"There's a wealth of scientific knowledge down here, Brigadier - and I can't wait to get started on it."

There are few Doctor Who stories about which I have such a wealth of feeling and which have had such profound effects on me. This may, on the face of it, seem a little strange - after all, I wasn't born when it was first transmitted, and didn't actually see it until the not terribly impressionable age of 21. This is, of course, because when I watch it now, it seems inseparable from Doctor Who and the Cave Monsters, a closely related story indelibly imprinted on me from the day I bought it (as pictures of little blond me clasping it excitedly to my little bosom on the way home from Blackpool will testify).

It's a cracking story - slow and grim, but feeling unusually 'real' and undoubtedly the series' best 'world disaster'. One of the few seven-parters that seems epic enough for its length, this is easily the best Pertwee for me, and one of my all-time faves. It's the only Third Doctor TV adventure I find as good as the book, a great relief after finding several of those other strange TV stories that came to me as 'adaptation of the novel' such a let-down. 

Despite my delight in it, I can see a few flaws from the off. Some Who stories work best watched episodically rather than all in a bunch, but this is not one of those stories. It's not hard to see why, stretched over seven weeks, it didn't capture such a huge audience in the most recent BBC repeat (but it cheered me up, as at the time I was mostly working in Wallasey, hundreds of miles from my beloved and thoroughly cheesed off in a grotty hotel. Besides, it was jollier than listening to The Massacre on headphones). Although it builds up brilliantly by the end, it doesn't start by following on from Spearhead with anything like the same punch, verve or on-screen expense. It could do with a bit of a kick near the beginning to draw people in.

Starting off on colourised video, it immediately looks cheaper than the preceding story, and the dodgy T-Rex is no help. Not as dodgy as Bessie seems, though; with the Doctor tinkering to get her going, you reckon that the Brigadier bought it for him from a scrap merchant to save on the budget. Once the story gets going, it's terrific, but it seems to take an age to start up, and the 'mystery' of the opening episode isn't pulled off as excitingly as it should be. But at least - despite the opening - it seems much more cerebral than last week (must be all the scientists about). 

What makes Doctor Who and the Silurians work right from episode one nonetheless is the quality of the characters, and the actors playing them, even before we come to the first not-all-bad 'monster' characters since Varga. It's striking that no one character that can be labelled as just utterly evil, or completely insane (at least to start with), the usual Doctor Who shorthands for the villain. Malcolm Hulke captures a fatal flaw in the Doctor here, perhaps more craftily than at any other point in the show. He writes for Pertwee at the perfect time when he's still new and appealing and can get away with lines that make him less likeable, without coming over as merely unpleasant. Liz Shaw remains one of the most fabulous companions, despite being treated appallingly at times - already sidelined in just her second story, it's sad that in a saga full of doctorates, only Dr Shaw is deprived of hers and made to work as a secretary: "Personnel will be handled by Miss Shaw." Among many guest appearances, Peter Miles stands out in the first of many shrill, manic parts, and Fulton Mackay steals the show with the charismatic Dr Quinn. He's frightfully good, very laid-back and with a little humour, though with an unmistakable undercurrent of bitterness. It's a real shock when he dies so early, adding to the unexpected realism. Perhaps the standout performance, though, is Nick Courtney's Brigadier, who in a story crammed with much better-drawn characters than we usually get still emerges as the most complex of the lot. While not playing the lead in the way he did in much of Spearhead, he manages to move from hero to villain while remaining entirely true to the spirit of the man. 

What story we get in the first episode largely consists of a spy plot, which might work a little better if it wasn't dropped so quickly not because of underterrestrial evidence, but because the plot no longer needs it. Quinn and his strumpet are briefly implicated, his throwaway line about knowledge to be gained providing the most intriguing moment. We hear about a planned programme of sabotage, but it never quite gets going. The Doctor, however, is on a planned programme of really winding everybody up. He's already far less likeable than he was in Spearhead! "It's not worth 15 million pins if it doesn't work, is it?" never fails to make me smile, but it's not a line calculated to win co-operation. His threat to Dr Meredith that he can do whatever he pleases is also jarring; in the past, he may have said such things as a Provincial Officer or an official Examiner, yet that was play-acting, and our Doctor now appears to have become an authoritarian for real. Thank heavens the Brigadier is there to take him down a peg. Can you imagine anyone else getting away with dismissing all his clues and calling him "Dr Watson," a bright remark which sends the Doctor into such a sulk that he decides to go down into the caves very suddenly. As if just for the cliffhanger.

