‘The Green Death’ is the famous story with the maggots, of course. In fact, I always used to laugh at pictures on the VHS box – this story has giant maggots, and they decide to use a still of the Doctor talking on the *telephone*? 

Well, the giant maggots are just fantastic – for all the differing opinions, I find them as realistic as practically any monster in Who history – but the story as a whole is a classic mixed bag of good and bad. The narrative itself isn’t anything more than a run-of-the-mill 1970s parable of ecological horror, about on a par with 1972’s ‘Frogs’ in terms of sophistication. The Doctor’s trip to Metebelis 3 in episode one is a silly, overlong piece of padding (albeit a briefly scary one, when that shocking tentacle hits the Doctor). The direction is meant to be clever (cutting from one character to another as they speak the same line, e.g.), but it actually seems rather corny and forced. And the giant dragonfly belongs in a children’s play.

But for every bad thing, there’s also something good. Lovely performances are turned in by Talfryn Thomas, Roy Evans, Tony Adams and Nicholas Courtney. (Is there a more iconic image of the Pertwee years than the Doctor and the Brigadier riding shoulder to shoulder in Bessie?) Jerome Willis is low-key as Stevens, but he really opens up when he takes his revenge on his BOSS in the strangely poignant climax. Speaking of which, the BOSS is a common or garden-variety HAL-esque mad computer, but its reliance on withering taunts (and its obvious amusement at its own jokes) distinguish it from other pretenders. And ‘Nuthutch’ is an inspired name for the Wholeweal Community HQ – we get the sense Jones has pluckily taken a variant of ‘nut hatch’ to thumb his nose at his movement’s detractors.

But the most interesting thing about ‘The Green Death’ isn’t maggots, or pollution, or sinister corporate conspiracies, or glowing green corpses. Instead, it’s the kind of sad psychodrama that hangs around the edges of the story – that of the Third Doctor saying goodbye to Jo Grant. Many fans have criticized the suggestion of romantic love in the new Doctor Who series (and in the Paul McGann movie before it) - but some have argued that other Doctors have loved other companions before, however tacitly. And ‘The Green Death’s’ presentation of the Doctor and Jo is a convincing example.

Indulge me for a moment. From the beginning of the story, we see the Doctor looking at Jo in a light other than the traditional adventurer/companion one. He asks her to come with him to Metebelis 3, and he does so with an air of it being a ‘getaway’ for them both. When she refuses, he says in that case he’ll take her wherever she wishes to go – an unusual break in character for this self-absorbed Time Lord. When she argues with him, he comes as close to flirting as he ever does, mimicking her and getting her to laugh. 

Ultimately, she tells him that she chooses instead to join Professor Jones, whom she describes as “a sort of younger you” (this description turns out to be fairly apt, considering the impatience and neglect with which Jones treats her throughout the story). The Doctor accepts this, but not terribly gracefully – he snaps at the Brigadier when asked for help (“I wouldn’t advise you to try!”), and we can’t help feeling he’s out to prove something when picking a fight with Global Chemicals security in episode two (“I’m quite spry for my age”). Actually, a subtext about age and aging runs throughout the story (Jones not being recognized because of his youth, and “the fledgling flies the coop” are other examples) – very unusual for Doctor Who.

Of course, none of this is overstated, but it does skim along just beneath the surface, and the quiet, subtle way in which the matter is resolved makes it all the more affecting. As for the actors, Katy Manning overdoes the klutziness a bit in episode one, but as the story goes on she settles in, and Pertwee is in magnificent form (I love his genuinely aghast “Good grief!” when he sees the maggots). But perhaps the performance that makes it all work is Stewart Bevan’s as Jones himself. As I mentioned, he treats Jo in rather callous (and Doctorish) ways throughout this story, and yet Bevan’s choice to play him as a smart but goofy Welsh kid is a good one, and ultimately endears the character to us. How easy it would have been for him to fail here – for which viewer would choose anyone over the Doctor? But Bevan is so playful in the role, and his affection for Jo seems so genuine, that in the end we are happy with her choice. You could say that Clifford Jones the character is conceived as a combination of the best parts of the Doctor and Jo, and Bevan pulls it off very well indeed.

All in all, a strange story, probably worth more than the sum of its parts.

The Green Death is certainly one of the Doctor Who stories most strongly remembered by the general public. The maggots are a deeply ingrained image in the public psyche, though whether that is a positive association for Doctor Who as a brand is a matter for debate. The story is also highly regarded amongst fans and was a popular choice for release on DVD. The title outsells the rest of the ‘classic’ Doctor Who range by virtue of its crossing the fan/collector barrier and appealing to the broader market. Outselling such heavyweights as ‘Talons of Weng Chiang’ and ‘Ghostlight’.

