'Planet of Evil' has fallen on hard times. Back when fans' only knowledge of old Doctor Who stories were hazy memories story guides like that in Doctor Who: A Celebration, 'Planet of Evil' was a terrifying story that drew on Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde to great effect and was even compared to Alien, as a monster picked up on an alien planet slaughtered the crew of a spaceship. With the video release however, opinions became rather more divided, and 'Planet of Evil' was found by many to disappoint. But 'Planet of Evil' doesn't really deserve its poor reputation. Whilst it is overshadowed by the stories on either side of it, it still has much to offer.

Firstly, the jungle set, one of the story's most famous aspects, is pretty good. It looks suitably different from any jungle on Earth, and its rubbery vegetation gives it a very alien feel, which is enhanced greatly by the wise decision to shoot many of the jungle scenes on film. Indeed, Zeta Minor is one of the most unearthly alien planets seen in the series, with its weird foliage, non-reflective black pool and the Anti-Matter monster. The monster too is far more alien than many seen in the series, due to its appearance as a red outline (an obvious, but effective homage to Forbidden Planet), and the fact that unlike many intelligent aliens in Doctor Who it doesn't speak English, its only communication with the Doctor achieved through a surreal scene in a black void. 

Set amidst this alien landscape, Episode One gets off to a promising start. Sorensen sets the scene with his terse assertion that the planet is alive, and the deaths of the two Morestrans are dramatic and disturbing, as they vanish screaming in agony, only to reappear as quite convincing shriveled corpses. The sense of danger established in these early scenes is maintained throughout, with the Anti-Matter Monster and the Anti-Men well nigh unstoppable; the tension in Episode Four as the marauding advance through the ship and agonized screams are heard over the communications system, whilst the ship plummets back towards Zeta Minor is palpable. However, flaws start to appear in Episode One as the Doctor and Sarah are imprisoned in a room from which they can easily escape; admittedly the script addresses this, and it gives Sarah something to do since it is she who realises that with the failing power the magnetic window locks will have weakened, but it feels very contrived. 

I'm in two minds about the Morestran probe ship sets. They are very sparse, and this contrasts sharply with the jungle on Zeta Minor, and this makes a certain amount of sense since it further enhances the planet's alien feel and also military vehicles are not renowned for their dйcor. On the other hand, these sets are so stark and featureless that they are actually boring to look at, and ironically the comparatively moody lighting in the corridors makes them marginally more interesting than the command area. The Morestran costumes are also pretty awful, which doesn't help the story's visual appeal during the latter two episodes. 

In addition to these minor flaws, there are two aspects of 'Planet of Evil' that I originally considered to be weaknesses, but as the story progressed I found that, bizarrely, they actually added to the story. The first is the anti-matter plot line. As Kate Orman has pointed out, anti-matter does not cause people to turn into ape-men, it simply causes huge explosions in collision with matter. Initially, this makes this plot seem like pure technobabble, but then in Episode Two, during a conversation between the Doctor and Sarah, it is pointed out that matter and anti-matter in collision causes a massive release of energy (as seen in 'The Three Doctors'). Suddenly, by addressing this inconsistency, the script makes the anti-matter plotline seem less like technobabble and more like intentional fantasy, and in doing so adds further to otherworldly nature of Zeta Minor, subtly reminding us that this unique planet is a gateway between universes, neither entirely in this universe nor the universe of anti-matter. This also ties in with the Doctor's implication that if the Morestran ship manages to get too far from Zeta Minor with anti-matter on board, there will be a cataclysmic explosion that will threaten the entire universe, suggesting that Zeta Minor exists in a state contrary to the laws of physics. 

The second aspect is Salamaar. In my opinion, there is no evidence in Doctor Who that Prentis Hancock can act; he was wooden in 'Planet of the Daleks' and he's wooden here, although it doesn't help that he's playing very similar characters in both stories. Nevertheless, Salamaar the character is rather interesting. He's ludicrously unstable and clearly unfit for command, making reckless decisions and twice intending to execute the Doctor and Sarah simply because it will make his life easier if they are responsible for killing the Morestrans on Zeta Minor. When he eventually accepts the truth, he adopts a death and glory attitude, launching a suicidal and misguided attack on Sorenson that further endangers the surviving crew. Initially, I found it absurd that such an unstable character could become commander of a military expedition, but as the story progressed this too made me think; there are hints that Sorenson's influence back on Morestra will get him whatever he wants, and once these hints of corruption are sown it raises the obvious possibility that Morestra is so corrupt that Salamaar himself reached a high ranking position because of friends in high places. This is further supported by the fact that the much more competent but disruptive Vishinski holds a lower position, raising the possibility that his outspoken nature has harmed his career. 

