Through the wonders of the local council a copy of the "extended version no true Doctor Who fan would want to miss" of Battlefield fell into my sticky little grubby Doctor Who obsessed paddy paws. Well first off let me put that one straight: extended version? What extended version? Thirty seconds of the Doc and Ace climbing a spiral staircase covered in fairy lights (the staircase, not the actors)? Well whoops se do (but not in a good way).

Everyone says this story is total and utter...

And yes I began to believe the hype: Bad direction, too rushed, someone even complained that the countryside was too green and nice looking! But then I thought about it. Actually this story is rather clever. Concept wise: OK, so all the plot really consists of is a bunch of other dimensional knights poncing around an over green bit of English country side trying to recover a sword for some reason that is never actually explained, but at least they aren't your usual "oh, let's take over the Earth for the sheer hell of it" type aliens.

I think Aaronovitch had been watching Star Trek: The Next Generation. The bad guys in Battlefield are a sort of cross between the Klingons and the "Knights of Ni" from Monty Python and the Holy Grail (but without the shrubberies). On the one side there is the honour code stuff and on the other there is the cod awful overacting, complete with maniacal laughter.

However by giving them a pseudo medieval background this also gives them a bit of depth and grounds them in a culture that the viewer can relate to. The upshot of the idea that "it may be more exciting to actually think about your villain and perhaps create a bit of backstory about them rather than just write in some malevolent green slime that shimmies around the air conditioning ducts" is the wonderful scene with the head bad lady (who has the most impractical fingernails I have ever seen) and the Brigadier where they take some time out from the mindless slaughter of universe domination and universe saving to have a bit of a chat and honour Earth soldiers who have fallen in battle. And this, along with a lot of other stuff makes Battlefield INTERESTING. Not really scary I admit, but definitely interesting.

Are You Short?

I am. I am very short. Do you know how difficult it is to dominate when you can barely see over the table? This is probably why I will cut Sylvester some slack for Battlefield. Not only does he have to stop some alternately dimensional knights from unleashing bloody and unstoppable destruction on Earth, but he has to cope with being a shortass (and admittedly sort of weird looking) to boot. Perhaps six foot tall Sean Connery could have done it and still found time for a few rounds of golf, but Sylvester had to go the extra gurn just to get people to look at him.

So this is my theory. People criticize his performance in Battlefield all the time. But it is not the gurning, the question mark jumper or the hat. It is because he is short and silly looking. Well so was bloody Napoleon. And look what he did (not that I am saying starting wars and general conquering is a good thing mind you).

As a "vertically challenged individual" I know how tricky it is to make tall people take you seriously - "seven degrees, worked with Mother Teresa, ran the UN, and found the holy grail.. well that's nice dear, but you can't see over the top of the steering wheel without a cushion can you now?"

So what do you think Sylvester (a bloke who, until Doctor Who, was most famous for stuffing ferrets down his trousers and pretending to be a car) did when he was asked to stop a war?

He did everything he could.

And do you know sometimes it works. Short, silly looking and Scottish he may be, but sometimes his performance as the Doctor gives me the chills. Sometimes he totally freaks me out (god help his kids if they ever misbehave). It's the eyes. Sometimes, when Sylvester isn't wiggling around like a man with a ferret down his trousers he comes across all dead spooky and serious. Sylvester may be a clown, but he knew who the Doctor was. And he knew that the Doctor was scary.

Winifred and Ancelyn

Drawn together by a love of hitting people and gratuitous violence Brigadier Bambera and Knight Commander Ancelyn fall in love. They are like a very dangerous and violent version of the Moonlighting couple. He is a spunky blond-haired knight from another dimension (with a healthy respect for the fairer sex) and she is a spunky gun obsessed UNIT Brigadier (with a cute little beret). If you ask me this is a match made in heaven.

Very rarely do we have a love story on Doctor Who, and while I think this one was handled with about as much subtlety as Tom Baker after a late at night down the pub, it is sweet. And INTERESTING. Sometimes I get so sick of your generic scientist/soldier supporting characters who get no character at all and then usually snuff it horribly.

Here we have something different. Instead of putative dead people standing around going "Oh my god we are going to die/the Doctor is a spy and we must kill him" we actually to seem to have characters who aren't just waiting around in suspended animation for the entrance of the Doctor (Maybe the writer had been watching The City of Death?).

I have actually read later books/fiction of some kind where the two characters pop up and they have actually got married and settled down to have little psychopaths, er sorry - kids. And, call me an old softie, but I think that's lovely.

And just think of the sex? Phoaarrrr!

Just when you think the Colin Baker era has been put out of its misery, up turns Time and the Rani. I can only imagine that these season 23 scripts got stuck in heavy traffic on their way to Wood Lane because for the life of me I can't think how else this brave new start got commissioned. Time and the Rani sits bestride seasons 23 and 24 much the same way Robot does in seasons 11 and 12; a tale that is a comfortable reminder of the old regime whilst also pointing to the future. But this is 1987 rather than 1975 and the last thing that the audience needs is to be reminded of the previous era. Nor is this a hint of things to come; Pip and Jane's scripts represent the final throw of the dice for a storytelling style that's binned before Cartmel even has a chance to utter the word 'Masterplan.'

