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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Ghost Light’ is an especially controversial, dismissed by some fans as convoluted at best, nonsensical at worst. Personally, I feel that not only does ‘Ghost Light’ make sense, but after the dire ‘Battlefield’ the acting, direction, set design and incidental score come together to considerably lift the quality of Season Twenty-Six and the result is a magnificent piece of television and a very fine story.

‘Ghost Light’ is basically about evolution, but it isn’t as straightforward as that. Writer Marc Platt crafts a script that is concerned not with the fact of evolution but about Victorian attitudes towards it and misconceptions about it. Josiah Samuel Smith typifies this; part of Light’s crew, or as the Doctor more accurately puts it, cargo, Josiah has escaped whilst his master sleeps and has gained delusions of grandeur as he tries to evolve into the dominant life form. Which in this case isn’t a human, but a Victorian gentleman and, he hopes, ruler of the British Empire. The problem is, Josiah gets it wrong; his plan to assassinate Queen Victoria is ludicrous, because he simply wouldn’t become King in her place, he’d be executed instead. The point of which is that Josiah doesn’t realize this, because he sees society as an evolutionary ladder; his misconceptions are driven by trying to apply the idea of ecological niches to Victorian London, which is logical from his perspective but essentially flawed in practice. And he’s obsessed with evolution; he spends the first two episodes trying to evolve into a Victorian gentleman but failing to realize that wearing a suit, owning property and throwing dinner parties is not enough. He gets everything wrong; he has his guests murdered, he employs a Neanderthal as a butler, and he preserves Inspector Mackenzie like an insect specimen in a draw. He’s also terrified of Control evolving into a “ladylike”, seemingly because he thinks that she will thus be competing for the same ecological niche that he currently occupies and that this threatens his position. In a story with uniformly excellent acting, Ian Hogg is outstanding as Josiah, a vicious and ruthless being who is nevertheless one of the most intentionally incompetent villains in the series history. 

Of course when the Doctor awakens Light at the end of Episode Two, the threat poses by Josiah pales into insignificance, as a being with far greater concerns about evolution is unleashed. Light is a fascinating creation, an obsessive cataloguer of life forms whose need to complete his lists is threatened by the unceasing change and evolution of life on Earth (amusingly, he puts me mind of a psychotic Doctor Who fan, obsessed with completing his or her collection and bleating about the amount of new merchandise constantly being released). My initial reaction to the appearance of John Hallam’s Light is usually one of unease; the definition of the word “camp” seems to vary depending on who you ask, but Hallam’s performance is at first the epitome of camp, which does rather threaten to spoil the gothic mood of ‘Ghost Light’; as Episode Three progresses towards its conclusion however, Hallam’s fey performance is increasingly juxtaposed with the character’s increasing insanity and the result is unnerving, as Light goes from being an “angel” to a monster that dismembers maids, reduces Mackenzie to primordial soup, and threatens to destroy all life on Earth to stop further change. The means of his defeat is magnificent, as the Doctor talks Light into self-destruction by pointing out that he, too, is constantly changing; the demented being is utterly frustrated by this and eventually stops himself from changing in much the same way that he intended to end evolution on Earth once and for all. 

The great strength of ‘Ghost Light’ is Platt’s script, full of wit and with, as has been noted by fans of the story, barely a single line that doesn’t in some way either advance the plot or significantly contribute to characterisation. Java is used as a metaphor for death, but it also ties in nicely with the evolutionary theme due to the large number of fossils that have been found there over the years and even Gwendoline’s rendition of “That’s the Way To the Zoo” is significant in that it prefigures the fate of Reverend Matthews, cruelly transformed into a parody of an ape. Matthews is a highly significant character in terms of the evolutionary theme; intentionally or not, the model of evolution used by Platt here bears only passing resemblance to the scientific theory (his suggestion that the insects in the house will one day evolve into more advanced beings is a case in point), but it bears a great deal of resemblance to the common misconceptions about evolution often displayed by members of the public. Matthews represents this ignorance, not because he is religious, but because he is angrily refuting Josiah’s (and Darwin’s) claims that man was descended from a primitive ape ancestor without displaying any real understanding of the theory. Thus, although Matthews does not drive the main plot, he does play a role in the development of the underlying themes of the script. 