The acting in 'Planet of Evil' is variable. Tom Baker and Elizabeth Sladen by now play their roles with ease, and the Doctor gets to be suitably impressive here, claiming that he is not without influence and proving able to communicate with the Anti-Matter Monster. Sladen is convincingly frightened at appropriate moments, especially the cliffhanger to Episode Three and during the final attack of the Anti-Men in Episode Four. Frederick Jaeger is superb as Sorensen, playing the tortured scientist with great emotion. Sorensen's initial obsession with his work is so all consuming that he blames the Doctor and Sarah for the deaths of his colleagues and strenuously denies both the Doctor's claims about Zeta Minor and also the transformation that he is undergoing. But Jaeger suggests that Sorenson is also troubled by his conscience, and his quiet confession to the Doctor in Episode four that "My hypothesis… was false" has rather a noble ring to it. In story terms, this admission seems to bring him redemption, and the Anti-Matter Monster unexpectedly cures him at the end of the story. Vishinski is also well acted by Ewan Solon, but the other Morestrans are utterly forgettable, with one or two (Ponti being a prime example) being quite bad. 

In summary, 'Planet of Evil' is flawed but effective and certainly doesn't deserve its recent poor reputation. In a weaker season it might stand out more, but as it stands it is overshadowed by both 'Terror of the Zygons' and the story that follows…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Frontios buries its own dead; that's what they say, isn't it?"

The understated first act of Frontios establishes a suitably authentic futuristic setting, and the viewer watches as an intriguing sequence of events unfold. It is a gripping opening, and from here on in, right up to the final cliff-hanger (building, tantalizingly, up to Resurrection of the Daleks) it keeps getting better. While the story itself (colony under threat from an unknown, nameless enemy) may appear unremarkable, it comes to life in its execution. Frontios is one of the stories to mention when people say 80s Who was rubbish - it wasn't.

There isn't a bad performance in Frontios, every cast member giving their very best. Gilmore is particularly compelling as Brazen, whether striding around, wryly bombastic, or whispering intimidatingly at a traumatised Turlough; and Jeff Rawle gives a potent and measured performance as Plantagenet, the recently empowered leader of the troubled colonists. Tegan is good, despite, yet again, having very little to do other than ask stupid questions and be snapped at by the Doctor. But of the regular 'crew', it is Mark Strickson who gets the best deal - he completely inhabits his role, utilising fully Bidmead's script to flesh-out Turlough's character and back-story. These individual performances aside, all the lead actors - from William Lucas, as the bespectacled chief scientist, through to Maurice O'Connell as Cockerill - are superb. Like The Talons of Weng Chiang and The Robots of Death before it, Frontios is a stand-out piece of well-acted, ensemble drama.

The other thing Frontios has in its favour is the quality of the production. Everything works, and everything working helps make sure that everything else works. The lighting is atmospheric and subtle, enhancing, rather than ruining, the outstanding sets. The sets are convincing because they're effectively, imaginatively dressed, looking just as you'd expect a crashed and stranded colony to look. The score is sensitively composed and carefully timed, so that it complements the dialogue, punctuating key phrases. Details of design have been considered, at every level: in the costumes; in the layout of petrolwater canisters on set; in the construction of Range's little filing cabinet; and in the amazing, epic backdrop of the crashed colony ship. Even the Tractators don't look silly. There isn't a weak link in the chain, and Frontios looks gorgeous as a result.

Of the many factors contributing to the success of Frontios, Davison's excellent turn as the Doctor should not be forgotten. Wild, unpredictable, irascible, compassionate - all those things (and more besides) can be used to describe this Fifth Doctor, with his youthful yet world-weary demeanour. Davison is at his very finest here, running around, scrutinising things (the half-moon glasses are a charming touch), telling people what do. It is a quintessential performance, demonstrating beautifully that elusive something that makes the Doctor such an enduring character. Frontios, in fact, is quintessential Who.

