It is said by some that an infinite amount of monkeys with an infinite amount of typewriters will eventually reproduce the complete works of Shakespeare; one can only guess therefore at how few monkeys with how few typewriters it would take to reproduce 'The Trial of a Time Lord' Episodes Five to Eight, also known as 'Mindwarp'. I'd been rather enjoying 'The Trail of a Time Lord' on this reviewing, until I was forced to sit through this tripe, which is to Season Twenty-Three what a cheese-grater is to a penis. 

Before I launch into an attack on the main body of this dross, I'll discuss the overall impact it has on the actual trial. In this regard, it actually has some merit; the decision by the Time Lords to remove the Doctor from time and space at the critical moment that they choose, and their rather dubious reasons for doing so (that Crozier's experiments pose a threat to the future of evolution throughout the universe) adds to the growing suspicion that they have an ulterior motive for placing the Doctor on trial. Indeed, the end of Episode Eight sees a furious Doctor announcing, "No, there's something else going on here… I was taken out of time for another reason and I have every intention of finding out what it is". As the Valeyard's assault on the Doctor becomes ever more vicious, it also becomes even clearer that his real motivation runs far deeper than a desire for justice, and the realization by the Doctor that the evidence presented by the supposedly infallible Matrix is being tampered with adds further intrigue. 

In addition to the plot developments, both Jayston and Baker continue to impress in the trial segments, and whilst Baker is often accused of being particularly hammy in Season Twenty-Three, I still like his Doctor here. The look of relief on his face at the start of Episode Eight when the Valeyard tells him that Peri is still alive is impressively performed and of course has extra poignancy with foreknowledge of Peri's apparent demise. Baker also conveys anger well during the episode's climax, as noted above. Unfortunately however, there are two problems with the trial segments during these episodes; the first is that Philip Martin's diabolical script extends to the courtroom, with lines as bad as "This is… not a debating society for maladjusted psychotic sociopaths", and the Valeyard's embarrassing description of the next piece of evidence as the Doctor's latest "frightening adventure". Worst still, the trial scenes become deeply intrusive here, distracting from the action on Thoros-Beta (hang on, what am I saying? This can only be a good thing, surely?). By the time that the Doctor and Peri enter the caves and have been attacked by the Raak, there have already been three trial scenes. And there's another straight after the Raak's death. 

Anyway, onto 'Mindwarp' itself. There are many promising elements in 'Mindwarp'; with sea-monsters augmented so that they can operate machinery, a wolf-man who cries for help, and the notion of brain transplantation against the body donor's wishes, the potential body horror here could rival that of 'Revelation of the Daleks' and more appropriately, 'The Brain of Morbius'. Unfortunately, after the eighteen-month hiatus, Doctor Who had its teeth pulled, and what we actually get is a gaudy sub-pantomime runaround. Fans of this story might point out that 'The Horns of Nimon' is a gaudy sub-pantomime runaround and that I like that, but 'The Horns of Nimon' is amusing whereas this is just facile. It doesn't help that the plot is actually very slight and there is bugger all else to compensate; everyone spends four episodes either working to save Kiv, or chasing up and down corridors, and it's always a bad sign when what is effectively a four-episode story drags interminably. 

The weak plot is undermined still further by the diabolic script. It's hard to believe that Philip Martin would follow the excellent 'Vengeance on Varos' with such tepid scribbling, unless I suppose you've read the almost unbelievably silly 'Mission to Magnus', in which case you might just conclude that Martin is the Doctor Who writer equivalent of a one-hit wonder. The jury's out until I hear Big Finish's 'The Creed of the Kromon', but it's not currently looking good for Martin. In addition to the crass dialogue that blights the courtroom scenes, here we get lines such as "nobody likes brain alteration" and "stop gyrating your throat". And of course almost every piece of scripted dialogue that Yrcanos gets, but I'll come to that later on.

