The Hand of Fear is something of a roller coaster ride for fans, as we dip fairly frequently between good and bad writing, decent and below average production values. Ultimately, it’s worth seeing for some of the ideas, and some of the character moments. 

We begin with some guys in parkas on a planet talking about an “obliteration module,” some barriers, and a traitor. Having seen the story and gone back and watched this prologue, it makes a certain amount of sense, but the first time it was nearly incomprehensible. A very cheap looking ship blows up, and then we’re away to earth for the story to really begin. Given that a mysterious severed hand appears, and the first two episodes begin to gather some suspense, one wonders why the prologue (which, though incoherent, threatens to give away that the hand is the fragment of an alien, perhaps even “the traitor Eldrad”) was included at all. As it turns out, this is indeed a fragment of Eldrad, an alien who brought down barriers that allowed for the destruction of his own world, centuries ago. 

Now we dip back to some positive points: Sarah Jane Smith as a possessed villain is interesting to watch, and given that Eldrad eventually takes two forms (one far more alien, subtle and fascinating to watch than the other) it’s interesting that there are two Sarah’s as well. There is a small moment when Sarah walks up to a guard looking like a confused, innocent woman, and then zaps him. I’m not sure if it’s meant as a metaphor, or statement about different sides to the same personality (or possibly male and female tendencies – the female Eldrad is far more reasonable) but it has potential. Most of that potential is thrown away at the end with Stephen Thorne (as the second, male Eldrad) apparently encouraged to do some stereotypical ranting. We say goodbye to any possibility of a subtle story about an Eldrad who destroyed the barriers that protected her world and now regrets it. Apparently, the writers felt that either Eldrad was good and trying to help her people, or was evil and destroyed the barriers. Finally, they voted for the evil Eldrad, and the best you can say about it is that it’s a twist. 

Some more good points: good effects for the severed hand, and some great moments with the Doctor and Sarah, such as when they admit to worrying about each other. Sarah is undoubtedly the best screaming companion ever, and she has a few opportunities here to let loose. When I was growing up my friend had a TV where you could fiddle with the channels, and get the sound from one channel with the picture from another – so you’d put on a newscaster and listen to Sarah Jane Smith screaming and blubbering, something both funny and surreal. Of course, this story has Sarah’s famous departure scene, which is wonderfully written and acted. And I laughed out loud at one previous exchange between the Doctor and Sarah, after some famous Sarah Jane Smith blubbering:

“Stop making a fuss Sarah, you’re from South Croydon!”

“Eh?”

“You’re a carbon based life-form. The gas is only effective against silicon structures.”

“Oh.”

Unfortunately, while the scenes between the Doctor and Sarah are injected with real warmth and feeling, the same writers fall into deadening patters with Eldrad and company, so that repeats of “Eldrad must live!” give way to repeats of “They thought they could destroy me, but they were wrong!” Certainly, not long after Judith Paris no longer plays Eldrad, I found myself not really caring about this planet or these people at all. And unfortunately, due to budget restrictions, it feels like the planet had a population of about six anyway. Finally it comes down to a brief, pointless chase. Despite the potential that bleeds away there, the story is worth watching through to the end for Sarah’s farewell.

'The Masque of Mandragora' is very well made and contains almost all the right ingredients for a successful Doctor Who story. Despite this it remains rather overlooked, perhaps because, for all that it should be a classic, there is a slight impression of something that is less than the sum of its parts. 

The plot of 'The Masque of Mandragora' perfectly fills the story's four-episode length, and contains a number of subplots. The main threat is that of the Mandragora Helix, a mysterious and powerful alien entity that seeks to subjugate humanity because it believes that mankind will one day reach out into space and encroach on its territory. It therefore hijacks the TARDIS and uses it to travel to fifteenth century Italy, intending to destroy leading thinkers of the time and keep mankind in the dark ages. Tying in with this is the Cult of Demnos, a sect that practices human sacrifice and which is secretly headed by Hieronymous, court astrologer to Count Federico, the local tyrant. Finally, we have the power struggle between Federico and his nephew Giuliano, heir to the thrown of San Martino; Federico is a butcher who brutally rules the people and who killed his own brother for power, whereas Guiliano is a quiet, thoughtful and intelligent young man who wants the best for his people and who also has a thirst for knowledge that makes him eager to meet leading Renaissance thinkers and artists. These three plot threads mesh perfectly, making for a well-paced and interesting story. My only criticism of the plot is the Doctor realizing that Sarah has been hypnotized because she asks how she can understand Italian; the implication is that having been given this "Time Lord gift", she automatically understands how it works and should take it for granted, but it doesn't seem that odd that she should bring it up in conversation. This is, nevertheless, a minor criticism.

