After the diabolical ‘Time and the Rani’, ‘Paradise Towers’ sees a considerable increase in the quality of scripts, as Stephen Wyatt delivers a dystopian tale of a society in decay. As such, ‘Paradise Towers’ is in some ways more disappointing than its immediate predecessor, as a combination of poor production and bad acting several dents its credibility.

The premise of ‘Paradise Towers’ is highly effective. The concept of a luxury apartment building that has degenerated into barbarism and savagery with residents who have turned to cannibalism and warring gangs of teenagers is a sound one, as is the addition to the mix of the Caretakers, whose response to the situation is to cling obsessively to outdated and pedantic rules in an attempt to cope with their disintegrating world. Wyatt exploits this premise in various ways; the degenerative language used by the Kangs is vaguely reminiscent of the “Nadsat” of Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange, and clearly some thought has gone into the dialogue. Kang vernacular includes such phrases as “Cowardly cutlet”, “Carrydors”, “Brain quarters”, “Taken to the cleaners” and “How you do”, and although the older characters use such terms as “Rezzies” and “Wall-scrawlers”, the fact that for the most part they speak normally demonstrates the impact of a lack of education and any obvious parental figures on the younger generation. It is also relatively unusual to see gangs composed entirely of girls, but whether their reluctance to actually “make unalive” (a reluctance sadly not shared by real life gang culture) is meant as a slightly sexist attempt to show a gentle feminine nature or merely a constraint of Doctor Who’s traditional target audience is unclear. The Kangs’ names further hint at the state of their lives, including as they do Bin Liner and Fire Escape; it is possible that these are nicknames gained on joining a particular gang, but it also raises the possibility that they were abandoned at such a young age that any real names they once had are long forgotten, and this would be consistent with their seeming lack of education.

The activities of the Rezzies are also rather interesting. On the one hand, they maintain the cosiness of their past lives, knitting table cloths and keeping neat and tidy flats that contrast sharply with the grimy, dilapidated corridors, whilst on the other hand they have resorted to murdering and eating Kangs. What is interesting about this is that is clearly a situation brought about not by an inherent evil in their nature, but by sheer desperation, and their desire to cling on to a semblance of normality throws this dark pastime into stark relief. The Caretakers too are well scripted; their adherence to the rule book boarders on the absurd, and clearly exacerbates the division between the groups within the Towers that the Doctor strives so hard to overcome. Like the Rezzies, they are obviously attempting to cling on to some semblance of normality: the Deputy Chief Caretakers’ moaning about the graffiti in the corridors is an example of him dwelling on what is in the larger scheme of things an utterly trivial issue. Rather than trying to reach out to the disaffected youth within the Towers, they prefer to punish them, although since they never actually manage to capture any Kangs during the course of the story, the question of what they would actually do to them is never made clear. Ironically of course, this fragmenting of society is precisely what the Chief Caretaker exploits as he feeds morsels to his “pet”; since the Kangs have nobody they can report the disappearances to, they are not highlighted, and likewise the disappearance of Caretakers can easily be dealt with by careful manipulation of the rule book. It is significant that when the Cleaners take two Rezzies however, it is reported and the Chief is forced to address the issue, albeit by bribing Maddy with the chance to move into a larger apartment; the Rezzies, clinging on their semblance of normality, clearly feel that the Caretakers should deal with such issues.

The addition to the plot of Kroagnon is also potentially interesting. The presence of a threat that is hostile to everyone within Paradise Towers forces the residents to unite against the common threat, offering hope for the future as a result. It is also worth noting that whilst Kroagnon is on one hand a typical megalomaniac, his motivation is novel; an obsessive architect whose opinion of his work is so great that he doesn’t want it to spoiled by tenants is one that has not previously appeared in the series. It gradually becomes clear that Kroagnon’s legacy has contributed to the dire state of the Towers, albeit as a minor aside rather than the main cause; the presence of the robotic crab in the swimming pool prompts the Doctor to note that this is how the Towers would have been had Kroagnon had his way: “a killer in every corner”. The script even gives a knowing wink to the clichйs of the Doctor Who format: there is scene in which Mel hopes that the lift won’t malfunction, only for the lights to start flashing on and off and for the gears to stall. When Pex asks her what she said, she repeats her worry, and the lift grinds to a halt. It could easily be a very silly moment, but the script handles it in such a way that there is a knowing irony to the scene.

