Whilst safekeeping the Taranium Core, which powers the most powerful weapon in existence, the TARDIS crew are diverted to London in the 1950s. The Doctor has been rendered powerless to move or act and this forces his youthful friends to somehow take the initiative minus his wise advice. Both acquire jobs that get them out of their comfort zone - Steven at the docks, and Sara in the kitchen - and they also have to live frugally and in conditions which bring their comfy upbringings into sharp relief. 

They befriend the Newman family who are trying to establish themselves in Britain having left Jamaica behind. And whilst their new home is one rich in opportunities and resources, its inhabitants are decidedly mixed in the level of open-mindedness and welcome. This means that  Steven and Sara are forced to react to a hotbed of xenophobia - something particularly hard to imagine for a woman used to 40th Century Earth.

But deplorable human qualities are not the only adversary, as it soon becomes clear that the time travellers are late onto the scene of an invasion where people are being kidnapped and used as hosts for a force of non-humanoids. Their intentions being to redefine the dominant lifeform on the planet.

 

This four episode story starts off much along 'pure historical' lines with hints of the paranormal that eventually takes over. Having two characters from the future forced to get their heads round a time full of racism is a great launch pad for this story. In the context of The Daleks' Master Plan, we can reflect that Mavic Chen is not regarded as a villain in any way of his ethnicity, but instead due to his narcissistic and delusional personality.

Steven again is confident in coping with the new and unexpected, which fits his character outline of the 'fearless pilot'. It is also a neat idea to force this skilled man into rather banal manual work, but he still has the ability to work in a team and be unassuming and contrite. He almost gets into too much trouble, standing up for the bullied. The snarl of "You'll get yours Taylor" reverberates in listeners' heads - although Steven is not present for that threat. Billy Flint (Stephen Critchlow) is a fine secondary villain, and certainly disturbing enough in his bigotry. But the themes of prejudice are almost shoved to the sidelines; the emerging story of the hostile alien force with no regard for creed or colour is familiar enough territory and plays out with the usual beats we have come to expect from this type of science-fiction, 

Sara is given some respectable material herself, but doesn't quite stand out in the manner she did in 'Masterplan'. Due to her forthright personality and the attitudes of the other women native to this society, she takes on an 'early feminist responsibility'. This is of some interest as presumably gender politics are barely relevant in the far future she originates from, and where she has a high security rank. The scenes where her military training comes into play somehow end up being more amusing than compelling, and perhaps should have had more thought put into it. Even Jean Marsh does not seem quite sure how to play this one way or the other.

Potential romance with these two companions of the original Doctor is hinted at several times in this new story. Obviously this was not shown overtly in the family show 1965 Doctor Who undoubtedly was. However, this is quite welcome as Jean Marsh and Peter Purves clearly got on back then and still get on now, so it feels quite a natural translation in acting performance by two fine actors

The Doctor being involved quite late on allows for much good material for the companions, but once he really takes charge the character work for Steven and Sara is almost thrown to one side. Also frustrating is that some of the Time Lord's lines are right out of the 'dandy' Third Doctor's speech patterns and feel quite jarring  - even if those two Doctors were two of the more egocentric of the pantheon. Otherwise the plot, the motivations of the aliens and the themes merge well in final stages, after perhaps a slightly clunky transition during the third instalment. 

 

Some naysayers will point out that the total absence of the Daleks is a missed opportunity given the core topics explored in this play. But this should not obscure the achievement of getting two busy actors in Marsh and Purves to work together. Jean Marsh has been in many cult or classic films and is a very compelling actress by any standard. She has not been as involved in spin-off Doctor Who as often as some of the other ex-companions, but still comes across as comfortable returning to her short-lived role. And she might well have thought her effort would be long forgotten back when TV was essentially 'one-off theatre', and in the pre-video era. Purves is a stalwart narrator and does a pretty good Hartnell imitation, if perhaps not the definitive one given the excellent work that William Russell has turned in over the years.

Matt Fitton is a reliable author and shows his skill with the core story aspects that worked for the most part in his 'Counter Measures' stories. The actual enemy in this story is disturbing and unsettling enough, if lacking the sheer groundbreaking nature that was apparent in the Daleks. Also there is some humour sprinkled across which can be engaging and gives life to people who sometimes struggle to act naturally, which is a very human quality and not always used as it should be in scripted drama.