What can salvage is a slight plot is decent characterisation complemented by good acting. Sadly, there is little of either here. The Doctor's apparent treachery throughout Episodes Six and Seven might be intriguing, were it not for the fact that Colin Baker delivers his worst performance in the role to date, and here he really is hammy. He delivers the line "Now I'm just like you Sil" with an painfully exaggerated grin, and his brutal interrogation of Peri, which could have been disturbing, is actually so embarrassing that, in defiance of all probability, it makes me fondly yearn for 'The Twin Dilemma'. Then there's Sil. It's hard to believe that the character who was so effective in 'Vengeance on Varos' is here reduced to mere comic relief, and it's doubly unfortunate since 'Mindwarp' is about as amusing as receiving bill from the Inland Revenue. His sadistic gloating over the Doctor at the end of Episode Five is rather good, but aside from that he does nothing except kiss Kiv's arse and deliver witless lines, and although Nabil Shaban seems to be enjoying himself, I find that I am not. And the redesigned costume he gets is a bit crap too. 

Elsewhere in the acting stakes, we are presented with the really rather discomforting fact that in a story filled with silent black slaves, every non-white actor cast here is really, really bad. Trevor Laird's Frax and Alibe Parsons' Matrona Kari are both incredibly wooden, whilst Gordon Warnecke's Tuza is merely trying far too hard. Meanwhile, Patrick Ryecart is often praised for his dignified portrayal of Crozier, but he's far too laid back to be convincing, except during Episode Eight when he rants about how he has discovered the secret of immortality, at which point he delivers his lines in such a way that he sounds like he's gargling with shit. Which considering the script, is in a sense true I suppose. It also doesn't help that silliness surrounds his character; he's the most unconvincing surgeon ever, as he sips tea in the middle of operations, and allows his clearly confused patient to attend business meetings minutes after having brain surgery. It also strikes me as a bit of a leap from brain transplants to mind transference, although as they are both currently the stuff of science fiction I perhaps shouldn't quibble. 

Fortunately, Nicola Bryant does reasonably well out her final story, forced to strike out on her own once the Doctor seemingly betrays her, and she gets some great moments such as when she knees Frax in the groin and of course her constant placating of Yrcanos. Bryant also does well with Peri's death scene (I'll talk about massive cop-outs when I get to Episodes Thirteen and Fourteen in case anyone is wondering), managing to seem reasonably sinister once Kiv takes up residence in her body, and seeming genuinely frightened as Crozier and Matrona Kari prepare her for the operation beforehand. She even manages to come out of the dire scene in which she teaches Yrcanos about love without too much embarrassment. Which brings me, inevitably, to Brian Blessed. 

Brian Blessed is a great actor. I know this, because I've seen the Avengers episode 'The Superlative Seven'. Unfortunately since appearing as Richard IV in Blackadder, he's been typecast as an over-the-top, shouting, eye-rolling buffoon. Which is exactly how he plays Yrcanos in 'Mindwarp'. So astonishingly hammy is Blessed here that he makes me remember Stephen Thorne with fondness, as he bellows his way through a script that has him uttering such verbal diarrhoea as "Vroomnik!" and "Slugs!" at every opportunity. Amusingly, Peri at one point tells Yrcanos that he'd like Earth because it is full of "lots of actors playing over the top" (incidentally, for some reason Peri's introduction of herself as "Perpugilliam of the Brown" always puts me in mind of the South Park episode in which the kids discover the fabled "brown note"). Every time Blessed flares his eyes and nostrils, I cringe, and every time he grabs somebody's lapels and shakes them I, erm, also cringe. It is a truly horrendous performance that must rank amongst the worst in the series' history. 

As for the production, the fact that director Ron Jones fails to elicit any decent performances from his actors whatsoever tells you all you need to know. On the other hand, the sets are quite well designed and I also rather like Richard Hartley's incidentally score, which often seems to get panned by critics, although, as with Glynn's score for 'The Mysterious Planet', it frequently becomes intrusive. There isn't anything else really worth mentioning, except the hideous costumes. It's a sign of how tacky things are that Matroni Kari, an assistant during a surgical procedure, is dressed as a cheap hooker. But then I suppose this is appropriate to the story really; rather like the special effects used to colour the surface of Thoros-Beta, 'Mindwarp' is crass, tacky and a complete waste of time and money.

