‘Fury From the Deep’ is another base-under-siege story, but is sufficiently distinctive in several key respects to stand out from its immediate predecessor. Firstly, nobody in it dies. Secondly, as noted in The Discontinuity Guide, it features a strong female authority figure in the shape of Megan Jones, which is very unusual during this era. Finally of course, it marks the departure of Victoria.

‘Fury From the Deep’ (which I think is a great title, incidentally) survives the transition to audio much better than ‘The Web of Fear’ does, thanks to the highly distinctive use of the heartbeat sound made by the weed creatures. We are sadly robbed of the sight of tides of foam filling the refinery, but the pulsing heartbeat is still effective. The weed is an unusual menace, but it works well, partly because we learn so little about it, and because even in the original serial as filmed, it was barely ever seen. Whereas the Yetis and the Ice Warriors worked because they were physically imposing menaces, the weed works because it is almost amorphous, attacking with the ubiquitous foam, and toxic gas. The actual weed creature itself vies with the Rills and Celation for the dubious honour of being Doctor Who’s most poorly visually represented monster, given that no episodes of the story survive. Happily, scant footage of it does exist, in the form of the behind the scenes effects sequence included on The Missing Years video in ‘The Ice Warriors’ boxed set, and to be fair it looks quite good, but most of the finest scenes in ‘Fury From the Deep’ seem to be those where little is seen; Van Lutyens’ horrified pronouncement that “It’s down there. In the darkness. In the pipeline. Waiting” at the end of episode one as the heartbeat grows steadily louder is chilling, and similarly his scream as he taken by the seaweed in the impeller shaft makes this another tense moment. The entire story is full of claustrophobic moments such as this, including Victoria trapped in the oxygen store, and Robson being taken over in his cabin as foam surges in through a vent; this may be another base under siege story, but on this occasion, the enemy can come and go at will and cannot be locked out. 

In addition to this effective use of the foam and heartbeat sound effect, the menace in ‘Fury From the Deep’ is also effective from another angle, which is its ability to take over humans. For one thing, this only underscores the fact that the weed cannot be locked out of the base, since it has servants inside who help it throughout the story. It is the same principle as knowing that the Great Intelligence has someone working for it in ‘The Web of Fear’, but here the viewer knows who the traitors are and this too is used to build suspense; when the Doctor and Jamie are down the impeller shaft, and Oak and Quill are left in charge of the elevator, the viewer (or listener) is instantly aware that this means trouble. And then of course, there is that surviving censor clip of the pair of them in Maggie Harris’s bedroom. Oak and Quill work because they look unthreatening, almost comical, until they open their mouths and breathe toxic gas; I don’t think the scene is quite as terrifying as some fans would have us believe, but it is grotesquely horrible. In addition, prior to them actually doing this, the sinister incidental score makes it clear that they are a threat, and this also adds to the tension as Maggie is obviously at the mercy of these two strange men whom she has let into her house. Later, as Maggie fully succumbs to the weed’s influence and meets with Robson on the beach at the end of episode three, we get another creepy moment, as she calmly walks out into the sea. By the end of the story we find out that she survived, but at that moment she seems like a zombie, robbed of all free will, calmly and without resistance walking to her death. The weed’s sensitivity to noise, as well as being a plot device to give Victoria an important role in the resolution of her final story, also adds to the overall sinister air, because it results in the weed’s victims speaking softly; unlike the malevolent sibilant hiss of the possessed Padmasambhava in ‘The Abominable Snowmen’, this has a more subtle effect. Whilst not chilling in itself, Robson’s calm voice as he tells the Doctor to join the weed at the beginning of episode six makes it sound wholly reasonable that the Doctor should submit his free will and in some ways Robson’s quiet acceptance of what has happened to him is far more disturbing than if he had been forcefully insisting that resistance is useless. Finally, the physical effect of the weed’s influence, the fronds protruding from its victims skin, also looks rather creepy, at least based on the telesnap evidence. 

One of the interesting things about the weed creatures is that we never find out much about them. We know that they have been around for some time, thanks to the Doctor’s book of naval legends, but we don’t know if they are from Earth or outer space. We also don’t know why they suddenly want to colonize. It is strongly hinted that they are not intelligent per se, but derive their intelligence from their human victims, which would explain why they were content to lurk at the bottom of the North Sea until they came into contact with the rig personnel. It is unusual to have a menace in Doctor Who about which we learn so little and could be potentially frustrating, but here it merely makes the threat more mysterious. 