Why is it such a popular story? It is a strong representation of early seventies Who, having all the essential ingredients present; Pertwee, Manning, UNIT, beasties and Bessie. The one element of the era that is missing is the Master; Roger Delgado tragically died days before the last episode of this story was broadcast. The script is tightly plotted and leaves little room for the serial to drag. The characterisation of the regulars is strong, and the roles of Cliff Jones, Stevens and, of course, BOSS stand out as well defined parts amongst a dramatis personae of bland stereotypes and comedy welsh accents (with the exception of Talfryn Thomas' real accent).

Robert Sloman certainly had his finger on the pulse when he concocted this eco thriller which plays on the paranoia and suspicion of large multinational companies and their unscrupulous practices. Such paranoia might have seemed a new idea in 1973 but is still all too depressingly familiar to we ethical consumers of the 21st century. The flip side of that is that the Green Death is just as relevant today as it was thirty years ago; a fact that bolsters its continued popularity. Doctor Who tackling relevant issues? It’s not a new idea. That the story also manages to make proper use of a six episode format is another feather in its overcrowded cap.

The production values are good, the show looks smart and the effects are great – right up until the dismal CSO of episode X. The overambitious showdown between the Doctor and Benton and a bazillion biohazard maggots is like a steel gauntlet pulled straight from the freezer crushing my heart into a sticky red paste. The failure of this sequence is all the more sad due to the success of the effects and the design throughout the rest of the serial. The Nuthatch, the Mine, Global Chemicals and especially the BOSS control room (cannibalised from Gerry Anderson cast offs) are convincing sets and the location work is excellent. The stock footage of mine machinery blends in well and lends credibility to the show. The maggots themselves are a simple design but very effective. The first few sightings of them are genuinely creepy.

Katy Manning has something to do other than look pretty in this story. She falls in love (though it’s difficult to believe the marriage was long-lived), she develops a social conscience and she gets to treat the Doctor badly. All whilst modelling some great hippy-chic outfits thought Jo Grants idea of evening wear might send a shiver down the servos of Trin-e and Zu-Zana. Pertwee is magnificent; clearly relishing the opportunities to dress up and use different accents. Not to mention the way he plays the Doctors reaction to Jo’s development. The look on his face when he finds Jo and Cliff in a clinch is fantastic. His final scenes – especially when he downs his drink and leaves during the toast – are beautifully performed. Jo Grant is right off his Christmas list. The UNIT crew are present and correct and get some decent screen time, probably for the last time until 1989’s ‘Battlefield’.

Jerome Willis gives a good turn as the unflappable front man for Global Chemicals machinations. His ultimate sacrifice does undermine his evil Captain Peacock a little though. Stuart Bevan is great, though Cliff Jones is a bit of a ponce. The scenes between him and Katy Manning work very well – though they should certainly have had a good rapport seeing as they were a couple at the time. John Dearth as the maniacal, humming, singing and if it had legs dancing computer BOSS is a treat. The confrontation between BOSS and the Doctor is particularly striking and well played on both sides. The insane, arrogant computer is as truly frightening as it is oxymoronic.

In many ways The Green Death is the last great Pertwee story. It was around here at the end of season ten with Katy Manning leaving and Roger Delgado passed away, Barry Letts and Terrance Dicks talking about moving on that Jon Pertwee decided it was time to let someone else have all the fun. 

Why is the Green Death so popular? It is a great success as a piece of science-fiction drama, and everyone involved in the production is playing at the peak of their ability. The only black mark on the whole scorecard is some bad CSO. It’s spectacularly bad CSO but even so compare that to some other stories; stories that dream of just having bad CSO.

‘Death to the Daleks’ hasn’t got the best reputation. ‘The Discontinuity Guide’ pans it outright, and in ‘Pocket Essentials’ Mark Campbell damns it with faint praise, saying, “There really is little to say about this story, except that it is rather dull.” Add to these ominous opinions the knowledge that the Daleks were shoehorned into this story at the last minute, in a blatant ratings ploy, and we really can’t approach it with much hope.

