-depth police pathologist. Tracking down a murder mystery he can handle, sort of, but you can tell how confused he is once forty-ninth century technology starts making its appearance. Still, he’s good in a pinch, and a charming fellow, really. As I mentioned, the dinner scene with Leela is hilarious, as he’s just too polite to eat from a plate when he sees her tearing straight into a side of beef. When he tells The Doctor that Weng-Chiang’s bandits won’t catch him napping again, you know he’s going to fall asleep in time for them to break into the house. But he’s so charming when he says it that you really, truly do want to believe him.

But it was Jago who stole my heart in this story. Maybe it’s the frustrated actor in me, but the way he talks about the skill and theatricality he brings to his job announcing the acts, ad-libbing jokes, and taking care of the accounts makes me smile at this blustery old fart who puts so much honest effort into his usually thankless job. He’s the perfect archetype of the portly bellower who talks big but is a bit of a coward underneath. When The Doctor discovers the hologram of the ghost that Weng-Chiang set up to keep people away from his hideout, you see Jago faint behind him at the sight of it, leaving The Doctor to drag him away. This is only one of the many cracking funny moments Jago has in The Talons of Weng-Chiang. He and Litefoot do work wonderfully together, Litefoot’s earnestness fitting perfectly against Jago’s blustering cowardice. And it is a wonderful moment for Jago when he finally gives himself enough bravery to distract the carnage-happy Mr. Sin so Leela can grab a nearby gun without being shot. Seeing these two walk off into the fog at the end reminded me just a little bit of the end of Casablanca, a much more upbeat beginning of a beautiful friendship.

But I can’t discuss this story without mention of the villains, and what villains they are. Weng-Chiang/Magnus Greel is the most mystifying of all. We first hear the name Weng-Chiang as The Doctor describes him, an ancient malevolent Chinese god. But once we see him, we see a psychotic broken figure with a hidden face and disfigured hands who, while quite malevolent, does not seem all that Chinese. The sight of him firing a laser pistol, and The Doctor’s discovery of future technology is enough to clue the viewer into the less than heavenly origins of the character. It is just his psychotic nature that makes him so compelling. Hardly fitting the standard profile of a Chinese god, we are left to wonder about his nature until The Doctor finally fills us in at the end of the story with recollections of his own experiences in the forty-ninth century. If he were subtle and less brutally violent, we would be more likely to believe that he was a supernatural being. The clash with our initial expectations of him draws the viewer deeper into the mystery of what exactly he is. Plus, he is also an entirely repulsive character, taking pleasure in every death around him, laughing maniacally when he forces his henchmen to commit suicide. And there is rather clearly a perverse sexual overtone to his prediliction for feeding on the life force of supple young women. Perhaps if he is too deformed to attract them, he will instead see them die.

And of course, Li H’Sen Chang. Yes he was played by a white man in fairly obvious makeup, and yes his accent was atrocious. But as no one is willing to give an adequate explanation, I will move on and say what a marvellous character! Here is a man driven to the murder of ten young women in London alone to please his master, his supposed god. Ever since he was a peasant, Chang has devoted his life to the service of Weng-Chiang, and he is positively menacing. His low, accented voice is perfect to deliver completely certain threats. When he’s on the surface, he’s in control, hypnotising his victims at will and having those who get too close to his operation despatched as easily as that angry cab driver in episode one. Then when he descends into his master’s hell, he is at times forced to beg forgiveness from his psychopathic lord. And when Greel betrays and abandons him, he willingly runs into the sewers to be chewed to death by giant rats. His last scene, dying in an opium den, his thoughts only on how he has wasted his life, offer him some little redemption for the destruction he has caused in the service of a false god.

But all these wonderful characters would be useless if lost in a muddled plot, but with Robert Holmes, we have a story with hardly a single throwaway moment. There may be some slow moments, perhaps inevitable in a Doctor Who story more than two hours long, but we are always on edge, waiting for the next developments to occur. Plus, every episode sees a part of the story arc develop with a considerably different character. The ominous atmosphere is present throughout, but each episode is a little different in tone, making sure that none of the action quite blurs together between the episode barriers as I’ve noticed in many other serials. 

Episode one excellently sets up our creepy tale, introducing us to the unsettling character of Li H’Sen Chang. The gruesome death of the cab driver – insane old Victorian bag lady with no teeth included! – sets the tone for the proceedings. Mr. Sin brandishing his knife for the first time is just plain scary. Deep Roy has quite a good performance here as the psychotic robot Mr. Sin. I’m sure this was much more fun in a grisly sort of way than his later role as an ewok in Return of the Jedi. Episode two sees the mystery build as we see Weng-Chiang for the first time, as well as The Doctor’s superbly shot chase around the upper chambers of the theatre. Plus, we get the whimsical break in the terror supplied by Leela and Litefoot’s dinner. 