The production looks great, with superb location work prominent throughout (as a trivial aside, it's quite strange recognizing bits of San Martino from The Prisoner, both having been filmed in Portmeirion). The sets are generally very impressive; the stone walls of the catacombs are obviously fake, but unconvincing stone walls are a common problem of nineteen-seventies Doctor Who and easily forgivable. The palace interiors and the temple however are well realized. On the subject of sets, I'd also like to mention the debut of the TARDIS' wood-paneled secondary control room, which remains my favourite TARDIS control room set to date; dusty mahogany décor rather suits the Doctor's vaguely Edwardian wardrobe. The period costumes on display here also look very good (they were apparently recycled from a 1954 movie version of Romeo and Juliet) and contribute significantly to the story's rather convincing fifteenth century feel. 

In addition to all this lush production of the scenes set in Florence, the story also opens with some decent model work. When I first started buying old Doctor Who stories on video, I absolutely hated the spinning-model-police-box-against-a-backdrop-of-space effect, but nowadays I find it rather quaint and endearing. The surreal appearance of the TARDIS in the heart of the crystalline helix also looks rather effective, and although on first sight the red sparkler effect of the Helix energy approaching the TARDIS just looks cheap and nasty, once the story shifts to San Martino it somehow seems to fit in well. 

So why exactly do I find 'The Masque of Mandragora' vaguely unsatisfactory? The first clue lies in the acting. Gareth Armstrong is slightly wooden as Guiliano, but the rest of the guest cast is very good, especially Tim Piggott-Smith as Marco, Norman Jones as Hieronymous, and John Laurimore as Count Federico. Part of the reason these three are so good is that they seem to take the script very seriously, and that is part of my problem with 'The Masque of Mandragora'; ironically, it's taken too seriously. The principle human villains seem very earnest; Norman Jones portrays Hieronymous as seething with anger and resentment after years of ridicule and waiting to serve his dark god, and John Laurimore plays Federico as a humorless, vicious thug. They are both convincing performances and are unusually realistic in a series with more than its fair share of over-the-top ranting lunatics, but compared to villains such as for example Harrison Chase, they aren't quite mad enough to be memorable. I really wish I wasn't criticizing a Doctor Who story for having villains who are acted with conviction and restraint, but I am. Remind me about this when I review the next story…

Having recklessly criticized 'The Masque of Mandragora' for having good acting, I should point out that the real root of my problem with the story is actually the script. The fact is, the actors are quite right to take their roles seriously, because the script is rather serious. There is very little wit in this story, even from the Doctor; there are characteristic flashes of humour, such as when the Doctor casually slides an orange onto the point of a sword being waved next to his face in Episode One, but they are few and far between. With the Doctor and Sarah separated for quite a lot of the story, their usual light hearted banter is interrupted; even in 'Pyramids of Mars', when faced with Sutekh, the tension exhibited by the Doctor was occasional diffused by Sarah making half-hearted jokes, but there is little of that here. Again, I feel slightly churlish for making such a criticism, and in fairness I should point out that we do instead get some moments of very convincing concern for each other from the Doctor and Sarah. 

I have to conclude that anyone who hasn't seen 'The Masque of Mandragora' should not feel put off by my opinion of it; it may not be the most memorable story of the Hinchcliffe era, it may not boast an eccentric and charismatic villain, and it may not be the series' wittiest script, but it is a well-made and polished Doctor Who story with much to recommend it. It just doesn't quite work for me as well as I think it should.