It is quite surprising, then, that ‘Death to the Daleks’ turns out to be one of the best ever Dalek stories, and also one of the most entertaining stories from the Pertwee years. Terry Nation’s script, while unambitious, is straightforward and economical, and its various character groupings (space marines, Daleks, Exxilons, mutants) are well-characterized and effectively played off each other. But the real star of the show, unusually for ‘Doctor Who,’ is the direction. Michael Briant keeps this story moving at a brisk pace, and keeps the CSO, so often overused in the Pertwee days, to a merciful minimum. (I’ll take a 1970s wobbly-set story over a 1970s psychedelic-FX one any day.) Of course there are still inventive visual ideas – the ‘Dalek’s-eye view’ camera angle, while obviously thrown together on the cheap, is still effective, especially when the Daleks are under attack – and Briant may be the *only* ‘Doctor Who’ director to successfully elicit a kind of sly comedy from the Daleks. I love the black humor when the Daleks test out their new pellet guns on the Exxilons; the Exxilons may die instantly, and in hideous pain, but it’s still not quite good enough for the Daleks, who coldly comment, “PRIMITIVE WEAPONS, MODERATELY EFFICIENT.” And when the Dalek is destroyed by the ‘root’ at the lake, the reactions of the Daleks on the beach may be wordless, but they are as expressive as any depiction of the creatures in series history. (The thought expressed seems to be something along the lines of “HOLY SHIT!!! DID YOU SEE THAT???” A masterful accomplishment!)

Of this story, ‘The Discontinuity Guide’ says that “there really doesn’t seem any reason to have the Daleks in it at all.” I must respectfully but forcefully disagree; in fact, I would argue the success of the story absolutely hinges on their inclusion. Certainly, the Doctor would still have been able to destroy the ancient Exxilon city without them, but it should be pointed out that the Daleks are actually the ones who overcome the mysterious power drain, well before he makes it out of the city (albeit through brute force rather than intelligence). And not only do they make the Doctor’s adventures in the mazelike city somewhat redundant, they also *rescue* him on several occasions, however accidentally! Indeed, the Daleks here are (unusually) shown to be masters of their environment; despite having no weapons or bargaining power, they immediately take control of their situation, conning the humans, negotiating with the Exxilons to ensure exclusive rights to the parrinium, and of course developing new guns in extremely short order. They are presented as scheming and intelligent, scientific in their methods and ruthless in the extreme. And they are even made almost, *almost* sympathetic – there’s a kind of horrifying pathos when the unarmed Dalek charges the group of Exxilons shrieking “EXTERMINATE!”; it’s pitifully obvious that it’s the only thing the big bully knows how to do. And the ‘I HAVE FAILED! – SELF-DESTRUCT!” scene, while often ridiculed by fans, seems completely in character here – the Daleks, despite their reputation for rational behavior in the program’s later years, are extremely emotional creatures, psychotic and driven by a totally *irrational* hatred for the world and sense of their own superiority. Is it any wonder that one should have a nervous breakdown upon failure?

Aesthetically, the physical Dalek machines are good here too. The new paint job looks nice, and they seem to move faster and more fluidly here than they do in many later stories. The unusual decision to keep them in near-constant motion – moving back and forth as if to generate electricity through friction, and swiveling their eyestalks restlessly – makes them seem dangerous and alive, and not nearly as static and tank-like as they have so often appeared in the series. (If only the production team didn’t have to use that damned dummy casing in Episode One . . . but I suppose you can’t have everything.) They speak faster, too, and Michael Wisher’s voice characterizations, while they may not match the rawness and sheer power of Roy Skelton’s, project a cold intelligence and impatience that Skelton usually cannot match. (I remember reading someone describe the Dalek voices in this story as ‘bitchy,’ and they really are – Wisher’s “YOUR ADVICE IS NOT REQUIRED!” and the five-times-repeated “YOU WILL OBEY!” make it easy to see how frustrating and exhausting cooperating with Daleks would be.)

Some of the major faults pointed out by this story’s detractors also seem to me to be severely exaggerated. The Earth marines are frequently targeted for bad acting, but I fail to see how they’re much worse than the bulk of DW supporting casts over the series’ history, and I would go so far as to say Duncan Lamont is excellent, completely believable as the amoral (rather than evil) Galloway. And I’ll even go out on a limb and say that I think Carey Blyton’s saxophone score works beautifully. I’ll say up front that I’m not a huge fan of typical ‘Doctor Who’ music; Dudley Simpson’s scores are sometimes very effective, true, but they’re also sometimes so understated and tuneless that there might as well not be any music at all. Blyton’s ‘Death to the Daleks’ score is different – the music almost takes on the role of the storyteller. Yes, the tootling ‘Dalek March’ is a (major) misstep, but overall the music does everything an incidental score should – building tension in the suspense scenes, and setting the ethereal tone in the ones involving the giant city. (And the muttering, howling Exxilon chorus in the sacrifice scenes is simply terrifying.)

