I had not seen The Sensorites until the days immediately before writing this review. It had, along with the other videos in the First Doctor pack have gone unwatched since Christmas-ish for this reason or that – so I was quite looking forward to watching a Doctor Who story I had never before seen.

I found I enjoyed The Sensorites; they being the third truly alien species (non-human in appearance) introduced to the programme and the first not to be portrayed entirely as the bad guys. The first two-and-a-half episodes disguise this though and it isn’t until the second half of episode three that we learn a little more about them and their motives.

The story makes an initial statement about commercial exploitation – the Sense Sphere is rich in a rare and valuable ore (called Molybdenum). The Sensorites fear the humans will mine this ore and destroy their world in the process, so they keep them captive in space aboard their ship in a limbo state – upon which the TARDIS crew arrives. The story begins slowly as the tension and suspicion of the Sensorites mounts; themselves remaining threatening third parties outside the action until the end of episode one, where one appears at the window of the space craft. The character of John adds to the creepy atmosphere in this first episode – lumbering blankly after Susan and Barbara, until finally collapsing child-like, his mind broken by the Sensorites, into Barbara’s arms. This menacing introduction of the Sensorites continues in episode two as Ian is stalked by two Sensorites through the ship, who recoil only when he threatens them with physical violence. It is only through Susan’s latent telepathy that communication between the two groups occurs. Fear is the motivator for episodes 1 and 2 – we find the Sensorites are just as frightened of the humans (and the TARDIS crew) as they are of them. The Doctor really takes the initiative here to get through this paranoia – firstly by convincing Maitland and Carol they can resist the Sensorites, and then by convincing the Sensorites what they are subjecting the humans to is wrong. The action then moves to the Sense Sphere, where the main story begins to unfold.

There are two protagonists at work – one which schemes from within and the other from without. The Sensorites are being poisoned off through their water supply, while the City Administrator is scheming first against his superiors – initially through fear of the human visitors and then for his own personal gain. Over the remaining three-and-a-half episodes the TARDIS crew along with the humans assist the Sensorites to deal with both these problems; finally exposing some deranged survivors of a previous human expedition hell-bent on exterminating the Sensorite population (through poison) so the planet’s Molybdenum can be mined and their pockets lined with a percentage of the profits.

There are some great things about this story. Like the three previous stories set on alien worlds, an effort has been made to give a structure, perhaps even a culture or history to the races encountered; even if this is just mentioned and not explored in detail. The Sensorites have a caste system, are attached to family groups and are governed hierarchically by two elders and a City Administrator. They communicate telepathically and have aversions to darkness and loud noise. Perhaps most importantly, they are timid and abhorrent to violence; shown clearly by the First Elder - shocked at the notion that the Second Elder’s murder could be the actions of a Sensorite. The Sensorites look alien enough (particularly with their whiskery faces and circular feet) while still being bipedal; and the City sets assist with giving their world a ‘non-Earth’ feel. Their telepathy is what makes them truly alien – and this is handled well in the story. Having a Sensorite stand and look blankly forward while communicating telepathically would look unwieldy, so they do it by pressing a small prop – almost like the end of a stethoscope – to their forehead when they do. This gives the telepathy a visual side which makes it more effective and realistic.

The acting in this story is quite good, although there is probably not one speaking actor who does not fluff a line. Susan, in particular, is given more scope in this story than previous. I have thought her character melodramatic and sometimes inappropriately used in previous stories, but here she is useful and given more to do than stand around whimpering and crying out for her Grandfather. She is the one who initiates contact with the Sensorites and takes the first step to break down the paranoia between them and their human captives. Her relationship with the Doctor is also shown to be changing – she begins to act more like a teenager growing up than a meek child.

In my view the story carries a strong underlying theme – fear of the unknown. This theme is explored in detail through the first two episodes, where consequences of the Sensorites behaviour is shown in opposition to a civilised norm. The absence of a medium for communication in these early episodes has both parties recoiling from each other – resorting to threats (and the use of) violence to alleviate this fear. It is through Susan’s telepathic link that both sides begin to communicate and work through their fears. In the end, the Sensorites are able to undo their mental crippling of John – and the Doctor is able to help them by finding an antidote to the poison in their water supply and eventually dealing with the problem. This example of the unlike and the like being able to co-operate and work together through communication is thought provoking in itself considering production timing of this story – 1964, in the middle of the Cold War. Now I know there have been enough dissertations produced on how Doctor Who stories have reflected political, social and even religious views over the years so I’ll leave the point there – but in my opinion this is one of the more obvious examples of a Doctor Who story imitating its times.

One criticism of The Sensorites is its pace. It does chug along, but I don’t think it’s a story for the casual viewer. I watched it over a few evenings which was just right – I think even a fan would have a hard time watching all six episodes in one sitting. That said though, the story was written to span six weeks, not three hours – so perhaps this is not a relevant consideration. Then there is the City Administrator impersonating the murdered Second Elder simply by wearing his sash of office alone; the only real insipid part of a sound and cohesive storyline.