'The Deadly Assassin' was apparently rather controversial amongst Doctor Who fans at one time, due to its depiction of the Time Lords as a bunch of silly old fools. It's long since undergone something of a reassessment and is now considered to be something of a classic. Whilst I consider the term classic to be overused by Doctor Who fans on occasion, in this case it is entirely warranted; 'The Deadly Assassin' is a triumph, and works extremely well, despite being rather unusual in a number of respects.

Firstly, I'll discuss the Time Lords. The Time Lords have not been seen to anywhere near the degree that they are used here at any point in the series history prior to 'The Deadly Assassin'. What little we have learned about them paints them as a powerful and technological advanced race; the first story to feature the Time Lords properly is 'The War Games', in which they are shown to be powerful and rather austere. Both the Doctor and the War Chief are clearly afraid of them and they have both the ability and ruthlessness to dematerialize the War Lord and quarantine his home planet. Time Lord technology is often hinted at rather than seen; creating a force field around a planet is no mean feat, and of course the TARDIS itself is a fantastic creation, being as it is both dimensionally transcendental and able to travel anywhere in time and space. In 'Genesis of the Daleks', the Time Lord who appears to the Doctor on Skaro smugly boasts that the Time Lords mastered the technology necessary to interrupt a transmat beam safely when "the universe was less than half its present size", again suggesting considerable technological advancements. In 'The Three Doctors', we see the Time Lords under threat for the first time, and whilst a combination of Roy Purcell's wooden acting and cheap and nasty sets rather undermine them anyway, the fact remains that it takes a being capable of destroying the entire universe in that story to seriously trouble them; significantly, he's also one of their own. Despite that story's considerable shortcomings, it also maintains the image of the Time Lords as a dignified and solemn race.

The other main characteristic of the Time Lords that we already know of is that they have adopted a policy of non-intervention in the affairs of others. They break this on numerous occasions, especially during the Third Doctor's era, when they send him to different alien worlds during his exile, including Uxarieus, Peladon and Solos. But whilst they do therefore interfere, they prefer to do so through an agent provocateur, who of course is often the Doctor; as he says in 'The Brain of Morbius', they get him to do any dirty work that they aren't prepared to touch with their "lily white Time Lord hands". In doing so, they thus further contribute to the aloof air that surrounds them at this point in the series, as they manipulate events from behind the scenes. Faced with the task of writing a story set on Gallifrey, Robert Holmes remains true to all of this, but gives it a brilliant - and rather irreverent - twist. The Time Lords seen briefly in 'The War Games' are ultimately rather dull, so here Holmes takes the amusing option of presenting the Time Lords as politicians, obsessed with ceremony and bound by procedure. The Time Lords of 'The Deadly Assassin' have the trappings of dignity seen in 'The War Games', but we see beneath the surface; the two old Time Lords in Episode One who we see getting changed into their robes are clichéd old men, hard of hearing and grumbling about the young people of today. Hugh Walters' Runcible "the fatuous" is a vain and silly man, entirely consumed by his job of presenting the Public Register Video, a job he carries out with only a modicum of competence and little charisma. 

In addition to these rather daft Time Lords we have Borusa and Chancellor Goth, both wily politicians, each intelligent and cunning and each ruthless in his own way. Holmes takes the opportunity to poke fun at politics, mainly through Borusa who gets to utter some wickedly sharp lines such as "if heroes do not exist it is necessary to invent them", and best of all, "we must adjust the truth". Goth is utterly ruthless, more than willing to assassinate the President for his own ends and equally prepared to use the Doctor as a sacrificial lamb, first by helping the Master to frame him and later by hunting him down through the dreamscape in the Matrix. But for all that these two are intelligent and cunning, renegades upstage them both; Goth is foolishly trusting of the Master and it takes the Doctor to uncover the conspiracy that the pair of them have perpetrated. The Doctor's trial showcases this brilliantly, as he sits and draws offensive caricatures of the witnesses before calmly standing up and invoking Article Seventeen, thus taking refuge in the convoluted loop holes of Gallifreyan law, which Goth is forced to accept in public. Unusually for a Robert Holmes story, a character who is essentially a policeman proves to be the Doctor's greatest ally; the plain speaking Castellan Spandrell approaches politics with cynicism and quickly realises that the Doctor is telling him the truth in Episode Two. This then, is how Holmes approaches the grandeur of the Time Lords: by revealing it to be a sham, a hollow veneer of pomp and ceremony beneath. Even the Chancellery Guards, splendid though they look, are supported by a veneer of ceremonial armour, beneath which they are shown to be incompetent, the Doctor and the Master both running rings around them.