‘Paradise Towers’ also works well because it is the first story in which Sylvester McCoy really shines as the Doctor. During the early TARDIS scenes, he looks on glumly as Mel looks forward to a holiday, and complains, “That’s the trouble with young people today – no sense of adventure”, a line which McCoy delivers with an impressive air of weariness. It is also rather interesting just how much the Doctor perks up when he finds the Towers in a state of obvious neglect, which does rather highlight just how much he thrives on the misfortune of others; it is a slightly disturbing aspect of the Doctor’s character, and one that McCoy (and the script) suddenly emphasizes. McCoy suddenly seems to have settled into the role, and it clearly shows; the Doctor’s doffing of his hat at the advancing Cleaner as the lift doors close is a supremely confident moment. McCoy is conveys a sense of authority with ease when he confronts the Chief Caretaker and snaps that since the Chief is going to kill him anyway, so he might as well listen to him first. He delivers the line in such a way that death threats seem like a minor inconvenience to the Doctor, which of course they often are. His subsequent contemptuous dismissal of the Deputy is another case in point, as the Deputy pleads with him for no further tricks with the rulebook, only to be told in no uncertain terms that the Doctor has far more important things to worry about than him. Suddenly, the Seventh Doctor is a man who can quickly set his mind to defeating monsters, but who can also charm his way into the Kangs’ affections. McCoy’s Doctor switches moods in an instant here, and his apology to Mel for making her jump in Episode Four sounds just as sincere as his contempt for the Deputy an episode earlier. Mention of the rule book brings me to the Doctor’s initial escape from the Caretakers, as he exploits their blind obedience to rules, and persuades his captors to close their eyes and walk away form him so that he can sneak out of the door; the Deputy eventually realises that “rules should always make sense”, but he’s so used to blind obedience that it takes him too long to realize this. Unfortunately, where McCoy’s acting does fall down is at the climax, as the Doctor has to confront Kroagnon sooner than he expected and is forced to improvise; he immediately resorts to the sort of pratfall clowning that marred his first scenes in ‘Time and the Rani’, the Doctor’s bluster and anger sounding purely like lines learnt hurriedly by an actor, rather than words flowing natural from the mouth of a character. For the most part though, McCoy is very good here, and it shows him starting to cement his portrayal of the Doctor.

Despite all of this clever scripting and a generally decent performance from the lead actor however, ‘Paradise Towers’ is nearly ruined by almost everything else. Firstly, this story highlights the reasons why some many fans detest Mel; presumably, the character’s failings here are a result of the otherwise impressive scripts, but she is utterly cloying. Langford is fine; she isn’t noticeable better or worse than usual, and she is good at conveying Mel’s usual optimism, which prompts her to look for the best in people and get upset when she’s disappointed by them. Unfortunately, this largely manifests here in such a way that she just seems mad; in the midst of a tower block filled with lunatics, having been attacked by murderous old ladies and chased by robotic cleaning machines, she decides to strip to her swimming costume and go for a dip. It doesn’t help that Mel is paired for much of the story with Pex, an utterly clichйd character who is a coward given the chance to redeem himself at the very end in a suitably noble sacrifice. Wyatt scripts this stereotype in such a way that he could work (Pex’s delight in Episode Three when he realises that he has actually saved somebody for the first time is rather touching), but the miscast Howard Cooke delivers his lines in such a stilted fashion that the character is thoroughly unconvincing, and his attempts to lie to Kroagnon in Episode Four are deeply embarrassing.