Time and the Rani needs Colin Baker, not because he would have improved this serial any but because the Sylvester McCoy era does not deserve to begin here. Rightly or wrongly, the tabloid press is a good barometer of public opinion and this one serial gives the whole era a silly, lightweight label that is unfair on both the series and its lead actor in particular. I would contest that Sylv is not a bad actor during Time and the Rani, but he is saddled with some horrendous Pip and Jane inspired dialogue that he does his level best to wrestle with. Importantly, Sylv is trying to make his Doctor likeable and he succeeds. Freed from the constraints of alien-ness that had blighted the character for over two years the seventh Doctor is a much-needed breath of fresh air. The bad bits come from script rather than actor and as for the costume change bit at the end of part one - it wasn't big and it wasn't clever back in Robot and it's not bigger nor cleverer here.

The bad bits don't end here though, oh no. The Rani's disguise as Mel is a truly awful idea in concept and execution, while part four descends into a typical mix of silly science and technobabble that is the trademark of a Pip and Jane script. Bonnie Langford remains startlingly miscast and never seems comfortable playing against this alien backdrop. Tellingly, aside from JNT's continuing presence in the producer's chair, Bonnie and Pip and Jane are the only survivors from the previous season and are the three worst things about Time and the Rani.

Despite all this Time and the Rani remains watchable. It has an energy and sense of fun long since sacrificed at the altar of Saward, and breezes along at a fair old pace. The effects work is as good as it got for the series, and unlike the previous season you can see where the money was spent - up on the screen where it counts. The Tetraps look good, a high standard of monster design that would remain in place right till the end of the series' life, while the bubble traps surely represent a more effective, but less spectacular use of the series' effects budget.

Like a football manager who's team is on a bad run of form, Time and the Rani is indicative of the mythical corner being turned, of lessons being learned and results slowly improving. Doctor Who had got as bad as it was going to get the year before; the fight back started here.

Doctor Who is dead! Long live Doctor Who!

Cartmel's influence can be felt here in a stylistic shift every bit as severe as the Robot/Ark in Space change 12 years before. Then, of course, Bob Holmes knew exactly the direction in which he wanted to take the programme, here Cartmel can do naught but betray his uncertainty. However, the inconsistent tone of Paradise Towers can perhaps be attributed to director rather than script editor. The criticism aimed at the cannibalism of The Two Doctors and Revelation coupled with the "more humour, less violence" directive picked up by Mallett from working on Mysterious Planet the year before leaves director and script at odds from which the serial never recovers.

The script itself is a blackly comic urban thriller, a template that would serve the programme well for its final three years. However, black comedy is a very fragile and complex genre; every time the script aims for this target it is undermined by Mallet's reliance on slapstick.

It's sometimes hard to believe that this is the same director who two years later would pull an excellent performance out of Nicholas Parsons; here every performance is slightly off-key and no one can claim to have put in a good shift. In ninety minutes of television, only two scenes play out as the script intended; Sylvester's escape from the Caretakers and Tilda and Tabby's capture of Mel at the close of part two.

In Sylv's escape from the Caretakers we see the first seeds being sewn of the seventh Doctor's character proper. Subconsciously or not, Sylvester has taken Terrance Dick's "never cruel nor cowardly" edict to heart; acid baths and cyanide traps are a million miles away from this incarnation. His subversion of the Rule Book is the first in a long line of character moments that will eventually encompass talking Kane to death, befuddling Light and refusing to fight the Master. And that's just three I can think of on the hoof.

Then at the close of part two, Mallett hits the perfect note despite himself. For the most part Bonnie Langford is just as uncomfortable here as she was in Time and the Rani, but surrounded by old ladies and scones and tea and knitting she momentarily finds something she can respond to. So when the whole scene takes a turn for the absurd, Bonnie's overplaying is exactly what the script demands.

These two scenes apart the rest of the serial veers wildly between average of absolutely awful. No review of Paradise Towers would be complete without reference to Richard Briers, the man solely responsible for changing the consensus opinion of the serial from "not very good" to "awful." Somebody make him stop. Please. Say what you want about Hale and Pace and Ken Dodd, Richard Briers is the only actor amongst this august quartet and his is the most buttock clenchingly awful performance of the season, nay the era. Like Kate O'Mara's impersonation of Mel just a few weeks before it overshadows the entire serial. It's no wonder that contemporary commentators were already penning the series' obituary.

Richard Briers apart, Paradise Towers does continue Cartmel's steep learning curve. Being the first serial since Vengeance on Varos not to feature any continuity references is ordinarily not cause to celebrate, but this is damning the serial with faint praise. The very ethos of the programme has changed from the turgid navel gazing of season 22; from Paradise Towers onwards Doctor Who is looking forward rather than gazing wistfully behind.

