‘The Underwater Menace’ is an absurdity. The Discontinuity Guide describes it as Doctor Who’s equivalent of Plan 9 From Outer Space, but fails to note that Plan 9 From Outer Space is a much loved turkey with a cult following, whereas ‘The Underwater Menace’ is a story rarely mentioned and discussed with stunned disbelief on those rare occasions.

The plot of ‘The Underwater Menace’ is ludicrous. Professor Zaroff wants to destroy the world and everyone including himself along with it (for the recognition that this achievement will bring him – no, really) because he is mad. He intends to achieve this aim by drilling a hole through the Earth’s crust and emptying the sea into it magma, producing steam that will make the planet explode. And not in any way simply produce an undersea volcano, which are a common phenomenon. I think this all speaks for itself really; what is most alarming about Zaroff’s plan is that the Doctor believes that it will work, so either he knows something we don’t, or he’s suffering from delayed post-regenerative trauma. It doesn’t help that Zaroff has absolutely no motivation whatsoever that we learn about, he’s merely a clichйd B-movie megalomaniac mad scientist who is obviously a nutter but suffers from no discernable actual convincing mental illness or personality disorder that exists in real life. As preposterous as this plot is, ‘The Underwater Menace’ could save some face by having superb characterisation and marvelous production values. Sadly, it does not. 

The Atlanteans are all your basic Superstitious Primitives, one or two of whom Zaroff has trained in scientific disciplines but most of whom are either stupid enough to trust a blatantly raving lunatic (stand up, King Thous), or spend their time sacrificing strangers to a giant fish with rather unsubtle frothing religious mania. Some of the Atlanteans are stupid beyond words, the scene in which Ben and Polly trick Lolem armed only with amateur ventriloquist skills in particular of note. Still, at least it distracts the viewer from the almost terminally wooden acting of Paul Anil and P. G. Stephens as Jacko and Sean, respectively, the latter exhibiting the least convincing Irish accent in television history. Then there’s the costumes and set design. Listening to episodes one and two spares the listener the sight of these until the fully surviving episode three, when it transpires that the costume designer thought that hanging fake clamshell bathroom ornaments on the actors would be a good idea. The Atlanteans look ridiculous, especially Lolem, who appears to have modeled himself on Christopher Biggins in full panto dame mode and is wearing the most preposterous headdress ever seen in the series. At least this extravagance compensates for Zaroff however, who is dressed in a white boiler suit, although his status as a lunatic compels him to don a cloak. The sets on the other hand are rather good, especially the water-filled home of the Fish People. 

In the midst of all this twaddle, surely we can turn to the regulars to salvage the story? Only to an extent; Troughton could act in his sleep, and he rises to the challenge of the script of ‘The Underwater Menace’ admirably, although why exactly the Doctor decides that wearing a large pair of shades will make him look inconspicuous in Atlantis in episode three is anyone’s guess. In addition, there is some witty dialogue, including his scene with Ben, when his companion, posing as a guard, argues of his “prisoner”, “blimey, look at him – he ain’t normal, is he?” On the other hand, it stretches credibility that Polly, let alone the Doctor, would fall for Zaroff’s transparent heart attack trick. Another problem is that of Ben and Jamie. Whilst I like both companions, they both vie for the same role in the Doctor/Companion dynamic, a problem of which the production team is clearly aware and for which at least Geoffrey Orme can’t be blamed. Consequently, they spend most of the time paired up here to very little effect, suggesting that Jamie has been crow barred into the script at the last minute and given half of Ben’s action and dialogue. Worse still, they are then teamed up with the functionally equivalent Jacko and Sean, which leaves them with even less to do; had Ben or Jamie been the one to rouse the Fish People to rebellion for example, it would have been a far more appropriate use of their characters. Polly provides the cliffhanger to episode one, but does little else save fall for the line “allow me to stand by your side, so that I may feel ze aura of your goodness”, about which less said the better. 

