When I reviewed 'Delta and the Bannermen' I suggested that arguably no other story from the McCoy era has divided the opinion fandom as much as that story; nevertheless, in that respect 'Remembrance of the Daleks' comes close to rivaling it, albeit for very different reasons. Regarded by some fans as one of the ten best Doctor Who stories of all time, 'Remembrance of the Daleks' has much to recommend it, but its controversy lies largely in the fact that for the first time it really heralds the beginning of the so-called "Cartmel Masterplan" and that this is obviously reflected in the characterisation of the Doctor.

I'll make it clear from the start that I adore 'Remembrance of the Daleks', for much the same reason that The New Adventures comprise one of my favourite eras of Doctor Who; I love the darker, more manipulative side to the Seventh Doctor that emerges here. And this is where many fans problems with 'Remembrance of the Daleks' lie, as the Doctor becomes a manipulative schemer, acting with foreknowledge of events and with a plan up his sleeve that sees him not blundering blindly into a situation and doing his best to sort it out, but orchestrating events from the start as he leads the Daleks into a trap. This culminates notoriously in the destruction of Skaro, and it is that more than anything else that so many fans take issue with. For over fifteen years now a debate has raged about the morality of the Doctor's actions here, as he manipulates Davros into destroying his home planet with the Hand of Omega. It is an issue more than worthy of debate; questions have been asked about the Doctor's right to effectively commit genocide by destroying the Daleks' power base, and critics have noted that the destruction of an entire world sees not just the destruction of the Daleks, but also that of an entire ecosystem. Writer Ben Aaronovitch has provided further fuel for this debate with his description of rock leopards in the mountains of Skaro in his novelisation of 'Remembrance of the Daleks' and questions have also been asked about whether there are any Thals on the planet at this time.

This issue therefore has at least two levels. On one level, the audience is invited to ask, was the Doctor right to wipe out the Daleks (or at least, Davros' Daleks) and on another, was he right to destroy an entire world? There is, ultimately, no easy answer. Back when I reviewed 'Genesis of the Daleks', a story in which the Doctor balks at committing genocide by wiping out the Daleks, I argued that whereas many so-called Doctor Who monsters are races of people with individual motivations and the possibility of redemption, the Daleks are, literally, Monsters. Back when Terry Nation created them, he used them as metaphors for nuclear Armageddon and later drew obvious parallels between the Daleks and Nazis. During the intervening years, they have remained as potent a force for evil as they were back then to such an extent that I have in the past likened them to Smallpox, a destructive force inimical to human life that many people would have no qualms about eradicating. So personally, I have no moral objection to the Doctor attempting to wipe them out; even more than this, I have stated in the past that I think the Doctor was wrong in 'Genesis of the Daleks'. 

The destruction of Skaro is more complicated. The Imperial Daleks seen here are suggested to be at the height of their powers; they have returned to their ancestral seat, they have an impressive mother ship capable of destroying entire planets, and they seemingly travel through time with ease. This being the case, I find it very hard to believe that Skaro, at the time in which it is destroyed, is still inhabited by Thals. As for the rock leopards, whilst as a fan I find the changes and additions made to Doctor Who television stories when they were novelized interesting, I strongly object to the suggestion that they should be taken into account when considering the relative merits of a television story; these stories were aimed at a wider audience than simply hard core fans, and should stand or fall on their own merits. Thus, there is little to suggest to in 'Remembrance of the Daleks' that Skaro is anything other than the radioactive rubble-strewn wasteland seen in 'Destiny of the Daleks'. The problem is however, that I'm not sure; I'm not absolutely convinced that there is nothing living on Skaro other than the Daleks, or for that matter on the other five planets in the system seen on the star map in the Dalek shuttle. It has also been pointed out that Davros chooses to use the Hand whether the Doctor goads him into it or not; critics have suggested that the Doctor could have warned him of the consequences of doing so instead of just asking him not to use, but this doesn't really make sense, since Davros would probably have still taken the Hand away with him and spent time trying to reprogram it (and possibly succeeding). Again however, the issue is far from clear-cut. And that, ultimately, is what fascinates me about 'Remembrance of the Daleks'. Suddenly, the Doctor has an edge to him, he has become proactive in a far more ruthless and dangerous way than anything we have seen before, even in the first three stories at the dawn of the series. Whatever knowledge he has beforehand, what we see is a Doctor who has considered the odds and has decided that the destruction of an entire solar system is worthwhile if it wipes out or at least severely cripples the Dalek race. Anyone who considers the Doctor a cut and dried Hero is undoubtedly going to have problems with this, just as they would have problems with the Doctor's actions in the New Adventures 'Love and war', 'Blood Heat' and 'Zamper' (to name but three examples), but I find morally dubious "heroes" vastly more interesting than clear cut "good guys". My final word on this issue is that, whatever else you might think about it, the strength of 'Remembrance of the Daleks' is that, fifteen years on it can still provoke fierce debate. 

So what of the rest of 'Remembrance of the Daleks', outside of that controversial sequence towards the end of Episode Four? The story has many good points. For one thing, the immediate effect of the Cartmel Masterplan is evident from the start, as the Doctor spends the story making sure that the correct Dalek faction gets the Hand of Omega and tries to limit the number of people killed in the crossfire. In amongst this, we have intriguing hints that we don't, after all, know everything about the Doctor, as he implies that he may have worked with Omega and Rassilon (incidentally, there is a deleted scene from Episode Four included on the DVD, in which he tells Davros that he is "far more than just another Time Lord"). The Doctor's alien nature is suddenly re-emphasized to powerful effect, and Sylvester McCoy responds with a performance here that is virtually flawless. During the scenes set in the Junkyard in Totter's Lane in Episode One, he makes quite asides such as "humans" and "what a predictable response" and inherent in those lines is something darker than what we are used to, as the Doctor stands in judgement of his favourite species. McCoy packs real emotion into those lines, which considering some of the oft-mentioned limitations of his acting skills is hugely impressive. The strengths of McCoy's acting are emphasized instead, so that we get a Doctor who charms his way into the confidence of Rachael and Allison, gains the trust of Group Captain Gilmore and alternates between deadly serious and clownish buffoonery. There is a magnificent scene in Episode Two as he discusses the nature of consequence with Joseph Marcell's John, and aside from being a beautifully scripted scene that foreshadows the events to come, it shows McCoy at his best; the Doctor seems genuinely exhausted by the stress of what he is doing when he first sits down at the counter and orders tea. 

McCoy's acting only even begins to touch on cringe-worthy during his confrontation with Davros in Episode Four, as he over does the Doctor's "unlimited rice pudding" goading to a level that should make it obvious even to the over-excited and emotional Davros that he is up to something. Terry Molloy's performance here as Davros is also occasionally criticized for being over-the-top, but personally I've never had a problem with Molloy's performance as Davros in any of his four stories to date. Whilst Davros is undoubtedly a genius, he's also undoubtedly insane; it has been pointed out that it is astonishingly stupid of him to use the Hand of Omega so quickly after having obtained it and in a fit of pique, but to me it seems perfectly in character, as he's easily arrogant and volatile enough to believe that he can indeed "handle the technology", and Molloy's ranting and cackling reflects the fact that he's literally almost gibbering with excitement at the prospect of gaining total mastery over time. 