After twelve episodes, 'The Trial of a Time Lord' finally concludes with Episodes Thirteen and Fourteen, also known as 'The Ultimate Foe'. Finally, the real reasons for the Doctor being placed trial, hinted at throughout, are revealed, as is the Valeyard's motivation for wanting him dead. And considering the production nightmare that plagued this finale, the fact that it works reasonably well is frankly astonishing…

Robert Holmes' final episode for Doctor Who doesn't quite achieve the classic status of much of his work, but is still nevertheless a worthy departure, albeit one cut short by his tragic death. The various hints that the Time Lords had ulterior motives for taking the Doctor out of time and placing him on trial bear fruit, as it is revealed that the corrupt High Council are seeking to cover up an atrocity committed in order to protect their own interests; dragging Earth light years across space and renaming it Ravalox in order to conceal secrets stolen from the Matrix by the Andromedans and almost wiping out the planet's inhabitants in the process. Finally, the censorship of segments of the evidence in 'The Mysterious Planet' and the Doctor's assertion that other evidence has been distorted makes sense, as Holmes' revisits his version of the Time Lord society from 'The Deadly Assassin', revealing that "the oldest civilization" is "decadent, degenerate, and rotten to the core", a collection of corrupt politicians who will stop at nothing to safeguard their own power base. 

More dramatically however, we also finally discover the true motivation behind the Valeyard's obvious desire to see the Doctor dead. The revelation that he is a distillation of all that is evil in the Doctor, and that he wants take the Doctor's remaining lives so that he can gain independent corporeal existence free from his better side is a startling development and one which is undoubtedly memorable with both fans who like the idea and those who do not. The concept of a "dark Doctor" would be revisited during Sylvester McCoy's tenure in the role, again more obviously during the New Adventures, and yet again more recently in Big Finish's Doctor Who Unbound series, but it is worth remembering that this is the first time the concept was really explored since the First Doctor gradually shook off the trappings of an anti-hero back in Season One. Jayston's performance makes it work especially well, and the script makes it work too; the choice of the Doctor's dark side as an ally in their attempt to dispose of the Doctor and thus reduce the chances of the Ravalox affair being discovered by the High Council makes sense given the Doctor's resourcefulness, since they are in effect recruiting the Doctor to defeat himself. And it nearly works, but for an unlikely intervention in Episode Thirteen.

'The Ultimate Foe' is the third and final time that Robert Holmes would write for the Master, and the only occasion on which he would write for the Anthony Ainley incarnation. Although Ainley tends to ham up the role (allegedly on instructions from John Nathan-Turner), watching the series in order has forced me to accept the fact that I'm usually pleased to see him in spite of this, or perhaps even because of it. I rather like the idea that the Doctor is facing a death sentence with no means of escape until his arch-enemy reveals himself in order to put a spanner in the works, and I love his reasons for doing so; the fact that the Master is unprepared to countenance a rival in his long running feud with the Doctor harks back to the Pertwee era, and the master's seeming need to impress his old foe. Perhaps more significant is the implication in Episode Fourteen however that the Master really has cause to fear a version of the Doctor unfettered by moral scruples; the Doctor has after all defeated the Master on numerous occasions and occasionally spared or saved his life in the process, but the Valeyard would hardly be so generous… Despite as usually grinning like a Cheshire Cat on numerous occasions, Ainley is quite good here, conveying the impression that the Master is genuinely flattered when Mel describes him as "utterly evil", which is deeply silly but an amusing nod to the character's essential shallowness. 

With the Valeyard's true nature thus exposed, the story changes gear as the Doctor pursues him into the Matrix, and Holmes' revisits the surreal dreamscape concept of 'The Deadly Assassin' to good effect, with nothing as it seems. There is a surreal creepiness to proceedings, such as the eerie singing of children in the background, and the cliffhanger ending to Episode Thirteen as the Doctor is pulled into the sand by clutching hands is a memorable image, for once justifying a close-up of Baker's face. Dominic Glynn's incidental score helps considerably in creating this atmosphere. Holmes' old skill at characterisation also becomes evident one final time in the shape of Mr. Popplewick. Geoffrey Hughes is perfectly cast as this pompous, stuffy living embodiment of bureaucracy, and he provides an opportunity for some amusing lines that poke fun at such bureaucracy, such as "The holy writ of order is procedure" and his defense of absurd regulations, as typified by his conversation with Glitz in Episode Thirteen. Having explained "the junior Mr. Popplewick is not permitted to expect anyone", his indignant reaction Glitz's entirely reasonable question "Why didn't you put him in the picture?" is of course, "And upset the procedure!?".