The supporting cast is generally pretty good in ‘Fury From the Deep’, although only a handful of the supporting characters really stand out. The Harrises are rather wet, and the Chief and Perkins are fairly forgettable, but Robson, Van Lutyens and Megan Jones are memorably well portrayed. Robson is the first of only two examples of an unstable base commander, supposedly a recurring feature during the Troughton era. Against the advice of his staff and all common sense, he repeatedly refuses to turn off the gas because he’s afraid of ruining his reputation. As the Doctor suggests, in this regard he comes across as a rather silly man, and he’s so bad tempered that he must be a nightmare to work for. The Chief notes that under normal situations he is excellent at his job, but as Van Lutyens retorts, “these are not normal circumstances”. Nevertheless, his descent into paranoia and breakdown is rather rapid even given the circumstances and he’s obviously got a chip on his shoulder when it comes to taking advice from Harris or Van Lutyens. Since Megan Jones does not seem like the sort of person to hand out jobs to her friends if she doesn’t genuinely think they are suited to the task however, this rather suggests that he has his good points. Indeed, this is hinted at early on when to Van Lutyens’ disbelief he manages to reduce the gas pressure and avert an explosion, suggesting that he does, as he claims, know every nut and bolt of the rigs and refinery. At the end of the story, with the weed gone, he also seems far more laid back than he did at the start and seems genuinely popular with his staff. Regardless of the character’s merits, Victor Maddern acts the part very convincingly, especially during the scenes with Megan Jones when his old friend comforts the tormented controller. He’s also very good during the scenes when Robson takes Victoria hostage, and later confronts the Doctor on the rig, conveying quiet menace and avoiding going over the top.

John Abineri, fully equipped with the most convincing foreign accent in Doctor Who to date, superbly portrays Van Lutyens. The character’s frustration with the stubborn Robson and his determination to deal with the crisis both come across well, and his ill-fated investigation of the base of the impeller demonstrates that he isn’t afraid to face the threat of the weed head on. He’s essentially rather likeable, attempting to be diplomatic with Robson, but otherwise seeming to easily earn the respect of Harris, the Chief, and even the Doctor. In much the same vein, Megan Jones is portrayed as a sensible authority figure, which is rather unusual in Doctor Who, as typified by the fact that she listens to the Doctor and quickly learns to trust him. The fact that she is female is, as noted, even more unusual for this era. 

Unusually, I find that the Doctor benefits here from being able to get to the TARDIS half way through, when he examines a sample of the weed. Very often, the Doctor is separated from the TARDIS to stop him from being able to escape; the fact that he can reach it here emphasizes the fact that he doesn’t matter whether he can escape or not, because he won’t whilst people are in danger. Troughton is particularly good at conveying a feeling of quiet strength and compassion, and he’s never more striking as the Doctor than when he’s wearing a quiet frown and determining how to defeat whatever threat he’s facing. His gentle handling of Victoria’s desire to leave is also thoroughly endearing. But Troughton also portrays the other aspects of the Doctor well, for example his alarm as he and Jamie are confronted by the rising tide of foam in the impeller shaft, and his obvious glee, even on audio, at getting the chance to pilot a helicopter. Jamie gets to show a more sensitive side than usual, as he is obviously heart-broken by Victoria’s desire to leave. His touching concern for her is demonstrated earlier too, when he finds her unconscious after Oak and Quill have dragged her away. His despondency as he and the Doctor wave goodbye to her on the TARDIS scanner always makes me wonder exactly how much he likes her… 

Victoria’s departure is very well handled. Having been repeatedly frightened during her travels in the TARDIS, especially when Varga kidnapped and bullied her, and after being held hostage by a possessed Professor Travers and a Yeti, her utter weariness at being afraid is thoroughly convincing. It is signposted throughout the story, as she bemoans the fact that the TARDIS always lands in trouble, and it makes for a much smoother departure than, for example, Ben and Polly’s abrupt spur-of-the-moment decision. Appropriately, she gets an important role in her final story, as her screams are the solution to the problem of the noise-sensitive weed, which is a nice touch given that she hasn’t really been of much help to the Doctor during the past two stories. I rather like the fact that after Victoria tells the Doctor and Jamie that she is staying with the Harrises they both stay overnight to say a proper farewell. Companion departures are generally rather hurried affairs, and it’s quite nice that, for a change, one of them gets to really say goodbye. And the Doctor quietly telling Jamie that he was fond of her too carries just as much emotion as Jamie’s more obvious unhappiness. 

Overall then, ‘Fury From the Deep’ is a great monster story, and a fine departure story for Victoria. It is an effective production and a fitting end to one of Doctor Who’s finest seasons. But unfortunately, ‘The Wheel in Space’ actually ends the season…

Coming at the end of Season Five, ‘The Wheel in Space’ ends the season not with a bang, but with a whimper. It is hard to believe that the man responsible for writing ‘The Power of the Daleks’, ‘The Evil of the Daleks’ and ‘The Enemy of the World’ is responsible for this, and it is tempting to lay the blame at the door of Kit Pedler, who provided the basic story. Unfortunately, some of the story’s deficiencies are script related, which rather undermines this theory. 