The script is full of such details, some more subtle than others, with lines such as “There go the rungs on his evolutionary ladder” in Episode Three when Josiah unwillingly switches places with Control. There is also a great deal of wit on display here, such as when Josiah describes the primordial soup that was once Mackenzie as “the cream of Scotland Yard”. Word play is evident throughout, especially in Redvers’ dialogue; he refers to Queen Victoria as “the crowned Saxe Coburg” for example and generally acts as though he believes that he is still exploring the darkest jungles of Africa, which on one level is clearly intended to convey the fact that he is unbalanced, but also imparts a great deal of information about what is going on, especially when he talks of light burning bright in the heart of the interior, which of course reveals that he has at some point found his way down to the “lower observatory” and seen the hibernating Light, which is what drove him insane in the first place. 

The characterisation is superb, and is complemented by some fine acting; Michael Cochrane is perfectly cast as Redvers Fenn-Cooper, conveying all the eccentricity of a stereotypical British explorer with confidence. He isn’t the only stereotype on display here; Mackenzie is clearly a pastiche of the archetypal traditional British police officer as seen in fiction, a bumbling plod utterly out of his depth who spends much of his time eating or sleeping (Platt of course deliberately exaggerates both of these clichйs, with Mackenize having been in a period of enforced hibernation for two years and ravenous as a result; he eats several large meals after the Doctor awakens him!) and plays second fiddle to the eccentric amateur sleuth, i.e. the Doctor. Veteran actor Frank Windsor is superb in the role, and he is in good company; Sylvia Sims is suitably terrifying as the typical stern Victorian housekeeper, also exaggerated by the script into the head of a gaggle of gun-toting maids. Rather less typical at first glance is Nimrod, a Neanderthal employed as a butler, but when we consider that Redvers is a stereotypical explorer whose response to meeting tribal cultures is to offer brightly coloured beads, he too stands revealed as an amusing pastiche of another clichй, as he spouts Earthly wisdom and respects the Doctor’s shaman-like traits as though he is some kind of witch-doctor. Carl Forgione provides an understated and quite performance which is perfectly in keeping with the “noble savage” character type that he is playing. Thus we are presented not only with Victorian attitudes to evolution, but also with characters that are a clear nod to Victorian fiction, or at least common perception of what Victorian fiction is like. 

Crucially, in addition to creating all of these memorable supporting characters, Platt also provides a script that serves both Doctor and Ace beautifully. The Doctor’s manipulative streak becomes readily apparent here, as he brings Ace back to a house that terrified her as a child, largely to satisfy his own curiosity. Ace works better here than in any of pervious stories, and this largely down to the script, which reveals some of the darker secrets of her past but also shows that she feels guilty about them, hints at the reasons for her rather troubled past (the attack on her friend Manisha) and really starts to suggest that she is finding some kind of redemption by travelling with the Doctor whether she is seeking it or not. Happily, Sophie Aldred puts in her best performance as Ace here, and whilst I’ll never find her convincing, she is far more natural in the role than on most prior occasions. Sylvester McCoy meanwhile positively shines here; he gives his most austere and mysterious performance so far, and is very well served by Platt’s script. He is melancholy when the Doctor tells Ace, “I can’t stand burnt toast. I loathe bus stations. Terrible places, full of lost luggage and lost souls… And then there’s unrequited love. And tyranny. And cruelty.” And he even conveys anger convincingly when he tells Light to leave Control alone in Episode Three. The Doctor gets some fine scenes here; he demolishes Josiah’s plans with ease at the dinner table in Episode Three, as he breaks his hold over Mrs. Pritchard, and convinces Redvers to turn on his benefactor and throw his invitation to Buckingham Palace into the fire. Finally, there is his defeat of Light; as though to compensate for the rather iconic but ultimately nonsensical (on screen, at least) scene in ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ wherein he talks the Dalek Supreme to death, here his similar defeat of Light is far more smoothly achieved. He keeps talking to the increasingly frustrated Light, pointing out that he too is constantly changing; as he does so, Light’s aura fades as he becomes more and more distraught (which is presumably why he doesn’t obliterate the Doctor with a thought) and almost piteously cries, “You are endlessly agitating, unceasingly mischievous, will you never stop?” The Doctor’s reply is, of course, “I suppose I could, it would make a change”.