Another plus here is the return of Sabalom Glitz. Whilst I criticized Tony Selby's performance in 'The Mysterious Planet', he seems more assured in the role here, which benefits the character. Without Dibber (or a gun) to back him up, Glitz loses his edge somewhat and stands exposed as a bit of a coward, albeit a rather likeable one, and his constant switching of allegiances is rather amusing. He agrees to help the Doctor in Episode Thirteen because he's worried that the Valeyard intends to dispose of any witnesses to what is taking place, then when the Master provides sanctuary from the nerve gas in Episode Fourteen he rejoins his old business associate. He even briefly tries to suck up to the Valeyard at the start of Episode Fourteen, getting dismissed as an "oaf" and a "microbe" for his pains. But he isn't merely a buffoon; his willingness to betray the Doctor to Popplewick in Episode Fourteen for the sake of his wallet is a reminder that Glitz is inherently untrustworthy, and the Master's inability to hypnotize him is not entirely unimpressive. This particular scene is especially entertaining, as Glitz is more interested in the value of the "bauble" that the Master uses to try and hypnotize him forcing the Master to resort to simply bribery since it is more likely to appeal to Glitz's "crass soul". 

But despite all of these good points to 'The Ultimate Foe', it doesn't work quite as well as it should do. There are numerous minor failings: Holmes returning to the Doctor's habit from 'The Mysterious Planet' of making crap insults based on the Valeyard's title, here calling him "the railyard", betrays the patchwork nature of what is ultimately a single fourteen-episode story. The revelation that Peri did not die at the end of 'Mindwarp' but instead has been set up as a warrior queen by King Yrcanos is a massive cop-out akin to revealing that Adric managed to survive 'Earthshock' after all. Although I like the Doctor's impassioned ranting at the Time Lord's in Episode Thirteen (his famous "In all my travellings throughout the universe, I have battled against evil, against power-mad conspirators. I should have stayed at home!" speech), there are also some truly appalling lines of dialogue. Mel gets more than her fair share from Holmes, including "That's it Doc, now we're getting at the dirt" and "How utterly evil!", and even more when Pip and Jane Baker take over for Episode Fourteen as she gets to spout drivel like "Never mind the Sidney Carton heroics". The Valeyard gets to join in as well, with the cringe worthy but strangely memorable "There's nothing you can do to prevent the catharsis of spurious morality". And I should also mention James Bree's performance as the Keeper of the Matrix, an exercise in wooden acting that proves that he hasn't honed his art since his diabolical performance as the Security Chief way back in 'The War Games'. 

In addition to this, I'm suddenly forced to realize exactly why so many fans dislike Mel. Whilst I liked her in 'Terror of the Vervoids', she's simply awful here, partly because of the horrid dialogue Langford is given and partly because, with circumstances meaning that the character has less opportunity to enjoy herself here, Mel suddenly becomes shrill and irritating. Also, Langford's acting suddenly takes a nose-dive, a fact that is especially obvious when she has to deliver the line "the Doctor's convinced he has to sacrifice himself… and you're content to let him!". 

But above all, 'The Ultimate Foe' leaves me with a feeling of anticlimax. Episode Fourteen is perfectly serviceable, in that it wraps up the story line as well as introducing further developments. The Valeyard's intention to wipe out the court is perfectly consistent with his motivation, since he would hardly want witnesses left alive had he succeeded in taking the Doctor's remaining lives. Likewise, the revelation that in addition to trying to get the Doctor and the Valeyard to eliminate each other the Master is also making a play for power on Gallifrey is perfectly in character. The concept of the trial within a trial as the Valeyard creates a duplicate of the courtroom in the Matrix to try and trick the Doctor is a novel idea and also worthy of mention, although Chris Clough's unsubtle direction rather spoils it; the sinister background noises and Langford's ever-so-slightly suspicious performance are unnecessary and alert the viewer to the fact that something is wrong before we find out for certain, thus spoiling the surprise. The main problem with Episode Fourteen is that it somehow feels like a by-the-numbers attempt to finish the story off and tidy up, and it all falls a but flat. The Valeyard suddenly becomes a Master clone at the end, laughing maniacal, gloating, and explaining his plan. There is too much technobabble, with a "megabyte modem", "particle disseminator", and "limbo atrophier" and it all ends with a big explosion. The ending feels particularly tacky; I can buy the idea of the Inquisitor throwing the case out after the events of the last two episodes, but the suggestion that the Doctor runs for President is as ghastly here as it was when Flavia suggested it at the end of 'The Five Doctors'. Ultimately, the conclusion to 'The Trial of a Time Lord' feels adequate, but I can't help wishing that it felt spectacular. 