Episode three gives us a disturbing play-by-play of Chang’s kidnaps, as he hypnotises the prostitute in the early morning and leads a theatre cleaning girl to her death. Episode four sees the battle of wits – at times both amusing and shocking – between The Doctor and Chang during his magic performance. Seeing Chang at the height of his power only makes his fall from grace in this episode all the harder. Episode five sees the shift from Chang to Greel as the plot focusses on the hunt for Greel’s new hideout. We also get two versions of this hunt – the serious one from The Doctor and Leela, and one tinged with low to middle comedy from Jago and Litefoot. How oddly appropriate that the comedians find it first! 

Episode six, of course, sees the climactic final fight, as the mad Greel dies in his own machine with which he has killed so many others. A minor quibble with this episode, we never see what The Doctor does with all Greel’s anachronistic technology, aside from smashing the key to the time cabinet. Of course, given that the story has given us little explanation of Greel’s origins and technology, it’s only fitting that The Doctor’s deconstruction of the Zygma equipment be cut for the much more character-centric tea discussion over muffins. I think this was one of the best ending lines for a final battle scene I remember seeing in Doctor Who. Some bells ring nearby, and The Doctor says, “It’s the muffin man. Come on, I’ll buy you some muffins.”

And then the four of them are eating muffins.

On the giant rats, there’s a real person in a rat suit in some of those shots, as I found out in the Whose Doctor Who documentary that came with the dvd. The rat scenes are really the only moments in this serial where viewer commentary like “Cheap 1970s BBC effects coming up!” are all that necessary.

Incidentally, The Talons of Weng-Chiang contains a throwaway reference to Time Agents, which would reappear as more important parts of the Who universe in the novel Eater of Wasps, in which they were morally ambiguous operatives The Eighth Doctor had to deal with. However, it was this organization that gave us Captain Jack Harkness, so perhaps they have been redeemed at least a little.

An endnote: John Bennett gave a wonderful performance, but I thought of a good Asian actor who could have played the part well, if perhaps with some makeup to make him appear the same age he was when I first saw him in the mid-1990s. Soon Tek Oh, who played Bon Bon Hai, a recurring villain on Kung Fu: The Legend Continues. Now, he was menacing.

No stories split opinion as much as the light-hearted ones do. Some universally love them, and some…well, you get the picture. I try to keep an open mind about them; I think The Chase is brilliant, for example, whereas others make me cringe as anyone who has read my recent review of Delta And The Bannermen will attest (and lets not forget Aliens Of London). While I wouldn’t call it comedic, The Androids Of Tara is certainly lightweight – and furthermore, it’s an example of a lightweight story pitched just right.

Having said that, it does get off to a shaky start. I’ve never held David Fisher in particularly high regard as a writer, and the beginning of this episode showcases why: his dialogue isn’t terrible, but it is completely lacking in any breadth beyond what applies directly to the plot. Every line spoken is the minimum necessary to push the narrative forward; characterisation, subtext and original panache are hardly present at all. The best I can say about it is that it has a certain simplistic elegance, but I feel that it is simply Fisher’s rudimentary skill that causes this. It is his well-known source material rather than him that makes this story the most enjoyable of his four scripts for the series. This isn’t a problem once the plot actually gets going, but in the early introductory scenes the script creaks through its inability to carry a conversation that doesn’t directly correspond to its core idea of Count Grendel’s political machinations. Hence we have Romana’s horribly delivered recap of their quest for the season, exposition so unsubtle it feels like being on the receiving end of Monty Python’s fish-slapping routine. We also get the Doctor’s desire to take a break, which judders along side the intention of the story as a whole. Just to get my gripes over and done with, four stories in and Tom Baker and the Ice Queen still have no on-screen rapport whatsoever. Baker tries his best, but Frostina undermines his efforts with boringly delivered lines that for all their efficiency aren’t much more interesting than her just saying “I’m going over here”.

Ten minutes in the plot gets going, and all is well. The segment is found immediately, and plays little part in the story. This adventure epitomises how to carry a plot-arc successfully: not to be concerned about it all the time. This serial comes as light relief to prevent the ongoing hunt for the Key To Time, which had been going on unabated for twelve weeks, and prevents it becoming boring – it works wonderfully well. In even the most dynamic of narratives (not that that’s an adjective commonly appropriate to the Graham Williams era) there comes a time when it’s good to take the foot from the accelerator and just cruise for a bit.