It's not as if the first cliffhanger is even much cop. We may have had a little tension from ancient mind-destroying horrors, all very At the Mountains of Madness and Quatermass and the Pit, but they lose their nerve and reach for the unconvincing T-Rex (or "some sort of dinosaur") when it comes to something to bring us back next week. It's then lured away by the sound of someone having sex on creaky bedsprings. I'm scared. As if to draw further attention to budgetary shortcomings, Lethbridge-Stewart admits he only has 5 or 6 men - and they really have a Brigadier in charge of them? The Doctor even returns from his deadly cliffhanger with no ill effects at all. Fortunately, it's about this point that things really take off, with Baker swiped in the caves and the reptile person emerging into the light and wandering about so gorgeously shot it's as if the director's just woken up. Simmering tensions between Lawrence and Quinn come crashing on Miss Dawson, and all at once the stakes seem raised - it's only part 2, and the director's already demanding UNIT be recalled.

Admittedly, Farmer Squire's wife isn't a patch on Meg Seeley, but I'm always a sucker for that Quatermass-style selective race memory, and the great three-eye-view of Liz as she's attacked for the cliffhanger is actually rather gripping. Amazingly, the pace keeps up, and the Doctor both spots what's suspicious and doesn't help very much, forcing Quinn onto the defensive instead of gaining his confidence. And, gosh, they've got a 'copter for the search (which is done rather well). It all looks much darker than Spearhead, and the tone's darker too, with very little comic relief and rather less pizzazz - but it no longer feels cheaper, and by now it's drawn you in.

The Doctor's baiting of Quinn at his cottage is well done, and finally gets under Quinn's cool, but it's a shame; if the Doctor had still been Troughton, he might have charmed him into something, not just got his back up. It's a miracle that he nearly gets something out of Miss Dawson, given that she and Quinn are so blatantly both in love with the same person - Dr Quinn. It remains difficult not to feel rather sad and rather regretful at the Doctor's tactics when we find Quinn dead, despite the rather good cliffhanger to introduce the new race. Given all that, the bathos of the following scene is shocking. Is "Hello - are you a Silurian?" the silliest line the Doctor's ever uttered?

Hulke's characterisation of the Doctor in regularly giving him such 'foibles' as being a git and lying to people, rather than making him entirely heroic, again come to the fore when his not informing the Brigadier of Quinn's death instantly begins to undermine his position with Lethbridge-Stewart. While there's perhaps a little much dodging in and out of the caves, Baker being trapped in the foaming rock pool looks rather nastily effective (and more interesting than the more prosaic mantrap of the book). The Doctor and Liz going down and then Liz popping up again seems a little easy, but it sets up the arguments which make up most of the next episode, and concludes, in effect, the first story. Yes, that's right. It’s really two stories meshing in the middle, rather as if the Holmes 'split story' technique had come in early: Doctor Who and the Cave Monsters (ooh, what's going on in the caves?) followed by Doctor Who and the Silurian Plague, with a whole new set of issues once all the first have actually been resolved. Perhaps it's this aspect that makes the serial seem to go on far less long than many other six-or-seven-parters, even with if it means one story ends with a rather unimpressive gurning cliffhanger.

Perhaps resting on the cliffhanger point itself is a little unfair. Watching it now, it's striking that the real revelation - and of course the 'message' - that we have by the end of part 4 is that both sides are very similar people, and not in a very attractive way. The immediate ancestors of this story are not the more straightforward monster tales of the Troughton era, but Whitaker's historicals and accounts of high-ranking intrigue. I wonder if Galaxy 4 would have had the same effect on me? I suspect not, with its simpler "Beautiful can be bad, ugly can be good" reversal rather than shades of grey and two races each split into myriad fears and hopes, and without the critical innovation of the 'prior claim' on what we think of as our planet. It's on these people that the story turns: a politician trying to do what's best but with the minimum of embarrassment; Morka arrogantly refusing to see any other view than that the planet belongs to his people; the Brigadier increasingly frustrated as the Doctor's behaviour and lack of trust forces him into a corner; Okdel hesitantly prepared to exchange knowledge; Miss Dawson gunning for the 'monsters'. Having said all that about 'character', it's interesting that Vietnam-era aggressor Morka (so much more memorable a name than 'Young' - presumably he wears a leather jacket and, aged only 65,226,801, is much more hip than Old Okdel's ungroovy 65,226,858) is the only reptile person that sounds like he's doing an American accent. Satire, or just bad acting?