The ratings for your last season were a disaster - what do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO? Do you look at the pattern of the 1980s, where from a strictly ratings perspective your two 25 minute Saturday afternoon seasons (18 and 23) have proven to be the least successful of the of the decade? Do you reflect on the fact that the two episodes per week format has been the biggest ratings draw of the last six seasons?

Or do you stick with the weekly half hour serial format that has patently died a slow and lingering death?

By the mid-80s audiences had proved reluctant to stick with a serial for the three weeks it takes to reach the conclusion. The Davison seasons overcame this to an extent because part four was broadcast just over a week after part one, whilst during season 22 that deficit was reduced to a single week. Heaven knows what was going through JNT's mind when he agreed to a fourteen week serial...

What I'm getting at is this; having been forced to regress to a format that should have long since been abandoned, through accident or design Cartmel comes up with the best compromise he can, the three-parter. It would be unfair to saddle the three-parters with the generalisation that they were simply four parters with the crap episode taken out (that's part three, by the way), but they are certainly a natural step on the path to self-contained 45-minute episodes that would become genre television's stock and trade in the 90s.

In their most simple terms, Cartmel has reduced the formula thus: episode 1, exploration; episode 2, investigation; episode 3, resolution. The episode 3 exposition instalment that has bogged down Doctor Who plots since time began is removed and the resolution is now only 14 days away, rather than 14 weeks.

In short, I think three-parters were a good idea.

And so on to Delta itself. It's fab. I am totally unashamed to admit that I love it to bits. It feels like the first story to be made exclusively for my generation (by my generation, I mean people who weren't about in the 70s), which probably explains why anyone over a certain age hates it.

A group of rock and roll loving aliens go on a trip to Disneyland in a spaceship that looks like a bus, crash in to a satellite and find themselves in a holiday camp in Wales in 1959. There they meet Burton, who deadpans the line, "You are not the Happy Hearts Holiday Club from Bolton, but instead are spacemen in fear of an attack from some other spacemen?" in a way that Leslie Nielsen couldn't have bettered. Thereafter he wanders through the story like Captain Mainwaring on acid, facing the bad guys with an enthusiasm that seems almost improper for a tale about genocide.

You couldn't make it up, well... er... yes you could, evidently.

After eight weeks of toil Sylv is getting a grip on where he wants to take the character. He dances uncomfortably with Ray, confronts Gavrok, rides a motorcycle, hugs a stratocaster and talks about love in a way than none of his predecessors could have done. Then he hatches a plan to defeat the bad guys with honey; he's a joy. Bonnie is still as stilted as usual, but she seems on firmer footing back on earth with (regular?) human beings to interact with.

As for the guest cast, Ken Dodd is Ken Dodd and doesn't bring shame on his profession in the way Richard Briers did a week before; Don Henderson is Don Henderson - I've never seen Z Cars but from what I've seen of him in other things, here he plays the same gruff character he'd been playing for the previous thirty years. Stubby Kaye is Stubby Kaye; actually, can you see a pattern developing here? By the same token I can only assume that David Kinder and Belinda Mayne are as bland in real life as they are on screen.

But the two who really steal the show are Richard Davies and Hugh Lloyd. Davies I mentioned before, he's possibly my favourite character in the whole thing. There's only been two characters in the whole series that I wish had joined the TARDIS crew; the wonderful D84 is the other. Hugh Lloyd as Goronwy adds a wonderfully magical edge to every scene he's in, and provides all of the exposition. In fact, sometimes I wonder if 'Goronwy' is welsh for 'Basil.' For example, when he's talking about the Queen bee secreting hormones into food to create a mate, he's not really talking about bees... or perhaps I'm just reading too much into it.

Either way, I love this tale of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll to bits. Really. Oh, and if Malcolm's Mum could put the cheque in the post, that'd be great.

Much like ‘Paradise Towers’, ‘Dragonfire’ is a story with a promising script let down by the production. These production problems are nowhere near as bad as those that marred ‘Paradise Towers’ however, and the story works rather better as a result. More importantly to the Doctor Who mythos, ‘Dragonfire’ paves the way for the last two seasons of the classic BBC series, as Mel departs and a new companion is introduced whose impact on the series, for better or for worse, remains to this day…

I’m going to get this out of the way without further ado and make it clear that I can’t stand Ace. Firstly, it has often been noted that she is a ghastly hybrid of a character, a supposedly streetwise rebellious London teenager played by a slightly posh woman in her twenties with dialogue written by largely middle class men who are over thirty. The result is abominable; apparently aiming for angst, scriptwriter Ian Briggs offers us such gems as the fact that Ace is sure that her parents aren’t her real parents because they gave her a crap name (Dorothy). She doesn’t suggest that her parents lacked judgement or hampered her with a name designed for bullies to have fun with in the playground, she actually tells Mel that they can’t be her real parents and she sounds very much like she means it. The result, along with her pyromaniac tendencies and complaints about the teachers at school who took a dim view to her blowing up a classroom with, lest we forget, real explosives, is that the impression created is not that of a troubled teenager but instead one of an emotionally retarded psychopath.