The script and the acting are instrumental to the success of ‘Ghost Light’, but everything else comes together here too; Alan Wareing’s direction is superb, exploiting the gothic feel of the detailed period sets beautifully, and is greatly helped by the flawless costumes and sets, not to mention Mark Ayers’ impressive incidental score which enhances the sinister atmosphere with great accomplishment. ‘Ghost Light’ is Doctor Who as I like it; it brims with outlandish ideas, it looks gorgeous, and the acting is great. It clearly isn’t to everyone’s tastes, but for me it is an example of Andrew Cartmel’s Doctor Who at its best.

And so, after over two years of watching every Doctor Who story in order from ‘100,000BC’ onwards, I finally reach ‘Survival’. Despite it’s status as the very last broadcast story of the original series, ‘Survival’ if often overlooked in favour of Season Twenty-Six stable-mates ‘Ghost Light’ and ‘The Curse of Fenric’; nevertheless, it is a well-written and largely well directed story that forms a fitting end to a mammoth twenty-six year run.

The plot of ‘Survival’ is adequately described by the story’s title; it’s about survival on the planet of the Cheetah People as the humans transported there struggle initially to stay alive and later to remain human, whilst the Master also strives to survive without giving in to his bestial side. It’s also about survival in the urban wilderness of Perivale, a depressing concrete suburb where Ace’s friends and contemporaries have little to do except learn to fight in Sergeant Patterson’s testosterone crazed self-defense classes. There is also an element of the repulsive concept of social Darwinism, illustrated by the joke about a man trying to outrun his friend when they are chased by a lion shared by Harvey and Len; the Master epitomizes this, as he uses and discards Midge to facilitate his own escape, and later literally makes use of the concept to encourage the self-defense group to kill Patterson. Ironically of course, Patterson is himself a proponent of social Darwinism, and it comes back to haunt him with terminal consequences. And ‘Survival’ is perhaps also about other aspects of human nature; Ace and Midge both start to transform into Cheetah People, but for different reasons. Ace’s is attracted to the savage beauty of the creatures and begins to change after she saves Karra, whereas Midge gives in to his darker, animalistic side, needlessly killing a Cheetah Person in fear and anger. The Doctor’s cry of “If we fight like animals, we die like animals” is an attempt to appeal to the Master’s reason and to the better qualities of humanity, as he seeks an alternative to combat. Of course, neither life nor the plot of ‘Survival’ is ever that simple; despite the Doctor’s best efforts, sometimes there is no alternative, and it is Ace’s transformation that allows her friends and her to return home. When she refuses to fight in Episode Three, knowing that doing so will change her forever, she faces death until Karra intervenes. 

In addition to this engaging and fairly thought-proving plot, ‘Survival’ also benefits from some great scripting, which includes some rather witty lines and scenes, including “That’s what they said, either you were dead or gone to Birmingham” and the Doctor being caught in Ace’s noose trap, prompting the deadpan response “How many times have I told you about playing with fire?” as she runs screaming towards him with a burning branch in her hand. Impressively, this is the only story from this era that contains absolutely no lines that make me cringe; Ace usually gets saddled with at least one, but writer Rona Munro avoids this recurring problem here. The story is well structured from the opening scenes, as something hunts people on the streets of Perivale and people vanish, and although we have often seen the Doctor in a contemporary setting, this is the first time he has ever been placed into the tedious banality of such a suburban setting, which is both effective and rather comical. A man who has toppled empires, overthrown tyrants and defeated monsters is suddenly inconvenienced by an irritated homeowner who glowers at him as he hides in her garden trying to trap cats. Munro also scores well with both the Cheetah People and their planet; the Cheetah People are animals, but they are lethal predators, not domestic cats. Ace tries to unhorse one of them and the Doctor juggles in an attempt to distract them from Patterson, but both fail, having underestimated the creatures. Later, Ace befriends Karra after a fashion, but the Cheetah Person retains her lethal edge, making it clear that she would kill Ace if there were no other food available. Finally, in a story in which humanity’s relationship to nature is important, the planet of the Cheetah People is not just another alien planet, but rather a living force of nature inextricably linked to its inhabitants.