Altogether, this patch has got some splendid dialogue, with actors mainly arguing in twos - Young Silurian and Scientist, Doctor and Old Silurian, Lawrence and Masters, plus that great debate, with Liz speaking for the liberals, Miss Dawson subbing for the Daily Mail (string the monsters up! It’s the only language they understand!), Masterly inaction and the increasingly deranged Lawrence hilariously accusing everyone else of delusions. Who says ‘talky’ means dull? The argument between Liz and Dawson fair blazes, for example, while the discussion between the Doctor and Okdel is far calmer, with the revelation of the Moon - and Baker shouting 'traitor' (off) at him. Admittedly, I suspect the Saudis would have something to say about humanity giving away hot places, but at least it saves the Brigadier (ironically). It's still not got quite everything going for it, though, as some splendid reptile people plotting and Baker’s near-escape are made far less watchable by the music reaching new lows - this is ‘When Kazoos Go Bad’. They’re so intrusive, you could call it 'The Power of the Kazoos', couldn’t you, making the ear-splitting Sea-quel 'The Evil of the Kazoos'…

It's a good job there are so many character moments about, of course, as once again the action seems to consist of people going into the caves and coming back out again. When the mucky Brigadier responds to another childish diatribe with "I lost a lot of men in those caves, Dr Lawrence," there’s a calm pain about him that’s really impressive, and only slightly undermined by the way he’s already admitted he has very few men, none of whom were seen to die there. Meanwhile, back in the reptile people's shelter, things are no more harmonious. There's quite a savage row between the cave leaders, with Okdel basically saying "Shut up or I'll kill you." He's clearly shaken when he gives the Doctor the bacteria, though (as well as shaking!), and then Morka does the equivalent of shooting him in the back. It's not even a trial of strength! It's a shame, as Hulke has given some thought to 'creature character', yet neither their characters nor culture are as complex as the humans', and Morka in particular often comes over as caricatured (but I suppose you can't get it all right first time). Let's face it, this is hardly a very stable or civilised system of government. Mind you, the Cabinet might be more fun with third eyes; Brown boggles Blair while he’s not looking, Beckett blasts Brown over dinner, but is toasted by Jack Straw with his three-eyed glasses, and Straw’s then savaged by Blunkett's guide dinosaur... Which all makes it rather odd that, up top, Masters remains an unusually subtle and well-meaning Who politician (or possibly civil servant, as it's never made clear on screen, and the book gives him a civil servant's rank but makes him an MP!). "My report will of course exonerate you completely - I'm sure you did everything in your power," though, is just the sort of kindly way of saying "Bang goes your funding, good luck finding a university post" that actually makes you sorry for Lawrence, a wretched man with no faith but suddenly acquiring Job's job description.

This episode having been stuffed full of more drama than you find in most whole Who stories, it's glorious to reach the end and discover that the climax lives up to it. The Doctor arguing about confining Baker and not putting him into hospital is done with real conviction, and it's notable that once he returns to the surface, all the talking starts to pay off. His leaving the caves triggers Morka's coup, and gets everything moving up top. Baker is very eager to convince himself that he escaped… but it's hardly surprising, as he's been self-delusional all along, with his saboteur obsessions. Then he staggers out to die, for a staggeringly grim cliffhanger - surely the scariest in the series so far. And there are still two episodes to go…

Facing the gravest threat to humanity since the Black Death (or possibly the last story), the Doctor immediately trusts the Brigadier to act, and Lethbridge-Stewart appears to trust the Doctor again to get the problem sorted - though he's not forgotten the trouble his scientific adviser's been earlier. The Brigadier's worth his weight in gold, doing the right thing immediately at the hospital (even though that happens to be ordering people about with a gun), and the Doctor sets up his regimen of injections. Part of the implicit bargain here appears to be that when the Brigadier tells the long-suffering Liz to staff the phones and she protests, once again the Doctor backs him up! No wonder she ends up leaving so soon, and of course sooner still it's all the more ironic that the Brigadier completely stiffs the Doctor at the end, with Liz his apologist - as if even she finally loses patience with the Doctor, despite agreeing with his views (and in the book, of course, she's pissed off with him throughout).

Even the Brigadier's unusually efficient bit of martial law is unable to prevent Masters reaching London, and while the journey may be less tense than in the novel, the arrival is stunning. The Marylebone scenes are extraordinarily well-mounted and scary; aliens with rayguns are one thing, but this is even worse than the more obviously memorable Autons on the high street; this is an everyday place ravaged by a horrible illness, and is horribly plausible in its turn. It looks like a documentary or some disaster drama. It makes you really proud of Doctor Who, that it can be so depressing! Oh, hang on... As the guard pitches over and the camera follows the blue lamp, it looks like the end of the world is approaching. 

Mass death and panic are brought home by also focusing on the death of poor Masters, staggering around London before toppling down, and accompanied by Morka's most chilling line so far, a whispered "I am the Leader now" that finally sounds in control, just as Lawrence is on the verge of finally losing his in winding up Dr Shaw. The effect is to suggest the Wenley Moor director is stupid and the new shelter leader isn't, but viewers will of course know they share the same critical error of disregarding the Doctor: "They're only apes," says Morka.