There is a worrying amount of dodgy acting on display here; the Rezzies and the Kangs are adequate if unspectacular, but the Caretakers do nothing for the story’s credibility. It doesn’t really help that costume designer Janet Tharby makes them look (as The Discontinuity Guide puts it) like rejects from the Village People (the Kangs incidentally, also look ludicrous), but this was no excuse to have them salute by putting their hands under their noses in mock-Hitler fashion. Just in case we don’t get the message, the Chief Caretaker actually has a Hitler-style moustache. But to get back to the actual performances, whilst Clive Merrison is at times all right as a petty man with petty powers, he often crosses the line into ham, delivering certain lines in strange nasal falsetto that sounds incredibly strange. This pales into insignificance compared to Richard Briars; defenders of ‘Paradise Towers’ like to point out that Briars is a Shakespearean actor. This is true, but then so is Brian Blessed, but he was still bloody terribly in ‘Mindwarp’. Briars sends his performance as far over the top as is possible, managing to ham it up even over a walkie-talkie in Episode One. For the rest of the first three episodes he confuses psychopath with imbecile and thereby destroys the believability of one the story’s main villains. By Episode Four, he gets even worse; having briefly redeemed himself by conveying terror even through the ham as the Chief is dragged screaming towards Kroagnon (and the Chief’s fate is, on paper at least, quite disturbing), he emerges from a cloud of dry ice in the final episode as a gurning zombie, lurching around as though drunk. Which he perhaps was. Anyone who has read Stephen Wyatt’s novelisation of ‘Paradise Towers’ will know that he imagined Kroagnon in the Chief’s body as a ghastly animated cadaver with a sinister deathly voice, rather than a silver faced tosser who roles his eyes at every opportunity and delivers his lines like he’s gargling

Perhaps more so than any other era of Doctor Who, the McCoy era splits fandom down the middle, and arguably no single story is as divisive as ‘Delta and the Bannermen’. Notorious for featuring comedian Ken Dodd, whom some fans see as the worst excess of John Nathan-Turner’s obsession with casting people from the world of light entertainment, ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ combines green babies, the Welsh, bees and rock and roll; it is also, if the viewer is in the right mood, really quite good fun.

There is a great sense of joy de vivre in ‘Delta and the Bannermen’. Partly, this is because the story doesn’t take itself too seriously, presenting us as it does with toll booths for time travellers, and aliens who holiday in locations such as America during the rock ‘n’ roll nineteen fifties, but who get stranded in Wales by accident. We have a pair of inept American secret service agents who are looking for a lost satellite and briefly mistake Gavrok’s ship for it, since they don’t actually know what a satellite looks like, and we have a bounty hunter whose death reduces him to nothing but a pair of blue suede shoes. This is all very tongue in cheek, and the breaking of the usual conventions of Doctor Who by the fact that everyone seems able to travel in time (The Bannermen and the Navarinos) adds further to the feeling that writer Malcolm Kohll is quite simply doing his best to have fun and not worrying unduly about how atypical his story actually feels as a result. This is a story in which an old man seemingly communicates with his bees and in which a young man who eats Chimeron food turns into an alien prince. It almost has a fairy tale quality to it in places. There is also the fact that the Navarinos go on holiday in time and space in an old bus, which on one level adds greatly to the spirit of things, and on another may be a wry nod to the limitations of the series budget; the BBC might not be able to knock together a convincing spaceship, but an old bus is no problem.