As for the other elements, both the regulars come off well (especially Lis Sladen), and Arnold Yarrow’s Bellal is a truly wonderful little figure, kind of a better fleshed out take on Wester, the friendly alien from the previous Dalek story. The gravel-pit locations for once work perfectly, giving the impression of a blasted landscape perfectly matched with the ruined civilization described in the script. Perhaps the weakest element is the ‘intelligence’ tests the Doctor and Bellal face in the city, which really are so elementary as to be obnoxious. But all in all ‘Death to the Daleks’ is a fine story, much better than is commonly thought.

Like ‘City of Death,’ ‘The Talons of Weng-Chiang’ represents a kind of series zenith for lots of Doctor Who fans; for many, it’s simply The Best Story Ever, with The Best Doctor Ever, from The Best Production Era Ever, etc., etc. Now, I don’t intend to make hamburger out of this sacred cow, exactly, but I will perhaps take an unflinching look at it, udders and all.

The most usual objection to be made against the story, when any objection is made at all, is that it is racist. The fan response to this tends to be a combination of “It’s not racist, it’s mocking the Victorians’ racism!” and “Well, things were different in the 1970s.” The second statement is certainly true, even if it doesn’t really excuse much; the first doesn’t quite wash. Victorian racism is indeed on display throughout ‘The Talons of Weng-Chiang,’ but, oddly, Robert Holmes’s script never explicitly criticizes it, and the few truly identifiable swipes against it (Chang’s dry “I understand, we all look alike”; the Doctor’s one or two sarcastic responses to generalizations about the Chinese, e.g.) cannot be said with absolute certainty to come from the screenplay, and could easily be ironic line readings chosen by the actors or the director.

These observations out of the way, it is probably fair to say that this objection to ‘Talons’ has been somewhat exaggerated. No, the script isn’t aggressively critical of 19th century attitudes about race, but it isn’t enthusiastic about them either, and if this were the story’s only troubling aspect it might be easier to see why it’s so often overlooked.

But judged simply in terms of its entertainment value, ‘The Talons of Weng-Chiang’ seems to me to be only a fair representative of the Philip Hinchcliffe era, and not nearly as good as some. In particular, the story often strikes me as a poor man’s ‘Brain of Morbius.’ Michael Spice’s presence aside, the plot has many parallels to the earlier story – both have crippled, technologically advanced megalomaniacs relying on human administrators to restore them to their former glorious states, via methods most unwholesome. But Greel is a less convincing villain than Morbius, whose unhinged rants make much sense when one considers the unending frustration that must be experienced by a brain sitting in a jug. Greel’s ranting, on the other hand, seems unconnected to his physical malady; in fact, one would think his disintegrating body would have made him too weak for the kind of relentless roaring Spice does in the role. Furthermore, while Holmes’s evocative “infamous minister of justice” and “butcher of Brisbane” lines are wonderfully sinister, they don’t quite jell with the pathetic paper tiger we see here, who can’t even do anything when his servants fail him but belittle and yell. And boy, does Spice yell – in fact, if anything, he seems bent on out-shouting his performance in ‘Morbius.’ In my view, a weak, obviously dying, more truly phantom-like Greel would have made more sense with this plot, but Spice didn’t choose this road, and the result is generically hammy Who villain, hardly belonging in the pantheon of greats. 

The rest of the problems are relatively minor, but they’re still worth noting. Henry Gordon Jago is a well-loved Holmes creation, but his alliteration rather grates on me, and he doesn’t really get a chance to be anything but pompous until the final episode. There’s a strange Anglocentric quality to some of the jokes, notably the Doctor’s strange, out-of-character one about Birmingham – why would a Time Lord know or care about such things? And speaking of the Doctor, Tom Baker puts in a decent performance, but the character strikes me as strangely all-knowing here. Perhaps it’s all part of the Holmes homage conceit (I mean Sherlock, not Robert, this time), but even so, the Doctor seems to do very little real deduction, but rather just leaps to the correct conclusions based on some very convenient foreknowledge (about the Tong of the Black Scorpion, the Time Cabinet, the Peking Homunculus, and of course the mythology of Weng-Chiang itself). He is the Doctor, of course, but it all feels a bit unnatural – I much prefer a Doctor who does a bit of genuine detective work, be it in this story or any other.