So is ‘The Underwater Menace’ totally unsalvageable? Actually, no: almost in spite of itself it is bizarrely entertaining. Joseph Furst as Zaroff is totally over the top, but given his character’s complete lack of scripted motivation and deranged B-movie plan, he probably realized that this was the only way to play the part, and he seems to be enjoying himself immensely, especially in his scenes with the Doctor. The infamous “Nothing in the world can stop me now!” line at the end of episode three has passed somewhat surprisingly into fan consciousness and is certainly memorable. Troughton too, perhaps recognizing the paucity of the script, throws caution to the wind and acts with mania, as witnessed in the daft chase scene in episode three. The Fish People too are notable, since the fully transformed ones look quite good. The notoriously pointless scene of them swimming about in episode three is indeed superfluous but is well staged. 

On the whole, ‘The Underwater Menace’ is rubbish, but it is mildly diverting rubbish.

Part of what makes the works of Robert Holmes so great is his incredibly diverse range as a writer. With other authors, they have certain "trademarks" that give away who the writer is even if you don't see the name (ie: the Terrance Dicks scripts oftentimes have a sort of "classic Hammer Horror film" feel to them). And although Holmes did sometimes write scripts that were very similiar to each other in certain ways (ie: "Power Of Kroll" and "Caves Of Androzani" or "The Krotons" and "Mysterious Planet"), it is almost spellbinding to view all the stories he wrote and realise they were by the same man. Just because those stories could be sometimes be so radically different from each other. 

"Ark In Space" is an excellent example of a radically different Robert Holmes script. It focusses on being creepy and clausterphobic. With characters who are actually doing their best to not be colourful. There are no "double acts" either. Holmes isn't even trying to make some kind of symbolic outcry against eating meat or the British tax system. This is just pure, undiluted, fantastic storytelling. And it's Holmes just about at his very best here. Probably the only script he's written that beats this one is "Deadly Assassin". In my books, at least. 

There's a lot of praise to heap on this story and it's rather difficult to know where to start. One of the things that I definitely like is that it's radically different, in tone, from the previous story. If "Robot" was to be an indication of what the new season would be like, we would be expecting a whole bunch of "leftover Perwee" stories. But, as we finish up this tale and suddenly go off to Nerva Beacon, we see that the show is definitely moving off in a different direction. A direction it hasn't gone in in a while. This hard-core space opera again - not some earthbound UNIT story with the Doctor toiling away at a scientific device that will save the day while soldiers clamour about uselessly. And I, for one, am glad this radical change was occurring. The Pertwee era is not one of my favourites. 

It is interesting to note how much the Doctor suddenly seems to "settle down" for this story. In Robot, he's eccentric to the point of near-insanity. But, suddenly, he's become calmer and more reserved. This trend continues for the next few stories and throughout most of the early seasons of Baker's tenure. Only as we near the end of his travels with Leela does Doctor Four start to really go for the laughs. Although I had little problems with the funnier days of Tom Baker - I am, at least, thankful that he played the role so straightly for the first little while. It shows that he did take the role seriously. Which, admittedly, is something one is not so sure about during some of the debacles of the Key To Time or Season 17. 

Anyway, enough comments about the show itself. Let's move on to the specific story. 

We begin with a very nice series of opening shots showing the death of the Wirrn. Only, we haven't been told what these shots really mean yet. Thus creating a very wonderful sense of intrigue. A great way to start the story that got me interested, right away, in what this whole montage of scenes was supposed to mean. 

Then the TARDIS lands. The story, admittedly, does take a bit of time to really get rolling. But, given we're the second story into a new Doctor, this works in this context. And Holmes was smart enough to inject a sufficient amount of intrigue and danger into the mix to keep us interested. In a matter of minutes, the TARDIS crew nearly suffocates, then gets attacked by an auto-defence device whilst poor Sarah gets T-matted away to a cryogenics chamber. It's a crackling pace, in some ways. Whilst, at the same time, "filling in some time" nicely until we can get to the real plot. 