‘Survival’ benefits from some great acting. It is often said that Anthony Ainley gives his best performance as the Master here, and it is easy to see why; bereft of ham, he reigns in his usual over-the-top tendencies and gives a subtle, restrained and weary performance appropriate to the fact that here, the Master isn’t engaged in yet another bid for power, but is simply trying to survive. Stripped of the usual bickering, his relationship with the Doctor is far darker than usual; he seeks the Doctor’s help early on, but later, as he comes to believe that he will never be free of the Cheetah planet, he becomes more obsessed with killing his old foe than he does with surviving. Aldred is also rather good here, proving that she plays the character much better when Ace is allowed to be more adult, which is probably understandable as she was always hopelessly miscast as a sulky teenager. She sounds genuinely terrified when Ace screams for help in Episode Three, for example. McCoy is not quite on his best form however; his anguished cries of “If we fight like animals, we die like animals” don’t quite ring true, and he becomes very stilted on occasion, especially during the “Don’t run!” scene in Episode Two. For the most part though, he’s very good; he conveys the Doctor’s contempt for the Master just as well as his predecessors, and he gets small moments of brilliance, such as when he dismisses Patterson with the simple “Oh do shut up”, a quietly delivered line which nevertheless sounds surprisingly forceful. 

The guest cast also performs well; none of them especially stand out, but this is largely because none of them are noticeably bad. Julian Holloway’s performance as opinionated buffoon Sergeant Patterson, a man who obviously thinks that he can cope with anything but copes less well than Ace’s “dropout” friends, is alarmingly convincing, as is William Barton’s as Midge, a seemingly once cocky young man who is lead astray first by his own nature and then by the Master. Sakuntala Ramanee’s Shreela and David John’s Derek also provide reliable support, both representing likeable innocents caught up in a battle for survival. Then of course there’s Lisa Bowerman who is fine as Karra, giving a largely vocal performance due to the limitations of her mask, which hides any facial expressions. She has of course spent a good part of the last few years endearing Doctor Who fans by giving a more prominent vocal performance as one of my favourite companions, but more on that in later reviews. I should also mention Hale and Pace, arguably the least funny comedy double act since records began, who’s long and relatively successful career is both baffling and distressing. Nevertheless, credit where credit is due; they are perfectly cast as a pair of utterly banal shopkeepers who share an unfunny joke. 

In production terms, ‘Survival’ is variable. Dominic Glynn’s incidental score is superb, and always makes me wish guitars had seen wider use in the scores written for the series. Alan Wareing also does a great job of directing ‘Survival’, proving that he can handle location work just as well as he did studio sets in ‘Ghost Light’. The logical step of shooting the scenes set in Perivale actually in Perivale works very well, and although the Planet of the Cheetah people is obviously a quarry, gravel pit or similar locale, this retrospectively seems highly appropriate for the series’ final story. Wareing also handles his actors well; the “Don’t run!” scene in Episode Two that I mentioned above treads precariously close to embarrassing, but he pulls it off thanks to fast cuts and shots from above the actors’ heads, which keeps a certain momentum going. Despite all this praise however, ‘Survival’ does suffer in places; the oft criticized motorcycle crash is truly appalling, as the subsequent shot of the Doctor face down in a rubbish tip (surprisingly, McCoy refrains from his occasional tendency to clown around, and actually claws back some dignity here by sounding genuinely angry as he dusts himself off and fumes about the Master). The biggest problem however, is the cats. I’m veering into hypocrisy here, given my prior defense of ‘The Web Planet’ on the grounds that special effects aren’t important, but the animatronic kitlings look awful and the Cheetah People infamously look like Puss in Boots. I don’t really mind this, but I can’t help thinking the animatronic cats aren’t really necessary (all they do is snarl as their eyes glow red), and there must surely have been a better way to realize the Cheetah People than by using inexpressive masks and fake fur leggings. Fake teeth, contact lenses, half-masks and leather garments might have been more effective and within budget; to the production team’s credit however, the decision to mount them on horseback was inspired, as they look far more impressive when they are on the horses than they do off of them. It doesn’t really matter though; the script works and for the most part ‘Survival’ papers over its less impressive aspects with ease. 