There are Doctor Who fans who feel that, after Philip Hinchcliffe left, the series took a downturn, with a greater emphasis on comedy and family viewing, partly due to the criticisms about the programme's violent content from the National Viewers and Listeners Association. Whilst the change in emphasis is demonstrably present in the series once Graham Williams took over, the downturn in quality is debatable, and whilst I do think that the Hinchcliffe era has a greater number of good stories than the Williams era, the actual change in style is not in itself detrimental. Given Tom Baker's mammoth seven-year stint in the role, I feel that his era is large enough to accommodate such a change in tone. For those fans who do bemoan this transition however, 'Horror of Fang Rock' must be welcome indeed; the first story to be produced by Williams it may be, with Holmes still script-editing it is far closer to the gothic stories of the previous two seasons than what would come later.

'Horror of Fang Rock' is in my opinion the best story that Terrance Dicks has written for Doctor Who in any format, without the extensive rewrites from Robert Holmes that elevated 'The Brain of Morbius' to classic status. The story is economical, and perfectly tailored to its format, boasting minimal sets, a memorable monster, and a cast of adequate supporting characters whom Dicks kills off one by one to maintain the tension. The setting is inspired; in many ways a basic "base under siege" story, 'Horror of Fang Rock' could have easily been set in a remote outpost in outer space, but by setting it in a Victorian lighthouse on a fog-shrouded island, he allows the story to benefit from the BBC's famous skill at creating period settings. There are very few sets on display, but they all look authentic, and a lighthouse proves to be an ideal choice as the "base" in question. With supporting characters in period costumes and suitably Victorian dialect, the story is lifted above its simplistic origins in an impressive example of style over content. Add to this a dark sky, a stormy sea, and thick fog, and the scene is set for a simple horror story as a shape-shifting monster kills off the humans on the island one by one. Claustrophobic and tense, 'Horror of Fang Rock' thus manages to be impressively creepy. 

Helping to create a feeling of tension, the story is light on wit, most of the best lines going to Leela and the Doctor and most of these working largely due to the acting of Baker and Jameson. The Doctor's retort to Leela after she has told him not to be afraid is hardly quotable ("What do you mean, do not be afraid?"), but Baker says it with such indignation and shortly after that the fact that it works very well. Indeed, 'Horror of Fang Rock' is almost entirely carried by the regulars, both of whom benefit enormously from the script. Unusually, the Doctor arrives shortly after a suspicious death, but is not suspected; Reuben is vaguely suspicious of him on principle because he suspects that he is foreign (which technically of course, is extremely true), but by the end of Episode One as the ship crashes on the rocks, he seems to have more-or-less accepted him. With no need to prove his innocence, the Doctor instead launches himself straight into the problem of finding out what is at large on the island and stopping it; interestingly, Baker's performance here is so terse that the Doctor's usual dedication to fighting evil wherever he finds it is portrayed almost as an obsession. As noted, the script is grim and almost humourless, and so indeed is the Doctor. He takes command easily throughout, ignoring any complaints from the newcomers about his abrasive attitude and showing obvious contempt for Adelaide. When Leela tells Palmerdale, "Do as the Doctor says or I will cut out your heart!", he doesn't berate her, because he needs Palmerdale to stop arguing. Leela too benefits from uncompromising characterisation, pragmatically dealing with the prospect of death and seemingly relishing the chance of facing a powerful and devious enemy. Her disgust at Adelaide's hysterical reaction to death is memorable and a stark reminder of her savage origins, as is her gloating over the dying Rutan. Equally, the changes that she has undergone under the Doctor's tutelage are also on display, as she dismisses superstition and tells Adelaide that "It is better to believe in science", continuing to show her developing character. As an aside, I find Leela's "pigmentation dispersal" highly amusing; I'm dubious that anyone would have noticed her change in eye colour had Jameson simply stopped wearing her contact lenses without using what is basically technobabble to explain it. 