Lawrence's final end is striking in a number of ways - it's yet another real character who hasn't even made it to the final episode, let along out the final credits, and as well as his ghastly blistering from the plague helping bring home its threat, his raving is highly disturbing. As with the disease, this unusual story first warns, then illustrates - it doesn't just tell us that the place is riddled with nervous breakdowns, but actually shows us one, and very squirmy it is to watch, too. The story's length and well-drawn characters mean that almost uniquely in the series, Lawrence has time to descend into paranoid madness, and we care about it.

This is perhaps the most frightening episode of Doctor Who, because it's the most believable. We see the spread of the disease; we see people we 'know' die from it or lose their minds from the horror; we see our heroes desperately struggling to find a cure, or the Brigadier trying to keep the country afloat on the 'phone. Extraordinarily, rather than becoming dated, the modern advance of combined drug treatments to check the effects of viruses like HIV only adds greater plausibility - though the same can hardly be said for the line, "Some of these drugs are so new we don't even know their properties yet." So they could be, what, dancefloor fun, or antifreeze?

So caught up can you be by the terrifying culture shock of the biological warfare that it's easy to forget its instigators. Unwise, of course, but so do the regulars, and although it's interesting to see 'young stallion' Morka cutting from the front, it's difficult not to feel that the cliffhanger reintroducing a less virulent threat and carrying off the Doctor with his most unconvincing boggle actually lowers the dramatic tension rather than raise it as a climax should. Still, more room for the Brigadier to come over well ("With respect, sir, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. …But there's no time to refer it to the Defence Committee!") before making something of a tactical blunder in allowing his mean to be lured out. 

In the endgame, it's obviously easier to convey the drama of a big ticking bomb / gun / molecular disperser than it is to show a disease being cured all round (thrilling zooms on: hospital beds and Horlicks!), even if it still feels like a lower gear than last week's. More interestingly, you can see points at which the trust between the Doctor and the Brigadier deteriorates further; after being kept waiting so long for the antidote formula, Lethbridge-Stewart would be only human to entertain the odd doubt on the Doctor disappearing in the company of 'the enemy'. The Doctor then reappearing, in white, framed by psychotic reptile people, not only looks scary - he actually shows no sign of being bothered at first that they’re going to kill UNIT's CO. It's Hawkins' attack that saves him, and only then does the Doctor appear to make up his mind (but, some might say, at least Avon gets killed). 

The reptile people’s random killing of base staff at the end is actually quite chilling, too. Monsters usually threaten; they don’t just scythe down characters straight away! It's rather more like a modern terrorist drama than typical Doctor Who, and serves to emphasise both this serial's unusually high body count and how few of those have actually died in the "thrilling shoot-out" action you'd normally expect. We're still some way off the credits for part 7, yet most of the people in part 1 are long-dead, and half the cast who made it this far will be dead by the end. It also serves to emphasise the deadly intent of the rather uninspiring prehistoric microwave with which the human race is to be cooked, though in fairness the machine also supplies more evidence of the so far somewhat sparse reptile civilisation. A bit of art wouldn't hurt, a bit more technology, or more than two sound effects while they do everything by third eye 'magic'. 

"Doctor, what do you think you're doing?" asks the Brigadier, who by now is clearly far from convinced that the Doctor is play-acting when he goes to help the Elder Earthlings (and in that rather unwise t-shirt, he does look a bit shifty). "You mustn't help him!" he even orders Liz, who - like the audience - has more faith, but the skilful writing and Courtney's performance make his not trusting the Doctor an inch perfectly understandable. It's also rather impressive that the Doctor really does have to overload the power core to scare off the reptile people - for once, it’s not just a bluff - and that the same thing that wakes the reptile people in the first place becomes the cause of their downfall, rather than the power being merely a background detail.

With the machine blown up, the monsters in retreat and the Doctor saying "Yes, I know, I'll try fusing the control of the neutron flow" (admittedly not then the cosy nod that that sort of line has become in retrospect), you'd expect this to be the end, but the last few minutes are brilliant - just when every other Who story would finish, we get great stuff like Morka finally showing he’s not just a violent egomaniac, as he realises that leadership involves responsibility. It makes his death suddenly poignant, and rather graphic. The Doctor is really, well, Doctorish with his pursuit of scientific knowledge, and what a joy it is to see that - except for the Brigadier, who is having none of it, but not yet blustering. Lethbridge-Stewart gives him a seriously evil look as the Doctor contemplates a reptile revival, and while I'm on the Doctor's side through and through, now I can see what's brought the Brigadier to this point, I wonder if the Doctor couldn't have retained his trust, and so kept Morka's people alive. It isn't really their disagreement that precipitates the final crisis, but their distrust - it's not impossible that the Brigadier's sealing of the caves is not inevitable, but in part a lesson to the Doctor, to show him 'who's boss'. Both actors are at their very best, with shock meeting quiet, deadly efficiency. Has Jon Pertwee a finer moment than that appalled look at the exploding caves, in a fantastic Doctor scene that lures you into thinking it'll just be the comic relief? 