This release certainly helps justify the continued exploration of Doctor Who's black and white days. That was a time when necessity was the mother of invention and many of the strongest aspects that make the show such a juggernaut first emerged. The play is one of the better ones I have reviewed from Big Finish, albeit lacking that je ne sais quoi that defines a sure-fire vintage.

 

EXTRAS: These are rather brief on this occasion with a reasonable mini-documentary where the cast and crew participate in a laid-back chat over some aspects of making this production. Somewhat jarring statements are made concerning the show always needing paranormal aspects or aliens. The Hartnell era had plenty of pure historicals, and some of the best were in Season Three where this play slots in. Otherwise the insights given into the creative process are well-thought-through.

After an uneventful trip to twentieth century Earth, Vicki finds herself locked out of the TARDIS and cornered by Violet, a self-proclaimed psychic. Agreeing to take part in a séance, Vicki is shocked to receive a message from a very familiar person: herself from the future. The message is very simple, if Vicki leaves this time, she will die. And future-Vicki should know, after all, she’s already dead...

Like many of the best Companion Chronicles, Starborn has an intriguingly clever and tricksy narrative, with an inventive twist to the way it is narrated. By having the main tale told from the perspective of future-Vicki the story keeps the listener guessing, and trying to work out the solution to the puzzle of her apparent demise. The solution to the mystery is hinted at in the dialogue throughout the play: eagle-eared listeners will pick up elements in future-Vicki’s story that seem out of place, which pay off later in the story.

The tale future-Vicki weaves is evocative and full of strong imagery. Like the early Hartnell stories, Starborn delights in world building and exploring strange settings and civilisations, in a way which is evocative of stories like The Keys of Marinus and The Web Planet.

Given that he central story is told by an apparently dead Vicki, themes of mortality and sacrifice are central. It is one of the few stories to address Vicki’s status as an orphan, with the séance evoking memories of her parents. If anything it feels like this side of Vicki’s character could have been explored further in the play, and it would certainly be worth returning to in any future iteration of The Companion Chronicles.

Overall Starborn is another strong Companion Chronicle, which makes use of clever narrative devices and ends with a satisfying solution to its central mystery. It is easily Jacqueline Rayner’s best contribution to the range, and shows a clear understanding and love of the era it recreates.

Doctor Who has traditionally been about the female companions and their combination of helping the Doctor and being protected by him over the course of their adventures. There have been a good number of male companions as well but they are clearly in the minority. The most number in a decade of the classic series were the four who featured in black and white. Steven Taylor was particularly badly affected by the video junking but there is enough material remaining (such as audio and telesnaps) for me to conclude that he was a decent character. Perhaps in comparison to pioneering companion Ian, Steven was a little less nuanced but he still could be well-written, and would always be played with skill by Peter Purves.

Purves' attitude to Doctor Who is interesting - he ended up having a wonderful career as a presenter and could easily have disregarded what was arguably still a children's show when he was involved. Instead he has been frequently involved with the DVD range, and he has also moderated/participated with audio narration for missing stories. The most notable missing story is arguably 'The Massacre' which had Steven front and centre in the action - much like 'The War to End All Wars'. This two part adventure heralds the end - for now anyway - of the Companion Chronicles that feature the original compelling version of the Doctor. It is a tour de force of strong themes, plot and dialogue, with two voice artists showing flair and commitment.

Steven Taylor played off well opposite the moody mentor figure of Hartnell's Doctor, but this particular story only chooses to employ the Doctor at the very beginning and very end only. Nonetheless the dynamic of the Tardis crew makes its presence felt and the listener wonders how the team of three will make their way back together when circumstances conspire to separate all of them. As many Doctor Who followers know, Purves' finale was in 'The Savages' which saw him go from plucky time-traveller to the leader of an alien civilization which had erred in segregating the intellectual from the 'primitive'. Guerrier has free reign to take the building blocks of this lost story and portray a reign of peaks and troughs for the proactive Steven Taylor. He thus add some more details to Ian Stuart Black's original conception and also uses continuity so as not to alienate those unfamiliar with this part of the Hartnell era or indeed monochrome Doctor Who in general.