I also, for the most part, like what Aaronovitch does with the Daleks here. It has been pointed out that the Daleks here are at there most clichйd, doing little except spouting "Exterminate!" at every opportunity and this is not entirely untrue, but coupled with that is the fact that Aaronovitch makes them seem truly dangerous again. Not since the Troughton era has a single Dalek presented such a potent threat as the one in Totter's Lane in Episode One, as it holds an entire squadron of soldiers at bay, killing two of them without receiving so much as a scratch in return. It takes the Doctor, armed with Ace's nitro nine, to deal with this lone Dalek where grenades in a confined space fail, and lines such as "that's just the point Group Captain, it isn't even remotely human" reinforce the danger of the Daleks in relatively subtle ways. Andrew Morgan's direction also helps; the Dalek point of view seen twice in Episode One is quiet impressive, but the Episode One cliffhanger as a Dalek glides up some stairs towards the Doctor is worth the license fee alone. Having said which, it is slightly undermined by the fact that a slight blow to the stomach leaves Ace apparently unconscious rather than, say, winded and clutching her stomach. At the end of the day, it is a blatant crowd-pleasing gesture, but I'm not going to lie and pretend that it doesn't make me grin from ear-to-ear every time I watch it. Especially in the company of non-fans. There are other examples of this; the Daleks here were all newly built props, and they look great. Some critics have complained that they wobble too much on location, but I don't especially care. I also love the Dalek battle in Episode Four, especially the Special Weapons Dalek, which is pure gimmickry but which I'm not afraid to admit gives me a cheap fanboy thrill. 

Other aspects of Aaronovitch's scripting of the Daleks are, again, more controversial. The Daleks have been the living embodiment of racism since at least 'The Daleks Invasion of Earth' (and arguably 'The Mutants'), but some fans have complained that the supposed reasons for their civil war (that they are into racial purity and that Davros has been mutating his Daleks further) contradicts 'Revelation of the Daleks', in which the Daleks from Skaro intend to recondition Davros' new breed of Daleks to obey the Supreme Dalek. In fact, the racial purity aspect is only hypothesized by Ace on screen, and is not confirmed by the Doctor or Daleks; nevertheless, it is consistent here with the old comparison that Nation used between the Daleks and Nazis, and as such it makes sense. Ironically, what rankles me far more and which rarely gets mentioned is the battle computer, which the Daleks need because they're dependent on rationality and logic. The Daleks were never portrayed as creatures of logic until 'Destiny of the Daleks', with examples of Daleks losing their temper or panicking scattered throughout the series and just as I hated this development in 'Destiny of the Daleks' I hate it here too. The other problem with the Daleks here is that on at least two occasions their actions don't entirely make sense. At the generally rather impressive Episode Two cliffhanger they spend too long chanting "Exterminate!" at Ace without actually killing her, and at the end of Episode Four the Doctor's ability to talk the Black Dalek to death doesn't make tremendous sense either. I only really understand these scenes with certainty because I've read the novelisation, and that is no more excusable here than it was for the rationale behind the silly Episode One cliffhanger in 'Dragonfire'. Having said that, I do rather like the idea of the Doctor talking a Dalek to death, simply because I find it to be a vaguely amusing conceit.

Inevitably with Season Twenty-Five, we have the problem of Ace. Sophie Aldred's performance is as stilted and self-conscious as usual, and the character continues to fail to work, again failed with such crass dialogue as "You toerag. You lying, stinking scumbag". On the other hand, the character works far better here than in 'Dragonfire', partly because Aaronovitch gives her plenty to do. The scene in which Ace beats up a Dalek with a baseball bat is woeful, but the cliffhanger ending to Episode Two as she is chased through the school is impressive. Then there is Ace's relationship with Mike; her attraction to Mike brings out her best side, as she flirts with him and tries to impress him, which gives way to anger when she discovers that he has betrayed the Doctor by working for Ratcliffe. More important though is what Mike represents. In contrast to the rabidly xenophobic Daleks, Mike's inherent racism is a banal, institutionalized affair, seeming petty even in contrast to that of Nazi-sympathizer Ratcliffe. Mike is, for the most part, likeable, and although it isn't explicitly stated, the impression is given that he has inherited his racism from his mum, who has a sign with "No coloureds" written on it hanging in the window of her bed and breakfast, and also from Ratcliffe, who he obviously admires and respects (incidentally, there is a deleted scene present on the DVD in which he worries that Ace is foreign, an attitude that gains him a look of contempt from Rachel). The importance of this to Ace is that instead of ranting unsubtly against the racism represented by the Daleks, which she thinks are into racial purity, her disgust at the attitudes of Mike and his mother are far more subtly revealed. When she finds the sign in the window of the bed and breakfast, she stares at it in disbelief and goes out for some fresh air; later, when Mike is trying to justify his actions, he gets as far as saying "You have to look after your own" before she tells him to shut up. Thus, we learn a great deal about Ace's character from two simple, underplayed scenes, and for all that she is a dreadful actress, Aldred handles them well. 

'Remembrance of the Daleks' benefits a great deal from decent characters and acting. Pamela Salem's Rachel Jensen is a great character, a frustrated scientist fed tidbits of information by the vastly more knowledgeable Doctor; she constantly tries to tease further bits of information out of him about the alien technology that she witnesses, only to be told that humanity isn't ready for it yet. Group Captain Gilmore is in a similar position, since the Doctor knows what is going on but tells him as little as possible and tries to keep him and his men safely out of the way. Nevertheless, he comes to trust the Doctor, eventually telling him, "only a fool argues with his Doctor" as he realises that he is hopelessly out of his depth. Simon Williams is superb in the part, keeping a stiff upper lip at all times in a role obviously reminiscent of the Brigadier (which the Doctor mistakenly calls him at one point). Then there is George Sewell's Ratcliffe, an unpleasant man who clearly believes that the ends justifies his means and has no qualms about bringing war down on London, and who naturally learns never to trust a Dalek, going the way of most Dalek allies… We also get relatively brief but dependable performances from Doctor Who stalwarts Michael Sheard and Peter Halliday, and an impressively creepy turn from Jasmine Breaks as the girl wired into the Dalek battle computer.

Finally, the production is very impressive. Andrew Morgan does a fine job of directing, and there are numerous nice touches including the ominous pre-credits sequence at the start of Episode One and the Dalek shuttle landing, which is astonishingly well done. As usual with Doctor Who, the extensive location work looks great, despite the occasional glimpse of an anachronistic building, and Martin Collins studio sets blend seamlessly with the location footage to the extent that I must admit it was a long time before I even realised that the school interiors were actually studio sets. And incredibly, astonishing though it may be, Kef McCulloch produces a half-decent incidental score. It is by no means perfect and there are some horrible drum machine fills on scenes that don't need them, but for the most part it more or less works. I should also say that I like the links to the series past, which are unobtrusive but provide some nice touches to mark the twenty-fifth season; the story is of course set in the same area of London and the same year as the very first episode of Doctor Who, with the junkyard at Totter's Lane and Coal Hill School featuring prominently, but there are also other touches such as the book on the French Revolution that Susan borrows in '100,000BC', plus the fact that as Ace is leaving the bed and breakfast, a new science fiction series is about to begin on BBC1. The Discontinuity Guide rather spoils the fun of this last point by explaining in painful detail why it can't actually be Doctor Who, but we all know damn well what the production team intended…

This then, is 'Remembrance of the Daleks', a story that has proved rather controversial over the years but one which I never fail to enjoy. With debates about the morality of the Doctor's actions here continuing to arise periodically the story's prominence is likely to endure; ultimately, for me, the worst thing that can be said about it is that it inspired 'War of the Daleks'. 