If the Time Lords are thus portrayed however, it raises the question of how this meshes with their reputation as technologically advanced manipulators. The latter point is brilliantly accounted for by a throwaway reference to the Celestial Intervention Agency, an organisation so secretive that even the Castellan is not privy to their secrets. With this one line, Holmes is able to convincingly present us with his rather unfaltering portrait of the High Council, whilst still allowing for the interventionists seen in stories such as 'Colony in Space'. The second point is even more brilliantly realized, as it becomes clear that whilst the Time Lords are indeed possessed of incredibly advanced technology, they can't actually remember how most of it works. The Eye of Harmony, the power source for their entire society, has passed into legend to such an extent that Spandrell thinks it is a myth and that if it did once exist it doesn't any more. The tools Rassilon (mentioned for the first time in 'The Deadly Assassin') built to control the power of the Eye have been reduced to the status of mere ceremonial relics, symbols of power but with no known function. Even the potential of the Amplified Panatropic Net, used to predict the future, is not fully realized until the Master makes use of it. Co-ordinator Engin, who maintains the Matrix equipment, is in awe of it rather than understanding it; he simply cannot believe that anyone could interfere with it in the way that the Master does. Thus, we do indeed see the technology hinted at in previous Doctor Who stories, but Time Lord society has become so stagnant and apathetic that most of it has fallen into disuse. 

Another noteworthy aspect of 'The Deadly Assassin' is of course the return of the Master. Rather than simply recasting the late lamented Roger Delgado and introducing a new incarnation, Holmes and Hinchcliffe choose instead to reduce the Master to the status of a walking cadaver, hideously disfigured and both literally and physically near to death. Peter Pratt's Master is twisted in both body and mind, and whilst he's true to the character established during the Pertwee era, he's also dramatically changed, his characteristic charm literally seared away along with his distinguished, if rather devilish, looks. This corpse-like Master fits perfectly into the gothic horror of the Hinchcliffe era, alongside such memorable villains as Davros and Morbius, and with his skull-like visage and his billowing black cloak he inevitably, and strikingly, resembles the Grim Reaper. Ironically, in bringing the Master this close to death, the production team also gives his character a new lease of life. Whereas the Master of old was motivated by power and a desire to humiliate the Doctor, his motivation has now changed; he still wants revenge against his old enemy more than anything (he notes on two occasions that hatred keeps him alive), but his primary motivation now is to survive, a drive so overwhelming that he is willing to destroy both Gallifrey and the Time Lords in order to succeed. Whereas in the past the Master occasionally seemed more interested in his rivalry with the Doctor than actual victory, and could therefore often be reasoned with, his new status brings with it a desperation that makes him far more ruthless and dangerous than before. 'The Deadly Assassin' would have worked perfectly well as a final story for the Master; brought to such a state and clearly dying, the Master could quite easily have been permanently written out of the series at this point. Instead, Holmes gives him a new slant and then sends him on his way, temporarily revitalized by the Eye of Harmony and escaping in his TARDIS at the end. As a means of reintroducing an old and popular enemy, it works very well and gives a tantalizing promise of a rematch in the future. 