In my opinion The Sensorites is a good early attempt at building an alien race and their civilisation and writing a story around them. While it may not be the most action packed, fast paced Doctor Who story – it isn’t slow to the point of boring. To me, The Sensorites is one of those lesser known stories which don’t often draw attention to themselves. It isn’t remembered as one of the worst examples of Doctor Who; but it isn’t remembered as a classic story either.

I have two impressions of fandom’s attitude to ‘The Sensorites’. Firstly, not than many fans have seen it, since it has not yet been released on video (although it has been repeated on UK Gold). Secondly, it is considered to be dull and is notorious for having probably more fluffed lines than any other Hartnell Doctor Who story. I consider the first of these points to be shame, and I disagree with the second (well, except for the fluffed lines). In short, I rather like ‘The Sensorites’.

The best part about ‘The Sensorites’ is episode one, which is marvelously creepy and tense, as the TARDIS materializes aboard a seemingly dead ship, then meet the terrified, captive crew, and are subsequently trapped with them when the Sensorites steal the TARDIS lock. The creatures themselves remain unseen until the end of the episode one, and when they do appear their very alien appearance adds to their impact. They continue to be a silent, ominous threat until in episode two we start to learn more about them. John is also crucial to the creepiness of episode one, as he lurches, zombie-like after Barbara and Susan, his face terrifyingly blank; as with the Sensorites however, we soon learn that he is not as scary as he might first appear, and becomes a figure of sympathy as he breaks down in Barbara’s arms and then defies the Sensorites when they try to force them to make him frighten the women. This character development is crucial to the success of ‘The Sensorites’, as the suspense in episode one gives way to a fascinating study of the timid aliens. Just as they misjudged Carol and Maitland, and later the Doctor and his friends, so we initially misjudge them based on their actions and appearance; once their actions prove to be motivated by fear, they too become sympathetic as we learn of the human-caused plague that is killing their people. Often, when fans discuss “people monsters” (to quote Terrance Dicks) they tend to think of Malcolm Hulke creatiosn such as the Silurians and the Draconians. The Sensorites are the earliest example in Doctor Who, with the gentle and trusting First Elder, the suspicious but ultimately noble Second Elder, and the xenophobic and power-mad City Administrator. Even the City Administrator, the villain of the piece, is motivated by fear, although this later gives way to power lust. The lesser characters are also well presented, including the honourable Chief Warrior who is impressed by human bravery, the curious and philosophical scientists who is keen to learn from the alien visitors, and the City Administrators sadistic accomplice. In addition to their individuality, the Sensorites are also memorable for their alien differences – they are terrified of sound and darkness, both factors that make them as vulnerable as the TARDIS crew, John, carol and Maitland. The Sensorites’ telepathy is also well handled, initially adding to their seeming menace, as it enables them to influence human minds. The large bald head masks used to create the distinctive appearance of the Sensorites are very effective, and with the excellent city sets, the Sense-Sphere is an impressive attempt at creating an alien world. This is further enhanced by what tidbits we are given about their society, with references to the caste system and family groups (in fact, the most question that remains unanswered, is how they reproduce, since they are all seemingly male). And Peter Glaze makes a surprisingly good villain. 

As always, the TARDIS crew impress. The Doctor really takes centre stage here, and has the most important role in a story for arguably the first time in the show’s history – whereas previously, Ian and Barbara have shared the limelight with the Doctor, here is responsible for solving almost all of their problems, and the problems of the Sensorites – he quickly takes charge on board Maitland’s ship, showing Maitland and Carol that they are strong enough to resist the Sensorites, and he solves the Sensorites’ poisoning problem, venturing into the aqueduct alone and without trepidation, and constantly seeming delighted at the challenges presented to him here. As the show progresses, the emphasis shifts from the Doctor’s companions to the Doctor himself, but IMO this is the first time that he really takes centre stage. 

Susan also fares particularly well here, and is vital to the process of befriending the Sensorites; this is not only because of her ability to communicate telepathically with them, but also her willingness to trust them. Her first ever argument with the Doctor shows how she is changing and it is nice to see her do more than just scream hysterically without, well, screaming hysterically. Barbara is largely sidelined after the first two episodes, in order to give Jacqueline Hill a holiday, but Ian continues to play the role of hero, unhesitatingly going to the Doctor’s aid in the aqueduct despite having just got up off his sick bed after being near-fatally poisoned. 

The human supporting cast is adequate, although only Stephen Dartnell (Previously Yartek) as John really impresses, with his broken and pathetic performance in episodes one and two. Maitland and Carol are fairly dull, but this is largely because of their characters rather than a product of bad acting. The mentally ill but greedy and murderous humans living in the aqueduct are well-played and convincingly unhinged, and it is the first time that we have human villains in a Doctor Who story set on an alien planet. 

