Colin Baker says this was his favourite story out of anything he did on the series. One can easily see why. 

Although there is a school of thought in fandom that claims that this one "isn't all that it's cracked up to be" - I'm not one of those fans. This, in my mind at least, is a classic. In my top ten faves. Possibly even my top five! 

Where does one start with the praise? I'll take my usual route: the script. Phillip Martin makes possibly the most stunning first submission the series has ever seen. It's a great story on multiple levels. First, it's makes a great social comment, of course. Like "The Sunmakers" before it, or "Happiness Patrol" in years to follow, the script focusses greatly on creating an entire society for us to look at as well as a storyline to follow. And like the other stories I just compared it to - there's some allegory at play in this presentation. So, not only do we get a very creative script that puts together an entire self-contained society - but we also get some somewhat scathing underlying symbolism. Nicely enough, Martin's symbolism doesn't totally have to bite you on the ass, though. 

The other great aspect to his script is the actual action of the story. The best example of this is the later half of the first part. From the landing of the TARDIS on Varos to the cliffhanger - we are treated to one of the best roller-coaster rides the series has ever offered. The assailing of trap-after-trap in the Punishment Dome is not just good fun to watch, it's highly imaginitive. It almost seems as though Martin is aware that the story will probably have only so much budget to realise his vision so instead of having the crew build elaborate sets and props to execute his traps - he comes up with more novel ideas like the purple zone. A trap that is not only creative in the fact that it is more a "trick of the eyes" than a legitimate physical trap - but also creative because it required little more than a post-production effect and a bit of purple lighting. Brilliant stuff, really. Even more brilliant that Martin knew when to settle down with the chase through the dome and focus on the political intrigue of the story. Which is as entralling to watch as the action sequences. 

But, that still wasn't quite enough for this script. No, Martin also has to give us one of the most unique plot devices "Who" has ever seen. We get our very own "Greek Chorus" thrown into the mix with the characters of Arak and Etta watching the whole adventure on their T.V. screen. This is a magnificent touch. And their inclusion in the story is one of the vital elements, in my opinion, that propels this story from "fun little runaround" to "classic". Their introduction into the story is delightfully stylistic as the image of the tortured Jondar cuts to the screen on their livingroom T.V. They also have one of my favourite lines in the whole story: "I like that one! The one in the funny clothes". The two actors portraying them do a magnificent job - giving us a real Holmesian double-act even though the great Robert didn't write this one! 

Which leads us into another strong point: the acting. Aside from our two slightly wooden rebels, (who weren't really even all that wooden) - the actors in this piece do a thoroughly magnificent job. Of special note: Nabil Shaban as Sil. No one has ever played an alien with such relish and gusto as he has. In both his appearances on the show, really. But he makes the most remarkable first impression in Varos. I'm not sure what Phillip Martin's plans were for the character after this story - but Shaban can be given just as much credit as the writer for "earning" Sil's second appearance. I'm not sure if the Shaban is still around, but if there's any multiple appearance character from the old series that I would love to see come back for the new series - it would be Sil. He's great fun to watch. 

Also of noteworthy mention was Martin Jarvis' excellent portrayal of The Governor. A troubled man, torn between trying to make some positive changes in his society and remaining popular enough with the people to stay alive. His speech to Maldak as he's submitted to the green light of the cellular disentegrator is an excellent moment that really gets us to see the underlying passion of this character. Yes, he's horribly cold and callous too. But, in the end, his true colours shine through. And, again, this is displayed by a gorgeous marriage between the words of the script and they way they are spoken by the actor. 