In terms of structure, 'The Deadly Assassin' is highly unusual. Episode Three is rightly famous, set almost entirely in the Matrix and consisting as it does of a long battle between the Doctor and Goth, with a plethora of surreal and impressive imagery and making great use of the location filming. With very little dialogue, the episode is an intense twenty-five minutes as the Doctor struggles to survive, and this means that whereas Episode Three of a four part Doctor Who story is often reserved for an explanation of the plot, here that takes place at the start of Episode Four. Episode Three is so well directed and so well paced that it never once feels padded and passes at break-neck speed, and the notorious final shot of the Doctor's head being held under water by Goth is highly effective. However, it is also worth mentioning Episode One. 'The Deadly Assassin' is unique because it is the only Doctor Who story in which the Doctor is unaccompanied by a companion, and this results in a first episode in which the Doctor is entirely on his own, desperately trying to evade capture as he strives to save the life of the President. After the equally unusual voice-over introduction with caption, this results in a fast paced and adrenaline charged episode that is just as worthy of recognition as Episode Three. 

In production terms 'The Deadly Assassin' is flawless. The green-tinted sets of the Capitol look old but dusty, reflecting the sense of stagnation prevalent in Time Lord society, and amidst this faded splendor the colourful Time Lord robes with their distinctive collars look entirely appropriate. The ominous but slightly pompous musical score also perfectly suits the story, and David Maloney's superb direction brings everything together perfectly. The acting is uniformly excellent, with Erik Chitty's doddery and absent minded but thoroughly likeable Engin forming a classic "Robert Holmes double-act" with George Pravda's caustic Spandrell (making amends for his atrocious performance as Jaeger in 'The Mutants'). The ever-reliable Bernard Horsfall is perfect as Goth, bringing the necessary dignity to the character in Episode One, but also having the physical presence to convey menace as he hunts the Doctor in the Matrix. Entirely obscured by his costume, Peter Pratt does wonders with his voice alone, bringing some of the Master's old charisma to the role but also sounding suitably ghoulish. But for me Angus Mackay as Cardinal Borusa, bringing to the role dignity, presence and dry wit, steals the show; his casual dismissal of Runcible is hilarious, but best of all is his final scene with the Doctor, as he first utters the withering line "you will never amount to anything in the universe whilst you retain your propensity for vulgar facetiousness", and then follows it up with the wry "nine out of ten", briefly hinting at real affection for his old and wayward pupil. It's a marvellous performance in a superb story and is just one of the many reasons that 'The Deadly Assassin' is a true classic.

Back when I reviewed 'The War Machines', I stated that I don't like villainous supercomputers. I'm starting to wish that I hadn't made this claim, since I first discovered that BOSS works rather well in 'The Green Death', and now have to admit that Xoanon, the schizophrenic supercomputer of 'The Face of Evil' is also highly effective. Sandwiched as it is between 'The Deadly Assassin' and 'The Robots of Death', it is all too easy to underestimate Chris Boucher' debut Doctor Who story, but to do so is a mistake; 'The Face of Evil' is very, very good. 

'The Face of Evil' benefits from a relatively complex plot that works well on several levels. Firstly, it explores the consequences of the Doctor's often-hasty actions, as he returns to a planet where he once hurriedly repaired the computer of the Mordee colonization ship, making a careless mistake in the process, which has had dire consequences for the colonists and their descendents. Having left an imprint of his own mind in the newly sentient computer Xoanon, he spawned a schizoid being of enormous power, which subjugated the Mordee and split them into two groups; the technologically primitive but physically strong Sevateem, and the technologically advanced and psychic Tesh. This is revealed in stages through well paced and highly effective story telling, as the Doctor arrives and discovers the tribal Sevateem, and he (and therefore the audience) are confronted by the innocuous presence of technological relics scattered throughout both their village and their culture. The cliffhanger ending to Episode One presents the striking image of a massive stone carving of the Doctor's face, at which point the emphasis of the story shifts slightly as the Doctor attempts to remember when he last visited the planet and what he did to make such an impact. 