As we finally reach the cryogenic honeycombs, we start to really get the gist of what's going on. Earth has gone to bed to avoid a catastrophe. But, just like those "crazy Silurians and Sea Devils" all those many years before, something went wrong with the plan. They've overslept. And while they slept, a proverbial cuckoo bird has moved into the nest to push their eggs out. 

Even with the limitations of budget, there's some amazingly creepy and dramatic moments that take place as the story progresses. The eye in the solar stack or Noah fighting his own transforming hand are just a few of the better examples of this. They effects look horrifically cheap, but still inspire some level of legitimate horror because of the way the actors seem to overcome the cheapness of those effects. 

We also get one of the best monologues in the series history with the famous "Homo-Sapiens" speech. Colin Baker's "In all my travellings throughout the universe I have always fought against evil" speech is still my all-time favourite. But, once again, Ark In Space is ranking a very close second place.

Robert Holmes also shows off that he doesn't need to populate his stories with eccentric characters in order to make the plot interesting. Both Earthlings and Wirrn are highly functional characters that evoke both menace and pathos at various times throughout the plot. This is probably what impresses me the most about his writing style in this particular story. It's almost like he's trying to be "anti-Robert-Holmes" (which, of course, cannot exist in our universe unshielded!) and he does a very good job at this. Thus proving that he is an amazing writer by resisting all the various nuances that made him so well-liked as an author and focussing on telling a story in a style he's never tried before. And, as the story progresses along, I can only be amazed at what he's able to do even when he's writing in a completely different style. 

The claustrophobia of the last two episodes moves to unparalleled creepy heights. Those Wirrn costumes really do look pretty unconvincing. Yet still, as they try all kinds of nasty tricks to wipe out the few conscious humans, we really find ourselves caught up in the threat of it all. And Holmes ends things in a very unique way as we see the Doctor couldn't totally save the day on his own. It took that last shred of humanity in Noah to truly resolve the conflict. 

Finally we get some nice story-to-story continuity as the Doctor begins the adventure by yelling at Harry for what he did in the last minute of Robot and then gets the transmat working so that they can head off to "Sontaran Experiment". Also a nice touch that he really does grab a piece of the inspection hatch that will save his life in the next story. I love nice little touches like that. And that's what makes Ark In Space another "classic" Who tale. It's just chocked full of nice little touches. Collectively, all these "little touches" come together to present a gorgeous overall theme and storyline that truly takes one's breath away at how inventive the series can be with what could have been a bog-standard "space station/base under seige" plotline in anyone else's hands but Robert's. 

Let's face it, the late Mister Holmes was just-plain amazing and Doctor Who was truly blessed to have had him write so many stories for the show. And Ark In Space is an excellent example of that blessing. Especially since it shows off just how incredible of a range this man had. I still get a bit sad that he's gone. No other writer left quite the mark that he did

‘The Ark in Space’ is one of those Doctor Who stories that I remember as an apex of horror from my childhood; it has been literally over a decade since I last saw it, and fans don’t need to be told that with this series in particular we must revisit childhood with caution, lest we die broken-hearted. And, indeed, there were things that did disappoint me about ‘The Ark in Space’ – the model work is especially poor – but all in all, I thought it stood up rather well. It is not quite the classic of repute, but it is a thoughtful story, and creepy enough, especially considering its budget.

The main problems I had were in the first two episodes. This is not a great Sarah Jane story - she doesn’t do much except get into trouble, and Elisabeth Sladen’s squawking approach here is a bit tedious. The pace is sluggish, and, as I said, the exterior shots of Nerva really saddened me. (The CGI replacements on the DVD are improvements, sort of, but they still jar horribly with the overall production aesthetic.) Most of the interior shots, too, looked like they’d been filmed in a high-school band room – I know the spareness of design is deliberate, but the whole thing just looks cheap, even for Doctor Who. Still, director Rodney Bennett uses the camera very effectively – he peeks around corners, and from across rooms, in such a way that we’re never quite sure whether we’re getting a monster’s-eye view or not. Quite effectively scary.