‘The Sensorites’ isn’t perfect by any means; the often derided concept of the City Administrator impersonating the Second Elder by wearing his sash is misinterpreted I think, since it seems to the intention that the Administrator only poses as the Second Elder to Sensorites who haven’t met either of them, which is apparently the case with the Chief Warrior. Unfortunately, he meets the scientist in the same disguise, and the scientist meets both Second Elder and City Administrator a few scenes earlier; this would mean at least that they look enough alike to fool a very casual acquaintance, but since there are differences between the Sensorite masks worn by the actors, I think this is a genuine mistake. I’ll also admit that ‘The Sensorites’ isn’t very action packed once the story moves to the Sense-Sphere. Overall however, ‘The Sensorites’ is a successful early attempt at a character-driven examination of an alien culture, and in my opinion at least it is certainly not dull.

Part of what makes the works of Robert Holmes so great is his incredibly diverse range as a writer. With other authors, they have certain "trademarks" that give away who the writer is even if you don't see the name (ie: the Terrance Dicks scripts oftentimes have a sort of "classic Hammer Horror film" feel to them). And although Holmes did sometimes write scripts that were very similiar to each other in certain ways (ie: "Power Of Kroll" and "Caves Of Androzani" or "The Krotons" and "Mysterious Planet"), it is almost spellbinding to view all the stories he wrote and realise they were by the same man. Just because those stories could be sometimes be so radically different from each other. 

"Ark In Space" is an excellent example of a radically different Robert Holmes script. It focusses on being creepy and clausterphobic. With characters who are actually doing their best to not be colourful. There are no "double acts" either. Holmes isn't even trying to make some kind of symbolic outcry against eating meat or the British tax system. This is just pure, undiluted, fantastic storytelling. And it's Holmes just about at his very best here. Probably the only script he's written that beats this one is "Deadly Assassin". In my books, at least. 

There's a lot of praise to heap on this story and it's rather difficult to know where to start. One of the things that I definitely like is that it's radically different, in tone, from the previous story. If "Robot" was to be an indication of what the new season would be like, we would be expecting a whole bunch of "leftover Perwee" stories. But, as we finish up this tale and suddenly go off to Nerva Beacon, we see that the show is definitely moving off in a different direction. A direction it hasn't gone in in a while. This hard-core space opera again - not some earthbound UNIT story with the Doctor toiling away at a scientific device that will save the day while soldiers clamour about uselessly. And I, for one, am glad this radical change was occurring. The Pertwee era is not one of my favourites. 

It is interesting to note how much the Doctor suddenly seems to "settle down" for this story. In Robot, he's eccentric to the point of near-insanity. But, suddenly, he's become calmer and more reserved. This trend continues for the next few stories and throughout most of the early seasons of Baker's tenure. Only as we near the end of his travels with Leela does Doctor Four start to really go for the laughs. Although I had little problems with the funnier days of Tom Baker - I am, at least, thankful that he played the role so straightly for the first little while. It shows that he did take the role seriously. Which, admittedly, is something one is not so sure about during some of the debacles of the Key To Time or Season 17. 

Anyway, enough comments about the show itself. Let's move on to the specific story. 

We begin with a very nice series of opening shots showing the death of the Wirrn. Only, we haven't been told what these shots really mean yet. Thus creating a very wonderful sense of intrigue. A great way to start the story that got me interested, right away, in what this whole montage of scenes was supposed to mean. 

Then the TARDIS lands. The story, admittedly, does take a bit of time to really get rolling. But, given we're the second story into a new Doctor, this works in this context. And Holmes was smart enough to inject a sufficient amount of intrigue and danger into the mix to keep us interested. In a matter of minutes, the TARDIS crew nearly suffocates, then gets attacked by an auto-defence device whilst poor Sarah gets T-matted away to a cryogenics chamber. It's a crackling pace, in some ways. Whilst, at the same time, "filling in some time" nicely until we can get to the real plot. 

As we finally reach the cryogenic honeycombs, we start to really get the gist of what's going on. Earth has gone to bed to avoid a catastrophe. But, just like those "crazy Silurians and Sea Devils" all those many years before, something went wrong with the plan. They've overslept. And while they slept, a proverbial cuckoo bird has moved into the nest to push their eggs out. 

Even with the limitations of budget, there's some amazingly creepy and dramatic moments that take place as the story progresses. The eye in the solar stack or Noah fighting his own transforming hand are just a few of the better examples of this. They effects look horrifically cheap, but still inspire some level of legitimate horror because of the way the actors seem to overcome the cheapness of those effects. 

We also get one of the best monologues in the series history with the famous "Homo-Sapiens" speech. Colin Baker's "In all my travellings throughout the universe I have always fought against evil" speech is still my all-time favourite. But, once again, Ark In Space is ranking a very close second place.