And that’s it; suddenly, and to my horror at the time, my favourite television series came to an abrupt end. A slightly cheesy voice-over tacked onto the final scene of ‘Survival’ suggests that, whilst the series might be ending, the Doctor’s adventures would continue, somewhere, somehow, but the television series died. The corpse however, wouldn’t stop twitching. Some two years later, Virgin Books began publishing a new range of full-length original Doctor Who novels entitled the New Adventures. After a fairly pedestrian start, Paul Cornell’s ‘Timewyrm: Revelation’ suddenly opened my eyes to a new world of stories and what followed quickly became (and has remained) one of my favourite eras of Doctor Who and one of the most controversial. Soon, the Missing Adventures joined the New Adventures; with Virgin publishing two novels a month and Doctor Who Magazine (and of course it’s popular comic strip) keeping the flame alive, my appetite for the Time Lord’s adventures continued to be satisfied. Despite this, my desire for a new television series remained undiminished but it wouldn’t be until nineteen ninety-six that Doctor Who next returned to our screens…

In the Twin Dilemma, Colin Baker has the following line: “Well, if he really does believe such unimaginable rubbish he must be faced by some unimaginable disaster which has unhinged his mind.” The repetition makes it sound like a line from Plan 9 from Outer Space, but speaking of “unimaginable” disasters, Doctor Who must have been utterly confident at this point to begin a new era with a ranting, bickering, cowering Doctor dressed in that costume. Add to that a slow and barely engaging story, poor production values and music that follows character movements and manages to be as irritating as Colin Baker. 

All I can think is that out of overconfidence (or not particularly caring) the producers allowed one of the worst stories ever at a critical time. The show would never be so confident again. Say what you like about the show being put on hiatus, after that every story at least tried to do something, and we never got anything as bad as this again. 

For a Doctor to have a bad exit is unfortunate, but for an actor in the main role to have such a brutal first outing is disastrous. In this case, as all fans know, they followed a great exit with a horrible beginning: the Davison Doctor left showing great courage in facing his own death, and admirable loyalty in staying dedicated to Peri throughout the previous story. And Caves of Androzani is brilliant for that – by the end, the Doctor is shrugging off literally everything to stay focused like a spotlight on saving his friend. It may have made sense at the time to follow it up with a less dramatic story to provide a break, but the contrast couldn’t be stronger given that the new Doctor cowers in the face of, well, nothing more than slow moving slugs. 

Highlights of episode three include space lieutenant whats-his-name (who points his gun at the Doctor’s face every other sentence) getting his feet stuck in slime that hardens like concrete and cutting himself loose while everyone argues, and an ending where the Doctor yells “Peri!” despite that fact that she’s nowhere around, simply because it helps provide an episode climax. In fact, many scenes could be cut, and not just scenes featuring minor characters. In episode one, every scene at the intergalactic police headquarters (or whatever it’s called) is ultimately pointless. And given that the evolution of the Doctor’s character here is a misfire (to bring back some of the testiness and confidence of the first Doctor was a great idea, and well timed, but to make the Doctor the most irritating character in the story goes a little too far), some of that overwhelming performance by Colin Baker could easily be trimmed as well. 

One of the dialogue highlight from episode four: 

Mestor: “You really are mad, ha. You dare to threaten me in my own throne room?” 

Doctor: “Did I threaten him? Did you hear me threaten him?” 

Mestor: “Be silent!” 

Doctor: “Watch it, Mestor!” 

As a villain, the slug Mestor is incapable of a facial expression, thanks to the costume, though he does manage to wave his hands at times. The Doctor says it himself: “I don’t rate you very highly at all.” To top it all off, it’s more the Doctor’s old mentor that finally saves the day. 

So here’s what I propose: a special edition of the Twin Dilemma, where it’s been edited down to perhaps three episodes, and some of the effects improved. This is a particular set of episodes that’s doomed to poison Colin Baker’s era as long as any station shows the episodes in order, so since the BBC owns the program they can minimize the damage. A shorter edition of this would be much more tolerable.