The second problem with Ace stems largely from Sophie Aldred. Aldred has been a staunch supporter of the series since it ended and seems like a thoroughly nice person, but as an actress she is appalling, delivering all of her lines in a horrible amateur dramatics fashion. It doesn’t help that the target audience of Doctor Who automatically limits the characterisation of Ace. Rebellious teenagers from London who don’t swear are about as commonplace as rocking horse, and this instantly poses a problem; Ace cannot swear for obvious reasons, and so the character doesn’t ring true. This wouldn’t be quite such a problem were it not for the fact that she is often placed in situations where it would be perfectly natural for her to swear; in these instances, we instead get such verbal diarrhoea as “Male chauvinist bilgebag”, “I bet you’ve never had a milkshake tipped over you head either”, “Gordon Bennett” and “What a bunch of spots!” Having said that, the rest of her dialogue is just as bad, with clunky and unrealistic lines such as “I ain’t got no mum and dad, I ain’t never had no mum and dad!” and “Do you feel like arguing with a can of deodorant that registers nine on the Richter scale?” Ultimately, I have never, during the entire run of the series, felt like I am watching a children’s programme quite as much as I do whenever Ace is on screen. It’s no coincidence that the only stories in which I personally think Ace works are the New Adventures post-‘Love and War’, during which she is almost a different character.

So, already cursed with a badly scripted, badly acted and badly conceived yet strangely popular new companion, does ‘Dragonfire’ have anything to offer? Well, yes but not all that much. The main plot is quite reasonable, featuring as it does an exiled criminal seeking the means to return home and wreak revenge upon his people; this is hardly original, but it is decent, workable stuff, and Kane is a great villain. In a season that began with hammy villains, Edward Peel’s suitably icy performance as Kane is extremely welcome and he positively exudes menace. His initial murder of one of Glitz’s crewmembers is highly effective in setting the tone and establishing the character, as he commits casual slaughter without the slightest hesitation, as though swatting a fly. He is also well motivated; his back-story is simple (he’s basically a gangster arrested and imprisoned by his people), but it is considerably enhanced by his love for Xana, his former accomplice who died escaping arrest. His obsession with Xana is what drives him, and although it is not explicitly stated, the impression is very much given that his much-desired revenge is to avenge his lover far more than it is to avenge his long imprisonment. Kane is scary throughout the story, Peel bringing real menace to lines such as “I demand absolute loyalty now and forever, and I don’t forgive those who betray me”, but his finest scenes are those following Belazs’ and Kracauer’s betrayal. Having been forcibly warmed up by Kracauer’s interference with his refrigeration system, Kane is too weak to stand, until he sees the destruction on the ice statue of Xana by the rising temperature; sheer fury at this desecration, far more than at the attempt to kill him, gives Kane the strength to rise to his feet and kill Kracauer, and he is consumed by hatred during the later scene in which he repays Belazs for her part in it. Because his desire for revenge, both for himself and Xana, is what motivates Kane, his eventual fate is very fitting; confronted by the fact that Proamon has been destroyed during his exile, he realises that his reason for existing is over, and so he commits suicide.

Unfortunately, discussion of Kane highlights one of the problems of ‘Dragonfire’, in that despite some good ideas, not everything seems to have been thought through carefully. Kane, we are told, has been waiting for three thousand years to regain the Dragonfire and return to Proamon, which raises the question of why. Within a short space of time, the Doctor and Glitz and Mel and Ace separately find the Biomechanoid, and it doesn’t take long for Kane’s soldiers to locate and kill it either. The idea seems to be that Iceworld is so massive that finding the creature is impossible but without the map, but three thousand years is such a vast expanse of time that it seems unlikely that Kane could not have found and destroyed the creature much, much earlier. He does, after all, have large numbers of soldiers and cryogenically frozen mercenaries at his disposal. The question is also raised as to why his jailors even left the Dragonfire on Iceworld, guardian or not; since Kane cannot possibly survive on the light side of the planet, it could have been hidden there, or even taken back to Proamon, thus guaranteeing that he could never regain it. Speaking of good ideas badly realised and Kane’s mercenaries, they are another potentially fine idea, effectively unstoppable zombies that are used to massacre the inhabitants of Iceworld or drive them out. They could have been extremely creepy, but ham and glitter spoil the effect; the extras playing them are awful, one of them apparently striking a catalogue model pose in the canteen, and the glitter added to their hair to make them look icy is just plain silly.