Robert Holmes also shows off that he doesn't need to populate his stories with eccentric characters in order to make the plot interesting. Both Earthlings and Wirrn are highly functional characters that evoke both menace and pathos at various times throughout the plot. This is probably what impresses me the most about his writing style in this particular story. It's almost like he's trying to be "anti-Robert-Holmes" (which, of course, cannot exist in our universe unshielded!) and he does a very good job at this. Thus proving that he is an amazing writer by resisting all the various nuances that made him so well-liked as an author and focussing on telling a story in a style he's never tried before. And, as the story progresses along, I can only be amazed at what he's able to do even when he's writing in a completely different style. 

The claustrophobia of the last two episodes moves to unparalleled creepy heights. Those Wirrn costumes really do look pretty unconvincing. Yet still, as they try all kinds of nasty tricks to wipe out the few conscious humans, we really find ourselves caught up in the threat of it all. And Holmes ends things in a very unique way as we see the Doctor couldn't totally save the day on his own. It took that last shred of humanity in Noah to truly resolve the conflict. 

Finally we get some nice story-to-story continuity as the Doctor begins the adventure by yelling at Harry for what he did in the last minute of Robot and then gets the transmat working so that they can head off to "Sontaran Experiment". Also a nice touch that he really does grab a piece of the inspection hatch that will save his life in the next story. I love nice little touches like that. And that's what makes Ark In Space another "classic" Who tale. It's just chocked full of nice little touches. Collectively, all these "little touches" come together to present a gorgeous overall theme and storyline that truly takes one's breath away at how inventive the series can be with what could have been a bog-standard "space station/base under seige" plotline in anyone else's hands but Robert's. 

Let's face it, the late Mister Holmes was just-plain amazing and Doctor Who was truly blessed to have had him write so many stories for the show. And Ark In Space is an excellent example of that blessing. Especially since it shows off just how incredible of a range this man had. I still get a bit sad that he's gone. No other writer left quite the mark that he did

‘The Ark in Space’ is one of those Doctor Who stories that I remember as an apex of horror from my childhood; it has been literally over a decade since I last saw it, and fans don’t need to be told that with this series in particular we must revisit childhood with caution, lest we die broken-hearted. And, indeed, there were things that did disappoint me about ‘The Ark in Space’ – the model work is especially poor – but all in all, I thought it stood up rather well. It is not quite the classic of repute, but it is a thoughtful story, and creepy enough, especially considering its budget.

The main problems I had were in the first two episodes. This is not a great Sarah Jane story - she doesn’t do much except get into trouble, and Elisabeth Sladen’s squawking approach here is a bit tedious. The pace is sluggish, and, as I said, the exterior shots of Nerva really saddened me. (The CGI replacements on the DVD are improvements, sort of, but they still jar horribly with the overall production aesthetic.) Most of the interior shots, too, looked like they’d been filmed in a high-school band room – I know the spareness of design is deliberate, but the whole thing just looks cheap, even for Doctor Who. Still, director Rodney Bennett uses the camera very effectively – he peeks around corners, and from across rooms, in such a way that we’re never quite sure whether we’re getting a monster’s-eye view or not. Quite effectively scary.

But things pick up considerably in Episode Three, and the final two episodes are very watchable indeed. The narrative moves better, Sarah gets to crawl around in a shaft, and the mature Wirrn costumes/puppets work surprisingly well (especially considering how silly the dead queen looks in the early part of the story). Harry, although initially twittering, establishes himself as one of the most likeable companions – amusing in his Wodehouseian verbal tics, but certainly no idiot, and brave and serious enough too; in other words, Harry Sullivan may *talk* like an upper-class ass, but he’s not a *comic* character. And the handling of Noah’s ultimate fate, and his continued devotion to his mate Vira, is extremely moving.

But the most interesting thing about the story is its thematic content. ‘The Discontinuity Guide’ chooses to read it in an optimistic light, indeed calling it “Robert Holmes’s most optimistic script, where he defends humanity (the instinctive Rogin) against insect-like conformity.” One can certainly make an argument for this, but such a reading seems to ignore some of the script’s obvious ironies. ‘The Ark in Space’ ends on a happy note, it is true, and does so on the strength of selflessly ‘human’ actions on the part of Rogin and Noah. And yet casting the story as a battle between the ‘instinctive’ human and ‘insect-like conformity’ is a strange interpretation – at the end of the day, the human race is still more insect-like than ever before, segmented away into individual honeycomb cocoons, and led by the stiff, unimaginative Vira (perhaps the most ‘insect-like’ of the humans we meet). In fact, the whole point of Holmes’s story seems to be that humans are fighting the very thing they are becoming – his (very funny) choice to play the High Minister’s jingoistic hymn to humanity over Noah’s horrific transformation gives us a perfect symbol for the story’s horror and essential pessimism. Even the Doctor’s celebrated (if slightly florid) “Homo sapiens!” speech, delivered in the face of the human ‘hive,’ contains bitter insights into human adaptability (and its dangers), and Baker’s sarcastic reading of the speech backs up this interpretation.