Season twenty five is considered by most fans to be a huge leap forward in terms of quality over the seventh Doctors debut season. Indeed, it is hard to imagine most fans finding a season that isn’t a considerable leap forward in quality over season twenty four. I’ve often found myself defending season twenty four against some of its harsher detractors, but even I have to admit McCoy’s debut season was deeply damaging to the shows reputation, with many people thinking of all late eightiesDoctor Who as a ‘silly pantomime’ as a direct result of some of season twenty fours sillier moments. Many people still believe season twenty five and to a lesser extent twenty six could be accurately described in such a derogatory way. However, I think that this does everyone involved in the production of the Doctors last two seasons a great disservice, especially those who worked on ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’. 

In the lead up to ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ airing my dad would try and get me all worked up over the reappearance of the Daleks. I had no idea what they were, and as a five year old I would call them ‘Garlic’s’! I was eagerly awaiting Doctor Who to make its return. To my young eyes Doctor Who during this period was the greatest thing ever. ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ had a lot to do with this. Years later I would only remember a few strong images of Doctor Who, and most of these were of ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’. 

Anyway, enough of the history lesson, it is now time for me to explain, after repeated viewings on video and now DVD, why I love this story so much. I mentioned before that a couple of years after the show got axed and before I started buying the VHS tapes only a few images of Doctor Who remained with me. The main image that stuck with me was of the Daleks themselves. It is easy to look at them with older eyes and laugh at their pepper pot design, but to a young child these monsters must look so different to anything else, their shape and form lodges itself inside your subconscious. That is what makes them so effective. Yes, they speak in an extremely memorable fashion and “exterminate” everything that moves, but it is the look of them that makes them what they are. And so I come to my first giant tick in favour of ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’, the Daleks themselves. These chaps can now levitate, enabling them to travel up stairs! No one trying to take the piss out of the Doctors deadliest enemies can now say to get away from them all you need to do is “go up some stairs”. Actually, this wasn’t the first time a hovering Dalek was seen. In season twenty two’s ‘Revelation of the Daleks’ Davros – not technically a Dalek, but you know what I mean - could levitate, but here you knew what kind of a reaction from the viewing public the production team were after. The Daleks also fire extremely effective ‘laser bolts’ (for want of a better expression), and the effect of which is shown in episode one when the army squad is fighting the Dalek trapped at Trotters Lane. He is flung backwards with great force when struck in an impressive stunt. This is much more effective than the rubbish weapons the Daleks had during the sixties and seventies. They can also call upon the Special Weapons Dalek in battle. During the battle sequence between the two Dalek factions this thing rolls up into position and blows away the opposition. I quite like the idea of different Daleks designed for different battlefield roles. 

‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ is also memorable for containing some tightly directed action scenes. Two immediately spring to mind, with the first being Ace’s battle with the imperial Dalek squad inside the school. Often in Doctor Who action scenes are handled poorly, but this little sequence is expertly handled and shows that even on a small budget, if you get enough talented people working together behind and in front of the cameras anything is possible. The second action scene that I feel is worthy of special praise is the Dalek battle between the renegades and the imperials that I mentioned above. What makes this look so great is simply the pyrotechnics on display. Effective video effects make the blasts from Dalek weaponry look great and the explosions used here are impressive. It makes other Dalek action scenes from the shows history look pretty unspectacular by comparison. 

Ben Aarnovitch has crafted a story that is both at times quite complex and yet is also easy to simply sit back and enjoy. That this adventure can work on these two levels is a credit to the writer. He seems to have a knack for writing great scenes for the Doctor. The much discussed cafй scene immediately springs to mind, but the Doctor/Davros confrontation at the end of episode four is also highly effective. More on this later. 

The plot, as I’m sure many of you reading this are aware, is the same one later used in Kevin Clarke’s ‘Silver Nemesis’, but I could hardly criticise this serial in regards to that, simply because ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ came first. Actually, the fact that these two writers used a very similar plotline illustrates what a fine writer Aarnovitch is. Whereas in ‘Silver Nemesis’ Clarke has the Doctor going from one location to another giving the different parts of the Nemesis to different groups in a linear, flat, dull manner, Aarnovitch manages to inject some sense of adventure into what is essentially a standard Doctor Who run around. After bashing ‘Silver Nemesis’, I’ll quickly say that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Just go and read my review of it. 

Sylvester McCoy and Sophie Aldred work well as a pair here, in what is their first story together as Doctor/companion. McCoy, especially, looks a lot more comfortable in the lead role here than at any point during the previous season. ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ is one of the few Doctor Who stories where none of the supporting cast lets the side down. Simon Williams as Group Captain ‘Chunky’ Gilmore is particularly memorable, and brings a real air of authority to the role. Other memorable characters include scientist Rachel Jansen, ably played by Pamela Salem and Ratcliff, who is played by George Sewell.

‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ is perhaps the only story after ‘Genesis of the Daleks’ where Davros is used effectively. When the imperial Dalek is finally revealed to be Davros, it may not be as much of a surprise as intended, but it is certainly a dramatic moment. The confrontation at the end of episode four between the Doctor and Davros is occasionally criticised for the moment when the Doctor, mocking Davros, says “…unimaginable power, unlimited rice pudding!” However, the Doctor was trying to goad Davros into using the Hand of Omega (which of course the Doctor had pre-programmed to strike Skaros’ sun) and so I don’t have a problem with this. In fact this confrontation is well handled by the crew and the actors, and is a fine climax to the story. 

Now, no review of this story would be complete without comment on one of the most fiercely debated moments throughout all of Doctor Who’s long history; the moment the Doctor uses the Omega device to turn Skaros’ sun supernova, thereby destroying Skaro, the Daleks home planet. The main problem I have with this is that the seventh Doctor seems positively ‘anti-violence’ when up close and personal with it, and yet when he is distanced from the consequences of violent actions he has no moral problems destroying entire fleets of ships or entire solar systems, as happened in ‘Silver Nemesis’ and here in ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’, respectively. He is something of a modern politician in that if put into the frontlines would probably desert, and yet has no problem initiating wars, where tens of thousands will die, from a distance. 

‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ is not perfect. I mentioned before how effectively the Daleks are used in this story, however they do have a nasty tendency to wobble. Also worthy of mention is the Keff McCulloch score. Whilst probably his best work on the series can be found in this serial, he still manages to cock things up by using far too many horrible eighties sounding drum fills. 

In closing, ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ is a fine addition to Dalek history, being well written, acted and directed. It is not often that these factors came together as sublimely as they did here during the shows history, especially through the seventh Doctors era. It may have divided fandom, but ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ will always reside in my top ten Doctor Who stories of all time.

At the age of ten, when 'The Happiness Patrol' was first broadcast, I hated it. I'd just seen Daleks and I was looking forward to Cybermen and in the interim I got a Bertie Bassett monster armed with social commentary and metaphor that went totally over my head. Sixteen years on however, 'The Happiness Patrol' is easily one of my favourite stories of the McCoy era, a richly textured story sparkling with wit and a delightfully surreal monster. Doctor Who for adults? Perhaps not. But Doctor Who for me, certainly. 