Nothing in ‘Dragonfire’ comes close to being flawless. Some of the characterisation is superb, with Belazs being another example in addition to Kane; she works for him, but like Kane himself is driven by a desire to escape, leading to an especially dramatic scene on board Glitz’s ship as the Doctor sadly tells her that he doubts she can ever repay her debt to Kane. Her eventual betrayal is well written, as her death scene, as Kane gives her hope before viscously subjecting her to a painful death, and Patricia Quinn is superb in the role, especially when she is plotting with Kracauer. Other characters work less well however. When I reviewed ‘The Mysterious Planet’ I noted that despite being well served by the script, Tony Selby’s portrayal of Glitz was spoiled by his stilted dialogue. He’s far more comfortable in the role here, as he was in ‘The Ultimate Foe’, but unfortunately this comes at a price. Whereas Holmes gave Glitz a hard edge (the first time he ever saw the Doctor he ordered him to be shot), this is largely absent here and the character seems neutered as a result. Suddenly, Glitz goes from being a ruthless (if cowardly) mercenary to being a dodgy dealer in rotten fruit and a third rate gambler who can’t pay his debts off. The fact that he sold his crew to Kane is a step in the right direction, but the effect of this is diluted by the fact that he’s generally become more of a likeable buffoon than a slightly dangerous criminal. To add insult to injury, designer John Asbridge decides to decorate the cockpit of the Nosferatu with furry dice and fake leopard skin seat covers, further transforming Glitz, by association, into a third rate spiv who wouldn’t be out of place in Eastenders.

This is symptomatic of the problems of ‘Dragonfire’; everything is undermined by lapses of judgement in the design and scripting. Stellar’s mother wanders around in a stroppy mood in Episode Three, apparently having missed the massacre of her fellow shoppers, which is blatantly silly. The costumes worn by Kane and his staff create the impression that they should be advertising ice cream. As is so often the case with Doctor Who during the nineteen eighties, the sets are too brightly lit, which at times makes it painfully obvious that they are made of plastic; only slightly less bright and they would have worked so much better, as would the Geiger-esque Biomechanoid, which comes close to being impressive but is lit up like a Christmas tree so that its rubbery appearance becomes obvious. The plot is explained at the end of Episode Two by a high-tech slide show. And of course there is the notorious Episode One cliffhanger, which takes the piss in interesting new ways and which makes no sense whatsoever unless you happen to have read the novelisation.

Nevertheless, ‘Dragonfire’ has moments of brilliance. The scene in which the Doctor distracts a guard with philosophical debate only to find himself out of his depth is priceless (famously, the lines are lifted out of The Unfolding Text), and subverts audience expectations, as well as the Doctor’s. This is followed shortly afterwards by Glitz telling the Doctor that Belazs is going to kill them to which he deadpans, “Ah, an existentialist”. Indeed, McCoy is very good here, even if his unwise decision to act as though walking on ice ends up making him look like a tit, since nobody else bothers. The Doctor’s interest in the Biomechanoid for purely scientific reasons contrasts nicely with everyone else’s obsession with the treasure, and as in ‘Paradise Towers’ and ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ it’s nice to see the Doctor just wander into a situation and work hard to keep as many people as possible alive and well without him having some hidden agenda; regardless of whether or not one likes the so-called “Cartmel masterplan”, it is pleasant to see the Doctor simply wandering the universe lead by his curiosity prior to the more manipulative, proactive characterisation of Seasons Twenty-Five and Twenty-Six.

And then there is Mel. For a brief moment in Episode One, Mel is at her most annoying, as Belazs intimidates Glitz and she leaps to his defense, telling Belacs that she’ll have to kill her and the Doctor to get to him. She has no knowledge whatsoever of the situation and the result is simply embarrassing for the audience. Oh, and later on she suggests a game of “I Spy” to pass the time, which instantly makes me want to reach into the screen and throttle her. But for the remainder of the story, she is at her best; Langford gives one last spirited performance before departing from the television series, and she comes off well. Mel is paired up with Ace here, and she benefits enormously. Partly this is because as irritating as Mel can get, Langford can at least act and therefore shines next to Aldred, but mainly it’s due to the script, which portrays Mel as older and wiser. She gains Ace’s trust before anybody else, including the Doctor, and she continues to stand up for what she believes in, screaming at Ace not to pick up Kane’s sovereign despite the risk to herself, and later reluctant to hand over the Dragonfire to a tyrant again regardless of the danger. Best of all, she gets a superb, if abrupt, leaving scene, in which McCoy shows the Doctor’s melancholy at her departure very well. The dialogue here is great, culminating in “Think about me, when you’re living your life, one day after another, all in a neat pattern. Think about the homeless traveller in his old police box, his days like crazy paving”, which sums up the Doctor beautifully. Those brief moments before he invites Ace to join him suddenly hint at the loneliness of near immortality and offer an explanation of why he surrounds himself with companions on his travels. Pity then that Mel’s reasons for leaving are complete bollocks, as she suddenly decides to go off with Glitz, a decision so preposterous that the best explanation to date is Steve Lyons’ suggestion in ‘Head Games’ that the Doctor brainwashed her to get rid of her and make way for Fenric bait.

In summary, ‘Dragonfire’ is not entirely successful, but has merit. And mercifully, for the only time in Season Twenty-Four, the musical haemorrhoid of Keff McCulloch’s work is soothed by the Anusol of Dominic Glynn, who composes a decent moody score that complements the story nicely. I’d say that he’s more talented than McCulloch, but it’s damning with faint praise.