The Doctor loses. He actually loses. And the first person to beat him since Tlotoxl is to become his friend; it's easy to conclude that it's a shame they had to get on after this. I'm no longer sure that's true. Perhaps this is simply a better story than any that follow with the Doctor and UNIT, and none of the rest could cope with this level of drama. But perhaps also the Doctor realises that UNIT is in the right place at the right time, and could be doing the right thing if he changed tactics and tried harder to persuade them; it's a better excuse for his becoming the 'establishment' Doctor than any other I've heard, and despite his loud distaste for politicians, for once it's an argument for working 'inside the system'. This Doctor's instincts have been spot-on, and he's tried to do good throughout, but it's all undermined by his own fatal flaw: arrogance. Ironically, the Doctor realises that the solution is for everybody just to get along with each other, but his confrontational approach and unwillingness to trust people with information shows that he's incapable of following his own advice. In life, in politics and in Doctor Who and the Silurians, getting everyone's back up rarely gets you results, even if you're right.

Run end credits - and notice how much shorter they are than for than part 1. Oh, and I have to get this out of my system: he's not Doctor Who. They're not Silurians. But it's still a cool title.

This story has a lot to answer for… Reading its message that green scaly rubber people are people too turned me into a Liberal. Appropriately, it's one of the few Who stories I saw first as an adult that I can remember exactly where I was when I saw it for the first time. It was five am the day after it was released by BBC Video, and I was crashing in a sleeping bag on someone's floor (the glamour of politics) and blearily determined to get it all watched before it was time to go out for another day's trudging the streets to canvass and deliver leaflets in the 1993 Christchurch by-election, which turned out to be a great Liberal Democrat victory over the Tories. Devoted as I was to the cause, this story was still something I desperately wanted to make time for as early as possible, and I was thrilled - even though it had actually been a life-changing experience many years earlier. And without having read the book, who knows? Perhaps I wouldn't have been there at all…

What’s not to love about this story? 

I mean that question with the utmost sincerity. Considering the reputation it seems to have acquired for being stupid, annoying and cringe-worthy, it might be slightly wrong of me to rate this among my personal favourites. Because, damn, it’s good. 

CREATURE FROM THE PIT has it all; Tom, Lalla, crazy astrologers, funky female villains, giant space blobs that crush people, K9 eaten by stampeding plant life… Every moment will bring new joy to your heart, as the Doctor one-liners his way through the episodes with a contempt for authority that would make an anarchist jealous. It may not have the greatest plot ever produced by human endeavour, but since when did anyone watch these things for the plot? The dialogue, the high-camp atmospherics, the sheer FUN of this story is enough to warm the hardest of hearts. 

Yes, the monster looks like a man wearing a bin-bag. Yes, some of the sets are an embarrassment to the word cardboard. Yes, it has K9 in it. And the story doesn’t overcome these flaws. It revels in them. It takes the bad and the good, throws them in a blender and illuminates the resulting mess with a set of disco lights. This is art, people! 

Adrasta is a fantastic villain, utterly fitting to the tone. She may spend most of her time setting up jokes for the Doctor, but she could beat the Rani in a handbag-duel any day of the week. Romana is as worship-worthy as ever, and the Doctor manages to transcend wonderful and become the walking incarnation of cool. The story might lag a little in places, but what it lacks in tension is more than makes up for in wit and enthusiasm. 

It’s also one of the most quotable Doctor Who stories ever. Everything gets a mention in here; teaspoons, astrology, eggshells, aluminium… Priceless, I tell you, priceless. 

OK, so not all the amusing moments are intentional, but why let that detract from the joy? You’ll spend far more time laughing with than at, and it’s not as though CREATURE FROM THE PIT is alone in its dodgy effects and abysmal bit-part actors. This story is all the more enjoyable for its short-comings, and it manages to avoid the expected embarrassment factor by sticking its tongue into its metaphorical cheek and laughing along with the viewer. 

It’s witty, it’s clever, it’s camp, it’s lovable. But above all else, it’s fun. 

If you hate CREATURE FROM THE PIT you’re bad, wrong person. Simple as that.

Although Season 19 is, without a doubt, a very criticized season due to a new young Doctor played by the extremely talented Peter Davison and young companions, Castrovalva is one of those stories that is very enjoyable and not a dark story, like some of Tom Baker's episodes were. The Master returns in this story, evil as usual, and trying to destroy the Doctor, like he always tried before; although he was the reason why the Fourth Doctor regenerated.