But things pick up considerably in Episode Three, and the final two episodes are very watchable indeed. The narrative moves better, Sarah gets to crawl around in a shaft, and the mature Wirrn costumes/puppets work surprisingly well (especially considering how silly the dead queen looks in the early part of the story). Harry, although initially twittering, establishes himself as one of the most likeable companions – amusing in his Wodehouseian verbal tics, but certainly no idiot, and brave and serious enough too; in other words, Harry Sullivan may *talk* like an upper-class ass, but he’s not a *comic* character. And the handling of Noah’s ultimate fate, and his continued devotion to his mate Vira, is extremely moving.

But the most interesting thing about the story is its thematic content. ‘The Discontinuity Guide’ chooses to read it in an optimistic light, indeed calling it “Robert Holmes’s most optimistic script, where he defends humanity (the instinctive Rogin) against insect-like conformity.” One can certainly make an argument for this, but such a reading seems to ignore some of the script’s obvious ironies. ‘The Ark in Space’ ends on a happy note, it is true, and does so on the strength of selflessly ‘human’ actions on the part of Rogin and Noah. And yet casting the story as a battle between the ‘instinctive’ human and ‘insect-like conformity’ is a strange interpretation – at the end of the day, the human race is still more insect-like than ever before, segmented away into individual honeycomb cocoons, and led by the stiff, unimaginative Vira (perhaps the most ‘insect-like’ of the humans we meet). In fact, the whole point of Holmes’s story seems to be that humans are fighting the very thing they are becoming – his (very funny) choice to play the High Minister’s jingoistic hymn to humanity over Noah’s horrific transformation gives us a perfect symbol for the story’s horror and essential pessimism. Even the Doctor’s celebrated (if slightly florid) “Homo sapiens!” speech, delivered in the face of the human ‘hive,’ contains bitter insights into human adaptability (and its dangers), and Baker’s sarcastic reading of the speech backs up this interpretation.

And what of the Wirrn themselves? Well, their ‘conformist’ nature remains up in the air too. Of course, it is impossible to say just how much of the Swarm Leader’s discourse is ‘his’ own thoughts and how much is Noah’s, but it cannot be denied that there is a tragedy, even a poetry, in the creature’s account of their war with the humans and the destruction of their once-peaceful society. The Wirrn are not simple monsters; true, they cannot be considered entirely sympathetic, as their actions against Earth are motivated wholly by revenge. But it must be pointed out that the desire for revenge in itself is an emotion-driven mindset (or an ‘instinct’-driven one, if you prefer) and that really doesn’t support an ‘instinctive human vs. functional insect’ reading of the story. Yes, the Doctor ultimately sides with the humans – but he does so in the context of ambiguities that lend ‘The Ark in Space’ a most satisfying adult quality. 

Ultimately, an entertaining story, and an interesting one.

If 'Greeks Bearing Gifts' was ludicrous but entertaining, then 'They Keep Killing Suzie' is even more so. The episode opens with some obligatory gore, as Jack et al are called to a crime scene where two corpses are sprawled on a bed with "Torchwood" written in blood on the wall. As Swanson tells Jack, "Somebody's trying to get your attention", to which he grimly replies, "They've got it." Cue the title sequence and the vague promise of a gripping thriller of an episode. The episode continues in this vein for a time after the opening titles, with Swanson angrily telling the team, "Torchwood walks all over this city like they own it. Now these people are paying the price" before coldly walking out. The plot thickens as Owen finds traces of retcon in traces the killer's blood, then the resurrection gauntlet comes out of the vault and suddenly the episode becomes an absurdity. Again.