'The Happiness Patrol' is riddled with political allegory and can be interpreted in a number of ways. On the one hand, Helen A is, famously, an obvious nod to Mrs. Thatcher, due largely to Sheila Hancock's performance, and The Discontinuity Guidedescribes the Kandy Man as "capitalism itself, killing with sweeties". It also takes a swipe at colonialism, with the native population of Terra Alpha not even qualifying as second-class citizens, but instead dismissed as "vermin". These are perfectly valid interpretations, but 'The Happiness Patrol' can also been interpreted (and indeed has, by a small but growing number of fans) as an attack on communist states that have developed into fascist dictator ships over time. Thus, we have a police state, in which dissent is punishable by death, with undercover agents whose job is to encourage dissenters so that they can be identified and disposed of and there are state executions and an underclass of workers who are forbidden from entering the cities. There are designated areas for tourists. Helen A at times seems to be a response to the argument that the revolutions in Russia and China were initially welcomed by the majority of the people in those countries but gave way to tyranny later in Helen A's attempt to justify her actions to the Doctor when he contemptuously asks her about the "Prisons, death-squads, executions?", to which she replies "They only came later". 

All of this is just the tip of the iceberg; the society presented by writer Graeme Curry in 'The Happiness Patrol' is fascinating. In a series littered with stock megalomaniacs there are interesting hints as to what motivates Helen A; she expresses genuine anger at the "killjoys" and tells that Doctor that she only wanted people to be happy. She seems to mean this, and so we are presented with a woman whose frustration at failing to achieve her aims caused her to become a ruthless dictator. There is some dialogue that, when considered in any depth becomes chilling, as she states, "If they're miserable, we'll put them out of their misery. After all, it's for their own good". This is delivered not as the self-justification of somebody who revels in suffering, but as the firm unwavering opinion of somebody who really believes it. Later, she talks to a wounded Fifi alone and it becomes clearly that she really can't stand miserable people, it isn't just a faзade that she hides behind to maintain her power. The Doctor's complete failure to make her understand how utterly terrible her actions have been is deeply disturbing, and as such I find the denouement one of the most satisfying and emotional of any Doctor Who story to date as Helen A is finally made to see the error of the ways by her discovery of Fifi's corpse and her bitterness and anger gives way to almost palpable grief as she weeps over it. Hancock's performance is outstanding throughout, but in that final scene it is astonishingly powerful. 

Another interesting aspect of 'The Happiness Patrol' is the propaganda on display, from the obvious (the "lift music", the posters) to the relatively subtle, such as the refusal of Helen A to call a prison a prison, preferring instead the term "waiting zone" and glossing over her actions with phrases such as "We have controlled the population down by seven percent". And in the midst of this oppressive society, there is some interesting characterisation. There are some characters, most notably Georgina Hale's loathsome Daisy K and Rachel Bell's Priscilla P (who describes herself as a fighter but who is of course simply a killer), who thrive within the system, eagerly enforcing the rules laid down by Helen A. Interestingly, they are also confined by them, either because these rules are so deeply ingrained or because they in turn fear the consequences to breaking them, as demonstrated when they prove unable to kill the seemingly happy Doctor and drones in Episode Three. It is worth noting that undercover agent Silas P is doing rather well for himself until he tells Helen A, "I'm aiming for the top". She icily replies "not quite the very top, I hope" and he looks terrified; shortly afterwards, the Happiness Patrol seem awfully quick to kill him when he makes a very small mistake… Then there are those who have rebelled against the system in one way or another, most of whom end up dead prior to the Doctor's intervention. More interesting than either of these however are those characters who have chosen to live within the system rather than dying by it, but who clearly do not share Helen A's philosophies. These range from the Kandy Man, who is essentially a psychopath given free reign to kill people whenever he wants because Helen A needs a state executioner, to Lesley Dunlop's Susan Q. Susan Q especially interest me, because she obviously hates and fears Helen A and the Happiness Patrol and finally rebels against them. This raises an interesting question; she obviously joined the Happiness Patrol in order to survive in this society, but prior to her decision to make a stand, just how many people has she helped to make "disappear"? It isn't a question addressed in the story, but it is there nonetheless and it adds considerable to the underlying darkness of the story. 

Enough subtext; 'The Happiness Patrol' works on a purely aesthetic level too, proving enormously entertaining. The Kandy Man has proved to be a rather controversial creation over the years, but I think that it's quite superb. The idea of a psychotic robot made out of confectionary is weird and disturbing, a nightmare creation akin to the Child Catcher from Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, and the decision by the designer to make him resemble a monstrous Bertie Bassett is highly amusing, even if it did nearly result in the BBC facing a lawsuit. Beyond his outlandish appearance however, he works well as a character, because he is a charismatic psychopath with lines like "sweets that are so good, so delicious, that if I'm on form, the human physiology is not equipped to deal with the pleasure". His scenes with the Doctor are especially good, as he threatens, boasts and bargains with him at different points, culminating in the scene in which he is trying to decide whether to kill the Doctor or Ace first; when the Doctor points out that he is vulnerable to the poker that Ace is brandishing, he cheerfully announces, "I have to bow, however reluctantly, to your logic" and turns on the Doctor instead. He's also incredibly unstable, his temper flaring up without warning, which of course allows the Doctor to trick him into sticking himself to the floor with lemonade. The character wouldn't work nearly as well if not for the body language of actor David John Pope who brings the Kandy Man to life with a variety of expressive hand gestures and manages to make it look as though the character's feet really are stuck fast in Episode Two. 

The presence of Harold Innocent's Gilbert M also helps the Kandy Man's characterisation, as the pair bicker like an old married couple Incidentally, Gilbert built the Kandy Man to house the mind of a friend, whose "bones" he brought with him from Vasilip, and the novelisation confirms that they are old friends; additionally, it seems to be the death of the Kandy Man, more so than the collapse of the regime, that catalyses Gilbert's decision to leave. Fans have tried to find homosexual subtexts in 'The Happiness Patrol' for years - could they have been looking in the wrong place? Regardless of this hypothesizing, Gilbert is another fine character, brought to life by Innocent's acting, and is another example of a character who has clearly chosen to live within the system without really seeming to believe in it; he gleefully joins in the Doctor's mockery of the Happiness Patrol in Episode Three and quickly departs when everything goes wrong. Ronald Fraser's Joseph C, a character that is probably as much influenced by public opinion of Dennis Thatcher as Helen A is by Maggie, joins him. A browbeaten quiet man who is party to Helen A's atrocities but seemingly ignores them (he seems to find the fondant surprise execution in Episode One a mild diversion without being either troubled by or really concerned with it), more concerned with entertaining guests, he shows neither hesitation or remorse at abandoning Helen A, presumably pleased to be free of his domineering wife. 

The production of 'The Happiness Patrol' nicely complements both script and performance. Most of the sets are drab and obviously studio bound, and Chris Clough's direction is as flat and uninspired as usual, but ironically this actually helps to enhance the claustrophobic and oppressive feel of Terra Alpha. The sole exception to the drabness of the sets is the Kandy Kitchen, a complex set with pipes and wheels that briefly makes me wonder what Doctor Who directed by Tim Burton would be like. There is also a superb score from Dominic Glynn, which is by turns sinister and dramatic and, appropriately enough, incorporates some nice blues stings, especially at the end.