‘The Wheel in Space’ does some things right. For the most part, the characterisation is up to David Whitaker’s usual standard, with Gemma Corwyn and Leo Ryan standing out. Bill Duggan and Flanagan also come across well. Unfortunately, the major weak link is Jarvis Bennett, who is the archetypal unstable base commander. I could excuse Robson in ‘Fury From the Deep’, because it seemed as though he had reasonable leadership qualities under normal circumstances, but quite how Bennett got his job is beyond me. Firstly, there is his reaction to the Silver Carrier. Surely, blowing up seemingly abandoned spacecraft out of hand is not a good idea? For starters, if it really had wandered millions of miles off course, there might be something to be learned from trying to find out why exactly this has happened. Not to mention trying to recover any bodies from it, if only to find out what happened to the crew, about whom somebody somewhere must care. His justification for this pyromania is that the ship might at any time crash into the wheel, but if he’s worried about this, why doesn’t he have the crewmembers that he sends to rescue Jamie and the Doctor break into the locked control cabin and make sure that this isn’t going to happen? Because they’d discover the Cybermen and the rest of the plot would have to be rewritten, that’s why. Consequently, Jarvis is portrayed as an idiot who likes blowing things up, and thus not the sort of man that should be in charge of a remote space station. His later breakdown on learning of the Cybermen is also astronomically fast; the fact that the crew all have capsules implanted to detect mind control suggests that the crew’s training at least allows for the possibility of hostile action from some party or other, so his complete inability to even deal with the possibility is absurd. Frankly, Jarvis is an unnecessary plot contrivance. 

Would that Jarvis were the only problem with ‘The Wheel in Space’ however: the actions of the Cybermen are beyond belief. Their plot to gain control of the wheel is ridiculously over-complicated and raises the question of why they don’t just take it by force. After all, they can get Cybermats on board. And even if they couldn’t, they can destroy entire stars, so I find it hard to believe that the Wheel’s defenses pose a problem. The excuse given in the script is that they need to destroy the crew’s ability to send messages, but it’s a fairly flimsy excuse. Since their ship approaches whilst the laser is functioning, its defenses are presumably enough to protect it, had the Doctor not wired the time vector generator into the works, so they may as well have just attacked out right; I find it hard to believe that if they can blow up stars they can’t block transmissions from the Wheel. Why all the rubbish with the Bernalium rods when they need the Wheel’s laser to function? Why not just hijack the Silver Carrier, pilot it to the Wheel, send an automated distress signal, and take over the minds of the rescue party? Ironically, their preferred method would have caused them to be blown up if Jamie hadn’t unexpectedly been on board and able to send a signal to the Wheel. And then there is the aforementioned business with the star. Now I can suspend disbelief when watching Doctor Who, but even with only a basic grasp of astrophysics I can spot twaddle. As The Discontinuity Guide points out, blowing up a star in a different galaxy not only wouldn’t affect the Wheel that quickly, it wouldn’t affect it at all. Perhaps the Cybermen’s control device (which I’m going to refer to hereafter as the Cyber Co-ordinator) isn’t well schooled in the field either. Perhaps it’s taking the piss. That might explain why it gets the name of the Silver Carrier wrong…

There are other problems with ‘The Wheel in Space’. Bill Duggan sees a Cybermat and decides to dismiss it as a space bug. Now even assuming that he’s so stupid that he can’t see that it has obviously been built by someone, I find it astonishing that he just ignores it. It could be the space equivalent of a rat, or a locust. Surely it’s worth reporting? Just in case? The actual use of the Cybermen seems pointless, as for the first time they are truly reduced to the role of generic robots form outer space. This can work if the story is decent enough, but here it isn’t. Even the Doctor, who has met them at least three times, tells the crew that the Cybermen need the mineral treasures of Earth. Surely they need the human population of Earth? They’re Cybermen, it’s the whole point of them. A bad script and plot can sometimes be partly rescued by decent production values, but the production here is lacklustre to say the least. There are some nice aspects; the corridors in the Wheel are quite nicely designed to avoid looking generically functional, and the redesigned Cybermats look much more sleek and deadly than in ‘The Tomb of the Cybermen’. They also get to kill someone, which makes them seem dangerous for the first time, and their ability to fire some kind of invisible beam from their eyes works quite well. I also have a soft-spot for the bulbous Servo-robot too, although this is another plot contrivance; there is no actual reason why the Cybermen couldn’t just stay awake and pilot the rocket themselves (I know, their trying to conserve power but the robot clearly needs to be powered instead, so…), but if they had (a) Jamie and the Doctor would be real trouble in episode one, and (b) the cliff-hanger to episode two would be blown. The actual Cybermen however don’t really benefit from being redesigned. The teardrop shape cut into the eye sockets looks quite good, but the one in their mouths somehow makes them look like slack-jawed imbeciles. Which would actually fit in with their silly plan, I suppose. Their new voices are a bit weak and lack the impact of their predecessors, which seems unnecessary since the Co-ordinator actually retains the voice used for the Cybermen in ‘The Moonbase’ and ‘The Tomb of the Cybermen’. The space walk sequence doesn’t do them any favours either, as the actors involved appeared to have decided to make them look like ballet enthusiasts. 

The costumes of the Wheel personnel don’t look too bad. The model work varies; the Wheel is passable, the Silver Carrier is rubbish, and the Cyber ship is really rather good and avoids the cheap saucer designs of ‘The Tenth Planet’ and ‘The Moonbase’. Most of the sets on board the Silver Carrier and the Wheel are poor, and contrast strangely with the less-functional looking corridors I mentioned above. So amidst all this dross, is there anything good about ‘The Wheel in Space’?