And what of the Wirrn themselves? Well, their ‘conformist’ nature remains up in the air too. Of course, it is impossible to say just how much of the Swarm Leader’s discourse is ‘his’ own thoughts and how much is Noah’s, but it cannot be denied that there is a tragedy, even a poetry, in the creature’s account of their war with the humans and the destruction of their once-peaceful society. The Wirrn are not simple monsters; true, they cannot be considered entirely sympathetic, as their actions against Earth are motivated wholly by revenge. But it must be pointed out that the desire for revenge in itself is an emotion-driven mindset (or an ‘instinct’-driven one, if you prefer) and that really doesn’t support an ‘instinctive human vs. functional insect’ reading of the story. Yes, the Doctor ultimately sides with the humans – but he does so in the context of ambiguities that lend ‘The Ark in Space’ a most satisfying adult quality. 

Ultimately, an entertaining story, and an interesting one.

I put off reviewing this story for a while, as I feel so strongly about it it’s difficult to say if I could be objective enough to do it justice. I first saw this story in about 1992, when I was eight. Even at that tender age, I could tell that there was something about this story that set it apart from others, even if I couldn’t necessarily articulate why at the time. Almost a decade and a half later, having got me some learnin’, I feel like I might be able to explain why City Of Death is my candidate for that ever-shifting title: Best Episode Ever.

The opening scene looks rather ordinary at first; although the atmospheric music helps there’s a definite studio-set-and-painted-backdrop to the prehistoric landscape, although Michael Hayes’s classy direction sees a smooth pan to the brilliant model of the Jagaroth ship that makes up for it. Immediately the viewer is thrown into a mystery – all we can gather is that these aliens are in trouble. Who are they? Where are they? Why are they in danger? Why is their future in the hands of a single pilot? We don’t know, and it's a long time before we find out. This story pushes the limits of what the audience would find acceptable in storytelling terms – and by sailing so close to the wind, Doctor Who has never been so successful. To cap it all there’s the marvellous special effect of the ship exploding, followed by one of the series most distinctive pieces of direction: a slow fade from the burning wreckage to the flowers on the Eiffel Tower.

The story of how this story was written is well known, but despite the hectic production Douglas Adams’s style is as distinctive as ever, and the slight self-consciousness of the dialogue is eased through by the breezy naturalism of Tom Baker and Lalla Ward. Their conversation is whimsical but always intelligent – the story never patronises the viewer, the jokes never seem gratuitous, and despite talking about their travels the episode never veers into metafictional smugness. The scene on the Tower is just two intellectual equals riffing off each other, which gets round my usual complaint of opening TARDIS scenes where the characters have nothing to say to each other before the plot gets going.

One criticism often levelled at this episode is the number of location scenes that pad out the episodes. I think they’re forgivable given the hurried nature of the scripts, but I think they help the story as much as anything by adding to its sense of easy-going stylishness. Hayes directs them beautifully, keeping shots interesting by filming through leaves for example, and they’re elevated to greatness by the programme’s best ever music score, a lilting, freefalling orchestral piece from Dudley Simpson – nine out of ten of his scores were terrible, but that tenth was a humdinger. Funny though how all the best stories have great music (The Invasion being another example). It makes me wonder if they’re slipping in subliminal messages.

This leaps straight into the laboratory scene with Julian Glover and David Graham. The episode is made out of a jumble of elements, and it’s not immediately clear what the connection between them is; as I said, the story pushes the limits of what’s acceptable to an audience. Graham is theatrical without being really cheesy, and Julian Glover is fantastic as a villain with proper motivations, who doesn’t just want to wipe out a race or take over a planet for its own sake; his suaveness masks his desperation just as his skin masks his true identity (oh, get me). What always makes me laugh though are the banks of computers, with their tape reels that start spinning, stop, and then reverse. It’s an element of the story that hasn’t stood the test of time so well, but in general the set design of this story is extremely good. I love Scarlioni’s casual order to sell a Gutenberg Bible – it’s the kind of line that requires Adams’s total fearlessness to work.

And now, the cafe scene. Much as I like the Doctor’s very in-character skimming of the book (I refuse to use the word “Doctorish”), it’s getting to the point now where I want something to happen, enjoyable as the whimsy is. Fortunately the first time slip occurs and keeps things interesting, with a very simple but effective scene. The only confusing element is the artist, who was apparently a product of David Fisher’s original idea and has little relevance to the final product. It’s still an enigmatic moment, and I can forgive the hurried script editing.