Another great strength of ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ is the character interaction. Refreshingly, this is a story in which nearly everybody the Doctor and Mel meet save for the Bannermen themselves gives their utmost to try and help Delta. What is particularly interesting is the love triangle between Delta, Billy and Ray; confounding audience expectations, this leads not to the jealously and betrayal that one might expect in Doctor Who, but instead follows a different route. Ray response to seeing Billy with Delta is to cry, and the Doctor comforts her. It would trivialize such an issue to say that she gets over it, but she manages to deal with it and continues to help Delta and Billy, and at the end, whilst she loses the man she loves, she does at least get his Vincent. Which isn’t exactly a happy ending as such, but it is a relatively positive outcome. Equally, Delta benefits; with the Bannermen destroyed and Billy transformed into a Chimeron, it is suggested that she can repopulate her planet (incidentally, I’d normally dismiss this as bollocks, but Kohll hints throughout at the insect like nature of the Chimerons, suggesting that one colossal bout of sex later, a green Welshman and his girlfriend might well repopulate a planet. Which is actually quite a scary thought). As for what Billy gets, well his motivation is obvious, but however much he may be driven by lust, he still risks life, limb and humanity to be with Delta.

Of course, Billy and Ray aren’t the only people who help Delta. The bemused agents Hawk and Weismuller, played with perfect bewilderment by Morgan Deare and Stubby Kaye, respectively, also pitch in to help after the Doctor and Ray remove the bonds the Bannermen put them in, with Weismuller getting his revenge at the end as he ties the Bannermen up. Hugh Lloyd’s slightly mysterious Goronwy happily allows the Bannermen to shoot his house to pieces as they wander into the Doctor’s trap, and sits patiently reading a book as he waits for the Bannermen to be defeated as they attack the camp. Richard Davies’ stoic Burton also provides considerable help simply because he thinks it’s the right thing to do, in the process saving Mel’s life. Burton is actually one of the greatest characters in the story, a cheerfully determined man whose response to seeing inside the TARDIS is to ask to go for a spin, his earlier skepticism about aliens quickly forgotten. A scene in Episode Three perhaps best sums up his character, when he swipes at the air with an old sword and steadfastly prepares for the arrival of heavily harmed nutters. Even camp attendant Vinnie wants to stay and help “Major” Burton, who sends him away for his own safety.

Ultimately, all of this characterisation works so well, because the cast give it their all. In particular, Sara Griffiths is great as Ray, who in retrospect I wish had stayed on as replacement for Mel, instead of the replacement that we actually got (much, much more on that in later reviews…). Ray bonds well with the Doctor, and this results in some great moments not only for Griffiths, but also for McCoy. There are some nice scenes in Episode One, as the Doctor is forced not to deal with alien aggressors, but with a heartbroken teenager and tries his best despite his obvious discomfort. When Billy sings to Delta, and this hurts Ray, she dances with the Doctor instead, who looks decidedly uncomfortable, but obliges anyway. He later comforts her, again awkwardly, with the great malapropism “there’s many a slap twixt the cup and the lap”, which is rather more amusing than virtually all of his malapropisms from ‘Time and the Rani’. In those moments, McCoy’s performance finally seems absolutely perfect for the first time in Season Twenty-Four.

Indeed, McCoy is very good here. When the Doctor sits hugging Billy’s Stratocaster, he gloomily notes, “love has never been known for its rationality” and McCoy makes him sound genuinely melancholy about this, as though hinting at things in the Time Lord’s past that we’ve simply never seen before. Equally, McCoy does well with his lines at the end of Episode Two, as Gavrok sits and gnaws at his meat and the Doctor stands and threatens Gavrok with the legal consequences of his actions. McCoy delivers his lines with an air of massive contempt, which works very well, and whilst he is notorious for his inability to portray anger properly, he manages to get real fury into his “Life? What do you know about life?” line. The script helps him enormously of course; this is story in which a rather proactive Doctor single handedly saves the Navarino bus via the TARDIS and later replaces Murray’s Quarb crystal twice. He sets out to save Delta from the Bannermen as soon as he realises that they are in trouble, and defeats his enemy with bees and honey. Bonnie Langford too does well here, in possibly her best Doctor Who television story; she’s far less cloying than in ‘Paradise Towers’, and like McCoy genuinely seems to be having fun. As usual, Mel’s instinct is to help people, and it is this that allows her to gain Delta’s trust. But Langford also gets to portray shock and horror as Gavrok destroys the Nostalgia Tours bus and its passengers, and she conveys it very well.