Actually, yes. The plot device used to separate the Doctor and Jamie from the TARDIS (the time vector generator) is quite novel, although I find it hard to believe that after the trouble he had during ‘The Mutants’, the Doctor doesn’t keep spare stocks of mercury (as a lab worker, with knowledge of current safety regulations, it’s also quite funny to see a jar of mercury just sitting about on a bench in the Wheel – we aren’t even allowed to buy mercury thermometers anymore!). As usual in a Cyberman story initiated by Kit Pedler, there is a well-intentioned attempt to show international cooperation on board the Wheel, but this inevitably results in some dubious accents, most notably Chang’s. Troughton gets some lovely character moments, including his obvious guilt and distress when Leo Ryan tells him off for engendering Jamie and Zoe in episode six, and when he quietly talks the Cybermen in the same episode and then calmly electrocutes one of them. He’s also visibly affected by the death of Gemma Corwyn, for whom he quickly develops respect during the earlier part of the story. Jamie also gets to do more than just fight too, as he is forced to look after the concussed Doctor early on. He works out how to use the Time Vector Generator to signal for help, and also comes up with a cover story to explain why they were on board the rocket in the first place. Gemma sees straight through it of course, but he tries his best. And the fact that she realises that he is reluctantly lying says a great deal about his basically honest character. His rapidly developing friendship with Zoe is also convincingly scripted and acted and establishes the new companion team nicely. Zoe is initially rather irritating, but as she is forced to face up to the problems of her training and comes to realize that she needs to develop emotionally, she becomes a good choice for a companion. In stark contrast to Victoria, whom the Doctor took under his wing because she had nowhere else to go, Zoe is keen to join the Doctor on his travels, even after having encountered the Cybermen. This bodes well for the new TARDIS dynamic. 

Finally, despite the plot holes and the fact that it feels horribly padded, ‘The Wheel in Space’ does at least achieve an air of suspense from the moment that the TARDIS materialises on board the Silver Carrier. This is partly due to the unobtrusive but effective incidental score, but is largely due to the director making the most of a bad job. There are also one or two nice moments, my favourite being the vaguely pointless but visually effective sequence of the Cybermen “hatching” at the end of episode two (or rather, at the start of episode three, which is of course how I was able to see it!). Overall however, the good points of ‘The Wheel in Space’ don’t manage to outweigh the bad, and it proves to be a disappointing end to what is otherwise one of my favourite seasons in Doctor Who’s history.

“You will agree to being me… This side of madness or the other.”

Few Doctor Who stories have raised such wild passions for and against them as Kinda. Yes, I was one of those ten-year-olds who helped vote it bottom of Peter Davison’s first season for DWM back in 1982, largely through a vivid last memory of ‘that snake’; at the other end of the spectrum, some fans have announced that anyone who disagrees with their assertion that this is the best Who story ever is an emotional Nazi. I shall leave it to your own judgement any irony involved in people who use ‘Nazi’ to decry those whose precise tastes do not absolutely accord to theirs…

I started a re-evaluation of Kinda through my wobbly audio copy, in those days before video. The old wise woman’s “Wheel turns” speech was quite hypnotic, and so I gradually found myself thinking Kinda was rather interesting – despite one of Uncle Tewwance’s least lively books trying to convince me otherwise. Nowadays, with repeated video viewings, I’ll admit that I can’t see how I ever thought the story worse than Four to Doomsday or Time-Flight, and I’ve got a lot closer to the adoring end of the spectrum than the embarrassed end I used to sit at. But will I go all the way? Well, I don’t think so, though I’ll waver between eight and nine out of ten. Let me explain.

On the whole, Kinda is interesting and refreshing, one of the Who stories with the most ideas, married to one of the Who stories that looks most like a pop video. The Dark Places of the Inside are fantastically imagined and realised, and the ‘time’ sequence is hardly less impressive. Resonantly, the subversive ‘menaces’ of the trees, the ‘primitives’, Hindle, Dukkha and The Dark Places of the Inside or wherever, all combine tantalisingly to disrupt expectations and are carried off brilliantly. 

In the story’s second half, however, and especially after the main hallucinatory effects sequences end, the action-based director and thoughtful script start to work against each other (notably from the blown cliffhanger to part 3 on), particularly as the author’s ideas become less successful. The fourth episode is definitely the weakest, despite quite a strong scene with Hindle’s toy madness and Panna’s consciousness passing on to demonstrate that no-one actually dies in the story (albeit the three ones who went missing…?). Studio floors, technobabble and ‘that snake’ summing up a glib and dull resolution – not to mention interminable Adric / Tegan bitching scenes - make it a curiously uninventive and unimpressive ending. This story is probably best watched as a whole, rather than an episodic let-down. 