And finally, there are the regulars. Sophie Aldred gives one of her better performances here, and although she gets saddled with the usual crap dialogue ("I wanna nail those scumbags. I want to make them very unhappy") it is kept to a minimum. Ace also gets a reasonable amount to do, showing anger at Helen A's regime without seeming too petulant or childish in the process, which is usually a problem whenever the character is called upon to show emotion. McCoy however, is for the most part brilliant. He conveys utter contempt whenever the Doctor speaks with Helen A, from the moment that he greats her with the acerbic "It's no pleasure, I assure you" to their final confrontation as he watches her veneer of happiness shattered by Fifi's death. This is the Seventh Doctor at his proactive best, as he proves the catalyst for massive social change and the collapse of a dictatorship, easily demolishing the mechanisms of Helen A's power with very little difficulty. As he says in Episode Three, "I can hear the sound of empires toppling". He also gets some nice moments such as when he exploits Trevor Sigma's obsession with bureaucracy to extract information from him, but his finest moment in the story is undoubtedly the scene with the snipers, as he confronts them and forces them to face the reality of what they do, as he invites one to look him in the eye and end his life. This works not because it simply assumes that killing is bad (following on directly from the, erm, explosive climax to 'Remembrance of the Daleks' it would be especially jarring if it did), but because it sees the Doctor confronting another couple of people who do what they have to in order to survive in Helen A's Terra Alpha, but who do so by not thinking about the consequences of their actions. That, for me, is why the scene is so powerful, not just because the Doctor stops the snipers from killing the drones, but because he makes them question their actions ("That's what guns are for. Pull a trigger. End a life. Simple isn't it?… Why don't you do it then? Look me in the eye. Pull the trigger. End my life" "I can't" "Why not? "I don't know"). 

Unfortunately, there is one flaw in 'The Happiness Patrol', and ironically enough it is McCoy. Although I've alluded to the limitations of his acting before, I've not yet had cause to elaborate, until now. Superb as he is for most of the story, there is one scene that is so bad, so cringe-worthy that it suddenly interrupts my enjoyment of 'The Happiness Patrol' like a smack in the mouth. During Episode Three, McCoy is required to portray the Doctor's fake happiness to confuse the Happiness Patrol and he performs the scene in truly diabolical style; he delivers his lines badly, guffaws unconvincingly and is generally embarrassing to watch. For that brief moment, I suddenly understand why so many fans dislike his Doctor, and it is so disappointing given the rest of his performance here. Bad as it is though, it isn't enough to ruin the story and 'The Happiness Patrol' remains a story that I'm happy to recommend. 

For Doctor Who's twenty-fifth anniversary season, the production team commissioned a story that still divides fandom to this day; a story in which the Doctor uses an ancient Gallifreyan super weapon to destroy an old enemy, which appropriately enough is one of the series' most popular and enduring monsters. The story also tries to reintroduce mystery to the character of the Doctor with hints that he worked with Rassilon and Omega, and features a Nazi who forms an alliance with the monsters, only to be killed by them in the final episode. In fact, the production team considered this plot to be so good that they then commissioned it again…

I love 'Remembrance of the Daleks', as I stated when I reviewed it. Given then that 'Silver Nemesis' has the same plot, one might be forgiven for expecting me to hold it in equally high esteem, whereas in fact I consider it to complete and utter shite. For obvious reasons, I can't really condemn the basic plot, but whereas 'Remembrance of the Daleks' is a fast-paced exciting story 'Silver Nemesis' somehow makes use of its shorter length to be far more padded and tedious. Which is, in a sense, impressive. I should probably note at this point that I haven't seen the broadcast version since its original transmission, and am instead reviewing the nineteen ninety-three video release, which contains extra material. In keeping with the story, it was packaged in an unusually gaudy and tasteless cover. In general, I welcome extended versions of televised Doctor Who stories for interest alone if nothing else, but 'Silver Nemesis' is a story I need more of about as much as I need a swift kick to the testicles. 

Anyway, to drag myself back to the point, why is 'Silver Nemesis' so crap? Let us begin with the Cybermen. With the exception of the flawed but entertaining 'Earthshock', the Cybermen have become increasingly weakened during their colour television stories and although 'Silver Nemesis' doesn't quite plumb the depths of either 'Revenge of the Cybermen' or 'Attack of the Cybermen', it comes perilously close. Initially, they seem well served by the story; their appearance at the end of Episode One produces a cheap fannish thrill, and they have been slightly redesigned to give them a sleeker, shiner look. This is possibly because 'Silver Nemesis' is the silver anniversary story and the Cybermen were allegedly included because they are silver, although this can't possibly be true because if it were it would mean that writer Kevin Clarke is an idiot and a hack. Anyway, the Cybermen look rather good here. I also, as usual, enjoy David Banks's performance as the Cyber Leader, and he particularly benefits here from the fact that the Cybermen are less emotional than they are sometimes portrayed. Happily, they are also once more bullet proof, striding through a hail of high-velocity rounds from Nazi machine guns without the slightest difficulty. Unhappily however, the spectre of their old gold allergy reappears to a ludicrous degree. I could almost cope with Cybermen that carry special gold detectors and recoil from the stuff with a noise that makes them sound as though they've sat on their cybernetic knackers, but I can't cope with gold-tipped arrows and gold coins fired from a catapult penetrating chest panels that bullets ricochet off. Luckily for everyone present, not only do their chest panels crumple like tissue paper when struck by gold, but also Lady Peinforte has arrows with gold heads. Since these would be pointless under any other imaginable circumstances, it is fortunate that amongst her main opponents in her quest to regain the Nemesis, she happens to find herself fighting aliens that are vulnerable to gold. But not bullets. That would be silly.

With only three episodes available for his story, Kevin Clarke decides not merely to use the Cybermen as villains, but also some Nazis and a time travelling madwoman accompanied by a nincompoop. If this sounds unwise, bear in mind that 'Silver Nemesis' still manages to be both padded and tedious. Largely this is because the characterisation of every single character including the regulars is appalling. The Nazis in particular suffer; having obtained the services of an actor of Anton Diffring's calibre, John Nathan-Turner unwisely casts him a story, which sees him aiming longbows at parrots and asking aliens if they are familiar with Wagner. Just in case we don't realize that these are Nazis, they are listening to "Ride of the Valkeyries" when we first see them in Episode One, immediately making it clear to anyone who has ever seen Blues Brothers that they are very naughty men. De Flores and his henchmen, especially Karl, are awful characters; having arrived in London they travel to Windsor to obtain the Nemesis in full uniform, which strikes me as conspicuous to say the least. De Flores tells the Cybermen that the Doctor is no ordinary foe, despite having only met him very briefly and seemingly having no foreknowledge of him. Later, he throws strolls casually out of Peinforte's tomb as though enjoying the weather despite having a group of armoured Cybermen behind him who are about to kill him. More on the weather later, by the way.