While we're at it, though, let's also heap some praise on the great Colin Baker himself. The performance he turns in for this tale is one of his best. One can see his love for the script in how well-crafted his acting skills are in it. And though there is still the slighest insinuation at the beginning of the show that he's still a bit shaky from the regeneration, all of the sixth Doctor's traits are in strong evidence here. He's great oratical skills are displayed from the gallows as he rails against the Gallatron mining corporation. His first meeting with Quillam shows off his very poignant "cosmic jester" personae. And just the general delivery of his very rich, almost didactive style of dialogue is displayed in great abundance. He's arrogant and righteous one moment, compassionate the next, clever and deceitful the moment after that. And Colin gets all these very "topsy turvy" emotions to blend together seamlessly in one coherent characterisation. He does this in every story he was in, of course, but he's at his absolute best here. Even a simple line like: "Peri this is no time for casual conversation" is executed with a great delivery. Watch that bit - you'll see what I mean! 

The third pivotal element that makes the story a classic is its design. One of the greatest challenges I think the show always faces is getting each planet to look different from the last. This must be done by some sometimes outlandish-looking set design. Vengeance On Varos comes just to the edge of outlandish in the way the sets look, but it never quite totally crosses the line into absurdity. So that we really get a cool-looking architecture going on. Even those two little moving spotlights they set up in the background all over the place add just the neatest little effect to the whole proceedings. Not to mention the weird, slated doors and the mottled brown colour scheme. It's the perfect distinctive touch to a very distinctive story. 

Do I have any complaints? They're minimal, at best, so I can't even be bothered to mention them. I will bother to mention however, that some of the complaints levelled at this story by some segments of fandom seem generally unfounded to me. 

Although other people have found this tale to be too violent and almost a contradiction to its message because of said violence, it doesn't come across that way to me. Martin understood that he still had to tell an adventure story whilst making the comments he made and he struck a beautiful fine line between adventure and gratuitous violence. 

This story also has several elements to it that make it very reminiscent of other stories in this season. It's dark and somewhat macabre - like Revelation of the Daleks and The Two Doctors. The Doctor also goes a little anti-hero in places. And, it's a good long time before he actually gets involved with the story proper. But these elements, and others, were all things that I actually enjoyed greatly about Season Twenty-Two. I know I'm pretty alone in those sentiments and that many of you feel this season strayed too far from the Doctor Who formulae. But that's exactly what I like about this season. It tried something bold and different. 

And at the very epicenter of all that boldness lies Vengeance On Varos. A great story that embraces a very unique approach to a T.V. show that could've very easily rested on its 22-year-old laurels rather than explore new ground. But not only does it do some bold experimentation, it also does a wonderful job of telling us the most exciting of tales about a troubled penal colony in the Earth's future. 

As far as I'm concerned, you can hold this baby up to any of Tom Baker's best stories and I think it shines with them quite nicely. In some cases, even better. For instance, I'll take this story over "Genesis of the Daleks" any day. 

How's that for "fighting words"?

No one knows what a Black Light Explosion could do - there's never been one! "There will be soon."

Ah, a lovely story. The Doctor decides to check out the planet of Ravalox which is eerily similar to Earth, but upon arrival Peri finds the landscape a bit too familiar for comfort. And she's right: Ravalox is Earth, devastated by a fireball 500 years previously, the regenerated world is deserted bar a handful of survivors lorded over by Drathro the Immortal. But all good things come to an end and enthusiastic entrepreneurs Glitz and Dibber have unintentionally triggered doomsday.

Robert Holmes wrote this story while seriously ill and with a bunch of stuffed shirts calling themselves BBC executives breathing down his neck. If I could write something this good under such circumstances, I'd be irrideemably smug. Maybe it's just the return to 25-minute episodes but this is the first story of the Sixth Doctor era where the plot doesn't feel upside down and inside out. OK, it's clearly rooted in Holmes other works: The Krotons (a hidden robotic god demanding the two cleverest youths join him in hiding); The Space Pirates (Glitz is the latest in a long line of Milo Clancy characters); The Ark in Space (humanity surviving the burning of Earth); The Deadly Assassin (a black monolith heralding the end of the entire universe); The Ribos Operation (a con job involving a planet of primatives). Give the guy a break - Rob Shearman rewrites the same story every Big Finish he does, you don't come down on him like a ton of bricks, do you?