Whilst I’m on the subject of acting and characterisation, it is worth noting that the much-maligned Ken Dodd is actually OK here, although admittedly he is just playing himself. Nonetheless, this is pretty much the only Doctor Who story in which he wouldn’t actually seem out of place, and whilst I wouldn’t describe his casting as inspired, it by no means deserves the controversy that it has gained. Don Henderson on the other hand is very well cast. The Discontinuity Guide asks the question “But who told Don Henderson to play it so straight?” which I feel slightly misses the point. ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ works in large part because despite the sense of fun it also features some serious issues. The biggest flaw in the story is that we don’t know why the Bannermen, and Gavrok in particular, want the Chimerons dead; we never learn if they are mercenaries, soldiers, or criminals on the run. But despite this shortcoming, Gavrok works as a villain because he is presented as a real threat. Whatever his motivation, he wants Delta dead and has no qualms about killing anyone who gets in his way; he shoots the Tollmaster in the back, he slaughters the Navarinos because he thinks Delta is on the bus, and above all he has proved himself willing to commit genocide. The point of all of this is that were Henderson to send the part up, the whole feel of the story might so easily cross the line into farce. A real threat is needed to give the other characters something to pull together against, and Gavrok provides it, even cutting off the Doctor’s escape route by booby-trapping the TARDIS. Were ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ possessed of a villainous performance as over the top as Kate O’Mara’s in ‘Time and the Rani’ or Richard Briers’ in ‘Paradise Towers’, it simply wouldn’t work. And in keeping with the spirit of the story, it feels entirely appropriate that Gavrok is ultimately hoist by his own petard.

Overall then, ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ is, for me at least, far better than its reputation suggests. It benefits a lot from the extensive location filming, as Doctor Who usually does when it can be bothered to climb out a quarry, and the peaceful Welsh scenery surrounding Shangri La looks fantastic. It’s also nice to hear some real rock n’ roll on the soundtrack, although it is rather less nice to hear Keff McCulloch. This is arguably his best score for the series up until this point, but please understand that choosing Keff McCulloch’s best incidental score for Doctor Who is rather like choosing the least smelly turd. Unpleasantly, he ropes in his girlfriend’s ghastly group to give us the saccharine cack “Here’s to the Future”. McCulloch aside though, the only other real let down of the production is the two lacklustre explosions and frankly they just aren’t enough to spoil the fun.

Next: the final audio interlude before ‘Survival’, as I nip over to the BF board for ‘The Fires of Vulcan’, then back here for the rest of the McCoy television stories!

Positive: even now that I’m older it still manages to be somewhat creepy, with a great jungle set and sound effects (still find the peculiar tinkle that accompanies the anti-matter monsters effective). Considering the Dalek voices and many other great sound effects in Doctor Who, I’m beginning to think it was one of the BBC’s best strengths at the time, and perhaps still is. 

Negative: the effects (certainly all the spaceship shots) don’t hold up, and take away from the overall effectiveness. In fact, they’re laughable, and could easily be replaced. 

Positive: it’s interesting for being the Doctor Who tribute to Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. 

Negative: the whole scientists-shouldn’t-meddle-where-they-don’t -belong theme is a little tired. 

Positive: the acting by the leads/regulars is solid, Frederick Jaeger is excellent at portraying Sorensen’s clouded mind, and Ewan Solon is good as Vishinski. I’d have to say that as a youth, Vishinski pretty much stands out in my mind as a great example of good, listening leadership. 

Negative: Prentis Hancock as Salamaar, ouch. To try and be fair, he isn’t given much good dialogue. 

Positive: the idea of a planet that is something of a lynchpin between universes, containing elements of both, that are not to be disturbed, is a good one. Are the anti-matter creatures on the planet appointed guardians? Are there no matter guardians to stop them from taking matter through into a universe where it doesn’t belong? Perhaps this never happens in the anti-matter universe because they have less flawed system, something better than a corrupt power structure and its struggles?