The supporting characters on display here are so vaguely sketched that they are more caricatures than actual characters, every one of them a walking clichй. Reuben and Vince are prime examples, one an old and superstitious yokel with a distrust of new-fangled technology, the other young, wide-eyed and naпve. Once the ship crashes at the end of Episode One, this trend becomes even more obvious, with the four newcomers each distinguished by the most basic characteristics; Adelaide is pampered and hysterical; Palmerdale is a greedy business man, Skinsale is a corrupt politician, and Harker is a plain spoken, honest sailor. I have mixed feelings about this; on the one hand, all the members of the guest cast put in solid performances which makes their dialogue work, and they are in essence only present to act as "cannon fodder". In this respect they fulfill their function adequately enough, as the rising body count drives the tension of the story. On the other hand, their characterisation is so sketchy that individually their deaths have very little impact; their motivations and backgrounds are conveyed so simplistically that the I failed to develop any real emotional investment in them (a failing incidentally, that renders most of Dicks' original Doctor Who novels barely readable in my opinion). Ultimately however, I do nonetheless find 'Horror of Fang Rock' to be both gripping and creepy, which suggests that all the supporting characters are fulfilling their basic function. 

The Rutan is well used, and as the principle antagonist is crucial to the success of 'Horror of Fang Rock'. It is perhaps remembered more than it deserves to be, for the simple reason that the Rutan have been mentioned in both 'The Time Warrior' and 'the Sontaran Experiment', and this story thus gives us a glimpse of the ever-popular Sontarans' perennial foe. For the most part, the Rutan is not seen, and works very well as an unseen killer lurking out of sight and killing stealthily. The fish-eye view of the Rutan scout is effective, and its ability to change shape and kill on contact makes it a suitably formidable foe. Colin Douglas also contributes to the story's success as "Reuben the Rutan", proving to be capable of a very unsettling smile just before the disguised alien kills anyone. Unfortunately, the realization of the Rutan as an enormous green testicle is far less impressive, and rather deflates the tension thus far created, but by this point the emphasis of the story changes; with virtually everybody dead, the story suddenly concerns itself with a last minute race against time, as the Doctor struggles to convert a lighthouse and a small diamond into a laser beam capable of destroying the Rutan mother ship. It remains for me a rather contrived ending, but works well enough and does provide an explosive climax.

In summary then, 'Horror of Fang Rock' is a story that works well within its limitations, managing to work as an effective horror story on a small budget with shallow supporting characters. Despite its shortcomings, it makes an great start to the new season, and shows considerable promise for the new producer's era. A promise on which the following story utterly fails to deliver…

Apologists for 'The Invisible Enemy' like to affectionately describe it as "grand folly". I like to define it as "utter cobblers". Saddled with a stupid plot, very cheap-looking production values, an extremely silly monster, and bad acting, it comes as a massive disappointment after 'Horror of Fang Rock' and has also aged very badly.

'The Invisible Enemy' suffers from arguably the worst script Bob Baker and Dave Martin ever contributed to the series, and they wrote 'The Three Doctors'. The plot is laden with unconvincing and silly technobabble, three points of which I shall address. The first is the Swarm; frequently described as a virus, the Swarm bears no resemblance to anything actually approaching a virus in real life. Viruses are small stretches of nucleic acid wrapped in a protein coat and sometimes a lipid envelope. The Swarm is a megalomaniac seafood platter with the ability to infect robots, survive outside of a host after having been increased in size by an enormous factor, and give its hosts big silver eyebrows. Slightly hypocritically, I probably wouldn't mind so much if some pseudoscientific description of a micro-dimensional organism had been provided, but by calling it a virus, the writers drive me to distraction throughout. The second item of unconvincing technobabble concerns the clones. It was apparently noted by a viewer at the time that if the clones in Episodes Two and Three were real clones, they would be stark-bollock naked. The process of cloning described bears about as much resemblance to any real basis of cloning as a haddock bears to Peru, with the process seemingly producing telepathic clones with a psychic connection to their originals, and also managing to clone knives and guns. Which is impressive. In fact, the "clones" are more akin to the transmat duplicates described in 'Down', 'The Slow Empire', Barry Letts' execrable Blake's 7 audio 'The SevenFold Crown', and (I am informed) Star Trek. Mention of the clones brings us to the third point of technobabble and by the far the most ludicrous: The Doctor's brain. The Doctor is not human; he is a Time Lord. This being the case, I can be convinced that his physiology is different to that of a human, but depicting the inside of his brain as a series of garish dry tunnels with foam rubber dйcor stretches credibility to new limits. Whereas in 'The Brain of Morbius' we had a Time Lord brain that looked more or less like a human's, here we see the Brain of Tawdriness, a farcical journey through one of the least convincing sets in the entire history of the series. The script of course is paying homage to Fantastic Voyage, but both that film and its thematic sequel Inner Space, sensibly showed the body to be full of fluid. Here, budgetary concerns could not possibly allow this, so instead of doing the humane thing and setting fire to the script, the production team create the interior of a brain out of some reddish paint and old drapes. 