When we join this audio adventure we are transported to a time when Steven has been deposed from his regal position of power. Languishing in a cell he is visited by a girl called Sida (voiced by Alice Haig) and conveys his story to the pleasant and open-minded visitor. The actual story which the play's title refers to is set on a world torn apart by conflict and political unrest which our heroes find themselves confined to, and for a potentially considerable length of time. Steven tells Sida with great gusto his reactions to a spiral of events where he is arrested and then separated from both the Doctor and Dodo, before becoming a solider in an army - fighting a war that seems to have no hope of resolution. As Steven tries to become proactive, the plot develops in a number of surprising ways..

This is a two episode yarn which is very deliberately formed as set-up and pay-off although the very end does leave open deliberately a lot of new questions. Having a first person narration is simple but effective in nature. with Steven realising just how much events are manipulated. Soon into the latter episode there is a clever change of direction in the plot with Steven suddenly becoming a figure right in the heart of the troubled political system - and he seemingly has little chance of escaping the confines of manipulation. The basic presentation of an older Steven relating the main plot of 'War' to a visitor in his cell is emotional and yet also elegant. There is enough world building both for the un-named planet of the Savages and its history in the wake of the Doctor's visit, as well as the planet that features the ceaseless war(s). There is not all that much time for Dodo to make her mark in the story and even less for the Doctor but this almost does not matter as Steven Taylor's regard for both shine through all the same - even one of his three daughters in the royal court was named after the curious Ms Chaplet.

The themes of this story are intriguing and rich enough that repeat playing of this story is certainly worthwhile. The futility of war, the downsides of so called democracy and the loss of independence and identity all feature. In some ways this two-parter could be adapted into a modern day TV story with minor change and comfortably fit the Saturday evening slot of 45 minutes. No doubt if Guerrier was a writer under Innes Lloyd or John Wiles he would have arranged his story outline for the-then-standard four episodes. Instead we have a medium which can allow for more flexibility and the brevity of the story is by no means a problem, although perhaps the role of the Doctor in events is a little too quickly covered in exposition after the fact and would have been a worthwhile subplot that could have added a few minutes of more time to either episode.

Purves puts in as good a performance of Steven as any that followed his very first in 1965. He knows this time travelling character like the back of his hand and he relishes being able to fill in some gaps given how often Doctor Who could be rudimentary in its characterisation of the companions. Haig has considerably less to do, but her inclusion prevents Purves from delivering a monologue, albeit a very lively and fascinating one. Also, the character of Sida is such an open canvas that she could potentially be given a lot of development should there be a follow-up story which the ending strongly calls out for. There are few flaws with the production as all concerned seem to know that Mr Guerrier has proven himself time and again and is not one to rest on his laurels, and thus requires the best possible realisation of his work. Very much recommended.

A new story set in Doctor Who's past is an odd hybrid. Written in the present day and inevitably shaped by awareness of the now as well as the 'then' of a non-contemporary phase of Doctor Who, it has to be authentic to the era it's working to evoke without seeming disingenous. Happily, Ian Potter's The Sleeping City manages to be a narrative for the twenty-first century listenership while successfully drawing upon anxieties which would have held meaning for producers and audiences in the mid-1960s.

Doctor Who in the mid-1960s toyed with espionage stories - The Reign of Terror for one - but its early evening slot probably deterred programme-makers from blatantly acknowledging that the adventures of the Doctor and his friends addressed Cold War paranoia. The Sleeping City finds Ian Chesterton in the hands of the secret service, who find his sudden reappearance and that of Barbara Wright nearly two years after they vanished from London needs urgent explanation. For reasons at first obscure to the listener though already explicit with hindsight, the key to the release of Ian and Barbara lies in the tale of their visit with the Doctor and Vicki to the city of Hisk.

One of the features of The Companion Chronicles has been the point in time from which the narrating companion's voice has come. Many seem to look back from late in life at a remote time, but here William Russell is from the start evidently narrating from the point of view of an Ian much, much closer to the one we saw on television. It's down to Russell's performance that we accept this, more than the line that Ian is 'rather dry' and needs a glass of water; this is an older man's voice which can project if not the energy of someone younger, then the memory of it. Rather than impersonate Maureen O'Brien, Russell's Vicki is a high voice emanating distantly from somewhere near his elbow; and the Doctor is Russell's first Doctor owing something to Hartnell only in the sense that this is a performance with an obvious grandfather. John Banks is a judiciously versatile agent Gerrard and various residents of Hisk, mastering the doubtful, the doughtily doubtless and the magnifier of self-doubt.