The core idea of a technologically-sophisticated society that is aesthetically archaic is a brilliantly original one, even if it doesn’t really stand up to scrutiny; then again, this episode was never designed to stand up to scrutiny, or else it wouldn’t be “lightweight”. It creates a fascinating juxtaposition between culture and technology, and also presents the unique scenario of a science-fiction adventure with what is for practical purposes a period setting – and when it comes to period settings, Doctor Who’s hit-rate is well documented. It is helped by some pleasing design work (my jaw hit the ground when I saw that designer Valerie Warrender was also responsible for The Twin Dilemma), and some excellently directed location footage from Michael Hayes. I shouldn’t need to make that point given that Hayes also helmed the truly magnificent City Of Death, but he never seems to get much recognition. The only real failing in design terms is the wood beast, but then it’s really just the inanimate plastic face mask that lets it down; at least it can move at more than a snails pace, unlike several other monsters that space does not permit me to list. Also the incidental music sees Dudley Simpson on one of his better days, his harpsichord score appropriate to the story and unobtrusive.

In acting terms the story gets by with an average cast: Neville Jason is good as Prince Reynart but is cancelled out by the hamtastic Paul Lavers as Farrah. The real standout though is of course Peter Jeffery as Count Grendel, who makes a brilliant villain for such a story: pantomime-influenced, but retaining all his credibility. In short, I love to hate him in a way only really matched by Roger Delgado. Baker is flippant, as he was throughout most of Williams’s time as producer, but not lazy yet. Zadek’s and Reynart’s explanation of Tara’s political system is reasonable in the exposition field, staying the right side of stating the obvious, and signposts future action in which swashes will be significantly buckled.

The poisoned chalice is, unsurprisingly, a stock element but it makes for an enjoyable cliffhanger leading to a great final shot of the leering Grendel. Very little has happened of note in the first episode, which is odd given that the only purpose of each scene is to further the plot, but it has the perfect spirit.

I’m not criticising it as such, but the superficiality of this story does make it quite hard to find something to say about it beyond aesthetic details. For most stories this would be a final condemnation, but this is so intentionally daffy and confident in its execution it elevates it to the level of fun-for-all. It has to be said that even if the dialogue is not so simple intentionally it is very tight; a rare exception to its purely perfunctory nature comes with Farrah’s nervousness towards androids, to which the Doctor responds that androids feel the same way about humans. This is a good moment, even if it had been done better in The Robots Of Death. 

Cyril Shaps plays a whinger in all four of his appearances in the show, which is an unfortunate role to be typecast as, and this is his only story where he doesn’t get killed. He can get very annoying, especially when I’m so familiar with The Tomb Of The Cybermen is which is complaining reaches incredible levels. The cliffhanger is great if only because it’s so much fun to see the Doctor triumphant, even if it does undermine Grendel’s threat. Mary Tamm’s speech to the android king, however, sounds like it’s being delivered by a zombie. Tamm plays four roles in this story (a record), when she can only barely cope with one. However, two of the roles are only faceless ciphers - and the androids don’t take much skill either.

There is as tense seen as the characters blag their way through the android king’s malfunctions, and this leads on to a brief shot of the segment; it has no bearing on the story, and is only being shown through necessity as there is no real way of avoiding that this is a Key to Time story; of all of the six serials this is the one that could sit most happily in another season.

The Romana-android that fires a laser at womb height (a feminist commentary perhaps, or just laughable visual effects? You decide) gets by as this episode makes no claim to gritty realism. This makes it all the more jarring to hear of Lamia’s relationship with Grendel; a relief to see a moment of characterisation, even if it is slightly tokenist.

The destruction of the Romana-android is a stagy action scene: Hayes’s strength is with film. The action scenes that take place outdoors are much better, even if the guards cannot shoot straight; villains could very rarely shoot straight in Doctor Who, but here for some reason I found their ability to hit just about everything except what they were actually aiming at quite irritating. It is a shock to see Madam Lamia killed in such an inherently gentle story though; the mortality rate for this story (credited characters only* not including regulars) is only 11.1%.

Into the final episode, and Grendel’s outburst of “this is not wine but vinegar” is embarrassingly cheesy in a story that, while undeniably derivative, has an original twist. 

Tamm’s performance as Strella is even worse than her one as Romana, if that’s possible, and annoyingly K9 plays a significant role in the plot. Like the sonic screwdriver he’s OK for certain things but if he’s used directly in solving the plot then he’s just as galling as any other narrative device; there’s also the problem that I never feel so much like it’s a kids’ show as when K9’s on screen. That said he does get quite sarky in this episode, making him just about bearable. Even so, the “hamster with a blunt penknife” line is overrated.

There are lots of cuts between film and videotape here, which is helped by the darkness. The finale is wonderful: again it contains stock elements, but the oldies are the best: it has all the classics such as an unjust wedding interrupted in the nick of time and a very well choreographed swordfight that restores my faith in Hayes. However, Baker’s performance does verge on slapstick here which is inappropriate for a show that, while whimsical, was not a comedy programme. By contrast the lack of incidental music in the first part of the fight makes it seem very grim and serious, although it makes it less dramatic also.