The Completely Useless Encyclopedia has an entry that reads "Carrot juice, carrot juice, vworp-vworp, carrot juice", and defines it as "famous last words". It's an unfortunate fact that whether or not 'The Trial of a Time Lord' is any good, the controversial sacking of Colin Baker means that he gets a fairly ignoble final scene, as he departs, under threat of exercise, with a slightly paradoxical companion (for anyone who cares, the obvious explanation for resolving this can be read in Pip and Jane Baker's novelisation of 'The Ultimate Foe', or the Missing Adventure 'Time of Your Life'). His tenure in the lead role is arguably the most controversial of any of the seven Doctors that appeared in the main run of series, and he departed under ignominious circumstances, with fandom divided to this day about whether or not he ever managed to make a good Doctor. Thirteen years later however, and with the advent of Big Finish, the redemption of the Sixth Doctor would begin…

The transition from the Sixth to Seventh Doctor feels more jarring when watching the series in sequence than it ever did on television; with no year long gap, the sudden and ignominious departure of Colin Baker means that for the first time a Doctor leaves without a proper regeneration story. Despite the circumstances surrounding Baker’s departure however, the fact remains that his replacement provided the opportunity to usher in a bold new era with a new actor in the title role. Whilst John Nathan-Turner remains as producer, Eric Saward’s replacement with new script-editor Andrew Cartmel also provided the opportunity for a fresh new start, as a new talent arises to make its mark on the series. New Doctor, new script-editor; and a right load of old wank is the result in the shape of ‘Time and the Rani’.

‘Time and the Rani’ does not start well. Since Colin Baker refused to return for a regeneration scene following his sacking, Nathan-Turner unwisely decides to take the ludicrous measure of having Sylvester McCoy lying on the TARDIS floor at the start in Baker’s costume and a wig that makes the Taran Beast from ‘The Androids of Tara’ look convincing. In a staggering display of directorial incompetence, when McCoy rolls over a garish special effect is used to bathe his face in golden light and thus try and disguise the fact that he is wearing a stupid wig. The result is a man with a golden face wearing a stupid wig. To add insult to injury, the best explanation that we get for the regeneration is that the Doctor, who has previously been forced to regenerate due to radiation poisoning, a fall from a great height and spectrox toxaemia is suddenly susceptible to slight blows to the head. Makes you realize how lucky he is not to have regenerated before, given the number of times he’s been knocked out by blows to the head, although I suppose that at least would have made the series end many years earlier and perhaps spared us this drivel. A wiser director would have simply had McCoy lying on the floor in Baker’s costume having already regenerated off camera, but instead we are graced with a sequence that is about as welcome as a turd in a water tank.

I should lay my cards on the table and this point and say that I think Sylverster McCoy is the weakest actor to have played the Doctor in the television series to date; notoriously for example, he has trouble conveying certain emotions convincingly (more on that in future reviews). He does however, have an energy and charisma that I find works tremendously well, and as his era progresses and he settles into the role, he becomes, for the most part, a highly effective Doctor. Unfortunately, however, he is faced with several problems here, the main one being that Pip and Jane Baker were told sod all about how the character was going to be played, and therefore improvised. Improvisation by the Bakers seemingly takes the form of mixed metaphors, one of the few distinguishing features of the Seventh Doctor that is displayed here, and one that only lasts for this story on television. In all fairness, some of them are quite funny; I especially like “A bad workman always blames his fools”, and “Where there’s a will…” “…there’s a beneficiary!”, but the endless string of such uninspired examples as “Absence makes the nose grow longer”, “Here’s a turn-up for the cook”, “There’s none so deaf as those who clutch at straws”, “A bull in a barber-shop” and “Fit as a trombone” quickly become profoundly irritating. Nor does it inspire confidence that McCoy’s first lines when he wakes up in the Rani’s laboratory are delivered in an incredibly over the top manner, and are immediately followed by an unconvincing pratfall.