I’ve recently taken to watching Who again on an episodic basis. Yes, that’s right – as god intended! As you might expect, with all stories written that way, most of them work much better that way. And it’s become clear that a key reason so many of us disliked Kinda on first watching – other than the shame of (all together now) “that snake” at school the next day – was that this story didn’t. For a few stories where not all the episodes work, the resolution is the killer. Watch a rather good story with a poor part 4 (Paradise Towers or The Creature From the Pit spring to mind to tease you with, or perhaps The Leisure Hive if you want one that fewer people hate so much), and it’s plain that only watching ‘the bad bit’ in one sitting leaves you with a nasty taste in your mouth that wouldn’t be so strong if you’d watched it as a ‘movie’. Watch Kinda episodically, rather than all of a bundle as video encourages you to, and it’s striking that it wasn’t just the increasing sophistication of the viewing fans that has led to Kinda’s shocking turnaround. It was the ‘poor part 4’ effect at work in a devastating way when we first watched it.

Oddly, watching Kinda episodically, I’m also struck that it isn’t a Tegan story at all – more of an Adric story. He has quite a lot to do throughout the whole story (though achieving little, at least he only pretends to side with the villain this time. Clearly Hindle responds to another boy to play with), while her strong role in the first two parts vanishes almost completely later. She is superb when oppressed and then possessed by Dukkha (though an effective ‘rape’ scene apparently unlocking her sensuality is an unpleasantly disturbing message), but her appearance in part 3 is just that. Aris merely steps over her unconscious body at one point, and she neither moves nor speaks in a ‘blink and you’ll miss her’ cameo. As all the companions are buried way down in the cast list to start with, it seems particularly unfair on Matthew Waterhouse that he still gets later (and shared) billing than Janet Fielding for part 3, and that Sarah Sutton gets no billing at all for the middle episodes.

My other reason for recently re-evaluating Kinda is that I’ve now read the book that’s said to be one of its main sources, Ursula Le Guin’s The Word for World is Forest. Now, this isn’t a story that can simply be explained by reference to any one of the mountain of references it makes, whether Judaeo-Christian Garden of Eden symbolism, Buddhist analogies or Vietnam-era sci-fi. However, as the Buddhism’s been written about in great detail, I found comparisons with Le Guin’s book intriguing, and they helped crystallise why I don’t think Kinda is quite as clever as many take it to be – or quite as enjoyable.

Despite some clear similarities in the setup, including a sophisticated sexual division of labour in the ‘primitives’, idiot (‘insane’) colonial military leavened by a sympathetic anthropologist, and dreaming, sophisticated ‘primitives’ (as well as blatant nods like Planet S14 in Kinda for World 41 in the book, Aris’ captive brother for Selver’s enslaved and murdered wife, or ILF – ‘Intelligent Life Form’ – for ‘hilf’ – ‘High Intelligence Life Form’), the story itself has remarkably little in common with The Word For World is Forest. Quite funny that the villain of the book is Captain Davidson, though, as it’s of course the Doctor who enables the snake to enter Eden! Kinda is far less successful in getting across an idea of the local people as sophisticated – with the dubious exception of Panna and the double helix jewellery, it’s merely told, rather than shown. How do they have access to molecular biology? On the face of it, nicking the necklaces from an alien spaceship crashed in the jungle would be more logical an explanation. Shouldn’t we have had some shared dreaming, or something to put the Box of Jhana in context? Instead, *these* ‘primitives’ are really telepathic, which even the Mara correctly notes is a very boring way to communicate. 

Instead of evidence of intelligent thought, the Kinda (surely everyone in this story bar the Doctor, Todd and Panna are just that – ‘children’?) follow Aris like sheep, and flee after a ludicrous attack on the Dome using a TSS-style ‘wicker man’ (instead, Selver’s attacks on the Terrans use their own bombs against them, as well as showing the lethal effectiveness of ‘primitive’ weapons. The Kinda merely appear stupid). Of course, the whole effect is engineered by the Mara to bring about their misery, but instead of a powerful, co-dependent, co-defending (“the dreaming of an unshared mind”) group intelligence, they merely combine into a herd. This is especially obvious in contrast with Aris and Panna / Karuna, who are intelligent and resourceful because they are individuals. The extremely collectivist ideological slant of the story is objectionable both because it isn’t to my personal taste anyway, and because the author’s clear wish to impose it on us has not led him to consider whether it works – in the context of the story, it doesn’t, and it fails even to make an attractive case. It seems not only philosophically disagreeable, but artistically unsuccessful. 

The message that progress is horrid and only leads to destruction, and that people are much better off as happy sheep, is despairingly poor. Even the ‘dangers of progress and exploration’ message of The Green Death, for example (which I rather like), is leavened by the saving grace of individuality. Even that other anti-questioning Buddhist parable, Planet of the Spiders, notices the danger of not having a mind of your own as well as of unrestrained ego. Again unlike The Word For World is Forest, which shows the destructive effect of progress on the Athshean culture, Kinda is a zero-sum game – there has been no effect on the tribe by the end; again, intelligent life is changed by experience, while the Kinda appear like drones. 

Perhaps Christopher Bailey should have read the author’s Introductions to The Word for World is Forest. Le Guin talks of art as the pursuit of liberty, ‘escapist’ from reality into the freedom of imagination. She also warns of the power an artist has over their characters leaching into desire for the power to influence other people. “The desire for power, in the sense of power over others, is what pulls most people off the path of the pursuit of liberty,” she warns, and notes that when artists believe they can do good to other people, they forget about liberty and start to preach. Bailey has failed to heed her warning, and has been “inextricably confusing ideas with opinions”.