The team's decision to use the gauntlet to resurrect Suzie Costello, who memorably committed suicide at the end of the series' opening episode 'Everything Changes' initially seems like an interesting use of the series' continuity and a chance for Torchwood to lay some of its ghosts to rest. Much is examined here, from Gwen's guilt about Suzie's death (and the revelation that Suzie had previously had sex with Owen), to Jack's stupidity in giving a woman with a dying father access to the gauntlet, and it briefly looks like the episode is going to go down the route of redemption, as Suzie saves Gwen and asks, "Maybe I came back for a reason?" And then she turns into a scheming mastermind and the end episode becomes bonkers.

It's difficult to emphasise just how great an air of stunned disbelief I had when I watched 'They Keep Killing Suzie' for the first time. The revelation that everything that happens in the episode is all part of an elaborate plan that she put in place in case she died so that the team would resurrect her represents a plan of such Machiavellian complexity that it is hard to believe that she managed to hide her villainy for so long before her fatal confrontation with Jack, especially when this episode sees her gloatingly dispatch her father, and cackling maniacally as Jack fires shot after shot into her twitching body with a complete lack of success. Presumably, she never invited them to her undersea base and didn't bring the henchmen to work. No wonder Owen glibly remarks, "You've got to admit, that's not bad. I'm picking her for my team", which is of course the sort of flippant remark that anyone would make if his or her lover was rapidly approaching the verge of death.

Because briefly, in the middle of the episode, 'They Keep Killing Suzie' decides it wants to be a comedy. Realising that Suzie is alive because the gauntlet is letting her drain Gwen's life energy, and locked in the hub by Suzie's machinations, Jack and the team are able to make a phone call. Rather than, say phoning Gwen to warn her what Suzie is doing, they phone Swanson, a woman who intensely dislikes them, and is forced to explain, "We're locked in our base and we can't get out", a statement that Jack is forced to repeat whilst her sniggering colleagues listen in. Swanson is actually well acted by Yasmin Bannerman and works well as a character; it's interesting to see what a career officer with some knowledge of Torchwood makes of them albeit without knowing what they really do, although it does raise the question of why Gwen had never heard of them in 'Everything Changes' and why nobody seemed to be able to tell anything about them, even something vague like "they're a special ops unit". It's almost as though the script editor still isn't paying attention, which incidentally brings me to several points of contention about the episode which I'd quite like answering:

Why does Ianto, who until last episode was still miserably reflecting on the traumatic death of his girlfriend and threatening to kill Jack for his involvement in it, now not only appear to have gotten over Lisa, but go off with Jack for a shag? Why are a statistically unlikely number of team members bisexual? Will the series culminate in a massive orgy between the five of them? Why does Gwen develop a gunshot wound when the gauntlet transfers her life energy to Suzie? It's almost as though writers Paul Tomalin and Dan McCulloch is dressing magic up in technobabble. And why doesn't Gwen seem overly concerned when she learns that Torchwood will sequester her corpse and belongings when she dies, just mildly indignant?

In the midst of all this silliness, we do get a couple of scenes worthy of note; when Gwen's belief in heaven is shaken by Suzie's brutal statement that there is nothing after death, Eve Myles makes Gwen look suitably distressed. This later gives rise to an interesting tidbit as Suzie tells Jack before she dies for (presumably) the last time that "There's something moving in the dark, and it's coming for Jack Harkness, it's coming for you!" With all the various hints about Jack's undead nature, this is presumably all leading somewhere: as the season lurches erratically towards a finale, it will be terribly interesting to see if everything gets tied up neatly. Whatever the outcome however, 'They Keep Killing Suzie' feels to me like a typical Torchwood episode; utterly ridiculous, but somehow obstinately entertaining.

Another character piece, but a vast improvement on the preceding 'Random Shoes', 'Out of Time' benefits from having three strong supporting characters, who in turn are used to develop three of the regulars to good effect. Portraying Torchwood as a group of trans-temporal social workers, trying to help three displaced people, could have been dreadfully cloying and sentimental, but a thoughtful script by Catherine Tregenna and solid, but restrained direction from Alice Troughton, make it succeed.