McCoy however can hardly be blamed for some of his shortcomings here. Were I to assemble the finest actors in the history of theatre, film and television, I doubt very much that even they would be able to cope with the script provided here. Had fate been kinder, the production would, on receiving the Bakers’ scripts, not only have burnt them, they would have sent someone round to the Bakers’ house to impound their typewriter and subsequently taken out a court injunction to prevent them from ever working on the series again (which, mercifully, they never did). As I’ve noted in the past, both ‘The Mark of the Rani and Terror of the Vervoids’ pleasantly surprised me this time around, but by ‘Time and the Rani’ Pip and Jane seem to have decided to take the piss and given free reign to their worst excesses. Some of the most awful lines in the series’ history abound, with many of them falling to Kate O’Mara to deliver; “All you need understand is that these specimens are geniuses”, “Have you managed to procure the means to repair your laboratory equipment?”, “What monstrous experiment are you dabbling in now?”, “Killer insects! Come on Doctor!”, and most painfully of all “I have the loyhargil! Nothing can stop me now!” are just some of the lines that nobody in real life would ever say and that nobody in fiction can get away with.

Then there’s the plot. I say plot, but I really mean cack. The Rani worked in ‘The Mark of the Rani’ because she existed to lampoon the relationship between the Doctor and the Master; here, she is relegated to the status of a female Master, with a ludicrous and unnecessarily complex plan, which she kindly explains in Episode Four so that the Doctor can work out how to defeat her. Stupidity abounds; how does the Rani casually patch the scanner into Urak’s view? Why don’t the Lakertyans piss off out of the Centre of Leisure since it’s got a big ball of killer insects in it and move away? The Rani’s operation does, after all, seem to be confined to one small quarry (and a round of applause for that hoary old clichй, the planet of about a dozen people). Mention of the Lakertyans brings me to the production itself, in terms of acting, sets and direction. There are times when director Andrew Morgan seems to be polishing a turd; despite obviously being filmed in a quarry of some kind, the location filming works well, as does the model work and some of the sets. The realization of the bubble traps is quite good, and provides an effective cliffhanger to Episode One, and although they have their detractors, I rather like the Tetrap costumes even if the forked tongues are a mistake. Then at other times, Morgan proves that you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear; the interior of the Rani’s TARDIS looks like an afterthought and makes one wish for the impressive set used in ‘The Mark of the Rani’. It also regresses Doctor Who’s effects back to the Letts era, with CSO woefully evident. And when the Rani’s giant rubber brain comes up with the formula for loyhargil, the word “LOYHARGIL” flashes on a BBC micro just to add a bit of subtlety.

Then there are the alien races, ill served both by script and direction (although, incredibly, none of the guest cast are noticeably bad here). The Tetraps have four eyes, granting them a three-hundred and sixty degree view, which is a nice idea but utterly wasted as they turn their heads when looking for things and people manage to sneak up on them. They are obviously based on vampire bats, which is another nice idea, and I do like the fact that the Rani’s callousness proves her undoing, as Urak realises that he is dispensable and promptly orders his Tetraps into her TARDIS and takes her captive at the end. As for the Lakertyans, they come off less well. Mark Greenstreet is quite good as Ikona, as are Donald Pickering as Beaus and Wanda Ventham as Faroon, but sadly make-up artist Lesley Rawstorne unwisely chooses to make them look like rejects from a New Romantics group. Beaus and Faroon’s grief over Sarn’s death is a nice (if incredibly surprising) attempt to show the emotional impact of the Rani’s callousness on others, but then at the end Ikona pours away the antidote to the insect venom, which is meant to be noble and courageous, but is instead so utterly stupid that had he done it earlier, the Doctor might have been forgiven for thinking “Sod ‘em, then” and buggering off without bothering to stop the Rani. Oh and the Lakertyans strange way of running, with arms held stiffly behind them, is an admirable attempt to convey a sense of something alien, but which nonetheless makes them look like they’ve had something forcibly inserted into them, or possibly just have haemorrhoids. I was also going to criticize the fact that Beaus is badly stunned by a very gentle fall, but as that sort of thing can even make Time Lords regenerate, I suppose it’s fair enough.