‘The Keys of Marinus’ is, in my opinion, the first disappointment in Doctor Who. This is largely because it has enormous promise, which it almost completely fails to live up to. Essentially, ‘The Keys of Marinus’ is a quest. It’s been described in The Discontinuity Guide as a B-movie plot and it is, but the thing it most reminds of is those Fighting Fantasy Adventure gamebooks that Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone made popular. ‘The Keys of Marinus’ has a quest for lost keys, during which our heroes must overcome monsters (the Morphos), traps (in Darrius’s ruined fortress), wolves and icy tunnels, and even (after a fashion) the undead. Consequently, there is little time for plot development, as the TARDIS crew is whisked from place to place on an episodic basis. And therein lies the real shame, because Marinus is actually one of the most interesting alien planets featured in Doctor Who. The reason I say this is simple – Marinus has different races of men, different cities, different environments, and different types of flora and fauna. How many planets in science fiction series end up being represented by one city and a stock set? How many, like Earth, are actually shown to be complex societies with different power blocks, races and religions? The answer I think is very few, even in Doctor Who and especially in, for example, Star Trek. This is usually because of time and budgetary constraints, but occasionally, it really grates. Marinus avoids this, but fails to exploit this advantage. We see the city of Morphoton, and its ghastly ruling brains, but we learn almost nothing about how they managed to take over in the first place. We see men frozen in ice reanimated to protect one of the keys, but get no explanation as to how this is achieved – they act like zombies for the most part, but one of them screams horribly when he falls down a crevasse. And then there are the Voords.

We learn almost nothing of the Voords. They are often referred to as “the alien Voord” presumably because of the blurb on the back cover of the Target Novelisation, but as far as I can tell, they are actually another race of the humanoid population of Marinus. All we know about them is that Yartek is well over one thousand years old, but then in episode six it is suggested that Arbitan invented the Conscience, so he’s two thousand years old, which doesn’t support Yartek being a different species. Also in episode six, Stephen Dartnell’s very human eyes and mouth can be seen through Yartek’s mask, which is probably unintentional, but doesn’t lend credence to the alien Voords theory. In fact, the only tenuous evidence is that Yartek at one point refers to the other Voords as his creatures, but that could mean several things. 

The other main issue I take with ‘The Keys of Marinus’ is to do with the Conscience, which is basically a brain washing machine. With his increasing moral stance following the events of the first three Doctor Who stories, much could have been made of this, especially since he only agrees to collect the keys under duress, when he and his companions are denied access to the TARDIS. Instead, we get a warm and fuzzy feeling towards Arbitan as soon as the travelers are ready to return to his island, and a throwaway line from the Doctor about man not being meant to be controlled by machines. 

We also have the first big plot-hole in Doctor Who, in episode two – Barbara, arriving in the City of Morphoton seconds before the others, somehow has time to have a dress made, get to know Altos, and learn about the city. This is a pretty gaping flaw. 

Despite all of this, I can’t totally condemn ‘The Keys of Marinus’ – it has redeeming features. Firstly, the regulars really give it their all, resulting in convincing acting throughout (and thus making up for Arbitan’s gurning in episode one). Susan, who I have always loathed, is actually fairing better during my Who marathon than I would have expected from memory – here she still has bouts of irritating hysteria, but is brave enough to struggle across the ice bridge to save herself and her friends, although she is admittedly galvanized into doing so by the threat of the ice soldiers. Later, when she is held prisoner in Millennius, she looks terrified, but manages not to turn into a complete gibbering wreck. The Doctor comes over very well in ‘The Keys of Marinus’ – we saw the TARDIS crew acting like a team in ‘Marco Polo’, but here he really shows how much he has come to like Ian and Barbara, entrusting Susan to their care without hesitation, and showing real concern when he is trying to overturn the charges against Ian. The scenes in Millennius are generally pretty good, with sound acting from all concerned and a reasonable plot, although the unmasking of the real criminals does depend on stupidity on their behalf, falling for bluffs and giving themselves away through verbal slips – something of a clichй. Ian and Barbara also get yet another chance to shine, due to Hartnell’s absence during episodes three and four – Ian is at his most resourceful, and Barbara also demonstrates courage, especially in light of the rather disturbing hint that Vasor intends to rape her. Interestingly, she notes at one point that Ian treats her like Dresden China and she finds it annoying, but notice how she smiles gently after him as she says this, and contrast it with her genuine annoyance in ‘The Daleks’ when Ganatus asks her if she always does what Ian tells her to. This is a clear sign that they are getting closer. 

Overall, the part of me that used to like Fighting Fantasy books does still quite like ‘The Keys of Marinus’, and I can’t totally condemn it. Sadly, I can’t totally recommend it either, but it passes quite quickly and is, for the most part, an enjoyable if lightweight romp. But the lost potential really frustrates me, and if any authors out there fancy writing a sequel, which revisits Marinus, I for one would buy it.