Romana’s complaints about the Mona Lisa I think are pitch-perfect, although I can appreciate why they’re not to everybody’s tastes. I’m not a fan of jokey Doctor Who, but all the humour in this story is strictly in context and for a purpose, which in retrospect is something that maybe should have made clearer earlier in the episode. It’s difficult not to notice Pat Gorman, one of the show’s most-used extras) hanging around in the background (although nothing tops The Monster Of Peladon, where his character gets shot and then a few scenes later he’s back playing a different extra).

Duggan, like Kerensky, is a collage character made up of stock elements of the detective clichй; this is the point of the story, since these are put into stark contrast with the more serious themes that surface later. This story does for clichйd characters what Philip Hinchcliffe did for horror. The alien bracelet stolen from the Countess is another nice dose of mystery, putting the Doctor’s behaviour into context – he isn’t just larking about. It warms my heart to see the Doctor order drinks (water, naturally) with such authority while at gunpoint. His excuse to Duggan that “we’ve only just landed on Earth” is one of my all time favourite quotations, and one I use a lot when small children accusingly tell me that everyone on Earth’s heard of some footballer or other.

The cliffhanger to part one is sensational, although a bit contrived since the only reason Scarlioni takes his mask off is to provide the episode ending. What’s notable though is that this is the first time we see that the opening scene has any relevance whatsoever, although we still don’t know exactly what; if this revelation has been left any later it wouldn’t have worked, but as it is it’s a great twist. I’m willing to overlook how Scaroth fits inside the skin – if the explanation involves him farting like an old farmer then frankly I can live with the dramatic licence. 

Catherine Schell gives a good performance in what is not one of the programme’s more empowering roles; that is the point though, and Schell effectively portrays a character blind to just how powerless she really is. Tom Baker overacts in his first scene with her, but again it’s not gratuitous and the Countess sees right through him. The Doctor’s line of “you’re a beautiful woman, probably” is again perfectly in character and Hermann’s reference to the Doctor’s “boring conversation” could seem like Adams poking fun at himself.

Locked in the cell the Doctor becomes suddenly serious, and we realise what he’s been doing; a quick recap of the plot so far shows us how unobtrusive the exposition has been up to this point. The famous chicken scene is fun (even if it did lead to the strangest DVD special feature of all time), and is validated by the sight of the Jagaroth at the end; all the story’s whimsy requires that kind of serious moment to justify it, and without exception it gets it. Kerensky is a sympathetic, pitiable character – a genuine philanthropist whose genius and good nature is misused. Ironically, he calls Scarlioni the philanthropist.

The old hidden-room schtick is well-worn but serviceable, with only Duggan smashing the wall annoying – polystyrene blocks (“make it look heavy, guys”) are one of my pet hates in this show. The six genuine Mona Lisas present a dazzlingly original set up, and I think what made the episode so unique to me as a child – this is a villain not only with a proper motivation but with thought gone into the logistics of his plan, and it’s a far more original than the standard “take over the planet / get the doomsday weapon / blow up the universe” fare.

It’s odd seeing Scarlioni demonstrate how the bracelet works since we never get to see it in action. Like the knocking out of the Countess, it might be something that was a leftover from the hasty writing process.

The Renaissance is represented by a single set, but it works well and the cliffhanger is a knockout – we go into the credits desperate to learn the answer to the mystery, and to cap it all it’s a well directed shot too. There are nice parallels between the scenes set in 1979 and 1505, showing that despite the odd wobble the story is really very tightly structured. However, in the third episode the exposition cranks up a bit, which jars considering how subtle it’s been up to now. Then again, when the plot’s as interesting as this I’m happy to listen to it be explained.

Perhaps the Polaroid is too indulgent, as it always jars to see modern technology used to defeat the villains in a historical setting. The Doctor writing “this is a fake” under the canvases of the future Mona Lisas, however, is one of the show’s best ever ideas. “The centuries that divide me shall be undone” – now that’s a cool line, and the Doctor’s seriousness towards it makes it seem all the more portentous.

I feel sorry for Kerensky when he realises the true nature of his work – he corrects “what we have been working on” to “what I have been working on” as he realises that the Count has been planning something totally different. Glover meanwhile becomes less controlled and more desperate – his performance is excellent.

Romana and Duggan have been in the cafe all night – what does the owner think when they come in in the morning, since Duggan has clearly broken in? And why do the gendarmes let the Doctor into the Louvre so quickly? The cliffhanger to part three is another good one, although more functional this time as it feels like a reason to write out a character whose usefulness is over.

Episode four contains more exposition, effectively breaking up these necessary scenes without confusing the viewer by withholding essential information. It’s a nice idea having the Doctor copy out the first draft of Hamlet (it harks back to Pertwee’s namedropping), although by this stage the point of these character moments has been made. He shows the Countess how little she really matters, making even her a sympathetic character.