Negative: all the characters know nothing except what the Doctor tells them – Salamaar accepts that the Doctor is correct in assuming that the anti-matter is holding the ship back (despite later mistrusting and shooting the Doctor), and later Vishinski simply accepts that Sorensen was infected by something on the planet. Why isn’t there a scientist on board, other than Sorensen, who could inform the crew of some of these things? Seems odd to send out a ship with a captain, (oh, sorry “controller”), a second in command and a bunch of grunts. And the uniforms make them look more like superheroes than military. The weapons are also a little inconsistent – Salamaar appears to kill a guard with his pistol, but the Doctor is shot point blank in the head and recovers. 

Positive: it was a great and atmospheric set of episodes when I was young. 

Negative: it’s far less creepy, and closer to overly dramatic space opera now that I’m older, though to end of a positive note…

Positive: it was fun to revisit.

Leisure Hive was the first episode of Tom Baker's last season. It featured several important new things including a new fiberglass Police Box, a new K9, and a new theme and graphics. It was also the first use of new computer based effects that were, by 1980 standards, fairly state of the art. It was a brave new era for Doctor Who and David Fisher's script was chosen as the introductory story.

There are a lot of good things about this story and a few really bad things. Unfortunately the bad things are the first five minutes of episode one and the last five minutes of episode four. It's off to a bad start with Romana and K9 walking along the beach. In a silly fit Romana throws a beach ball into the water and orders K9 to fetch. With K9's advanced brain you'd think he'd know that water and electronics don't mix but ZAP, he's down for the count. Certainly there could have been better ways to write him out for the story than making him and Romana look stupid. The conclusion is also way to fast and none of the characters even pause to accept the sudden revelations that take place. The villain is transferred to a child and the Argolian leader's body is regenerated to her youthful self and not one character is even phased by that.

There are lots of good things in between however. Lovett Bickford's directing pace is very good and it's a very steady and the story never slows down. With David Fisher's writing being so tight you could almost argue that this is a real time story. Things are happening so fast that the characters never pause to just watch the world go by or wait for things to happen. Another good thing about this story is the design of the Leisure Hive and the Argolians. They are both dressed very sharply with bright primary colors that give the story a very comic book look.

Despite the bad opening and closing the entire story is a good start to a new era of the series and the end of Baker's time on the show. Even though Baker was starting to look a bit tired of the role the Doctor's reactions in this story link quite well with the events in Logopolis. Perhaps the moment had been prepared for for quite some time.

Ah, the Leisure Hive! Such a terrible story, but what a cool, brilliant new look!

Of all the times to get a colour television for the first time, it was in 1981 on the same day as the new season of doctor who would start, specifically the Leisure Hive. And what a difference!! Gone was the time vortex introduction from the past seven years (for me), to be replaced by a stunning new space intro; marvellous colour special effects, the Doctor's new all red costume, his (comparatively) grimmer persona (most welcome!) and that so bizarre in doctor who gravity-free badmington (or whatever) game. And all this in episode one. Doctor Who had gone from base metal into gold!

But, cool new look aside, what a diabolical plot. Twenty five minutes of utter incomprehension every week, for a month. What the hell was going on? Nowadays, seeing it all in one go on video, it makes a lot more sense and the book version by David Fisher is not only clearer but filled with much needed humour to water down the pretension, but at the time the weekly episodes were just so much unintelligable gobbledegook as to make even the most die-hard DW fan blanch every saturday evening. Thank God for Meglos next month.

I mean, what was the deal with the Fomasi? Kept off the screen for episodes 1 and 2, my mind was filled with the image of a fantastic monster. And what did we finally get? A humpty dumpty with green scales! And by the time I knew just what the West Lodge were supposed to be doing, they had been wrapped up (literally) by the good Fomasi!