Speaking in terms of production, The Keys of Marinus is quite a weak effort compared with those stories around it. In terms of ideas it is interesting, claustrophobic in parts and thought provoking in others. This is a story with potential, but as sporting commentators tell us potential can sometimes be an excuse for poor performance - and this is the case with The Keys of Marinus.

The story itself is broken into five parts - each part a story within a story. The first part (Episode 1), concerning how the Doctor and friends end up on the quest for the Keys of Marinus, is the worst episode I have viewed so far (sequentially speaking). However, the pace picks up as the travellers head to Morphoton to recover the first key. Interesting concept here - a device (the mesmeron) is used by the cities elders to subjugate their population by showing them their world, and their lives, as it really isn't. These elders have themselves been reduced to brains living in tanks and are sustained by a complex life support system. On television, this sequence almost works and is, in certain aspects, frighteningly convincing - until Barbara kills the elders and destroys the mesmeron with a few weak swings of a wooden rod.

The next two sequences are well structured and, in spite of the absence of the Doctor, hang together well on television. The Screaming Jungle concept is good science fiction, despite some over-acting from Jacqueline Hill. The 'lost on the mountain' sequence still makes strong, claustrophobic television, particularly the latent sexuality of Vasor the trapper's heel turn and stalking of Barbara.

The City of Millenius (called Millenium in the novelisation) episodes again provoke some thought - a legal system in complete opposition to those used by Western Nations today. The onus of proof is on the defendant, rather than the prosecutor - in other words, guilty until proven innocent. Another almost convincing idea - let down by a basic 'murder-mystery' plot a child could solve before its obvious conclusion is played out.

The acting of William Russell is, once again, a pleasure to watch in this story. He tries as best as he can to make the cringeful unconvincing look as convincing as it can in these early stories.

In terms of history, this was only the second story to be set on an alien planet - and the second to introduce alien races. Terry Nation tries valiantly to make Marinus very alien - seas of acid, beaches of glass - and give his world a history in the same way he did for Skaro. The 'Conscience Machine' idea is also great science fiction. But the visual delivery does little justice to these ideas - it suffers from a symptom of its time, there was only so much that could be done in a technological sense in 1963-64 - some of the sets look great - other not so great.

That said, I expected this story would provide an excellent opportunity for the novelist to give Terry Nation's script some new life and vision with its wealth of ideas, concepts and aspects to explore and expand. I was sadly disappointed. Philip Hinchliffe passes over the opportunity to write a classic novel (which Nation's ideas present him with) and instead delivers Terrance Dicks style play-by-play account of the television story - and I think even Dicks would have done a better job of novelisation this story. Hinchliffe himself has admitted he did not really want to write this story nor did he enjoy the experience and I think it shows. I have not read a positive review of the novelisation of The Keys of Marinus and I'm not going to be a trendsetter. There is little character development, particularly of the Voord - are they natives to Marinus or aliens? Is there something inside the suit or is that their skin? Ambiguities like this aren't even addressed let alone mentioned. Description is minimal - and the narrative is copied almost word for word from the script. There are a few cringe moments too thrown in for good measure.

This story had definite potential, however I think it is an 'honourable loss' in both visual and print media (to coin another sporting phrase). Perhaps one day new novelisations of the television stories will be produced in the fashion of the EDA/PDA's we know today. If that happens, The Keys of Marinus may finally reach its full potential.

IпїЅd forgotten how good пїЅThe AztecsпїЅ is. The production values are generally excellent, with both costumes and sets being detailed, impressive and convincing (the odd painted backdrop not withstanding). In fact, they are so good, that they only add insult to the injury of the loss of пїЅMarco PoloпїЅ. So drawn into the story was I that at almost no point did I actually think, пїЅhmm, nice setпїЅ whilst I was watching it пїЅ I believed that the Doctor was in a garden, that Ian was in that tunnel, and the TARDIS was in a tomb. But as good as the production values are, it is the scripting and acting that really makes пїЅThe AztecsпїЅ shine. 

The Doctor is superb here; his accidental engagement to Cameca is at first just funny, especially when he first mentions it to Ian. It becomes touching however, when it becomes clear that he has grown genuinely fond of her, taking delight in her company, and seeming sad to take his leave of her. She in turn shows her worth by helping the Doctor and his companions to escape, despite the heartache it causes her, and the final scene in the tomb, when the Doctor leaves the brooch she gave him on YetaxaпїЅs sarcophagus only to change his mind and pocket it, shows that she has made enough of an impression on him for him to want to remember her. We are again reminded of just how much the Doctor has mellowed since пїЅ100,000BCпїЅ, as he sympathizes with BarbaraпїЅs inability to save the Aztecs and also as he shows genuine panic as Ixta traps Ian in the tunnel from the garden to the tomb. The scene in which he tells Barbara that even though she couldnпїЅt save the Aztecs she perhaps saved one man is quite moving, and clearly demonstrates his concern for her. He also shows his determination and cunning once again, as he comes up with the pulley that they use to regain entrance to the tomb and thus the TARDIS, and he aids Ixta by improvising a sleeping drug from plants in the garden. In spite of their plight, he still seems to be having fun whenever he is challenged. Another memorable aspect of пїЅThe AztecsпїЅ is his stern warning to Barbara not to try and tamper with history. This is particularly noteworthy considering that it will be subsequently shown in the programme that time travelers can change history, but that the consequences can be dangerous; here the Doctor merely flat out states that it is impossible to change history, suggesting that he is unwilling to explain why it should not be attempted. Indeed, as the travelers leave Mexico, he explains to Barbara that TlotoxlпїЅs victory was inevitable, which seems to me to be a lie designed to ward off further such attempts should the TARDIS materialize again in EarthпїЅs past. His own care in not tampering with history is demonstrated, as he is careful to take the pulley wheel with them, since the Aztecs never invented the wheel.