Peter Davison portrays all the previous doctors marvelously, especially the Second Doctor. Tegan is actually very mild-mannered in this story, and is written quite well. Adric may seem like he is against the Doctor by setting those traps on the TARDIS, but it is against his will, because it is actually the Master's doing, not his. Nyssa is well written as well, but she tends to show off her knowledge quite a bit. 

When seen, Castrovalva seems like a well-ordered place, and also seems like an actual place as well. But yet again, the Master has something to do with this...he built it using Adrics mathematical skills. 

The Doctor finally regains some of his wits towards the end of Part Three and is able to fight the Master and save Adric. Shardivan gives up his life by helping the Doctor by shattering the web the Master created so that the Doctor is able to jump in and grab Adric. Castrovalva, without the web, falls apart and at the end of the story, we see the Master is trapped...or is he?

This story had good acting by all, and the storyline is very good for Peter Davison's first story as the Doctor. It takes a lot of good acting and skill to replace Tom Baker, but Peter Davison did a wonderful job and he truly deserves the credit which few people do not give him.

Season Seven is one of my favourite seasons in Doctor Who’s entire history. This is probably clear from my glowing reviews of ‘Spearhead From Space’, ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ and ‘The Ambassadors of Death’. Despite the high quality of those three stories however, they are still, incredibly, surpassed for a season finale, which is in my opinion the single greatest Doctor Who story of the Pertwee era. 

‘Inferno’ is of course best known for the parallel universe plotline, which I’ll come to shortly. However, the first two episodes, before the Doctor makes his trip sideways in time, are more than captivating enough in their own right. There is a sense of doom throughout this story right from the very beginning, which is almost palpable. This is due largely to the direction and the chilling incidental music, which continues to be a notable feature of the era. The location work of the installation is very moodily shot, and is nicely complemented by the tension in the studio scenes, as the thoroughly unpleasant Professor Stahlman clashes personalities with those around him, his obsession with his project his only concern. The appearance of the green slime, in ominous close-up shot, form output pipe two signals a homegrown menace straight out of Doomwatch, and it is immediately obvious that whatever it is it doesn’t bode well. The transformation of Slocum into a Primord confirms this. Despite the increasingly silly appearance of the Primords in later episodes, the partially transformed victims of the slime are much more successful; Slocum’s ghastly complexion here is rather effective, as he utters chilling snarls from between spittle-flecked clenched jaws. The effectiveness of these creatures lies in what they represent; they are unrelentingly aggressive, mindless brutes, their strength enhanced by their transformation, oblivious to pain, and almost bullet-proof. Not only that, but their touch brings transformation into one of their number, an immediate sentence of loss of intelligence and descent into savagery. Even in later episodes, when their full transformation is achieved via rather poor “werewolf” make-up, the storyline and direction manage to paper over their visual shortcomings and emphasize how dangerous they are rather than how ridiculous they look. 

The parallel universe aspect of the story works on several levels. Firstly of course, it is fascinating to see dark reflections of the Brigadier and Liz, as the Doctor finds himself trapped in a fascist version of Britain. Caroline John gets to show off her acting skills, presenting a cold version of her usual character who gradually comes to trust the Doctor in the face of certain death, and ultimately shows a noble side, using her last few hours of life to help the Doctor save himself and the Earth of his universe. Nicholas Courtney however, positively steals the show. When one actor is usually only seen playing the same part, it is difficult to forget that they can in fact play other roles; the Brigade-Leader may be a twisted version of the Brigadier, but they are worlds apart in more ways than one. The Brigade-Leader is also a soldier, but he is a brutal, sadistic bully, taking obvious pleasure in interrogating the Doctor and always ready to shoot anyone who stands in his way. More than that, he is ultimately exposed as a coward, concerned purely with his own survival, a fact that is nicely emphasized by comparison with Section Leader Shaw, Greg Sutton, and Doctor Williams, towards the end of episode six. It has been suggested that it is after seeing how his friend could have been, that the Doctor’s friendship with the Brigadier, strained by the events of ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ earlier in the season, becomes really strong. This certainly seems to be the case. 

Of course, the real genius of the parallel universe plotline is that it allows us to see what happens when the Doctor loses. From the beginning of episode five, when the Doctor announces that it is too late to stop the forces that have been unleashed, we know that he isn’t joking; this is not “our” Earth, but a different one, and as such we don’t know, as we usually do, that the Doctor will find someway to save it. Episodes five and six are amongst the most relentless and dramatic episodes of the entire series, as carnage is unleashed and the world starts to die. The acting is superb, as each character realizes that they are doomed, and the direction reflects this, the fiery sky outside casting a deathly pall over events. The model shot explosions are well realized, and radio reports of widespread destruction caused by earthquakes give a real sense of widespread destruction. The cliffhanger to episode six is horrifying, and as the episode seven reprise fades away, the viewer is left with the chilling realization that the parallel Earth is beyond help. This results in a marvellous final episode as the Doctor frantically tries to make sure that same fate does not befall “his” Earth.