A Gracht never surrenders: they take the honourable option of fleeing. It makes his last words of “next time I shall not be so lenient” seem very witty, and it is testament to how sweet natured this is that it feels totally right that the villain should escape free. I’d feel sorry for him if he bit the dust. This is followed by the quick, necessary scene of making sure they have the segment, and the Doctor’s line of “I didn’t catch one fish” must have seemed a very strange thing to say to the 500 000 people who hadn’t watched part one.

My top ten list is loaded up with the deep and rich stories such as The Curse Of Fenric, City Of Death and Kinda – The Androids Of Tara is a perfect alternative however, when I want one. It will never be a classic as it is so essentially empty and so I’m only giving it an average rating, but it gets that by default more than anything else; settle down with a swiss roll and some dry cider and it’s a delight from beginning to end.

*Besides, I think K9 probably only stunned those guards anyway. Wouldn’t really suit the tone otherwise.

Kinda is remembered as, in a nutshell, “that story everyone used to think was rubbish in 1982 and now thinks is brilliant”. Well, I wasn’t born in 1982 and my first memory of it is watching it after having had some teeth extracted when I was eleven. It’s rather a strange story anyway: imagine what it’s like under the effect of laughing gas. Ten years later I can safely say that all traces of the anaesthetic has worn off and so I can say that Kinda is one of my very favourite stories. Christopher Bailey has gone for the interesting but risky option of presenting the subtexts as what are important rather than the surface details, while refraining from explaining these subtexts in too much detail. This style of storytelling requires a very active viewer; it has taken me a couple of dozen viewings over the last decade for me to really get to grips with it. While then if I just want to pig out with a slice of cake I’ll watch The Androids Of Tara, when I can be bothered to put the effort in it is completely worth it.

The first aspect of the story that’s immediately obvious is the much-criticised set design. To be honest, I never had too much of a problem with it. I admit that the jungle set never looks like a real jungle but I think it serves its purpose, mainly because set designer Malcolm Thornton has stuck to standard plant designs and hasn’t been over-ambitious and presented pedal-bins with eyes like in Planet Of The Daleks. That and I’ve always been rather partial to the colour green, so I’m biased. The studio sets also get criticised for being too plain, but in every case there’s always a splash of colour somewhere to provide some kind of interest, like the jungle out of a window or the psychedelic equipment in the control room. It works well, and I’ll take it over the garish studios of many other 1980s stories.

The introductory scenes are a problem for a lot of stories, as the writers struggle to sustain them without the benefit of their plot to centre them around. The dialogue in the base in these early scenes is slightly stilted, with Todd explaining to Sanders what he already knows – a scene rescued by Sanders’s anger at being told useless information. What helps though is that Simon Rouse, Richard Todd and Nerys Hughes (apparently she gets more fan-mail for this than she does for The Liver Birds) are three terrific actors, and in fact quite show up the regulars when they arrive. Tegan, Nyssa and Adric are possibly the worst combination of companions ever (although I never hated Sarah Sutton), and in this story all three of them are sidelined to an extent: Sutton is written out almost entirely, Janet Fielding gets no lines for an episode and a half despite it being “her story”, and Matthew Waterhouse spends the whole time moping about getting screamed at by Rouse. Also, it’s funny this season watching Eric Saward write out the sonic screwdriver at every available opportunity.

Well, yes, the costumes are a commentary on colonialism. Is it possible to be too obvious simply through the medium of clothes? While it’s hardly subtle though the subtext is never dwelt upon; there are no “blobs” speeches, and the natives aren’t named after a parody of the colonial word for Africans (The Mutants). As far as I’m concerned, that’s the right kind of subtext. The only thing that threatens to push it over the edge is the stereotypical blustering leader – although he soon changes. There is a good dynamic here, in that the expedition is falling to pieces and only Todd can see this properly.

The chimes are enigmatic and assisted by some beautiful sound effects and one of the most hauntingly effective scores of the decade, and electronic music has to be very special to earn praise from me. I would like no know though how they were made, especially since this question is asked in the script but never actually answered. 

The TSS is rather comical on its first appearance, lurching about all by itself, but it does lead to a good scene where the Doctor and Adric are introduced to the colonists. Sanders’s casual mention of “the hostages” is a very effective commentary on the 19th British attitude to the foreign other, but in a time where social concerns are very much rooted in the here and now it is strange to think that Bailey would pass comment on ideas then a century out of date. Also, Sanders’s constant repetition of “they’re just ignorant savages” is overdoing it. The Helix design is very interesting, with this episode effectively building tension by first introducing the Kinda as what they appear to be on the surface and then gradually introducing elements that don’t fit Sanders’s simplistic pattern.