The plot of 'Out of Time' concerns three travellers dragged through time when their aircraft flies into the rift, desperately trying to cope with their situation. Some humour is derived from this scenario (for example Diane asking "what does that mean?" when she sees the Smoking Kills warning on a cigarette packet), but this is not Adam Adamant Lives!; after the initial scenes of the trio learning about the wonders of the present day, it gives way to darker emotions, as John discovers that his son has dementia and ultimately decides to commit suicide, and Diane breaks Owen's heart and flies off, with only Emma seeming to ultimately adjust as she heads off to London in the end, brimming with excitement about the future.

Partly, this works because the three characters work, and partly because each is essentially partnered with one of the regulars, to develop their characters in the process. Louise Delamere' Diane is sassy, independent, and brave and in fact sufficiently more interesting than Toshiko and even Gwen that it is shame that she doesn't become a regular. She's actually ideal Doctor Who companion material, keen to witness new wonders and telling Owen that if the rift won't take her back and that there is no way home, "Then it'll take me somewhere new." More significant is the effect that she has on Owen, who gets a very good episode here and some much-needed development that will set him up for the rest of the series, as he falls in love for possibly the first time and gets his heart-broken. The fact that his previous relationship with Gwen is ignored does rather give the series an uneven feel, but nevertheless there are some nice moments such as when Diane pointedly waits for him to pull out her chair and when she asks (possibly anachronistically) who all his beauty products belong to, and he gets a relationship beyond the usual casual shag/fuck buddy set-up. In short, she forces him to be more than the slightly misogynistic pig that he has been thus far: he even tries to arrange flying lessons for her, which results in disappointment but is probably the most romantic gesture he's ever made, and buys her a dress, so it's understandable that he goes off the rails in the next episode after she leaves him. Realising that he is in love for the first time, he confesses, "I'm scared. I'm fucking scared."

Olivia Hallinan's Emma also works well, initially shocked by the differences between her own time and the present (resulting in some humorous scenes) but ultimately seeming liberated by it. Pairing her with Gwen for the episode means that Gwen lies to Rhys again, this time about who Emma is, which naturally enough comes back to haunt her when he finds out and wants to know why she doesn't trust him, angrily demanding, "Oh, is it to do with work? Do you even know her?" and noting, "What worries me is just how easy it seems to be for you to lie to me Gwen!" On the other hand, when Gwen and Rhys take Emma to a club, we also see them relaxing together for the first time since the series began. Eve Myles also gets to do some slightly comic scenes, and proves rather good at it, especially when Gwen ends up showing Emma some pictures to illustrate just how "sexual aware" people are nowadays. And very awkwardly tries to teach her about the pros and cons of casual sex!

For me however, it is Mark Lewis Jones' John, and his relationship with Jack, that really makes the episode. For once, Jack ceases to be a gun-toting innuendo-generator for the first time since 'Bad Wolf'/'The Parting of the Ways', as in the hands of a writer who doesn't seem to have the brain of an adolescent, he forms a genuine friendship with John, another man out of time, but without the sexual overtones that normally overfill Torchwood. John becomes a tragic figure, as realises that everything he has ever cared about has gone, most notably when he meets his demented son, and when Jack frantically insists that he can still make a life for himself and he replies, "I did all that Jack, years ago, when I was meant to". For once, Torchwood really feels like an adult version of Doctor Who by being mature rather than by combining sex, violence and science fiction, with John so clearly determined to kill himself that Jack finally sits and holds his hand whilst he peacefully slips away. We also get some decent insight into what life is like for Jack, living out of time, as he confesses, "It's just bearable. It has to be. Because I don't have a choice", implying that Jack has contemplated suicide but not done it simply because he can't find a way to kill himself.

Overall, 'Out of Time' is a mature and touching episode which goes some way to really fulfilling Torchwood's "adult" remit. Ironically, whilst the innuendo and rampant shagging is largely absent here, we get some nudity for the first time. Sadly it isn't Captain Jack or Gwen, which would have pleased most audience members regardless of gender or sexual orientation, it's Rhys.