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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the four of them are eating muffins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*I’ve waited so long to say that.

For me, The Green Death is not only one of the best UNIT stories, but one of the best Doctor Who stories ever. It has so many elements in it that contribute to its richly-deserved status as a classic.

Having said that, I'll start by talking you through the story's detractions. The camera-work during the "boating through the maggots" sequence is a little shoddy, with the principal characters and foreground so obviously cut into other shots that the sequence becomes completely unbelievable. Similar problems are encountered when the Doctor and Sgt. Benson attack the maggots. However, Doctor Who was never about superb effects, but about the story.

And so that's where I shall move on to. It is, unfortunately, one of those Doctor Who stories, like The Tomb of the Cybermen and The Caves of Androzani, that has a blatantly obvious moral. Now, don't get me wrong. One of the best things about Doctor Who is its moral undertones. It tries, and often succeeds, to teach us important lessons and principles. But it really grates with me when the moral undertones become,... well, moral overtones, so obvious are they. There are also some important story issues. For example, when the maggot in the Nuthutch is found dead- next to Professor Jones' special fungus, which it has been eating- the Doctor fails to make the connection between the fungus being fatal to the maggots, and the fungus being the basis of a vaccine against the maggots. It's an almost unforgivable scripting error in the sometimes almost omniscient Doctor.

But, I must now go on to my reasons for liking it so much. The minor characters are fleshed out so well that they become really entertaining in their own right. A particular favourite of mine is the BOSS. To hear it humming along merrily is lovely;it is really heartening that the scriptwriters and actors take the time to give the extras real personalities of their own. Stevens is also a refreshing new take on the "unwitting-pawn-controlled-by-a-higher-intelligence" theme. To have a character who can both be completely dominated by the computer, and also remind him to get back on track when he is busy eulogising is refreshing, and his sacrifice at the end is moving: not least because the Doctor accepts that it is something that Stevens has to do to cleanse his conscience. His nod of thank you to Stevens brings out the best in Pertwee's Doctor.

The Doctor also feels somewhat rejuvenated in The Green Death. He is now leaping from cranes, running away from armed guards in sealed compounds, and scrambling through mineshafts. This "action man" feel to the Doctor helps to keep the story ticking along, and also makes him stand out from Professor Jones. If the Doctor was just a thinking Doctor, he would be the same as Professor Jones; but his extra energy gives him an edge over Professor Jones, as well as making his sadness at Jo's departure more profound, because of this juxtaposition.

So, over all, an excellent yarn. Complex characters and an all-action Doctor more than make up for some minor filming quibbles. First class.

More than any other episode before this (and probably after this too), this one owes itself the most to the sterling work of Big Finish Productions and to those of us here and elsewhere who've supported them over the last six years. (Six?!?) That it has turned out to be by far the best episode so far and recognized as such in almost every quarter is a tribute to all the hard work and experimentation that's been done in the audio drama format spearheaded by Jason Haigh-Ellery and Gary Russell, to the attention and feedback (and not to mention cash) we all have given them, but most especially and personally on this occasion by two of their most stalwart, reliable, talented, and creative people: Nicholas Briggs and Robert Shearman. I knew in my gut from the first time their names were mentioned in connection with this episode that the episode would therefore simply have to rock... it had no alternative really, and I knew the general British public would be surprised and amazed by what hit them, as indeed they seem to have been. They, and we, have at last got to _see_ what we here have been hearing for the past six years, and now we all get to look a bit smug at all the doubters and naysayers who said it couldn't be done. This is fun in itself. What's more fun though is to watch and enjoy full-blooded, sophisticated, 2005 "Doctor Who."