Ian Potter's writing and William Russell's delivery evoke the poetic quality of many of those avant-garde Lambert- or Wiles-produced Doctor Whos. There is a beautiful explanation of the workings of the TARDIS: quicksilver and the power of the Sun, and valves and magic. The lived fiction of society on Hisk is etched in details - the market where everything is the same price and there is no shortage or oversupply, the sluicing tubes which dispose of out-of-date goods, the bell calling everyone to 'limbus' - rather like the air raid warning summoning the Eloi to their doom in George Pal's The Time Machine - and the limbus dream-shields one can imagine as props designed by Raymond Cusick, Barry Newbery or John Wood. There are nods towards emergent psychedelia, much as there were in stories such as The Daleks, Inside the Spaceship or The Web Planet, but developed now to tell a Cold War story with an emphasis on the nature of society and manipulation of the individual at an unconscious level. There are echoes of The Ipcress File and The Prisoner rather than Doctor Who's more common fear of the bomb and memories of the Second World War, though listeners might find some parallels, though inexact ones, between Hisk and the Sense-Sphere of The Sensorites. Misguided self-regulation, though, is a theme with applications in other time periods too; keeping everything stable and safe prevents innovation and risk and sets limits to imagination.

So much for another Brave New World; but the trick of the story is that while explaining how all was lost, it turns out to have been about making everything better, without necessarily assuming that our protagonist comes from the best of all possible worlds.The Sleeping City is a story for William Russell and Ian Chesterton fans not just because of Russell's ever-reliable performance with a capacity still to surprise, but because it manages to be about Ian's perception of his environment and companions, without needing to invent or import detail unavailable to or unimaginable by the viewer of 1963-1965. It's also for those who like fiction which toys with its audience's and its characters' understanding of events while still presenting a solid narrative thread, while leaving them to imagine what the sleeping city itself will be like when it awakes.

The 50th Anniversary year has been an unexpectedly fruitful period for fans eager to have Doctor Who’s lingering continuity voids addressed. The Day of the Doctor presented Russell T. Davies’ mysterious Time War in all of its glory, and in tandem with The Night of the Doctor, the feature-length Special even depicted Paul McGann’s Doctor in his final moments, his regeneration into the War Doctor and the latter’s subsequent transformation into Christopher Eccleston’s incarnation. Before all of those startling, immensely satisfying revelations, though, Steven Moffat took the grand step in his The Name of the Doctor of recreating the First Doctor and Susan’s initial boarding of the TARDIS on Gallifrey.

That Marc Platt, scribe of one of the final Companion Chronicles releases, The Beginning, finds time to integrate even Clara Oswald’s presence in his own representation of William Hartnell’s Time Lord and his granddaughter upon their first voyage says plenty of the success with which he crafts a reinterpretation of one of the series’ most ambiguous (untold on-screen) events. Platt’s narrative premise allows for a more direct interaction between the “original” Doctor and the beloved mythology which he was largely detached from due to the show’s executive producers only commencing their weaving in hints of the character’s past in the Jon Pertwee and Tom Baker years.

As one might expect of such a revelatory drama, Platt’s openness in chronicling the protagonist’s escape from his home planet for the most part disintegrates the enigmatic figure that first emerged from the shadows of an abandoned junkyard in An Unearthly Child. Our knowledge of the events which instigated his travels will doubtless transform our perspective on Doctor Who’s televised premiere, yet such is the great flexibility of the programme’s lore and its continuity that we could argue any interpretation of its ongoing or past storylines as valid. That’s an empowering concept if ever there was one, particularly for fans disappointed with the supposedly transparent light in which Platt has attempted to cast a previously elusive episode in the Doctor’s life.

With Carole Ann Ford returning to the Companion Chronicles series, of course, there was scarce chance that Platt’s script wouldn’t be done justice in the recording studio. While few would deny that being able to have the late Bill Hartnell with us to aid in the description of his Doctor’s learning the ways of the universe firsthand, Carole’s narration more than compensates, the script allowing her to create an immediately engaging first-person representation of the characters, locales and events which Susan encounters as she ventures out of a Type 40 time capsule. Much as time has scarcely affected the strength of Who, so too does Carole’s portrayal of Susan and several of The Beginning’s other characters appear unfazed by the decades that have passed since The Dalek Invasion of Earth.