The scenes set in the dark places of the inside are some of my favourites ever (seriously, nitrous oxide is the only way to see this story). The chess scene in particular is one of my favourites; it is the scene I immediately think of when asked to come up with an example of how well written the programme can be, and it is helped by the spooky, macabre performances of Anna Wing and Roger Milner. Also, the sudden appearance of Dukkha is one of the show’s few genuine jump-moments, while demonstrating how well lit these scenes are: the lighting is deliberately contrast-heavy so that some parts of the picture are overlit while others are in shadow, creating a very surreal ambience. Also, because it’s the kind of story that allows for it, unexplained elements such as the strange structure and the possibility that the Mara might be a representation of something else give rise to some serious possibilities for in-depth analysis that I won’t go into here, this being an evaluative review.

Mary Morris as Panna is also a good actress, although Sarah Prince as Karuna is a real weak link; her characterisation as a whiner, coupled with the tooth-bursting pitch of her voice, is something I find intensely annoying. Hindle’s final rant at the end of the first episode seems like a ham-overdose, and it is only now that the very sophisticated writing allows Rouse to show just how good an actor he is. His madness is very subtle: not in acting terms, but in its writing. Small details like his desire to see the Kinda’s fingernails, and his blending of serious issues such as the base’s destruction with minor issues such as the need to hold a rolled-up chart in place of a cane, make this some of the best written insanity characterisation that I can immediately think of. The indications of his paranoia are very convincing, and his sudden bouts of childlike ranting are very frightening to watch.

The Box of Jhana is introduced well: the immediate implication is that it was responsible for the expedition’s previous disappearances, so that Sander’s subsequent reappearance is a real surprise.

The possession of Tegan is a good scene although let down by poor acting, and much as I would defend the set design in this story I have to say that tree is abominable, like part of an adventure playground. It may be an old joke, but if you asked me to point to something wooden it wouldn’t be the tree that springs to mind. Oh, and you can also see Adrian Mills’s fillings, which made me laugh.

The second episode’s cliffhanger is an absolute knockout, although it does turn out to be a deliberate false scare; while appropriate to the narrative it does come as a bit of a let down. That said, if it didn’t get people watching next week then nothing would, and I suppose that was the point. After this however we get to see the Box of Jhana’s full properties: let’s face it, it’s a massive piece of deus ex machina, one of my pet hates in any kind of fiction. It is responsible for the shift in the character dynamic that is so important to the story, it allows the Doctor and Todd to escape (and even gives them a place to escape to) and thereby drive the story into its second half, and is even part responsible for the resolution of the story. Thankfully the extremely impressive presentation, a half-proper explanation for it and the fact that it is introduced gradually rather than thrust upon us at the end stays off the otherwise huge sense of disappointment that I usually feel about this sort of thing. In fact, I quite like it, and all is forgiven at the end (I’ll explain later*).

The Trickster scene is actually quite grotesque and spooky in the very unsettling concept of this story. The Mara-possessed Aris turns up at this point and is frankly a bit of a let down. He rants and raves with the best of them, and is a very ordinary villain in this most extraordinary of stories. The set falls down again here too, as the crinkles and creases in the painted backdrop are clearly visible.

The exposition in this episode is hard to spot, as the plot elements are left to speak for themselves. Even as a nipper, although I had to think quite hard, I never really had too much of a problem with the plot. At this stage only the fine details require filling in. Even the explanation of the Mara doesn't say anything too obvious; it doesn't need to.

The dream sequence is truly amazing, and shows what an innovative director Peter Grimwade was. However, they picked the wrong moment for the cliffhanger: the “it’s the end of everything line” would have been perfect, but instead they bisect the following scene thus requiring a gigantic reprise for episode four. This provides the story’s only really confusing moment where the balance between adequate explanations and subtlety is misjudged; how will attacking the dome help the Mara? After wracking my brain I came up with the theory that the Mara would feed of the ensuing negative emotions, which would seem to fit with Snakedance, but I feel it should have been made clearer here. Mary Morris provides the story’s only casualty here (the missing members of the expedition are only referred to): you’d think that in such a creepy story a 10% mortality rate would seem odd, but it doesn’t as it isn’t creepy in that way.

The crushing of the doll is a surprisingly poignant moment – it’s heartbreaking to watch the Trickster drop to his knees – and I wonder if it’s significant to the Kinda’s eventual revolt against Aris. The attack on the TSS isn’t brilliantly executed, although it is very interesting to watch the Kinda’s attempts to match this alien technology. When the Doctor tries to reassure Adric, it is funny to watch Adrian Mills in the background watching that tiny flame on his wooden frame with an expression of intense anxiety. Also, Matthew Waterhouse is terrible; it’s disappointing to say that as he’d spent the story in a kind of low-grade naffness that he might just have got away with.