That all being said, there are still a few small things that aren't quite there yet, and I'll mention them as I go chronologically through the episode here. I say that here because the very first scene is one of those small things, and that's how in this new "abbreviated" format of 45-minute episodes there just isn't time to do the full "part one" type explorations. The short wander of about seven paces in the museum before the credits is all we get here. Mind you, we don't need 25 minutes of it... but I do wish there was just a bit more time available for peering around corners to see what's on the other side of them. The little we did get to see was fun though, particularly the Cyberman head, though I'm a bit puzzled why it was a "Revenge of the Cybermen" model instead of an "Invasion" or "Silver Nemesis" one, given when and where each of those stories took place. (Perhaps there's an untelevised adventure here?) I was also a bit puzzled how all those heavily armed soldiers surrounded the Doctor and Rose _that_ quickly when the Doctor set off the alarm. I mean, they were there in less than 2 seconds. Do they normally all just stand watch in full gear _right_ around the corner of this room this deep in the museum?

We get introduced very quickly to billionaire Van Statten and his team, suddenly let by the very hot Goddard when the previous team leader gets fired, mind-wiped, and dumped in Memphis or Minneapolis... somewhere beginning with M (says me, Manfred, from near Minneapolis...hmmmm. ;) )

Van Statten's a somewhat stereotypical character, yes, but his dialog's so good I don't care. I personally liked the "intruder window" joke even before he insisted "that was funny!" (which only made it moreso) I love the idea that he "owns" the internet... I wonder if he hypnotized Al Gore to think that he did just to distract everyone from himself. I've recently been watching my five-year-old cousin play with Transformers, and his dad and me have been having just as much fun playing with them again as we did when we were kids. I get the sense that Van Statten's much the same (witness his name "Metaltron" for the Dalek), only his are real and life-sized.

The "Jubilee" mimicry in this story begins with the famous scene of the Doctor being locked in the cell with the helpless Dalek, but I was happy to see that the mimicry was one-sided, in that this Dalek goes on a similar emotional journey to the one from Jubilee, however, the Doctor does not. The Sixth Doctor and the Ninth Doctor have different reactions, and the Ninth's are clearly down to the "damage" he's suffered from the Time War that I've been commenting on in the previous episodes. The "damage" shows itself in full when the Doctor starts shouting how "fantastic" it is that this Dalek is helpless and imprisoned, and how he starts taunting it. (He sounds not unlike Morebi in "Dalek Empire" in fact.) Then he has this exchange with the Dalek regarding the destruction of all the other Daleks. "I watched it happen! I made it happen!" Dalek: "You destroyed us?" Then the Doctor seems to have a moment of regret as he says, "I had no choice." Dalek: "And what of the Time Lords?" Doctor: "Dead. They burned with you. The end of the last great Time War. Everyone lost." Dalek: "And the coward survived. I am alone in the universe. So are you. We are the same." This enrages the Doctor and he rounds on the Dalek exclaiming "We're not the same! I'm not... no, wait... maybe we are. You're right, yeah. Okay. I know what to do... I know what you deserve... exterminate!" and then he, the Doctor, pulls a switch to try and _gleefully_ destroy the Dalek. Even the Doctor is not immune to the emotional damage that war has caused to him and the evil it can spread into him. And then we hear the Dalek say a word that didn't used to be registered in a Dalek vocabulary bank: "Have pity!" And the Doctor answers, "Why should I? You never did!" (Van Statten's people step in and save the Dalek at this point.) The scene is played brilliantly by Christopher Eccleston and Nicholas Briggs, and between this and the later scenes, it really ought to earn them some industry awards. (Prejudice against s.f. will prevent that, I'd guess.)

Rob's script wisely turns away from that intensity for a little while as Rose gets to know a young genius named Adam in Van Statten's employ who studies and catalogs all the alien artefacts. I love how Billie plays these scenes where Adam's trying to show off how he knows all about, gosh, aliens, and she's like, "That's amazing. (not) I'm gobsmacked. (not)." She's considering herself an old pro at all this again, and again I think that's going to get her into trouble in some future episode. As for Adam, it's like they're trying to do Adric again but with charm this time. I like this actor, Bruno Langley, and I like that Adam's thought to keep some alien weapons he shouldn't have, but beyond that we don't really learn that much about him here. Since he leaves with the Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS, next week's episode will probably rectify that.

I like the lift scene and the pot shot the Doctor takes at Von Statten and how he would've loved the Daleks' creator. We get a bit more backstory here too, that the Dalek fell in a meteorite 50 years ago, and the Doctor theorizes that it "must have fallen through time... the only survivor." He also interestingly says that his own survival was "not by choice." This Time War intrigues me more and more.