All this said, there are of course some wonderful, rightly beloved elements sprinkled here and there throughout the episode. I don’t generally find Louise Jameson very convincing as Leela – the character is brilliantly conceived, but the actress rarely sells it for me, despite looking the part (and then some, ahem). However, here her snarling contempt for Greel, and her lack of fear, shines through perfectly, and the line “When we are both in the great hereafter I shall hunt you down, bent-face, and put you through my agonies a thousand times!” gave me chills. And her interplay with Litefoot, an extremely likeable character, is charming; you sense that Jameson and Trevor Baxter got on rather well. I actually think the giant rat puppet works surprisingly well, especially when it’s rushing the camera, and of course Mr. Sin is a creepy, surreal idea with a terrific name (and I think he looks a bit like Jennifer Paterson, but maybe that’s just me). The screenplay and direction keep the action moving along, and in Episode Six everything comes together so well that we almost forget the bumps we encountered on the way there. And then there’s Mr. Chang . . .

Probably the greatest irony of ‘The Talons of Weng-Chiang,’ with its nebulous racial sensibilities, is that it is the story’s one ‘yellowface’ character that emerges as its single most successful element. Li H’sen Chang is an extremely complex creation – cold, and hideously unconcerned with the lives he takes for his master; and yet the character has a genuine pathos about him, even a tragedy. In his performance, John Bennett radiates cool loathing for the bigotry and blindnesses of his Victorian surroundings, and one can easily see how Chang could want to believe that an ancient god from his homeland would come to deliver him from a degrading, performing-monkey existence in a vulgar, foreign music hall – even to the point of grasping at straws, or committing murder. Holmes gives Chang the most beautiful lines of the story – even throwaway ones like his description of the Doctor as having “hair that curls like a ram” have a touch of poetry in them, and by the end we are genuinely angry at Greel for his thankless mistreatment and misunderstanding of his patient, deluded servant. Chang’s final scene, in which he is allowed to recognize some of his mistakes, and make a kind of peace with his fate, is a welcome piece of mercy on Holmes’s part, the character expires with a dignity that was sorely lacking in his Victorian life anyway. 

Of course, it would have been interesting to see an actual Chinese actor do the part . . . .

Tom Baker's final story has a really bright and creative idea in it. The planet of Logopolis itself is a really very exciting. The idea of a society that is completely based and has such faith in the power or math is quite good. A faith that is so strong they can actually use it to hold back entropy is such a powerful idea that it deserved to be at the front of this story instead of just the background.

Sadly enough there isn't much else in this four part story to get excited about. Baker's color and charisma were pulled way back for this story and it hurts. It may have worked as an idea to promote the dark and funeral like feel of the story but without the Doctor there are no pick up moments or bright points in the story and it just makes it dreadful to watch. The mysterious Watcher in the background doesn't add much depth to what is going on. Even the TVM regeneration was better than this.

The first wheel spinning episode is incredibly dull. The Master lands his TARDIS around a real police box and disguises it as a police box so the when the Doctor lands his police box he'll actually be landing both around and inside the Master's police box. Then the Doctor and Adric wonder from console room to console room. Soon Tegan manages to get herself into the TARDIS so she can start wondering from corridor to corridor. YAAAAAAAAAAWN! The story never really picks up from that point.

Adric is actually the only credible character in the story. Most of the tale is told from his point of view as he learns more from the Doctor, asks the right questions, and develops quite well.

Tegan has a miserable first start. Janet Fielding gives a way over the top performance that has no credibility to it at all. She was supposed to be a strong independent character but just comes off as being bitchy with personality swings you almost have to duck to avoid. There's nothing wrong, really, with playing a character at 100% but switching from one direction, doesn't believe a word the Doctor says, to another, desperately dependant on him, as fast as lightning is really lousy for character development. She decides that he is her only hope of survival and is counting on him to get her back to Earth so she snaps into action and completely ignores what he tells her to do.

The only character that comes of worse in this story is the Master. For the first two episode he turns it into a slaughter fest and all we get is the Master's hollow laughter in the background. To make evil characters work there has to at least be a reason for them doing what they do but there is none. A policeman uses a telephone from the box and the Master kills him. Aunt Vanesa opens the police box door and he kills her. As the story progresses he goes to Logopolis so he can start killing more people at a time. His evil scheme to finally destroy the Doctor is set in place by killing people at random? Even with that simple of a plan he fails miserably and gets in way over his head. The plan is as flat and as one dimensional as Ainley's performance. He never had the charisma or depth that an actor needed to make the character work and never improved much from his introduction. His message to the peoples of the universe that he tries to send out is so weak and laughable I can't imagine it being taken seriously by anybody who came across it. He's basically threatening people who've never heard of him or know the truth about entropy that if the universe doesn't immediately accept him as their ruler he will allow entropy to destroy everything. Nobody will be shaking in their boots when they get that signal.

After it's all said and done this story is a miserable waste of time. The worst of the regeneration stories.

Skip it.

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.