But its not all bad. I like the characters: Brock, the silent Klout, the grim Hardin....and the Argolin at least look good even if they don't make much impression. And Tom Baker, thanks be, had at last played his role a lot less for laughs. Long may he continue....oh, yeah, Logopolis. D'oh!

The Talons of Weng-Chiang is long and tedious, but worse, it’s racist nonsense. 

It has style, but that’s all – aside from that, it’s full of clichй and devoid of meaning. I watched this recently after many years, and while I probably considered it a “classic,” or at least decent Doctor Who when I was younger, seeing it again as an adult lowers it in my estimation quite a bit. 

Episode One: the Doctor is attacked, and describes the Chinese attacker as a “little man.” The crafty, villainous Li H’sen Chang is portrayed by John Bennett in makeup because, of course, English men play Chinese men better than Chinese men do. 

Episode Two: the charming, harmless Professor Litefoot describes the Chinese as an “odd sort of people,” and interstellar traveller the Doctor fails to point out that another culture is only odd from an English perspective – that to the Chinese, the English are probably “odd.” Robert Holmes, in his interest to give the Doctor a role that pays tribute to Sherlock Holmes, seems to have forgotten that the Doctor would have something other than an English perspective. He even has the Doctor somewhat coldly hope that “that girl Leela” (as though he hasn’t known her for long) is unharmed. It’s as through the Doctor is replaced with another Doctor, just for this one story (until of course he starts babbling in episode five about World War Six and “double nexus particles,” then suddenly he’s a Timelord again). The villain, Magnus Greel, also has a character that jerks wildly around, as he’s incapable of walking in one scene, then leaping like a mountain goat to escape the Doctor at the theatre in the scenes that pay tribute to Phantom of the Opera. 

Episode Three: Litefoot wonders what the world is coming to when ruffians will attack a man in his own home. “Well, they were Chinese ruffians,” the Doctor replies. We’re constantly told about “those Chinese,” and the “devils.” And along the way, treated to multiple, long, pointless scenes where Greel dismisses and demeans Chang, or when a supporting character like Jago tries again to be charming. At the end of episode four, given how little we’d learned and how long it had taken to learn it, I felt disappointed to know I’d have to sit through another two episodes. The end picks up a little, when we (finally) get to some bullets and laser beams and an appropriately exciting finale, but all the Chinese henchmen are slaughtered like so much cattle, and any excitement is too little too late anyway. 

I’m missing the point, you say. It’s all in good fun, you say. You’re not supposed to pick apart a story as fantastic as this – it’s the Doctor Who tribute to Saturday morning serials combined with Sherlock Holmes and Phantom, and whatever else. And yes, Chang has a few knowing winks to the camera, where he jokes “one of us is yellow,” or “I understand we all look the same.” Trouble is, these aren’t actually coming from a Chinese actor, but an English one, written by an English writer, and so again the perspective in wholly English. 

In fact, the English are the best at everything: it’s “impossible” for the professor’s gun to fail, when it was “made in Birmingham.” In any other story, and amusing throwaway line, but here it’s English superiority in a story that strikes these notes constantly, intentionally or not. A dying Chang reveals that he was to perform for the Queen at Buckingham palace, something that he clearly saw as a penultimate achievement. And while Jago and Litefoot represent the two English classes, fighting side by side against the “alien” threat, the Chinese characters are unsophisticated cannon fodder, or in the case of Chang, someone who appeared more sophisticated, but finally wasn’t. Jago and Litefoot and also written in a way that attempts to sell them off as charming, while Chang is dry and humourless, and ultimately gullible. 

Doctor Who fans, apparently thrilled to actually see a little style in the show, are keen to overlook its glaring faults. But when you add the racist elements to the Muppet rat, and the little dummy the Doctor throws around at the end, and all you have is an embarrassment. It’s time fans admitted it. Or at least, for goodness sakes, acknowledged it.