The shorthand that has to be used in this length comes up again in the scene where the Doctor tells Van Statten that a Dalek is honest and therefore better than Van Statten. This lesson in the hypocritical nature of humanity was one that "Jubilee" let wash over us slowly, but here we just have to have the Doctor say it in a few sentences. It's just as true either way, but it's more fun if you have to work it out for yourself. Still, that can't be helped I think at this length.

Another shorthand (literally), is having Rose touching the Dalek be the trigger for the humanizing of the Dalek. We're told that this is "DNA absorption for regeneration" and later that "extrapolating the biomass of a time traveller regenerated [the Dalek]." Ummm... yeah... This is quite a stretch really, but I don't mind it as I've already heard Rob do it the proper way in "Jubilee" by Evelyn's nurture, but that took a good three 35-minute episodes to accomplish, so I don't mind him taking a "nature" shortcut here.

Now we get to the part where the production team get to strut their stuff as the Dalek breaks out and goes on the rampage. I adored all of the new improvements to the Dalek design, from the more malleable sucker hand that can actually do things now (like kill people or push buttons) to the mid-section that can rotate to it's stair-gliding (yes, it could do this before, but it looks better now) to its static electrical tactic of dousing the soldiers with sprinkler water and then electrocuting them all. I'm less happy about it being able to suck up both the entire internet and the entire west coast power supply through that one outlet on the wall... I can swallow that the Dalek could do it, but not all the nodes and connections between it and the rest of the infrastructure... they'd break under such a strain. Mind you, if Enron could do it, maybe one Dalek could too... hmm. Still, all these improvements really help sell the old idea that "one Dalek is capable of exterminating all," and one really does start to think that it could single-suckerdly exterminate everyone in Salt Lake City.

And two more little points about the Dalek, production-wise... I notice that Nicholas Briggs isn't using his very best Dalek voice for this one, which I (and I think he) think is the one he does for the Dalek Supreme in the BF audios. That makes me wonder if perhaps that one's being saved for later use? The second point is that I like the little motor whirring sound effects they've put on the Dalek's stalk and sticks when they move... that plus the new glossy, Mini-Cooper sheen it has make it seem much more like a real robotic thing.

The best zinger in the whole piece comes around here, where the Dalek seems to truly realize that it really is the only Dalek left and asks the Doctor where it's going to get more orders from. The damaged Doctor yells at it, "Why don't you just die?" and then the Dalek responds with, "You would make a good Dalek." Watch Eccleston's left cheek after the Dalek says this... one little vein in it twitches while the rest of his face stays still... like the Dalek has literally hit a nerve in the Doctor here. I wonder if CE knew that he'd done that. Whether he did it on purpose or not, it's brilliantly brilliant.

Then we come to the bit where the Doctor has to close the bulkheads to confine the Dalek, but in doing so he seals Rose in with it. It's emotionally extremely powerful and very well played by Eccleston and Piper... but I did have two niggles with it. One is that I don't think it's made quite clear enough that Van Statten needs the Doctor's help in getting the bulkheads down. Earlier he claimed he could do the whole software-rerouting thing himself, so he'd presumably be the one to press "enter" and lower that bulkhead, but when the moment comes, he tells the Doctor to do it for him, thus putting Rose's life into his hands (well, one finger anyway). I just don't quite buy why it's got to be the Doctor who's got to press that button at this point and not Van Statten (or even Goddard)... I think we needed a clear reason here.

The second thing I didn't like about this scene (and a few others) is the incidental music by Murray Gold. I think he completely blew it here, and laid down these swells of thick synthesized brass and cymbals that he thinks are big emotionally evocative things but which instead just sound like superficial music-by-numbers choices. In listening to Gold's music throughout the series, it's becoming clearer to me that he doesn't really feel the emotion of the scenes himself when he writes the music to accompany them... he just puts on stuff that he thinks is supposed to go there as though he's doing it by rote. Russell T. Davies has gone to Big Finish people in many other areas in this series, and it's worked every time, and I really think he needs to at least try some of their composers or ex-composers. I really think we'd be better served with the likes of Russell Stone, Alistair Lock, David Darlington, or Steve Foxon doing the incidental music for the new TV series. Or failing them, how about going back to the original series and getting in Mark Ayres, Paddy Kingsland, or Peter Howell again?