Presented with the consequences of his past actions, the Doctor is portrayed here with a considerable sense of urgency as he quickly accepts responsibility for the plight of the Sevateem and sets about trying to rectify his mistake. Despite characteristic flashes of humour, the Doctor is at his most intense here, as he almost impatiently tries to get the Sevateem to trust him, which he finally more or less manages when he successfully undertakes the test of the Horda. Prior to this, we see him constantly going out on a limb to befriend them, in spite of Neeva's belief that he is the Evil One, and also Calib's duplicitous nature and constant maneuvering for political power. Tom Baker rises the to the challenge magnificently, putting in one of his best performances; he seems genuinely furious when Calib tries to murder Leela with a Janis thorn, and savagely threatens to break his nose if he doesn't get up and help carry her to a handy supply of "holy relics". The Doctor is clearly appalled by Jabel's serene attitude to Leela's impending dissection, and becomes increasingly impatient during the last two episodes as he races against time to cure Xoanon. Baker also conveys well the Doctor's business-like attitude to every problem that he faces, be it Xoanon's invisible psi-tri projections, the test of the Horda, or the gun-wielding Tesh. He also superbly portrays the Doctor's angst and desperation at the end of Episode Three as he tries to explain to the utterly demented Xoanon that he wants to help it. 

In addition to all of this, 'The Face of Evil' works to a degree on a metaphorical level, possibly attempting to explore the dichotomy between science and religion. Although both the Sevateem and the Tesh worship Xoanon, the former are more overtly superstitious and bound by ritual, whereas the latter are more dependent on logic, reason, and technology. Neitehr is suggested to be better than the other; the Sevateem lead a brutal life, exiling dissenters to supposedly certain death beyond the boundary or letting them face the equally deadly test of the Horda. The Tesh, initially seemingly civilized by comparison, are no better, as their disregard for Leela's life in Episode Three demonstrates. Boucher has gained something of a reputation for decrying religion in his original Doctor Who novels, but here he seems to be attempting a more balanced view. I should lay my cards on the table at this point and say that as an atheist I've never felt any particular emptiness in my life left by the absence of religion, but a television programme broadcast at teatime on a Saturday and aimed at a family audience is arguably not the place for prompting either science or religion over the other, and so Boucher here suggests that the two need to coexist; it is not until the Sevateem and the Tesh reach an uneasy truce at the end of the story that there is a suggestion of hope for the future.

The characterisation is generally very good in 'The Face of Evil', with Calib and Neeva worthy of particular mention (I'll come to Leela in a moment). Neeva starts out as a fairly two-dimensional religious fanatic, but as his faith in Xoanon is shattered he becomes more than that, suffering a breakdown and then turning against his false god. David Garfield plays the part well, and the character becomes increasingly sympathetic as the story progresses; the scene in which the Doctor impersonates Xoanon from within the ship and orders him to lead the tribe through the mouth of idol only to hear Neeva reply "Yes… Doctor" works very well, as it shows that Neeva has finally accepted the truth that the Doctor has been offering since the start. Neeva is also the subject of a great line from the Doctor, as Leela asks what happened to him and the Doctor answers "too much, too quickly". Calib too is an excellent character, well played by Leslie Schofield. Wily and motivated entirely by politics, Calib is utterly ruthless but nevertheless not an outright villain; ultimately, he's a pragmatist, willing to sacrifice anyone who stands the way of his rise to leadership of the Sevateem, but also willing to ally himself with former enemies for the overall good of the tribe. Of all the human characters in 'The Face of Evil', the Tesh are the least sympathetic, but even they are victims of years of indoctrination by Xoanon. And Xoanon itself is not a typical Doctor Who villain, but a seriously mentally ill being, who once cured is gentle and contrite, offering the Sevateem and Tesh the opportunity to destroy it once and for all, or the chance to benefit from its vast knowledge when they suffer it to live. 

'The Face of Evil' is of course best known for the introduction of Leela. After the hugely popular Sarah Jane Smith, the production team takes the sensible step of creating a very different companion for the Doctor, in the form of the savage, tribal Leela. She works beautifully as a companion for several reasons; firstly, for all Sarah's independence and bravery, Leela is far more capable in that regard, very rarely screaming, and facing any threat fearlessly with drawn knife. Secondly, for all her lack of education, she is not stupid (it is Leela who provides the clue the Doctor needs to find a way through the barrier) and also like Jamie provides a chance for the Doctor to explain the plot without appearing patronizing or without the script becoming contrived. Additionally, she creates more of a teacher/pupil relationship with the Doctor in contrast to the more casual friendship between the Doctor and Sarah, which works very well but is also sufficiently different to be memorable. The Eliza Doolittle comparison often made in reference to 'The Talons of Weng-Chiang' is already in evidence at this point. Finally, she makes for an interesting companion because she is prepared to kill in self-defense. Aside from being something that the Doctor frowns on, which adds a certain edge to their relationship, it also on occasion shows up the Doctor's hypocrisy about this issue, which can be rather interesting. 