When I reviewed 'Delta and the Bannermen' I suggested that arguably no other story from the McCoy era has divided the opinion fandom as much as that story; nevertheless, in that respect 'Remembrance of the Daleks' comes close to rivaling it, albeit for very different reasons. Regarded by some fans as one of the ten best Doctor Who stories of all time, 'Remembrance of the Daleks' has much to recommend it, but its controversy lies largely in the fact that for the first time it really heralds the beginning of the so-called "Cartmel Masterplan" and that this is obviously reflected in the characterisation of the Doctor.

I'll make it clear from the start that I adore 'Remembrance of the Daleks', for much the same reason that The New Adventures comprise one of my favourite eras of Doctor Who; I love the darker, more manipulative side to the Seventh Doctor that emerges here. And this is where many fans problems with 'Remembrance of the Daleks' lie, as the Doctor becomes a manipulative schemer, acting with foreknowledge of events and with a plan up his sleeve that sees him not blundering blindly into a situation and doing his best to sort it out, but orchestrating events from the start as he leads the Daleks into a trap. This culminates notoriously in the destruction of Skaro, and it is that more than anything else that so many fans take issue with. For over fifteen years now a debate has raged about the morality of the Doctor's actions here, as he manipulates Davros into destroying his home planet with the Hand of Omega. It is an issue more than worthy of debate; questions have been asked about the Doctor's right to effectively commit genocide by destroying the Daleks' power base, and critics have noted that the destruction of an entire world sees not just the destruction of the Daleks, but also that of an entire ecosystem. Writer Ben Aaronovitch has provided further fuel for this debate with his description of rock leopards in the mountains of Skaro in his novelisation of 'Remembrance of the Daleks' and questions have also been asked about whether there are any Thals on the planet at this time.

This issue therefore has at least two levels. On one level, the audience is invited to ask, was the Doctor right to wipe out the Daleks (or at least, Davros' Daleks) and on another, was he right to destroy an entire world? There is, ultimately, no easy answer. Back when I reviewed 'Genesis of the Daleks', a story in which the Doctor balks at committing genocide by wiping out the Daleks, I argued that whereas many so-called Doctor Who monsters are races of people with individual motivations and the possibility of redemption, the Daleks are, literally, Monsters. Back when Terry Nation created them, he used them as metaphors for nuclear Armageddon and later drew obvious parallels between the Daleks and Nazis. During the intervening years, they have remained as potent a force for evil as they were back then to such an extent that I have in the past likened them to Smallpox, a destructive force inimical to human life that many people would have no qualms about eradicating. So personally, I have no moral objection to the Doctor attempting to wipe them out; even more than this, I have stated in the past that I think the Doctor was wrong in 'Genesis of the Daleks'. 

The destruction of Skaro is more complicated. The Imperial Daleks seen here are suggested to be at the height of their powers; they have returned to their ancestral seat, they have an impressive mother ship capable of destroying entire planets, and they seemingly travel through time with ease. This being the case, I find it very hard to believe that Skaro, at the time in which it is destroyed, is still inhabited by Thals. As for the rock leopards, whilst as a fan I find the changes and additions made to Doctor Who television stories when they were novelized interesting, I strongly object to the suggestion that they should be taken into account when considering the relative merits of a television story; these stories were aimed at a wider audience than simply hard core fans, and should stand or fall on their own merits. Thus, there is little to suggest to in 'Remembrance of the Daleks' that Skaro is anything other than the radioactive rubble-strewn wasteland seen in 'Destiny of the Daleks'. The problem is however, that I'm not sure; I'm not absolutely convinced that there is nothing living on Skaro other than the Daleks, or for that matter on the other five planets in the system seen on the star map in the Dalek shuttle. It has also been pointed out that Davros chooses to use the Hand whether the Doctor goads him into it or not; critics have suggested that the Doctor could have warned him of the consequences of doing so instead of just asking him not to use, but this doesn't really make sense, since Davros would probably have still taken the Hand away with him and spent time trying to reprogram it (and possibly succeeding). Again however, the issue is far from clear-cut. And that, ultimately, is what fascinates me about 'Remembrance of the Daleks'. Suddenly, the Doctor has an edge to him, he has become proactive in a far more ruthless and dangerous way than anything we have seen before, even in the first three stories at the dawn of the series. Whatever knowledge he has beforehand, what we see is a Doctor who has considered the odds and has decided that the destruction of an entire solar system is worthwhile if it wipes out or at least severely cripples the Dalek race. Anyone who considers the Doctor a cut and dried Hero is undoubtedly going to have problems with this, just as they would have problems with the Doctor's actions in the New Adventures 'Love and war', 'Blood Heat' and 'Zamper' (to name but three examples), but I find morally dubious "heroes" vastly more interesting than clear cut "good guys". My final word on this issue is that, whatever else you might think about it, the strength of 'Remembrance of the Daleks' is that, fifteen years on it can still provoke fierce debate. 