Back to the action now, and a very good exchange that's almost getting lost in amongst all the other ones, where Rose tells the Dalek, "They're all dead because of you." and it answers, "They are dead because of us." It's got a point here... that these exterminations wouldn't have happened if Rose hadn't felt sorry for it and touched it, but this point isn't something there's any time to really delve into here. Perhaps this might come up in a future episode, if indeed Rose will get a show where her over-confidence in the companion role gets herself or more other people into big trouble.

The Doctor gets to undo his decision to "kill" Rose and releases her and the Dalek when the Dalek threatens Rose instead of killing her and asks, "What use are emotions if you will not save the woman you love?" That he made the first decision the first time might be another symptom of his psychological damage, given that we saw that the Eighth Doctor repeatedly couldn't make that same decision for Charley. The next scene where he exclaims, "Lock and load" after finding an appropriate alien weapon to kill the Dalek with definitely is part of that damage, as no Doctor before this would've said something like that even in a confrontation with a Dalek. Indeed, Rose points this out to him, with her "It's not the one pointing the gun at me," and "What about you Doctor? What the hell are you changing into?" The Doctor then suddenly seems to realize how easily he's made this decision that he didn't used to make very easily and how he is becoming the good Dalek that the Dalek predicted he'd be. But thanks to Rose, he steps back, and realizes what he was about to do... and that was to kill something that in the past few scenes has been becoming something new that can't bring itself to exterminate people anymore and instead just wants to feel the sunlight on itself...

Which brings us nicely to "the sun scene," where the Dalek opens it casing up and we see the full mutant and how sad and old it looks, with that weak little tentacle, that one wizened eye, and those bits that virbate in sync with its speech. Nick Briggs really makes it sound sick as it says "this is not life, this is sickness. I shall not be like you" and then orders Rose to order it to destroy itself. In this one scene we really get a sense of the tragedy that's befallen all the Daleks down the millenia and the hell that is any Dalek's existence... it's just that not until now has any Dalek recognized that for what it is. The scene can be read in two ways, as the Dalek being so disgusted with becoming more human that it kills itself, or as the humanity making it realize how horrible it is to be a Dalek. I personally think it was both at the same time, which makes its decision to kill itself even more logical.

Some have speculated that perhaps it didn't really die here but instead teleported somewhere. I hope that's not the case as that would cheapen this story, and that the eventual Dalek return happens by other means. By the way, are we to now believe that those spheres on the casing have always been part of its self-destruct mechanism?

I liked seeing Goddard take over and send Van Statten to San Diego, Seattle, or Sacramento... someplace beginning with S. I just wonder where she got the authority to do this from, given he had all the cash... maybe if we see her again someday we'll find out? I'd like that.

I've gone through this whole review without mentioning director Joe Ahearne's name yet, which I shouldn't have done as he's given us the best directed episode yet. Though I complained of abbreviations due to the 45-minute length, his sense of pacing of scenes and knowing where to keep it snappy and where to put the pauses really mitigates that to the point you almost don't notice as it's going. The Dalek combat scenes were all very striking, in particular the moment where Van Statten is yelling at his guards not to harm the Dalek, and he and we listen as the sound of the bullets in the distance slowly go down to a trickle and then to nothing as each guard is killed one at a time. He also really knows how to pull the best performances out of his actors. I'm very happy to see his name on so many more upcoming episodes... it should be a lot of fun to watch those as well.

And finally, I note that this is the first new series episode with no TARDIS interiors in it. Not that that means anything... just a point of trivia.

This review has gone through fourteen drafts, because I lost the right to say the word Dalek halfway through the process.

Overall rating then: 9.5 out of 10. (I'm holding back on the full 10 mostly because of Murray Gold's music.. and to leave room should something else in the season actually surpass this one.)