So far, so bad. But there is one last vomit stain to blight the bed sheets of entertainment, and that stain is Keff McCulloch. It is a truism that an opinion cannot, by definition, be wrong, and I should point out that some people like Keff’s work. Keff himself for example. Possibly. And yet, in this case, I am prepared to go out on a limb and say to these people, “NO! You’re QUITE, QUITE mistaken!” For Keff McCulloch is not just the worst composer of incidental music to have worked on Doctor Who, he’s also possibly the worst composer of incidental music to have worked. This man knows no restraint; from the start of Episode One, he perpetrates a brash and inappropriate score that is so intrusive it makes open heart surgery seem like a scratch. Sinister scores accompany scenes in which nothing sinister happens, and keyboards pound merrily away in the background like Emerson, Lake and Palmer on crack. The background music used in the Centre of Leisure is the epitome of bad, a plinkety-plonkety knob-rash of music subverting any tension that might otherwise exist. So diabolical is this man’s music in fact that I can’t bear to write about it any further. Until I get to ‘Paradise Towers’ of course, at which point I’ll continue to whinge about it.

So in the midst of all this effluence, is there anything at all good about ‘Time and the Rani’? Mercifully, there is. For one thing, whilst McCoy’s dodgy performance in Episode One seems like a very bad sign, he gradually starts to settle in to the role as the story progresses. There are scattered examples of this throughout; when the Rani, disguised as Mel, offers him a drugged glass of water, he despondently replies “Oh I don’t want it, you drink it, leave me alone” and he really sounds like he means it, as though the line arose naturally during filming. Blighted though he is with a script that lacks characterisation for the Doctor and provides him with lines like “I want all mirrors removed from the TARDIS henceforth!”, he still manages to convey, at several points, both the charm and authority associated with the Doctor. The scene in which the Doctor tells Mel about Strange Matter is a sign of how good McCoy can be, as the Doctor enters lecturer mode and he makes it seem entirely natural, rather than a performance. It is the first time that the Doctor settles down after his regeneration and enforced amnesia, and it feels as though McCoy has settled down too. It helps too that for all that I’ve criticized them, Pip and Jane Baker captures the Doctor’s ego perfectly, as tries on a new costume and announces, “[it] lacks my natural humility”. In fact, the wardrobe scene is one of my favourites of the story; its daft, but it stays just the right side silly and when the Doctor tries on the Fourth Doctor’s clothes he shakes his head an remarks “Old hat”, a rare example here of a genuinely amusing pun. I also find it rather amusing that in Episode Four, after the Rani has connected the Doctor to the brain, his constant stream of garbled metaphors and bad puns induces schizophrenia in the brain; suddenly, the verbal diarrhoea that the Baker’s have scripted serves a purpose and almost makes it seems as though they knew what they were doing.

Bonnie Langford is also passable here; I’ve never had any issues with her acting, and her success or lack thereof in her Doctor Who tends to wax and wane with Mel’s characterisation. Mel is OK here; her faith in the Doctor both old and new is unshakeable, and she works well with McCoy. The scenes in which she meets the new Doctor and they have to convince each other of their identities is tiresome, although I do like the bit when the Doctor criticizes her wig and pulls Mel’s hair. Mel also gets a nice character moment, as she seems genuinely upset by Sarn’s death and Ikona’s accusations. My main criticism is that Langford is given far too much screaming to do; she’s ear piercing to the point that I’m tempted to mute the television.

And finally, there is the Rani. Some ham is cringe-worthy and some is entertaining, and for me at least, Kate O’Mara’s is the latter. Apparently deciding that her only sensible course of action is to go over the top, O’Mara seems to enjoy herself enormously as the Rani, and she plays against McCoy rather well. I’m loath to admit it, but although the Rani’s impersonation of Mel in Episodes One and Two is incredibly silly, I do find it quite amusing. For all her supposed lack of emotion, she clearly can’t resist winding the newly regenerated Doctor up, as he bemoans his new appearance and she innocently asks him, “You mean you’re going to look like this permanently?” And she obviously enjoys slapping him in the TARDIS wardrobe in Episode One.