So what of the rest of 'Remembrance of the Daleks', outside of that controversial sequence towards the end of Episode Four? The story has many good points. For one thing, the immediate effect of the Cartmel Masterplan is evident from the start, as the Doctor spends the story making sure that the correct Dalek faction gets the Hand of Omega and tries to limit the number of people killed in the crossfire. In amongst this, we have intriguing hints that we don't, after all, know everything about the Doctor, as he implies that he may have worked with Omega and Rassilon (incidentally, there is a deleted scene from Episode Four included on the DVD, in which he tells Davros that he is "far more than just another Time Lord"). The Doctor's alien nature is suddenly re-emphasized to powerful effect, and Sylvester McCoy responds with a performance here that is virtually flawless. During the scenes set in the Junkyard in Totter's Lane in Episode One, he makes quite asides such as "humans" and "what a predictable response" and inherent in those lines is something darker than what we are used to, as the Doctor stands in judgement of his favourite species. McCoy packs real emotion into those lines, which considering some of the oft-mentioned limitations of his acting skills is hugely impressive. The strengths of McCoy's acting are emphasized instead, so that we get a Doctor who charms his way into the confidence of Rachael and Allison, gains the trust of Group Captain Gilmore and alternates between deadly serious and clownish buffoonery. There is a magnificent scene in Episode Two as he discusses the nature of consequence with Joseph Marcell's John, and aside from being a beautifully scripted scene that foreshadows the events to come, it shows McCoy at his best; the Doctor seems genuinely exhausted by the stress of what he is doing when he first sits down at the counter and orders tea. 

McCoy's acting only even begins to touch on cringe-worthy during his confrontation with Davros in Episode Four, as he over does the Doctor's "unlimited rice pudding" goading to a level that should make it obvious even to the over-excited and emotional Davros that he is up to something. Terry Molloy's performance here as Davros is also occasionally criticized for being over-the-top, but personally I've never had a problem with Molloy's performance as Davros in any of his four stories to date. Whilst Davros is undoubtedly a genius, he's also undoubtedly insane; it has been pointed out that it is astonishingly stupid of him to use the Hand of Omega so quickly after having obtained it and in a fit of pique, but to me it seems perfectly in character, as he's easily arrogant and volatile enough to believe that he can indeed "handle the technology", and Molloy's ranting and cackling reflects the fact that he's literally almost gibbering with excitement at the prospect of gaining total mastery over time. 

I also, for the most part, like what Aaronovitch does with the Daleks here. It has been pointed out that the Daleks here are at there most clichйd, doing little except spouting "Exterminate!" at every opportunity and this is not entirely untrue, but coupled with that is the fact that Aaronovitch makes them seem truly dangerous again. Not since the Troughton era has a single Dalek presented such a potent threat as the one in Totter's Lane in Episode One, as it holds an entire squadron of soldiers at bay, killing two of them without receiving so much as a scratch in return. It takes the Doctor, armed with Ace's nitro nine, to deal with this lone Dalek where grenades in a confined space fail, and lines such as "that's just the point Group Captain, it isn't even remotely human" reinforce the danger of the Daleks in relatively subtle ways. Andrew Morgan's direction also helps; the Dalek point of view seen twice in Episode One is quiet impressive, but the Episode One cliffhanger as a Dalek glides up some stairs towards the Doctor is worth the license fee alone. Having said which, it is slightly undermined by the fact that a slight blow to the stomach leaves Ace apparently unconscious rather than, say, winded and clutching her stomach. At the end of the day, it is a blatant crowd-pleasing gesture, but I'm not going to lie and pretend that it doesn't make me grin from ear-to-ear every time I watch it. Especially in the company of non-fans. There are other examples of this; the Daleks here were all newly built props, and they look great. Some critics have complained that they wobble too much on location, but I don't especially care. I also love the Dalek battle in Episode Four, especially the Special Weapons Dalek, which is pure gimmickry but which I'm not afraid to admit gives me a cheap fanboy thrill. 

Other aspects of Aaronovitch's scripting of the Daleks are, again, more controversial. The Daleks have been the living embodiment of racism since at least 'The Daleks Invasion of Earth' (and arguably 'The Mutants'), but some fans have complained that the supposed reasons for their civil war (that they are into racial purity and that Davros has been mutating his Daleks further) contradicts 'Revelation of the Daleks', in which the Daleks from Skaro intend to recondition Davros' new breed of Daleks to obey the Supreme Dalek. In fact, the racial purity aspect is only hypothesized by Ace on screen, and is not confirmed by the Doctor or Daleks; nevertheless, it is consistent here with the old comparison that Nation used between the Daleks and Nazis, and as such it makes sense. Ironically, what rankles me far more and which rarely gets mentioned is the battle computer, which the Daleks need because they're dependent on rationality and logic. The Daleks were never portrayed as creatures of logic until 'Destiny of the Daleks', with examples of Daleks losing their temper or panicking scattered throughout the series and just as I hated this development in 'Destiny of the Daleks' I hate it here too. The other problem with the Daleks here is that on at least two occasions their actions don't entirely make sense. At the generally rather impressive Episode Two cliffhanger they spend too long chanting "Exterminate!" at Ace without actually killing her, and at the end of Episode Four the Doctor's ability to talk the Black Dalek to death doesn't make tremendous sense either. I only really understand these scenes with certainty because I've read the novelisation, and that is no more excusable here than it was for the rationale behind the silly Episode One cliffhanger in 'Dragonfire'. Having said that, I do rather like the idea of the Doctor talking a Dalek to death, simply because I find it to be a vaguely amusing conceit.