'The Invisible Enemy' look awful throughout. The sets on the Titan base look, basically, like cheap studio sets, rather than a futuristic metal walled outpost. The costumes are immensely silly, especially the massive-headed spacesuits in Episode One, which look like they have been drawn for a Warner Bros cartoon, and the green PVC overalls and skull-caps worn by the personnel of the Bi-Al Foundation. The model shot of the shuttle crashing into the Bi-Al Foundation amusingly reminds me of the space battle from Monty Pythons' The Life of Brian, as the shuttle careers widely from side to side as it plummets towards its target. The worst aspect of the entire production is the Nucleus, looking, as it does, like a giant prawn. The scenes of its human slaves rolling it along corridors are unintentionally hilarious, and this makes the Doctor's concerned proclamation that the Swarm could overrun the solar system like a plague of giant locusts highly entertaining, since the things can barely move and the Nuclues does little except wobble menacingly. And on the subject of the Bi-Al Foundation, I don't care how advanced medical science and hygiene techniques have become by the year five thousand, the sight of a man about to perform surgery whilst wearing an old jacket will always be ludicrous. 

With dodgy script and dodgy production values, we might hope to look to good acting for solace, but sadly it is not to be. Everyone in the cast seems thoroughly bored, except for Frederick Jaeger, who seems to be taking the piss to keep himself amused. After his excellent performance as Jano in 'The Savages' and as Sorenson in 'Planet of Evil', his outrageous accent here comes as something of a shock. As do his facial hair and spectacles. Michael Sheard, normally so reliable, here seems slightly stunned by the paucity of the programme he's been tricked into making, and puts in a performance as Lowe that makes him look constipated. Tom Baker seems particularly bored and lacks all of the intensity he brought to 'Horror of Fang Rock'. Louise Jameson comes across the best, especially when her instincts are warning her of danger in Episode One, but the end of the story she too seems bored. Leela also gets to use her knife on people for the first time, which ends up looking very unconvincing due to the lack of blood, which the production team of course could not have got away with. 

Amidst all this rubbish however, there are two things I like about 'The Invisible Enemy'. The first, trivial though it is, is the "Finglish" used for the signs in the Titan base and the Bi-Al Foundation; as an attempt to show that languages evolve and change over time, it is a rather nice idea. The second is K9. For fans who bemoan the change in direction after Graham Williams took over from Phillip Hinchcliffe, K9 is probably an object of some hatred, clearly designed as he is to appeal to a younger audience and emphasizing the change away from more horror-orientated and arguably more adult stories. In addition, I hadn't noticed until now how badly he's aged; the white cleaning robot in the Fosters lager advert looks more state-of-the-art than K9 does, and the initial problems with the actual prop are in evidence here, with K9 making a considerable racket whenever he moves. Despite this however, I can't help but like him. There's something about the concept of the Doctor owning a robot dog that makes it seem perfectly at home in the series, and John Leeson's enthusiastic vocal performance helps to make K9 endearing. 'The Invisible Enemy' is hardly his best story, but he nevertheless manages to make an immediate impression. 

Overall, 'The Invisible Enemy' is televisual diarrhoea, and it is unfortunate that Graham Williams' first real chance to put his stamp on the programme after the Hinchcliffe-like 'Horror of Fang Rock' should go so badly wrong. It doesn't help that it is followed by a much more impressive story which, like 'Horror of Fang Rock', also feels like a leftover from the previous producer's era…