Production wise, the studio-bound 'The Face of Evil' looks pretty good. The costumes (which in the case of the Sevateem shown an unusual amount of flesh for Doctor Who) are highly effective, and the sets too work well. Although the trees in the jungle are obviously dressed-up lengths of plastic tubing, the fact that these scenes are shot on film aids suspension of disbelief and it manages to be rather effective. Showing Xoanon as a series of glowing walls rather than a bank of rolls of magnetic tape and clunky buttons means that it has aged far better than for example BOSS, and also allows for a chilling cliffhanger to Episode Three, as the Doctor's screaming face is seen crying "Who am I?" in a high-pitched voice. Even the Horda, arguably the token monsters, look quite effective, despite being small rubber puppets. And the effect of the invisible phantom crushing the alarm clock in Episode One is really quite impressive.

Overall, 'The Face of Evil' is a strong story and an impressive debut from Chris Boucher. The chances of any writer producing such a good story and then following it with an even better one are minimal, so it's funny how things turned out…

This is a much remembered story that I particularly liked when I first saw it, in 1977. Aged eight. But 'liking' and 'understanding' a story are two different things. Being, at that tender age, somewhat ignorant of the concept of nuclear power, power stations and airplane strikes, so much of the story went over my head that I might as well have been a limbo dancer. But, for what it is worth, here are my recollections forthwith.

Firstly, part three. Parts one and two went over my head in a blur of people and supporting cast. Much of it was incomprehensible, see paragraph above. BUT, part three starts with the Doctor and Sarah in a deserted corridor and then they move to that funny metal room. Great! And then the only supporting character to appear is Professor Watson. Brilliant, even I can cope with just one supporting character! Added to this, there is the increasing drama of Eldrad, who had been wonderfully built up over the first two parts, trying to eat his way through a metal door.

But then! Eldrard turns out to be female! What a cop out, I thought. And she is comparatively friendly in a cool and distant sort of way, to the extent that they actually let her in the Tardis! Plus, episode three ends with Eldrad, the monster, actually being in danger! disaster upon disaster. But things straighten out in part four when Eldrad becomes more the sort of monster that we expected 'him' to be from the first- megalomaniac and power mad.

Then Sarah leaves. Alas! The first DW story I ever saw was Invasion of the Dinosaurs (Sarah's second story, unbeknownst to me) so Sarah had been a constant part of the show. What would happen now, I thought...

I just relealised that I have reviewed the hand of fear without once mentioning the hand! But there's not much one can say about a hand....

'The Hand of Fear' is a story made memorable only by Sarah's departure and in a season boasting 'The Deadly Assassin', 'The Robots of Death', and 'The Talons of Weng-Chiang' it would probably be completely overlooked were it not for this fact. In fact, it is rather entertaining and possibly deserves slightly more recognition than it gets, but despite that it also suffers from some serious flaws. 

'The Hand of Fear' starts off badly. The early model sequence of Eldrad's obliteration module looks unpleasantly cheap and an irritating scene in which the Doctor and Sarah completely fail to become alarmed by a screeching siren and men gesticulating at them in obvious agitation quickly follows this. After this slightly rocky start however, the first two episodes are actually very good, and I can't help but be amused that when Sarah asks the Doctor where the TARDIS has landed he tells her that it is obviously a quarry. Irony on that scale cannot be accidental. The first two episodes quickly gather momentum and benefit from generally decent special effects work of the disembodied hand moving about, as well as some interesting direction. When shooting people who are under Eldrad's control, Lennie Mayne uses close-up shots of the actors walking towards camera, and this is highly distinctive. In addition, the nicely sinister incidental score adds to the effect, and on top of this there is some rather effective filmed location work for the interior of the Nunton complex. 