Carole’s co-star Terry Molloy naturally needs no introduction, his return to the role of Davros alongside Sylvester McCoy in Daleks Among Us remaining one of this year’s most memorable guest performances. Quadrigger Stoyn is certainly an inspired deviation from the status quo for Molloy, an unhinged Time Lord engineer who inadvertently becomes a co-conspirator in Theta Sigma’s theft and escape from Gallifrey. However, in this first instalment of a Companion Chronicles trilogy based around Stoyn, the accomplished star’s portrayal is limited by his inevitably gradual character arc, and when he ventures into the roles of other male characters such as the Archeon leader, there’s déjà vu lying in wait, as Molloy’s portrayal of extraterrestrials rapidly becomes reminiscent of a certain Dalek creator of old. Perhaps the transpiration of such an event was impossible to avoid, for Davros’ voice must now be incredibly familiar to the man behind the mask, but if that’s the case, then Big Finish’s neglecting to find another voice for Stoyn is uncharacteristically unambitious on the studio’s part.

Of further minor detriment is the difficult narrative/tonal scenario which must have posed itself to Platt in the early stages of penning his latest Who instalment. In fact, it’s the same difficulty which seemingly arose for George Lucas in drafting his divisive Star Wars prequel outings, and for Peter Jackson with his three-tier Hobbit project. The prospect of discovering the secrets of the past must always appear enticing on the surface, yet with a vast science-fiction mythology already established in the past half-century of time travelling escapades, upon further inspection a great challenge lies in attempting to write a Doctor Who episode which almost breaks the fundamental weekly rules of the series. Just as Lucas couldn’t resist encounters with Wookies, Tatooine and Stormtroopers, nor Jackson trips to the Misty Mountains, the Shire and other fan favourite locales, so too does Platt’s narrative explore human colonies, the ethics of time travel and other familiar Who elements with only a limited level of innovation upon the endless array of intergalactic exploits which have come before.

Like An Adventure in Space and Time before it, The Beginning is a blatant, oft-remarkable homage to Doctor Who’s roots, albeit more engrained in the series’ complex mythology than the former BBC Two docudrama. Platt’s narrative and Carole Ann Ford’s portrayal of Susan are both extremely commendable in terms of their clear endeavouring to distinguish the release from everything which has preceded it. Nevertheless, this reviewer can’t help but notice that a compromise has been struck so as to balance Doctor Who’s past with its present and future. One can appreciate such a compromise in light of the three iconic spirits sent to haunt Scrooge at this time of year, yet had Platt elected to accept the inevitability of this tale’s nostalgic tone, and as such indulge in the past a little more so as to provide a few more gifts for fans in the festive time of goodwill, then The Beginning could be recalled as amongst Big Finish’s all-time greats. There’s potential aplenty, though, for Stoyn’s future encounters with the Doctor, especially if Molloy can capitalize on the unique nature of his role when we next visit his bemused Quadrigger in December’s The Dying Light.

In bringing the Lost Stories to life, it is always interesting to see the ideas that get cut out for one reason or another. At times, the avid Whovian can be positively baffled at the decisions made by the producers (Farewell, Great Macedon) and at others, awestruck at the lack of quality or offensive content that almost got put on our screen (Mission to Magnus). It's always interesting to hear these stories and guess as to why they were cut (and if there are bonus extras explaining it, then that's all the better).

Listening to this one, it's abundantly clear the reason it was cut was due to the budget. There are no extras to confirm it, but this is such a visual extravaganza that I cannot help to think that producing it would be near impossible on anything but a monumental budget. The interplay between light and darkness, the immense crystal city, and the numerous special effects (flight being the biggest one) could not be reasonably portrayed on a 1960's BBC teatime-slot TV budget. Plain and simple.

The strength of this story lies in what is known as mise-en-scene. It's a French concept important for film or televised reviews, but it refers in a general sense to everything that is put in front of a camera. It refers to the acting, the set design, the costume design, the framing, and the lighting. Now, this may seem a little counter-intuitive as this is an audio medium and an audience will not not see these portrayed physically in front of them as one would in a typical film or television show. However, I would refer you to my review of The Creed of the Kromon (found here), where I talk about the cinematography present in the imagination of the audience and aver that audio is indeed a visual medium. Thus, I would argue, talking about aspects of visual framing is equally valid in a well-portrayed audio play as in a film. Though, I will admit, there are some variables in this framing based on the individual audience member's own imagination, a properly produced story can control those variables through effective sound design and writing.