So it’s a start. It isn’t a very good one, and for the most part, ‘Time and the Rani’ is astonishingly bad. McCoy however shows promise and if nothing else, that bodes well for the rest of the season.

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!

After the badly plotted and ill thought out 'The King's Demons', 'The Awakening' (which is also essentially filler material) demonstrates how to make perfect use of the two-episode format. It is a well-paced, compact little story with enough of a plot to fit its duration without trying to be over ambitious. The idea of an ancient alien menace awakening within the church of a sleepy English village is of course recycled from 'The Dжmons' (as is the exploding church at the climax and the idea of a village sealed off from the outside), but 'The Awakening' uses the concept very effectively. The Malus is an alien war machine sent to clear the way for an invasion that never came; feeding on psychic energy, it is reawakened after being buried under the church of Little Hodcombe for centuries, whereupon it seizes control of local magistrate Sir George Hutchinson and uses him to set about generating the psychic energy it needs to revive fully and complete its programme. The war games are its means of doing this, and after the Doctor uses the TARDIS to stop it feeding on psychic energy from the village and Sir George is killed, it realises it has failed and self-destructs in last ditch attempt to clear the area. It is a very economical plot, but one that works extremely well; the Malus provides a memorable monster, Sir George provides a human villain, and there is plenty for the rest of the supporting cast to do. 

Part of the success of 'The Awakening' is that it is often very creepy. The ominous crack in the church wall builds suspense from the start, as smoke starts to pour from it and it gradually widens over the course of Episode One. The disfigured beggar, revealed to be a psychic projection from the past, is also rather sinister, as is the projection of a wizened old man that appears to Tegan. The increasingly dangerous war games further fuel the atmosphere, as it becomes clear that something is very wrong in Little Hodcombe, helped largely by Denis Lill's manic performance as the unhinged Sir George. Will's terrified account of seeing the Malus builds nicely towards the Episode One cliffhanger, and once the Malus itself appears it works very well. For one thing the large prop of the Malus' face is very impressive, and the fact that it seems irrefutably malevolent without actually speaking is to the credit of scriptwriter Eric Pringle. The smaller prop of the Malus projected into the TARDIS is equally sinister, and on a personal note I rather like getting the chance to see what the whole creature looks like, since it remains buried beneath the church except for its face. 

The acting throughout is exemplary, from Denis Lill's Sir George, to Glyn Houston's thoroughly likeable Colonel Wolsey, and Polly James very slightly eccentric Jane Hampden. Special mention must go to Keith Jayne as Will Chandler however; the character is very well scripted, and Jayne tackles the period dialogue very convincingly. Will's angst at killing Sir George is superb; so terrified is he by the Malus and the evil wreaked via Sir George that even he Doctor doesn't chide him for pushing Hutchinson into the Malus' jaws. The regulars too do very well out of such a short story; the presence of Tegan's grandfather results in predictably response when she discovers that he is missing, and leads to a rather charming final scene in which the Doctor is gently coerced into agreeing to stay in Little Hodcombe for a while. I always rather like any suggestion that the TARDIS crew has had time to relax and have fun, since it makes it easier to believe that the Doctor's companions are willing to endure so much stress with him. Davison is great in this scene, petulantly complaining that he's had a hard day, but suspiciously easily convinced to stay and relax for a bit… In fact the Fifth Doctor is magnificent here; after the futile bloodbath of 'Warriors of the Deep', here he quickly and efficiently identifies and neutralizes the threat of the Malus with relatively little bloodshed. Turlough also gets a surprising amount to do, and Pringle captures the character well; he takes action when it is essential to do so (such as when he and Verney knock out Willow and his associate from behind), but prioritizes his own safety over reckless heroism. 

The production is exemplary; the sets are astonishingly good, especially the ruined church which never looks like a mere studio set. The sets also complement the luscious location filming beautifully. Peter Howell's incidental music captures the pseudo-historical mood perfectly, and Michael Owen Morris directs the story with modest skill. 'The Awakening' is one of the finest examples of the two-part Doctor Who story and is an impressive addition to Season Twenty-One.