Pertwee is at his finest here, giving a powerful, intense performance. My favourite moment is when he yells out “It’s the sound of the planet screaming out its rage”. After the dramatic climax, during which the Doctor literally saves the world, the final scene gently calms things down, reaffirming the Doctor’s friendship with the Brigadier right at the end, and also his relationship with Liz, ironically the last time that it is seen on screen. The guest cast is almost universally excellent, with particular mention worthy of Olaf Pooley as Professor Stahlman, and Christopher Benjamin as Sir Keith Gold. I must also mention John Levene; this is the first time Benton makes a real impact in a Doctor Who story, following his debut in ‘The Invasion’ in the previous season. Considering how likeable the character is, Levene’s performance as the thuggish Platoon Under Leader Benton is just as good as Nicholas Courtney’s as the Brigade-Leader. Overall, ‘Inferno’ is a triumphant end to a fine season, and a highlight of the era. My only criticism is that, due to behind the scenes decisions by the production team, Liz never gets a proper leaving scene outside of the novels.

If you want to see a good Dalek story, don't bother watching Death To The Daleks. If, however, you want to see a good example of a late-era Jon Pertwee story, then Death To The Daleks is a good, underrated, one to watch.

Death To The Daleks features one of my favourite opening episodes of a Doctor Who story. You would hardly guess that Elisabeth Sladen is a relative newcomer, as she is already the Sarah Jane Smith that we know and love, full of fun and enthusiasm ("I can float anywhere!"), and the 'death' of the TARDIS is very atmospheric and mysterious. The planet Exxilon is clearly yet another quarry, but the murky fogginess gives it a creepy, dangerous feel, compounded by the sudden murder of an astronaut. The outdoor scenes are also well integrated with the studio scenes, as Sarah fends off a mysterious cowled attacker and wanders off to discover the Doctor's oil lamp covered in blood. It really is a sinister introduction.

Death To The Daleks shares many qualities with the following season's Revenge Of The Cybermen. Both stories feature the same director and composer, and both see the series' two most indomitable regular villains rendered impotent by a planet's forces. In the case of Death To The Daleks, the forbidden city's beacon has drained the Daleks of their weaponry power (although not their ability to move, one of those inconsistencies it's polite to gloss over when considering a Doctor Who serial!). Potentially, this could render the Daleks pathetic – something viewers would become used to in successive Dalek stories, and a tradition introduced in The Chase – but we see the Daleks having to rely on their wits and resources, enslaving the astronauts and the Exxilons and creating new guns. Their improvised weaponry leads to a great moment where we see Daleks performing target practise on model police boxes, which just goes to show how much the Doctor has become their public enemy number one!

Another similarity with the later Revenge Of The Cybermen is the use of an isolated team of humans to represent the various qualities of humanity. In Revenge, the loose cannon was the icy Kellman, here it is Galloway who is the dark horse – from the start he is pitched as the troublemaker of the set, resembling nothing so much as the kind of left-wing trade union leaders common in the British newspapers of the time; which makes his ultimate sacrifice all the more striking when he stays on board the rigged Dalek saucer. Galloway is the most outstanding of the humans, as the rest are just so bland, particularly Jill Tarrant (Terry Nation using one of his favourite surnames again) who must share the prize for 'wettest female' with Della in Nightmare Of Eden!

One of the most-mentioned aspects of this story is the 'root' that defends the city and the catacombs. Admittedly it is rather comical – one of my friends-in-Who described is a 'metal cock' – but it's explosive attack on a Dalek by the parrinium mine is spectacular, and the Doctor's commentary on its battle with the Daleks is highly amusing. "A palpable hit!"

One of the other highlights of Death To The Daleks is the Exxilon civilisation. The idea of an advanced civilisation retreating to primitivism after being expelled from their city is an interesting one, and they are quite creepy with their cowls and skeletal faces. The scenes of Sarah about to be ritually sacrificed are almost like a fast-forward to the 'gothic horror' of The Brain Of Morbius – the hypnotic chanting, Carey Blyton's drone-like soundtrack and the swathes of incense combine to create a hallucinogenic effect.