The confrontation with the Count is a devastating scene, with Tom Baker on superb form with some seriously intense dialogue. This is followed by the killing of the Countess; despite the story having a mortality rate of over 44%, they are all the more shocking for occurring all (apart from Kerensky) in the final episode. There is a real sense of what’s a stake, although the story does need to make more of exactly how the ship taking off will affect the human race. Duggan breaks out of the cell so easily that there’s almost no point to it.

The famous John Cleese / Eleanor Bron cameo borders on smug, but it gets away with it because not only is it genuinely funny but it’s accurate too – believe me, this is how those people really talk. Really.

The last confrontation with Scaroth is decent, with more great dialogue, although his final defeat is a bit too quick; the very last scene, however, is just sublime with its “what is art” discussion, long shot of the Doctor and Romana running away, and another beautiful piece of music leading into the credits.

The mark of a classic is the extent to which its flaws can be ignored, and this is never easier than with City Of Death. Nothing anyone has ever made is perfect (the Mona Lisa, for example, no eyebrows), but with its plot, dialogue, characters and design City Of Death is as close as makes no difference.

Set on the planet Karn, this is the simple story of renegade Time Lord Morbius and his surgeon friend Mehendri Solon. Solon’s trying to piece Morbius back together as you see he’s just a brain sitting in a tank for the moment and he’s keen to get back out there and rule the galaxy. Also on Karn are the Sisterhood, led by Maren, who was present at the trial of Morbius and saw him executed and believes him long dead. The Sisterhood also worship and maintain the sacred flame that produces an elixir of life, thus allowing them to be immortal. Then the Doctor and Sarah turn up…

Looking at the story from a 2006 perspective, it's holds up remarkably well and offers new and veteran viewers alike a rich palette of ideas and concepts.It's fascinating from a symbolic and psychological perspective as well as being an interesting story redolent with past influences.

To being with, let's take a look at what I think is the core of the story the dichotomy between the head (masculine rationalism) and the heart (feminine emotion and intuition). Morbius is literally torn apart by the dispersal chamber at his execution and this is an apposite act by a society that was threatened by his disruption. His punishment cuts him off from an instinctive free relationship with nature and he becomes an irrational figure who has lost contact with the personal experience of life. 

Solon’s after the perfect head in which to house Morbius’ brain, the Doctor becoming the preferred option. Solon’s obsession about having the perfect head is understandable. Morbius has effectively been castrated and left to his own torment in a dark Underworld devoid of senses. The head is symbolically regarded as the domain of the masculine with the heart being its feminine counterpoint. One can see that the Solon/Morbius relationship is concerned with the dominant male progressing in the world through the application of science. The Sisterhood are the feminine principle of the story, driven by intuition, forces of nature and relying on the mind and matter approach of magic and sorcery. The head is also symbolic of the fully conscious mind, of the full awareness of reality – something which Morbius lacks in order for his masculine ego to be freed from the Unconscious. ‘The crowning irony’ as Solon informs Morbius that his new head will be that of a Time Lord.

Morbius fears the feminine and has no masculine power until Solon can provide him with a new head and body. The Sisterhood fear Morbius and the Time Lords and have an aversion to progress through scientific rationalism. It takes the Doctor to demonstrate that science and magic can be one and the same thing. Hence, his firework aided chimney sweeping of the Sisterhood’s sacred flame, his instant analysis that the elixir could actually be synthesised and his cyanide solution to getting out of the laboratory to stop Morbius. And of course, he will eventually need the elixir himself if he is to survive the ordeal with Morbius. 

Emotionally, there are also things to note. Solon is driven by his work and is obsessed to the point of madness in trying to give Morbius his freedom. His is a life absent of real joy. He only sees the material potential of the bodies around him with no concern for sentiment and feelings. He is all about the disintegration of the personality which leads to schizophrenia whilst he physically is attempting to stop the material disintegration of Morbius. As he feverishly sews up bits of bodies to re-integrate Morbius, he is inside shattering psychologically.

Secondly, a brief discussion of the female principle in the story as formed by the Sisterhood and Sarah. The Sisterhood, through their disavowal of the benefits of science, are impotently immortal. Any intrusion through science – the crashed spaceships on Karn are the result of their handiwork – meets with destruction. Their immortality is a curse, their magic brings them no progress. They are static and isolated even though through their femininity they are able to co-operate with the blind forces of nature. This force is literally evoked through Maren’s temporary blinding of Sarah. Sarah as an active, free feminine influence in the narrative is punished with blindness and isolation because of their fear. She’s the potential of what they could all be (progress) and Maren brings her down a peg or two for rescuing the (masculine) Doctor. In the end, the Sisterhood are as equally isolated as Morbius – they through their fear of the masculine penetration of science and he through the mis-application of science – Solon’s attempts to reanimate his body and the effects of the dispersal chamber. The Doctor is the figure that reconciles all of these elements – he uses a science/magic approach to vanquish Morbius and to hopefully bring progress to the Sisterhood.