The mise-en-scene of The Dark Planet is found, unsurprisingly, in the use of light and shadow. It is a story of two races of a planet, one of light and one of dark respectively, engaged in an epic struggle so its use of light and shadow is unsurprising. The caverns below are properly dark, damp, and evoke a feeling of claustraphobia with its seemingly contradictory immense physical spaciousness and the all-enveloping darkness. This is reflected in the descriptions and the deep, dark sounds that seem to echo in every direction. This creates an effective feeling of fear by contrasting that very large, forboding physical darkness with the smaller Barbara. Barbara is framed in the centre of your mental image throughout her interactions down below due to the fact that large chunks of that story are distinctly from her perspective. Since I feel many people imagine these 60's era Lost Stories in black and white (I certainly do), as Barbara often dresses in lighter clothing, the contrast between Barbara and the darkness is highlighted further. The mise-en-scene of Barbara, in her light clothing and in the centre of the frame, confronting the darkness is one of great contrast The tableaux of her standing against a seemingly neverending, physical and potentially malevolent darkness is a powerful one.

Meanwhile, the city of light is similarly realised. The mise-en-scene of certain moments needs to be pointed out here as well. For example, the numerous descriptions of the environments as being so white as to be confusing and the beautiful crystal as being so transparent as to not be able to truly figure out the paths it takes, creates a set that is rife with confusion, but also beauty. The moments where The Doctor and his friends fly, in particular, create a beautiful landscape of the confusing, jagged, but orderly crystals in the background and our heroes in centre frame. They're entering a world they don't truly understand, but it's a world that operates under certain rules and its one they aim to be heroes in. The set-design creates a sense of this contrast of chaos and order and, likewise, the framing of putting our heroes front-and-centre in our mind as they rise both visually realises their attempted rise to hero-dom and puts the un-relatable city in the background at odds with the heroes in the foreground.

Now, as I said, realising any of these moments would be near impossible on the budget of the time. However, this is not entirely true. One could obtain the same results with a skilled director and cinematographer. Though I know many Whovians will hate me for saying it, no such directors or cinematographers existed during this time and, I would argue, none exist to the present day. Directors that talented would have to realise the story with existing light fixtures. With brilliant cinematography and a creative use of blocking and zooming to allow for different lighting to show on different scales (for example, showing darkness in a close-up, rather than a full-shot, to create an illusion of darkness all around). This sort of directing is the sort that masters such as Teshigahara or Ozu were known for. Put simply, and it is unfortunate, these sorts of directors only typically direct film – not television. The 60's directors were incredibly skilled and, indeed, many of the shots (particularly of the first episode of the series) were brilliantly done, especially considering how much of the show was done as-live. In fact, to be honest, I think some of the directing of the 60's is the strongest in the show's history. But none of it was up to the task of realising this story properly.

This may be a bit misleading, however. It is a master-class in formalist/expressionist Doctor Who, but it isn't really anything to write home about in terms of plot. The main issue it has is that it is entirely too predictable. From the beginning, we as an audience know almost exactly what is going to happen. Once The Doctor declares that maybe the Darkness isn't all that bad, we know that it will be a plot of trying to get The Darkness and The Light to communicate with each other. The issue is, this obvious path for the plot to go down is made obvious in Part Two. There are four parts left. We, as humans, love to guess at the next path the plot will take. What will happen next. In this serial, the path is entirely clear. The team will get split up and, one representing Darkness and one representing Light, they will come together and either form peace or create tragedy. The only real area where the audience is left guessing is which ending it will take. So, episodes three through five end up suffering as a result. They're gorgeous and, indeed, the story should be listened to if only for the visuals, but they're not engaging in the slightest. The story picks up at episode six, however, and ends on an interesting, visually beautiful note.

There's also a number of good character moments, ranging from Vicki's friendship with the light child, The Doctor's antagonism with the Light King (though he calls himself by another title, he's clearly the King), and Barbara's heroism in dealing with the Darkness. Still, to call this a character piece would be misrepresenting it. It's a formalist piece. It means to impress you with visuals and create a universe that you want to look at and feel things from. Almost all of the feelings created in this serial are visual – and there's nothing wrong with that (in fact, it's the essence of formalism). As I am a huge fan of formalism, I found it engaging and enjoyable (if not particularly life-changing as-in Masadon). If you are more a fan of classicism or realism, I would very strongly suggest avoiding this serial.