With Sarah separated from the Doctor for much of the story, we are given a superb stand-in companion in the form of Bellal, an Exxilon who does not share his people's techno-fear. Bellal is a charming, curious character that I have always found intriguing – Arnold Yarrow conveys much character with his voice and movements, and he is a very noble character. The detail on his skin that causes it to glimmer is also a nice effect. It would have been good to see Bellal developed more, and even possibly as a companion, although he might have become limited. Nevertheless, he is a very memorable character.

It would be foolish of me not to admit that Death To The Daleks does not have more than its fair share of flaws. The Daleks are particularly ill served by their appearance in this story. Their silver and black makeover looks fantastic, and would have brightened up Destiny Of The Daleks no end, but their casings seem to have been neglected since their last appearance – their shoulder slats are wonky, and their domes wobble alarmingly. In their favour their voices are very good, and the device of showing scenes from their eyepieces' point of view is a good one, although basic in its realisation.

The Daleks' spaceship is one of the crappest we have seen in the series, even worse than the 'flying lampshades' in their previous appearance, Planet Of The Daleks. Clearly, Daleks do not go in for aesthetics, and they still seem keen on using those 'pie chart' dials from The Chase.

Carey Blyton's score is also a problem. As mentioned before, the sound design during the sacrifice creates a good atmosphere, and there are some sinister musical motifs during the first episode, but the comedy fanfare he employs for the Daleks from their first appearance does much to diminish their impact – if I'm not mistaken, this annoying tune was also used in Doctor Who And The Silurians.

A bit more explanation as to the circumstances of the Exxilons' ejection from the intelligent city would be welcome, and indeed why it tries to keep certain people out. Its puzzles are rudimentary to say the least, and hardly a test of intelligence. Clearly someone at the BBC liked the idea, as Episodes Three and Four are not unlike a particularly boring edition of the early '80s BBC kids show "The Adventure Game" and elements of the 'quest' were recycled in "Pyramids Of Mars" (as admitted by Sarah Jane's continuity-gaffe comment in that particular serial) and "The Five Doctors". The cliffhanger to Episode Three is often pointed out as being particularly undramatic, but in all fairness, this was not originally conceived as the cliffhanger. Nevertheless, the journey to the centre of the city does give rise to two memorable images in the serial – no, not the rather poor 'psychedelic' mind battle with the giveaway shot of Pertwee facing a mirror to create the distortion effect; but the revelation of the figure studying the Doctor and Bellal's movements being a corpse, and the appearance of the city's rather gruesome looking 'antibodies' materialising as the Doctor attempts to affect a 'mental breakdown' on the city's mind.

Despite these flaws, Death To The Daleks is a rather charming story, which makes for undemanding fun on a Sunday afternoon. Pertwee is as masterful as ever, Lis Sladen is as good as ever, Bellal is different, Galloway is a TUC-style rogue, Jill Tarrant is hilariously ineffectual, and the hysteria-ridden metallic Daleks look great, wobbly heads notwithstanding. Self-deluding fans often talk of classics such as The Caves Of Androzani, The Talons Of Weng-Chiang but it is stories such as Death To The Daleks that more accurately sum up 'meat and two veg' typical Doctor Who fare, with the aforementioned epics as the rare exceptions, and as such is to be enjoyed.

After the dramatic demise of the fourth doctor at the Pharos project on earth, there was much speculation on what his replacement would be like and an agonisingly long time in which to do so. Not since the recent abrupt ending of Blake's 7 had a tv show been so exciting. Castrovalva came along, finally, and it exceeded all my expectations by being so wonderfully different from any other dw show I'd previously seen.

The fourth doctor had been a part of my life for so long that he had seemed virtually indestructible. For seven long years it had been jelly babies, scarves and toothy grins, and we still weren't tired of it! But Peter Davison was everything the fourth doctor was not - polite, uncertain about things, generally befuddled, his voice tended to go a bit high when stressed out and I think he used to wag a finger at recalcitrant monsters. In short, a complete change of character and a welcome one. The 1980's were just starting, so why not start them with a new doctor utterly unlike the old one? Splendid! The programme was on a completely new track and I for one was captivated.

The Master came across brilliantly as well in this story, even with Anthony Ainley playing him. He wasn't for once into taking over the universe, there wasn't a doomsday machine or a Chronovore waiting on Castrovalva for him; he purely and simply wanted to destroy the Doctor. Nothing else. It was a marvellous idea, focusing his character on revenge and nothing more. And from Terror of the Autons onwards, the Master had a lot to feel vengeful about.

I loved the simple setting of the town, the cast, the forest scenes, the fact that almost half this story actually takes place within the Tardis itself (another innovative idea not used for some considerable time) and no, at the time I had no idea of the Portreve's real identity. I know it looks bloody obvious now, seeing the thing on video again. So this, the first fifth Doctor story, became my favourite one for a long time, even beating Earthshock as it was so groundbreaking. Brilliant!