Appropriate to this era's supposed use of the Gothic, the story has a number of very visceral and physical elements present within it. Condo's arm is highly symbolic of this. Condo experiences his body directly through pain and because he can see his own arm as an external object grafted onto the Morbius body. It is symbolic of Condo’s humanity and with it he would be a complete person again. It is also the only recognisably human part of the Morbius body, capable of vain gesticulation. Condo’s also capable of feeling and emotion and appreciates Sarah’s feminine beauty and does not understand why it should be destroyed. He recognises the power of his emotions through seeing his promised physicality given to the Morbius creature and through his affection for Sarah but Solon ultimately punishes him for it. For that, it’s an astonishingly brutal story. One particular sequence in Part Three is rather notorious. As Solon prepares Morbius’ brain for the surgery, he faces an angry Condo (Condo has seen his arm on the creature). Solon shoots him, they fight and the brain falls on the floor. It’s at once violent – Condo’s chest explodes very gorily in full frame – and blackly comic – the brain plops out onto the floor rather satisfyingly in a pool of slime. It is hilarious, repulsive and fascinating. It’s a sophisticated range of reactions produced in a short sequence and is highly typical of the Hinchcliffe/Holmes attitudes to overt violence and black homour in the series. Solon is attempting to further disintegrate Condo’s body and expunge the outpouring of feminine emotion and feeling into his isolated male prison of science.

The mental battle betwen the Doctor and Morbius is as much about the apparatus being a mirror reflecting the opposing forces within the psyche. The combatants are as much a reflection of each other, a reverse of each other. The contest is also conducted in reverse in so far as to reach the desired goal it is necessary to regress to your origins e.g. we see all their previous incarnations. The hero must descend into the depths of infancy in order to move on towards maturity. The Doctor’s trick is to get Morbius to gorge on his own Ego, to fly too close to the sun and therefore come crashing down to earth when his brain literally fries. He is overcome by his own narcissistic reflection of himself. The mirror is also earlier a trigger mechanism for the Morbius creature to go on the rampage as he sees his true reflection in the laboratory.

Looking back at the story now, it is worth noting that it’s entirely studio bound, complete with sets representing the exteriors of Karn. Now, admittedly, the construction of those sets does affect our reception of the story. Wood is used to represent stone for the exteriors and you can clearly hear Lis Sladen’s feet clomping about. However, the production’s overt staginess actually doesn’t destroy the illusion but rather contributes to the feeling that this is an entirely closed environment, hermetically sealed. It reminds me of some of the BBC’s studio bound Shakespeare productions of the late 70’s and early 80’s. Let’s also not forget that much of studio based television was still using theatrical modes of presentation at this time. The camera very rarely moves in this story, is fairly static and the lighting, flaring into the lens on occasion, often heightens the sheer theatricality of it e.g. the sun rise at the Doctor’s execution. Barry Newbery’s design is also a huge contribution to this ‘play’ and the sets in Solon’s castle are a bricolage of design styles and the almost Himalayan atmosphere these create is very similar to the pressure cooker environments of Powell and Pressburger’s ‘Black Narcisscus’. The combination of the ‘hippy Tibetan’ vibe of the Sisterhood’s costumes and make-up, the radiophonic wind chimes and other sound effects for the planet surface and the Nepalese flavour of the production design really build up that effect. There is also a nod to the Expressionist lab designs of umpteen Universal and Hammer horror films too.

As far as influences are concerned, this is ‘Frankenstein’, primarily. But there are also nods to ‘The Island Of Doctor Moreau’, Rider Haggard’s ‘She’, ‘Beauty And The Beast’, ‘The Hunchback Of Notre Dame’, 50’s B movies and Top Of The Pops (the Sisterhood do a delirious Pan’s People number to capture the TARDIS and to sacrifice the Doctor)

Visual effects are on the whole pretty good. The vista of crashed ships is just about acceptable. The brain tank in the cellar with Morbius’ brain is a triumph of physical effects, especially the trembling bit of material that vibrates as Morbius’ voice rants on. One favourite effect is the blast from Maren’s ring directly into camera as Sarah escapes. That would still pass muster today. The ‘monster’ is so self-referentially ridiculed within the context of the story (‘pot pouri’ and ‘Chop Suey’) that there’s really no need to highlight how daft it looks now. The intentional and unintentional humour implied by the monster costume combine to offset some of the more visceral moments – the shooting and the brain on the floor for example as well as numerous strangulations and a burning at the stake.

Tom and Lis are at their best here. It’s a solid relationship of mutual respect and admiration. Sarah is a tad too much of victim here but who can forget that chill up the spine as she advances, blind, toward that big glowing brain and Michael Spice’s delicious, ranting performance as Morbius. Philip Madoc is superb as the twitchy Solon, desperately trying to rescue his own career as a surgeon whilst trapped in the dungeon of Morbius’ own mind.