The “you can’t mend people” scene is probably the season’s most iconic outside of Earthshock, and deservedly so as it shows Rouse on absolute full throttle. Here is where the contrivance of the Box of Jhana is forgiven, as Todd has to work hard to convince Hindle to open it. What I love about it is that the solution has been present all this time, but nobody’s been able to actually implement it. A contrivance that can’t be used puts a very interesting spin on the whole idea.

The mirror finale, however, treads some seriously dodgy ground. Conceptually speaking the Mara is one of the best monsters ever (a shame I can’t say that about the visuals), but the idea that it soils itself at its own reaction undermines its power somewhat. The Mara’s relationship with mirrors had to be altered fairly significantly for the sequel, as well. The snake prop does look stupid, in fact almost indefensible, but in a story with so much going for it it’s a drop in the ocean. Plus, I think Grimwade deserves respect for not getting any piece of studio equipment reflected in the mirrors. The final scene is also good, with a pleasant goodbye scene that contains some real life-affirming comments while going easy on the sentiment.

Kinda is a stunning story, to the extent that the rumour that it was written by Tom Stoppard actually sounds half believable (the one about Kate Bush is a bit more of a stretch, however). Its rich themes and narrative depths reach levels other stories can only aspire to, especially given that they are delivered with such style and , on the whole, shrewdness. I consider it the best Davison and one of the half-dozen best stories of the 1980s; it sits comfortably in my all time top ten, in fact. 

*I’ve waited so long to say that.

I can’t help but feel a sense of achievement when I watch Enlightenment; by the time I decided to go out and buy the video it had already been pulled out of circulation, and I spent at least six years trying to track it down (at a price I could afford) before finally having the initiative to look on Amazon Marketplace, their second-hand section; in the time between 1998 and 2004 it built up almost mythic status in my mind, a bit like a missing episode. A peculiar by-product of this is that I cannot now hear the name Clegg without associating it with pirates, which makes watching Last Of The Summer Wine very difficult. I dread to think what will happen if I ever meet anyone with that name. Anyway, back to the point – did it meet my expectations of it? Fortunately it came at a period where I was trying to ignore overly inflated reputations, but on the whole, yes it did. This is one of a tiny handful of episodes to be written by a woman and, like Rona Munro did in Survival, Barbara Clegg gives us an astonishingly original story that’s quite unlike any other episode. 

I was impressed immediately with the opening TARDIS scene, always a sore point in Davison stories where three or four regulars struggle to act naturally while they wait for the plot to begin. Here however something is happening: the power is disappearing (those dimmed lights look very nice, by the way), and a mysterious voice is echoing through the air. Actually that voice is a bit of a problem as it’s just someone repeating a word three times, making him sound like a backing singer; the Guardian is enigmatic when he appears though, even if the effects are slightly dodgy. In any other story I’d be napalming the continuity around now but it’s really not a problem because new viewers would be as familiar as they’d need to be with the Black Guardian from the previous two stories, so a White Guardian is simply a logical extension of that. Remember too that when he first appears in The Ribos Operation the Doctor knows of him already there too.

The sets of the ship are really very good, with a pleasant yet slightly claustrophobic design and subdued lighting. The score is luscious (from Malcolm Clarke no less, who made a complete mess of The Twin Dilemma and Attack Of The Cybermen) but too intrusive and there’s always the problem of trying to match an electronic score with a period setting, which of all the original Doctor Who composers only Mark Ayres has ever been able to do convincingly; remember that this story is effectively a pseudo-historical up until the first cliffhanger. Marriner’s appearance on the TARDIS scanner is actually quite spooky in a slightly funny way, but I don’t see any reason for him falling down unless it was to tempt Tegan outside: as we later learn, Eternals don’t think like that. Anyway, she does leave the TARDIS eventually and talk to him…and Christopher Brown is an actor I really can’t make my mind up about: his slightly strange accent is all very well but his flat, stilted movements would be being ripped apart ordinarily. They are so totally appropriate to the character though that I can’t decide if he’s a brilliant actor who is pitching his performance absolutely perfectly, or a terrible actor who just got really lucky in the casting. Then again we get to see some pretty terrible actors later on so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

I get my mystery fix from the human crew who have been below decks for two days and can’t remember coming aboard. This scene also sketches in some good period detail and, although I’m a bit of a snob about diction really, it is refreshing to hear working-class dialects in Doctor Who that don’t sound completely fake and patronising to the people being caricatured. And all this four years before Sophie “who are you calling young lady, bog brain?” Aldred.

The officer’s dining room is a wonderful set although the intricacy of the table only highlights that they’re in a studio (not that anything moves when the “boat” does lurch anyway). Tegan asks how the Doctor knows they’re on a sailing ship, which sounds ironic in that context. Out the door however, Tegan sees some anachronistic wet suits…I do love a mysterious first episode, I have to say.