Inevitably with Season Twenty-Five, we have the problem of Ace. Sophie Aldred's performance is as stilted and self-conscious as usual, and the character continues to fail to work, again failed with such crass dialogue as "You toerag. You lying, stinking scumbag". On the other hand, the character works far better here than in 'Dragonfire', partly because Aaronovitch gives her plenty to do. The scene in which Ace beats up a Dalek with a baseball bat is woeful, but the cliffhanger ending to Episode Two as she is chased through the school is impressive. Then there is Ace's relationship with Mike; her attraction to Mike brings out her best side, as she flirts with him and tries to impress him, which gives way to anger when she discovers that he has betrayed the Doctor by working for Ratcliffe. More important though is what Mike represents. In contrast to the rabidly xenophobic Daleks, Mike's inherent racism is a banal, institutionalized affair, seeming petty even in contrast to that of Nazi-sympathizer Ratcliffe. Mike is, for the most part, likeable, and although it isn't explicitly stated, the impression is given that he has inherited his racism from his mum, who has a sign with "No coloureds" written on it hanging in the window of her bed and breakfast, and also from Ratcliffe, who he obviously admires and respects (incidentally, there is a deleted scene present on the DVD in which he worries that Ace is foreign, an attitude that gains him a look of contempt from Rachel). The importance of this to Ace is that instead of ranting unsubtly against the racism represented by the Daleks, which she thinks are into racial purity, her disgust at the attitudes of Mike and his mother are far more subtly revealed. When she finds the sign in the window of the bed and breakfast, she stares at it in disbelief and goes out for some fresh air; later, when Mike is trying to justify his actions, he gets as far as saying "You have to look after your own" before she tells him to shut up. Thus, we learn a great deal about Ace's character from two simple, underplayed scenes, and for all that she is a dreadful actress, Aldred handles them well. 

'Remembrance of the Daleks' benefits a great deal from decent characters and acting. Pamela Salem's Rachel Jensen is a great character, a frustrated scientist fed tidbits of information by the vastly more knowledgeable Doctor; she constantly tries to tease further bits of information out of him about the alien technology that she witnesses, only to be told that humanity isn't ready for it yet. Group Captain Gilmore is in a similar position, since the Doctor knows what is going on but tells him as little as possible and tries to keep him and his men safely out of the way. Nevertheless, he comes to trust the Doctor, eventually telling him, "only a fool argues with his Doctor" as he realises that he is hopelessly out of his depth. Simon Williams is superb in the part, keeping a stiff upper lip at all times in a role obviously reminiscent of the Brigadier (which the Doctor mistakenly calls him at one point). Then there is George Sewell's Ratcliffe, an unpleasant man who clearly believes that the ends justifies his means and has no qualms about bringing war down on London, and who naturally learns never to trust a Dalek, going the way of most Dalek allies… We also get relatively brief but dependable performances from Doctor Who stalwarts Michael Sheard and Peter Halliday, and an impressively creepy turn from Jasmine Breaks as the girl wired into the Dalek battle computer.

Finally, the production is very impressive. Andrew Morgan does a fine job of directing, and there are numerous nice touches including the ominous pre-credits sequence at the start of Episode One and the Dalek shuttle landing, which is astonishingly well done. As usual with Doctor Who, the extensive location work looks great, despite the occasional glimpse of an anachronistic building, and Martin Collins studio sets blend seamlessly with the location footage to the extent that I must admit it was a long time before I even realised that the school interiors were actually studio sets. And incredibly, astonishing though it may be, Kef McCulloch produces a half-decent incidental score. It is by no means perfect and there are some horrible drum machine fills on scenes that don't need them, but for the most part it more or less works. I should also say that I like the links to the series past, which are unobtrusive but provide some nice touches to mark the twenty-fifth season; the story is of course set in the same area of London and the same year as the very first episode of Doctor Who, with the junkyard at Totter's Lane and Coal Hill School featuring prominently, but there are also other touches such as the book on the French Revolution that Susan borrows in '100,000BC', plus the fact that as Ace is leaving the bed and breakfast, a new science fiction series is about to begin on BBC1. The Discontinuity Guide rather spoils the fun of this last point by explaining in painful detail why it can't actually be Doctor Who, but we all know damn well what the production team intended…

This then, is 'Remembrance of the Daleks', a story that has proved rather controversial over the years but one which I never fail to enjoy. With debates about the morality of the Doctor's actions here continuing to arise periodically the story's prominence is likely to endure; ultimately, for me, the worst thing that can be said about it is that it inspired 'War of the Daleks'.