'The Hand of Fear' also benefits from some nice bits of characterisation. Renu Setna's Intern, who cheerfully lectures the bruised and battered Doctor on the subject of pain, is quite wonderful. Later, we get Glyn Houston's Professor Watson realizing that he could be facing a nuclear meltdown, telephoning his family for what could be the last time. This could have been a cloyingly sentimental moment, but is acted so well that it just seems quietly touching instead. 

By Episode Three however, things start to fall apart. For starters, Watson is very easily able to arrange a tactical nuclear strike on his own nuclear power plant on the coast of Britain, which frankly beggars belief. Amusingly, this is made even sillier by the fact that he and his remaining staff take shelter from the impending nuclear blast by crouching behind land rovers parked a few hundred yards away. Just when you think it can't get more moronic, Watson tells Sarah to hold her nose and open her mouth to protect herself from the blast. It seems that Bob Baker and Dave Martin haven't learnt anything more about nuclear physics since 'The Claws of Axos'. And then there's Eldrad.

In Episode Three, Eldrad works really well. Judith Paris brings an aloof alien feel to the role, and her costume (which I gather she had to be sewn into) looks pretty good. More importantly, the character of Eldrad works very well at this point. She has already caused the deaths of Carter and Driscoll during her attempt to regenerate herself, and she displays obviously violent tendencies throughout, but on the other hand the fact that she is millions of years and millions of light years from home and seemingly rather confused raises the possibility that she is just as scared as, for example, Professor Watson, and is reacting accordingly out a desperation to survive. This being the case, it is easy to believe that when she reaches Kastria she isn't going to prove to be a straightforward villain, since she seems to be a rather more complex being with interesting motivations. She is also forced to trust the Doctor, and seems to gain genuine respect for him as the story progresses. In short, Eldrad is an interesting character whose true motivations are suitably intriguing. Then she turns into Stephen Thorne. 

It has probably become clear by now that I do not like the Doctor Who work of Stephen Thorne. His horrendously melodramatic and unsubtle booming worked reasonable well in goatskin trappings for 'The Dæmons', but he was horribly amateurish as Omega in 'The Three Doctors', and little better as Maximillian in 'The Ghosts of N-Space'. Here, he is astonishingly bad as Eldrad, a character whom the script in any case reduces to the status of a clichéd ranting megalomaniac. Thorne is so ludicrously unsubtle that at one point, when Eldrad indulges in maniacal laughter, he doesn't actually laugh, he shouts "Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha!". After Paris's much more interesting and, crucially, less pantomimesque, performance, it is very disappointing that Eldrad is reduced to this, although fittingly he does have least have a large moustache, which he can possibly twirl when the situation demands. He doesn't even get a decent final scene, since the Doctor just trips him into an abyss with his scarf, but then again he doesn't really deserve one. 

Whatever shortcomings 'The Hand of Fear' has however, they are more than made up for by Sarah's leaving scene. As her final story, 'The Hand of Fear' generally works well; she gets a reasonable amount to do, since it is Sarah who first discovers the hand in the quarry and promptly gets taken over by it. In addition, there are some wonderful character moments between the Doctor and Sarah throughout, from the Doctor's uncharacteristic irritability when he's worried about Sarah in Episode One, to the pair of them admitting that each worries about the other and agreeing to be careful in Episode Three. Sarah's actual departure is probably my favourite companion-leaving scene from the entire series. Her initial tantrum, in which she sums up the various times she's been hypnotized, kidnapped, tied-up, etc, is a great summary of the bad times with the Doctor, but the hurt and disappointed look on her face when she finds out that she really does have to leave because he's been summoned to Gallifrey is a reminder that, however dangerous travelling with the Doctor might be, she also enjoys it enormously. There's a real feel in this scene that these are two best friends who aren't going to see each other again, or at least not for a long time, and that they both find it enormously painful to part company. Tom Baker gets a remarkable amount of emotion into the Doctor's line "Oh, Sarah… don't you forget me." It's a superb farewell, and the final freeze-frame shot of Sarah glancing skyward after the TARDIS dematerializes feels like a fitting tribute to one of the series' finest companions.