If we’re talking about mystery, then how about that cliffhanger? The idea of sailing ships flying through space, when not given any explanation (that comes in the next episode), has to be up there with regeneration as one of the most mind-boggling concepts the programme ever did. It’s let down a bit by the conventional electronics on display (some weird and random objects, preferably glowing, would be better) and the Doctor’s frankly stupid line of “this isn’t a boat, it’s a ship”. One benefit of the reprise though is that we get to see those gorgeous special effects an extra time; I was absolutely dreading what those ships would look like before I saw the story, and I was blown away by those beautiful film-recorded models. I can feel in my bones however that when this comes out on DVD there are going to be new CGI affairs – not because this story needs them particularly, but simply because those boats floating sedately through the void are the kind of things that lend themselves to CGI effects.

There’s still more mystery yet to come with the Greek Captain’s jewel and Tegan’s room: so far this story can best be described as largely an embarrassment of riches. The Eternals, sad pathetic creatures who have to feed off the minds of “Ephemerals” just in order to stay sane, are very well thought out: cruel, callous, but not intrinsically evil.

The rounding of Venus is actually very dramatic as long as you don’t stop to think about how absurd it all is, and the exploding ship is another great effect. The death of the human crew, although none of them are characters in the story, is poignant due to the Eternals’ utter indifference. When the Black Guardian finally appears it comes as a bit of a surprise if I’m honest, as there doesn’t seem to be a place for him in the narrative (yet) – it makes you wonder where he’s going to come into play. Valentine Dyall is the ideal choice for the role, but his fake laugh is abominable. 

The film set of the deck is absolutely wonderful, and the sight of the other ships is breathtaking even with the wobble that comes of splicing two shots together. I must admit to getting a puerile snigger from Turlough’s line of “Are you sure? We will get off?”, and the cliffhanger is another good one that could be better (I always hate it when an episode closes on a melodramatic “Nooooo!”) – the slightly altered reprise next episode would have been more effective. Turlough floating in space, again, looks great but him being rescued by a lot of CSO is the real weak link in this story’s special effects. The first half of the story deals with this mystery and the amazing concept of the boats in space – a clear 5/5 job so far. All good things must come to an end, however, even though the second half is by its own standards extremely enjoyable.

There are more great sets on board the Buccaneer, but here’s where the deficiencies in the guest cast really begin to bite. Lynda Baron is too hammy for words, making Anthony Ainley look like the lord of understatement: going over the top can work, but these are the pantomime-derived, self-consciously camp screechings of a woman who blatantly doesn’t care about what she’s doing. Then, of course, there’s Leee John, the failed pop star (evidently his training in music was no better than his training in acting) destined only to be remembered by Doctor Who fans as “that bloke who was really naff in Enlightenment”. It is without doubt the strangest performance I’ve ever seen: not only is he a bad actor but he’s a bad actor with the ego of a pop-wannabe and the mannerisms of a Labrador puppy with ADHD which alter him from being merely terrible to being truly surreal. The dialogue is good, but is utterly mauled by them.

The asteroids look good even when they are being CSO’d onto the screen, and with more of the plot explained now things are starting to become more macabre than simply amazing. The futuristic ion chamber is a strange juxtaposition with the rest of the episode, but good and the subsequent revelation of Wrack’s power is great. 

The cliffhanger to part three though is truly dreadful. First things first: why does Wrack root through her crystals to find a specific one when they all do exactly the same thing? Secondly, and this is the bit that I was really referring to when I called the cliffhanger dreadful, is Wrack’s to-camera speech. Breaking the fourth wall very rarely works and here, with all brakes off, it sends the story so far into ridiculousness that when she says (addressing the Doctor, even though he isn’t there and she’s looking at the viewer) “you have lost” I half expect to hear a canned audience track yell out “oh no he isn’t!”.

“What is love? I want existence” gets the fourth part back on the right track though with a line that firstly shows up the Eternals for what they are and secondly puts an innovative twist on the old clichй. Also, and although I’m not the one who first noticed it, if Baron had been looking at John when she said “it’s the plank” I’d give this story maximum rating for that alone.

The Enlightenment…whatever it is floating in space looks great. I’m tired of doing nothing but praise the special effects, but they really are wonderful. The splitting of the crystal is a double edged sword really as it does lead to yet another great effect of Wrack’s face dividing up but it also brings the stupid and undignified scene of watching everyone scrabble about to pick all the shards up. The defeat of the villains – the Doctor and Turlough physically overpower two super beings and eject them into space – is so implausible (not to say out of character) that the only way to do it is not to let us see it, which is lame enough just on its own.