Then we have Lady Peinforte. Like Diffring, Fiona Walker does her best with the character, a thoroughly evil woman who knows the Doctor of old and is potentially rather interesting. As things transpire however, she isn't; the temporal displacement of her and Richard is an excuse for some woefully attempts at humour, most notably the execrable scene with Dolores Gray. And also the scenes with the skinheads, who mistake Peinforte and Richard for social workers and end up hanging nearly naked from a tree. By Episode Three, she then becomes a stock raving lunatic, uttering lines such as "All things shall be mine", "Oh, glorious evil!" and generally crooning and cackling. The single occasion on which the dubious humour involving Peinforte and Richard manages to amuse me is the scene in Episode Two, when Peinforte, surveying the battle between Cybermen and Nazis, turns to him only to find him praying in terror, and hears him say "I will look after the sick, which reminds me, I will return to Briggs his money". Speaking of Richard, he starts out in Episode One as a willing and loyal accomplice of Peinforte, who looks cruelly at the mathematician and notes that they need human blood for Peinforte's potion, and later becomes a comic relief buffoon whom the Doctor gives a lift home, whereupon Richard happily plays music to entertain him and Ace. Draw your own conclusions. 

Thus, 'Silver Nemesis' has three sets of villains, and the net result of this is that they all spend Episodes Two and Three meandering around Windsor in search of bits of the Nemesis. And it is so very, very boring. Added to this, is the fact that it all seems very sloppy and unconvincing; a large meteorite lands near Windsor and three policemen are sent to investigate. They are overcome by Cyber technology, but no other policemen turn up to see what happened to them and nobody else comes to investigate the crater. The script tells us that the story is set in England in November, but everybody is wearing t-shirts and Mrs. Remington tells Richard and Peinforte that they must be very hot having been standing in the sun. There is also a twee suggestion that the Nemesis is responsible for the evils of humanity every twenty-five years, which is just crass.

As if all of this rot weren't bad enough, we can't even turn to the regulars for solace. I quite like seeing the Doctor and Ace relaxing and listening to Courtney Pine in Episode One, but this is spoiled by the apparent contrivance of the Doctor's alarm reminding him of danger; he can't remember what it signifies, or which planet is in danger, but as luck would have it, it turns out that he needs to be on Earth in the exact time and place that he has already landed in. It's established later on that most of what happens is part of an elaborate trap to finish off the Cybermen in much the same way as he finished off the Daleks two stories previously (in an attempt to brazen it out, the script includes the line "Just like you nailed the Daleks"), but his confusion over the alarm seems genuine. The extra footage included on the video release also highlights the fact that at best McCoy's performance here is half-hearted and at worst it is simple dire. The scene with the Queen and her corgis is not only facile in its own right, it also results in McCoy uttering the lines "quick - after her!" and "Ah-ha!" in the most stilted way imaginable. This is as nothing however, compared to the extra scene in which the Doctor hypnotizes the security guards by peering myopically throw some spectacles and barking feeble dialogue at them in an unconvincing manner. Ace fares even worse, save for a single scene in which she confesses that the Cybermen terrify her, which is a nice character moment, but isn't enough to compensate for lines like "Now you'd better listen to him weasel features, 'cos he's the Doctor" and "Let them kill me Doctor! Don't surrender!", and of course, Aldred's usual tepid performance. I also find it highly annoying that she keeps going on about the Cybermen saving her life, which they blatantly didn't do on purpose. 

In summary then, 'Silver Nemesis' is a right load of old toss. And on that note, I'll leave it be. 

After the diabolical 'Silver Nemesis', the fortunes of Season Twenty-Four are restored by the superb 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy', a sinister and memorable story that entirely justifies Ace's dislike of clowns and features some fascinating imagery. It also works on multiple levels, boasting not only a great plot and excellent characterisation, but also rife with metaphors that reflect the status of Doctor Who as cult television and also act as a sombre foreshadowing of the series' impending demise.

'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' benefits from a combination of decent direction from the underrated Alan Wareing, some great design from David Laskey, costume designer David Laskey and make-up artist Denise Baron. The whole atmosphere is weird and creepy throughout, a result of the plot, which revolves around a sinister circus on an alien planet that has become a deadly trap for unsuspecting visitors, and the bizarre visuals. There is very much a feeling that 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' is striving to combine science fiction and fantasy, as we are presented with impassive robot clowns, a killer robot bus conductor, and ancient alien gods, juxtaposed with the circus setting, a stereotypical British explorer complete with pith helmet, kites that spy on people, and a hippy bus. The first appearance of the Chief Clown, face made up with full clown make-up but wearing a top hat and riding a hearse, is one of the finest shots of the era, enhanced considerably by Mark Ayers' atmospheric score that invokes both traditional circus imagery and eeriness as the occasion demands. Serendipitously, the discovery of asbestos in the studio in which this story was to be partly filmed led to the studio scenes instead being mounted in a tent in a car park, which unlikely as it sounds proves to be a bonus, as the "interior" scenes mesh with the location filming far better than in any other Doctor Who story. By Episode Four, 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' has cemented itself as a visual tour de force only to get even better as the disturbing image of the eye that has haunted the story from the start is explained and the Doctor faces the imposing Gods of Ragnarok in a claustrophobic stone amphitheatre. 

In addition to all of this, 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' benefits from some great characterisation. Nobody is wasted, not even the belligerent Stallslady well played by Peggy Mount whose distrust of hippies and carnival folk is immediately recognizable. The point of which of course is that the Circus can claims as many victims as the Gods of Ragnarok want, because the locals don't care; anyone associated with or visiting the Circus is immediately dismissed as riff-raff, and their fate is of supreme disinterest, as long as the neighbours aren't disturbed. All of the other characters are well crafted too, and the acting is first-rate throughout. Nord, the vandal of the roads, is an obvious parody of hell's angels and although he doesn't serve a great deal of purpose to the plot, except to provide another victim for the Circus, he's very entertaining, uttering insults such as "I'll do something 'orrible to your ears", which technically is as unconvincing a threat as most of Ace's usual verbal diarrhoea, but is rather more amusing. The rest of the characters however serve far greater purpose.

Whizzkid is, famously, a parody of anally retentive Doctor Who fans, who collects Psychic Circus memorabilia and is a font of utterly useless knowledge about the show he is so obsessed with, telling Morgana, "I know all about the Psychic Circus you see. In fact, I'm your greatest fan". He also has terrible taste in clothes, is a textbook nerd and is so obsessed with his hobby that he is easily led to the slaughter in place of Captain Cook, who offers to let him enter the ring ahead of him. So excited is he about this that the thought of danger doesn't even cross his mind and he is promptly obliterated, or if you like, utterly consumed by his hobby. Reflecting the decline in the popularity of the series with the viewing public, he also gets to utter the immortal line, "Although I never got to see the early days, I know it's not as good as it was, but I'm still terribly interested". He's basically a sad case who spends far too much time on what is, essentially, merely a form of entertainment, and who would be far better off doing something more productive with his time. I have now, incidentally, reviewed nearly every Doctor Who television story and have written at least ten times more words on the series than I did in the whole of my PhD thesis, including the references.