Susan doesnпїЅt get much to do in пїЅThe AztecsпїЅ, but actually demonstrates some resolve in her flat-out and dangerous (though perfectly understandable) refusal to marry the Perfect Victim. Annoyingly however, she once more assails us with shrill and hysterical screams when she overhears the news of the sacrifice in episode one. Again, this is understandable, but her screams still grate on me. Ian on the other hand continues to prove his valour, facing Ixta without fear, even during battles to the death. From the start of the series, he has shown remarkable courage and resourcefulness and this continues here. Notice his grim look when Ixta tells him that they shall have one last encounter, as he replies, пїЅyesпїЅ a final oneпїЅ. He clearly is not going to roll over for anyone, even when facing a trained Aztec warrior with an obvious bloodlust. And as with the Doctor, he clearly seems to be having fun. Ultimately however, пїЅThe AztecsпїЅ is BarbaraпїЅs story.

From the moment she poses as the reincarnation of Yetaxa, Barbara shines throughout this story. She is quick thinking and resourceful, frequently outwitting Tlotoxl, and her determination to change Aztec civilization even in the face of the DoctorпїЅs warnings gives her strength and resolve throughout. Whenever Tlotoxl gains the upper hand, as when he arranges to have Susan publicly scourged, rather than give in to panic, she tries to find a way round the problem. When Tlotoxl and Tonila try to poison her, she admits to Tlotoxl that she is not a god, but stands her ground anyway and challenges him to expose her without losing credibility. SheпїЅs impressive, and she easily acts the part of Yetaxa, every inch the imperious goddess. Her very personal rivalry with Tlotoxl is possibly her finest moment in the series. 

The supporting characters are also well portrayed, from the sensitive Cameca to the imposing Perfect Victim and the toadying, indecisive Tonila. The wise and gentle Autloc, BarbaraпїЅs closest ally amongst the Aztecs, is clearly set apart from his fellows, surprised by SusanпїЅs refusal to marry, but also doing his best to spare her pain. The look on his face when Susan calls him and his people monsters is one of hurt and this almost certainly helps to reinforce his changing views in light of BarbaraпїЅs conviction that sacrifice is wrong. His eventual departure into the wilderness in search of truth is BarbaraпїЅs one success in her failed attempt to save the Aztecs, symbolized by his acceptance that perhaps the gods do not require sacrifice after all. In short, he is the individual who seeks answers within through careful thought, rather than blind acceptance of tradition. Then there is Ixta, a vicious, cruel bully whose hatred for Ian sits side by side with his smugness when he manages to beat him. He is a picture of brutal, animal cunning, ruthless in his desire for victory. His death serves as a victory of sorts for the TARDIS crew пїЅ Ian defeats his rival, despite IxtaпїЅs determination to survive, and this and AutlocпїЅs awakening allows them to leave with a feeling of triumph, for the viewer of for nobody else. Because ultimately, the Doctor and his companions donпїЅt triumph here пїЅ Tlotoxl does.

Tlotoxl steals the show. John RinghamпїЅs Richard the Third turn gives us a masterly villain, easily as memorable as Tegana. He is a scheming and manipulative, determined to prove Barbara false and ultimately successful. As Ian points out, it is Autloc who is the exception to Aztec rule, not Tlotoxl пїЅ he succeeds with both sacrifices BarbaraпїЅs attempts to stop them. The victim at the end of episode one commits suicide when пїЅYetaxaпїЅ intervenes, and the Perfect Victim throughout the story progresses serenely towards his death, considering it an honour. TlotoxlпїЅs glee as he tricks Barbara into accepting SusanпїЅs punishment is marvelous to watch and his toothy smile whenever he has the upper hand is thoroughly machiavellian. In the end, he wins; Ixta may die, and Autloc may be saved, but as the door to YetaxaпїЅs tomb closes for the final time, he plunges his knife into the Perfect VictimпїЅs chest in supplication to his god, leaving a morose Barbara to ponder on her failure. 

As one of the few surviving intact examples, пїЅThe AztecsпїЅ is a fine instance of the Doctor Who historical stories. The Discontinuity Guide compares it to Shakespeare in terms of tone and feel, and I think this is a fair comparison. It is certainly an excellent choice to be the first Hartnell DVD.