Then of course there’s the finale to the trilogy as well as just to the story. Striker and Marriner are banished back to Eternity – technically the story has a 0% mortality rate as the only people who die are only spoken of and are not actual characters, but in narrative terms banishment is the same thing but with a different name and looked at like that it rises to a still-small (for a Saward-era story) 44.4%. Pick whichever one you like. The whole “Enlightenment was the choice” business is downright cryptic, and although after wracking (no pun intended) my brains it just about works it doesn’t really make for a satisfying conclusion. Nevertheless, it remains a strong episode.

Despite slipping up quite severely in places in its second half Enlightenment is a strong story and easily gets an above-average rating through the strong writing, dazzling visuals and absolutely stunning special effects. It is the best story of its season after Snakedance and is easily in the top five Davison stories in general – it isn’t one of the Big Six (my half-dozen best stories of the 1980s), but it’s not a million miles away.

And I never even mentioned those dead birds.

The series' opening story is, in fact, very distinctly two stories. We have the episode 'An Unearthly Child', effectively the series pilot, serving to establish Ian, Barbara and Susan. Then we have a three-part caveman story.

The first episode itself is a thing of wonder. Generally, a lot is expected of first episodes of any show, and to be fair they tend to deliver within the science-fiction genre, especially compared to their immediate successors [The Prisoner's 'Arrival', Blake's 7's 'The Way Back' and Survivors' 'The Fourth Horseman' are all towards the business end of each series' quality ratio, and even something like Star Trek - The Next Generation's 'Encounter at Farpoint' compares favourably with much of the first series of TNG]. Doctor Who's bow fails to disappoint.

It's directed imaginatively by Waris Hussein, and the steady build-up is most effective, especially as Ian and Barbara attempt to justify their curiosity about Susan to each other and themselves. Susan herself is the only bum note in the opening episode. Carole Ann Ford tends towards over-earnest stagey performance more often than not, and she's not helped by being given some silly scenes. The flashback sequences are the big problem. The idea seems to be that she's so naive and intelligent she can't help letting slip with her huge knowledge. However, it makes her look stupid as she sits in a classroom arguing that the country will have a decimal system in the future. Meaning she knows it doesn't have one now. So why is she saying it? And can you imagine even the first Doctor, arguably the most bumbling of the lot, allowing his grand-daughter to enrol in a local secondary school without telling her she wasn't to tell people about the future and the secrets of time and space?

Now, can you imagine this first Doctor doing it? This isn't the giggling, "Hmm"-ing old duffer the first Doctor that would later come along. This is a sinister, sharp-witted man. Hartnell is really having to work at his performance, and the result is an edgier and arguably more interesting Doctor. His verbal sparing with Ian and Barbara in the junkyard is an electrifying scene, as is his arrogant behaviour once they're inside the TARDIS. The episode introduces the four main characters efficiently, establishing a healthy measure of mystery in both the Doctor and Susan. One of the unusual things about the first two seasons compared to all of Doctor Who up until the Christopher Ecclestone story is that the series very much has three leads - the Doctor, Ian and Barbara. The scripts are generally split up this way too, which leads to a pair of very well-rounded characters. It helps that William Russell is a fantastic actor, regularly outshining Hartnell. Jacqueline Hill does less well, mainly through Barbara being written rather weakly, especially as Ian pretty much takes being thrown back to the stone age in a police box in his stride.

The crew dynamic is excellent, with the Doctor vaguely sinister but seemingly out of his depth, Ian definitely out of his depth but resolute and decisive, Barbara trying to back up Ian despite her inadequacies, and Susan forming a bridge between Ian and the Doctor. This dynamic basically carries the last three episodes. The plot is tedious, and the tribe of cavemen are a dull bunch. While there's a commendable stab at giving them unusual speech patterns, most of them have rather civilised English accents, just depending on missing elaborate words out of their dialogue. There seems to be a lot of the travellers being thrown into the Cave of Skulls and bemoaning their fate going on, and the likes of Kal and Za are uninteresting. The viewer is left rapidly not caring for the fate of the tribe.

If it wasn't for the near-constant arguing between the leads, this would be very uninteresting. However, the Doctor swings from arrogant to self-pitying to callous [his attempt to kill the injured caveman is shocking viewed in retrospect], with Ian battling against him. The perfomances from the regulars are excellent, though Susan isn't left with a huge amount to do but whine "Grandfather!" as the plot meanders around.

Overall, it's a mixed, unbalanced story. Aside from the first episode, the main interest is the development of the leads, and if nothing else the slight plot gives the characters plenty of space to grow. It's worth seeing, though, for a startlingly different Doctor, largely concerned with his own survival. While the sixth Doctor in Season 22, or the seventh Doctor in Seasons 25-26 were both had a different set of morals to what had gone before them, this Doctor is another, quite different Time Lord.