Then we have Captain Cook. Veteran actor T. P. McKenna is perfectly cast as Cook, and gives a memorable performance, but it can't have hurt that the scripted character is so well crafted by writer Stephen Wyatt in the first place. The Discontinuity Guide postulates that 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' is a metaphor for the production of Doctor Who itself, with Captain Cook representing Star Trek, presumably because he is a rival explorer. I don't really agree with this particular example, but it did get me thinking and I suddenly realised whilst watching the story on this occasion that Cook is a pompous windbag with a colossal ego who talks endlessly about his own exploits, has a young female companion whom he manipulates for his own ends, and is motivated purely by selfishness, telling the Doctor at one point that "We experienced explorers know all about making the most of our discoveries". As such, he is almost a twisted reflection of the Doctor, a man who has name-dropped since the series began, and is increasingly tending to manipulate Ace. On a less metaphorical level, he's a great villain because he is a complete and utter bastard. He starts off merely obnoxious, but as the story progresses his ruthless dedication to his own survival becomes increasingly obvious, as he declines the chance to escape with Mags and the Doctor, only to follow them almost immediately with the clowns and drag them back to the cage, citing "survival of the fittest" as his reason. He also sacrifices Whizzkid, and once in the ring, he exploits Mags' true nature as a werewolf in an attempt to kill the Doctor and thus impress the Gods of Ragnarok, despite her fear and hatred of her bestial side.

The various members of the Circus are equally well utilized, and can be broadly divided into two groups. On the one hand we have those who have rebelled against the Gods of Ragnarok, with generally disastrous consequences. Deadbeat, formerly Kingpin, has been left with his mind in tatters, the price he paid for leading the Circus to Segonax in the first place. More touchingly, we also have Bellboy and Flowerchild, and they clearly represent the decline of the hippy movement of the nineteen sixties, both of them a picture of lost innocence. Christopher Guard conveys the loss and tragedy not only of Bellboy but of the entire Psychic Circus in Episode Three, as he tells Ace about the old days and mourns Flowerchild's death, which he learns of from the earring pinned to Ace's jacket. His eventual suicide, a result of the destruction of everything he used to love, is heart-rending, and the sense of loss is perhaps summed by the sadness with which he tells the murderous Chief Clown, "You were a wonderful clown once, funny and inventive".

On the other hand, we have the Circus members who have, for one reason or another, aided the Gods of Ragnarok in their endless quest for entertainment. Of these, the Chief Clown is the most overtly evil, telling Ace, Kingpin and Mags in Episode Four that he expects to be rewarded, and witnessing the carnage throughout with an air of considerable glee, such as when Morgana and the Ringmaster finally fall prey to their masters and he smiles and waves a hand at their deaths. Ian Reddington gives an deeply sinister performance here, almost stealing the show, which is especially impressive given that he has to compete with T.P. McKenna's Captain Cook. Morgana is another servant of the Gods of Ragnarok, but is rather less willing. She is obviously too scared to actively rebel, but tries to dissuade visitors from entering the Circus, albeit in a fairly half-hearted way. Somewhere in between these two, we also have Ricco Ross' Ringmaster, who is obviously unhappy with his lot, but dare not rebel either. He is however, a rather more active participant than Morgana in leading victims to the slaughter, introducing each new act with a cheery rap introduction. 

Finally, we have the regulars. McCoy provides one of his finest performances as the Doctor in 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy', continuing to deliver the darker persona established in 'Remembrance of the Daleks' to great effect. His foreknowledge and manipulation of events here is kept rather less obvious than in either 'Remembrance of the Daleks' or 'Silver Nemesis', with only vague hints that he has planned to visit Segonax knowing precisely what forces have taken control of the Psychic Circus until Episode Four, when he greats the Gods of Ragnarok with contempt, but also recognition and total lack of surprise. It becomes clear in retrospect that his persuasion of Ace of face up to her fear of clowns in Episode One was carefully calculated; as she says at the end, "It was your show all along, wasn't it?" But in addition to showcasing this aspect of the Doctor, 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' also revisits the clown of Season Twenty-Four, as the Doctor is forced to entertain 'The Gods of Ragnarok'. McCoy appears to enjoy these scenes enormously, and although the Great Soprendo coached him in the magic tricks that he performs towards the end of Episode Four, his background in light entertainment actually proves useful here and stands him good stead. Oh, and the way in which the Doctor strolls nonchalantly away from the exploding circus at the end is a nice touch, especially given the fact that the fireball apparently nearly burnt the back of McCoy's clothing away whilst he was wearing it; the fact that he kept is coolly is genuinely impressive. About Ace, I have very little to say, except that Aldred gives one of her better performances here and manages to sound genuinely scared when she is surrounded by advancing robot clowns in Bellboy's workshop. 

'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' not only ends Season Twenty-Five in style, it also paves the way for what would eventually transpire to the final season of Doctor Who. Not only does it continue to show the Doctor as a darker, more manipulative figure than in the past, it also sees him fighting gods, metaphorical forces, and ancient evils rather than more conventional monsters and alien invaders, a pattern that would remain in place, to different extents, in the last four stories of the series. The last word on 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' should go to the Gods of Ragnarok, beings with an insatiable appetite for entertainment who will not tolerate boring or uninspiring performances. They order the Doctor, "Entertain us…" …" or die!" , ominous words that reflect BBC executives attitudes to dwindling audience figures. And in that regard, more than any other, 'The Greatest Show in the Galaxy' ushers in Season Twenty-Six…

I like the plot of ‘Battlefield’. I know this because I have read Marc Platt’s novelisation of the story, and I like the blend of science fiction and fantasy and the idea of other-dimensional knights and sorceresses who inspired the legend of King Arthur, equipped with pneumatic armour. I also like the idea of the Doctor running into trouble caused by his future self, the first time the series ever really explored the idea, which seems perfectly in keeping with a series concerned with time travel. Unfortunately, what we get on screen is nowhere near as interesting, due to a combination of bad acting, bad direction and generally poor production values, which at times becomes so dire that it makes it easy to understand why Season Twenty-Six would be the final season of Doctor Who. 

There are nevertheless aspects of ‘Battlefield’ that I like. The final television appearance to date of Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart is handled well, with a more dignified portrayal of the character that is a million miles away from the buffoon of ‘The Three Doctors’ and ‘Planet of the Spiders’. Nicholas Courtney returns to the role with his usual ease, helped in large part by some well-scripted scenes such as his early scenes with Doris, during which he discusses his reasons for returning to duty one more time once he learns that the Doctor is involved. Despite Doris’ pleading with him, he remains adamant that he must do his duty, and bids her a fond farewell, promising to return later. His defeat of the Destroyer is also well handled; he knocks the Doctor out once he knows how to dispatch the demon, telling him, “Sorry Doctor, but I think I’m rather more expendable than you are”, and just before he pulls the trigger in the subsequent scene, when the Destroyer asks him if he is the best champion that his world can muster, he coolly replies “I just do the best I can”, which in many ways sums up all of the best aspects of the character. Writer Ben Aaronovitch also includes some friction between the Brigadier and Ace, largely in additional scenes added to the video release, as she bristles at being describes as the latest companion and generally gets rather jealous that the Doctor and the Brigadier are old friends. Unfortunately however, it is obvious that Aaronovitch originally intended to kill the Brigadier off in this story, and the change of mind that prevented this has a result on the dramatic impetus of the Brigadier’s scenes. Much as I like the character and don’t especially want to see him dead, the aforementioned scenes with Doris are clearly structured to facilitate a more tragic ending, which never materialises, rendering much of the dialogue rather redundant. 

I also quite like Morgaine. Former companion Jean Marsh seems to relish her role, and although villains with a sense of honour are now thoroughly clichйd, they can be used effectively. Morgaine has such a sense of honour, evident from her first scene with the Brigadier as she recognizes him as an enemy warrior, but suggests a ceasefire whilst she and her men hold a remembrance ceremony to honour the dead, having been accidentally misled into defiling a graveyard by Mordred. Morgaine also tells the Brigadier, “I wish you know that I bear you no malice… but when next we meet I shall kill you” and later asks, “What is victory without honour?” She also pays for Mordred’s drinks at the local pub by restoring Elizabeth’s sight. But despite this sense of honour, Morgaine is also terribly dangerous; she can knock helicopters out of the sky, she wipes the mind of Lavel and then reduces her to ashes, and is so obsessed with defeating “Merlin” and Arthur that she unleashes the Destroyer, which we are told is capable of destroying the world. This gives the character an unpredictable edge that makes her an effective villain, one striking example of her ruthlessness being when the Brigadier threatens to kill Mordred unless she releases Ace and Shou Yuing; her response is, “Die well, my son”. Nevertheless, her concern for honour is crucial to the story’s finale, as she prepares to detonate a nuclear missile but is talked out of it by the Doctor, who rapidly reveals the truth about nuclear weapons with a terse speech about their effects, including the line “A child looks up at the sky – his eyes turn to cinders”. Morgaine relents, and lets him abort the missile, and her subsequent grief over Arthur’s death also shows her human side, as her real motivation is revealed. Except that this scene, which I superficially enjoy, is utter bollocks. I can buy the fact that Morgaine thinks a weapon that rains down fire from the sky indiscriminately is dishonourable, but only a short time before, she released a being capable of consuming the whole world. 

And this is the problem with ‘Battlefield’; the script and production promise much, but then end up buggering up the delivery. Having previously written ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ and later writing the controversial but impressive ‘Transit’ and what is, to date, my favourite Doctor Who novel in the majestic form of ‘The Also People’, I find it extremely disappointing that so much of Aaronovitch’s script here feels like the scribbling of a sixth form student with pretensions that exceed his talent. The cod-Shakespearean dialogue is awful, although this is partly because with the exception of Jean Marsh, none of the relevant actors can deliver it remotely convincingly; this is especially obvious with Ancelyn, actor Marcus Gilbert struggling throughout. He gets a number of lines that are clearly meant to provide comic relief, but which actually don’t; his banter with Bambera is merely irritating, and lines like “I am the best knight in the world” merely detract from the potential drama of the piece. Another shortcoming of Aaronovitch’s script is the characterisation of Bambera, who he seems to have tried to write as a strong female role, but he has apparently confused strong and capable with stroppy and bad-tempered. Her dialogue is dreadful, from her pointless catchphrase of “Shame” to lines like “You’re under arrest, you and the rest of your freaky friends”. As for her relationship with Ancelyn, the argumentative odd couple that fall in love is such a hoary old clichй that can work, but doesn’t here due to its sheer tokenism. Aaronovitch also includes a scene half-way through Episode Three in which the Doctor hypnotizes the locals to make them cooperate with the UNIT evacuation; it is considerably more impressive than the hypnotism scene in ‘Silver Nemesis’, but it is still a blatant plot device for disposing of extraneous characters mid-way through the story. 

These problems with the script however pale into insignificance compared to some of the failings of the production. For one thing, there is some awful acting on display. Despite decent performances from veteran actors James Ellis, Noel Collins and June Bland as Peter Warmsly, and Pat and Elizabeth Rowlinson, the story is rather hamstrung by awkward and stilted performances from Angela Bruce as Bambera and Marcus Gilbert as Ancelyn, and most painfully of all by an excruciatingly bad performance from Christopher Bowen as Mordred. Bowen is embarrassingly bad at various points throughout, but the absolute nadir comes as he summons Morgaine and laughs maniacally for almost thirty seconds. And by laughs maniacally, I mean that he shouts “Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” in a way that would make Stephen Thorne proud. This I quite bad, but what is far worse is the performances that we get from the regulars. I’ve discussed the limitations of McCoy’s acting in previous reviews, but here he seems to be exceeding these limitations at every turn, in a performance that makes me fully understand his detractors. He gurns almost constantly, as he tries to convey anger or strong emotion, and especial low-points include “If they’re dead…”, “Stop! There will be no battle here!”, and “Go, before I unleash a terrible something on you!” He’s also excruciatingly unconvincing during the scene in which he threatens to kill Mordred if Morgaine doesn’t release Ace and Shou Yuing, which is particularly disappointing as I rather like the fact that the script turns the “Look me in the eye… end my life” scene from ‘The Happiness Patrol’ back on him and makes the Brigadier rather grim and menacing. There is also a scene in Episode Two in which Morgaine contacts the Doctor via sorcery and commands, “Merlin! Hear me!” The Doctor responds with “I hear you”, a straightforward piece of dialogue the delivery of which somehow makes McCoy look and sound constipated. 

Sophie Aldred is even worse. The script doesn’t help; returning to a less pleasant character aspect from ‘Dragonfire’, we once more get to hear Ace boasting about how she vandalized her local school with explosives and destroyed the pottery pigs of some small children as though this is a big and clever thing to do. Ace is also paired with Shou Yuing, which causes two problems; firstly she is almost as irritating as Ace, and secondly actress Ling Tai plays her which is a problem in that she turns out to be visibly more talented than Sophie Aldred. This is particularly noticeable when they start fighting in the chalk circle in Episode Three, and Tai conveys convincing emotion whilst Aldred just scowls and shouts “Toe-face!” (which I’ll concede is the fault of the script, as is the line “Geronimo!” later on). Having said that, Tai fares just as badly as Aldred during the infamous “Boom!” scene, which brings me neatly on to the direction.

Michael Kerrigan’s direction is simply dire. A story with the title ‘Battlefield’ might be reasonably expected to have some fight scenes in it, but although I suspect that they are present in the script, they seem to have been replaced in the broadcast story with scenes of incompetent extras in cardboard “armour” pissing about in the mud whilst cheap fireworks are set off at random around them. Except in the case of the badly choreographed fight between Bambera and Ancelyn in Episode Two, which instead consists of a sequence of extravagant pratfalls instead. The gun/sword fight in Episode One is particularly badly staged and tacky, especially when two knights run into each other. Basically, everything is either cack-handed or badly misjudged; the script calls for an ancient lake surrounded by a forest, so the production team visit an obviously man-made lake with a few recently planted saplings nearby. And the incidental score is utter shite; guess who composed it? The BBC may have canceled my favourite television series at the end of this season, but every cloud has a silver lining and in this case it’s the fact that Deaf McCulloch never got to work on it again. Did I type Deaf? I meant Keff. 

I’ve been rather harsh, I know; there are one or two other things about ‘Battlefield’ that I enjoy, such as the attempt to show a multi-national UNIT force. It’s also interesting to see the increasingly manipulative Doctor trying to second-guess his future self, and although it is enormously self-indulgent, the scene with Bessie raises a smile. But whereas some stories are simply bad, I can’t help feeling that ‘Battlefield’ had the potential to be really good, instead of a tacky runaround with a twee ending. It’s a terrible start to the final season; fortunately, things would get much better before the end…