Holmes treats the Sixth Doctor like he did the Fifth - ignore everything and write for Tom Baker. This is no slur on Colin; Holmes only wrote for Tom Baker. Look at Carnival of Monsters or The Space Pirates - how easy to have Tom Baker appear in them. It's just one of those things I suppose. But how did I miss the scene where the Doctor offers Humker and Tandrell jelly babies? Or when he calls for Sarah-Jane? And anyone stupid enough to say the Sixth Doctor was 'evil' or 'lost his principals', I refer you to the scene he breathlessly tells Peri they are charging into mortal danger: when Peri ridicules this decision, he stares at her in horror and says, "Peri, I can't just let people die if there's a chance of saving them!" before storming off.

Yep, that's the Doctor all right. Willing to risk it all to save a bunch of people he hardly knows and, like in The Caves of Androzani, they're all callous bastards. No. Look again. Glitz is usually shown as light comic relief, and watching the last three episodes of this story, you can hardly blame them. But look at episode one. This cheeky space-Arthur Daley plans to shoot the Doctor and Peri in the back of their heads for nothing more than sadistic pleasure, at the time regailing Dibber with tales of trying to kill the countless psychiatrists that tried to help him. Glitz is a bleeding psychopath! Maybe it was the rewrites that reduced him to the comic foil he becomes by part four, but he's still a hard case - cheerfully planning to wipe out 500 innocent people by gassing them like badgers, he may rarely get a chance to use his guns but if he did there's no doubt Katryca would be the first to die.

The rest of the cast aren't particularly nice. Drathro's the villain, but Merdeen is supposed to be a hero - though this hero is quite happy to cull the Doctor and dozens of others if he thinks he's being watched. Just because he sees its unecessary doesn't excuse he fact he does it. Grell's worse, not even seeing any problem with murdering friends and family. Katryca... well, she's just a nutter and its good that Joan Sims shows that off. Katryca's written as a wily old woman - as long as she's half-asleep staring into a fire. Beyond that, she goes crazy, makes speeces, and enjoys burning people in Wicker Men, only without the Wicker. The fact that Broken Tooth and the others let her push them around shows they aren't up to much either. The only remotely nice character is Balazar, who winds the Doctor up so much he calls him 'a pallid little swot' to his face, and also organizes fatal stonings.

There are a few problems with this story, I admit. For a start, the fact its working title is The Mysterious Planet. Odd how the mystery is solved five minutes into the first episode. It's Earth! Then, in the third. It's definitely Earth! Surely this should be a Planet of the Apes-style final episode revelation? And why is Peri so instantly tuned into the fact she's wandering around the United Kingdom and speak of it with nostalgia? She's not from there. Was Holmes thinking the campion might be English and recognize it? And Glitz seems well up on human culture for someone who's Andromedan (he knows of marriage, funerals, stamp collecting, charity workers and the Latin phrase Pater Familias). If Earth was destroyed two million years after the 1980s, why was Marble Arch station unchanged? Why do the train guards wear torch helmets when there's plenty of light to see? Why does Drathro only realize there is a village AFTER the L1 has left there? And if Drathro has studied human behaviour for 500 years... why's he so appallingly bad at it? (That may be the point, so I'll let it go.)

But on the whole, it's fine. The Doctor and Peri are the best of friends, with the former worried around the latter enough to delay his exploration and the latter willing to run into a shootout to rescue the former. The humor level is turned up and... I like it. OK, some of it's not sophisticated ('I did it.''I think you'll find that I did it.''I did it.''I DID IT!!'), but I laughed anyway. The Doctor deliberately getting people's names wrong, carrying a teddy bear, Glitz and Dibber discussing their childhoods, Balazar getting a face full of green slime... I laughed. It's feel good stuff. And after the relentless, plotless grittiness of Revelation of the Daleks, a breath of fresh air - this is a story where all the characters get a purpose before dying horribly. In Season 22, Humker and Tandrell would have been brutally shot down (stop cheering!) but here they escape, they reach the outside world... and they are so amazed by it they stop arguing, totally absorbed by it. Katryca learns fatally not to push it and that shouting she's in charge won't impress anyone. For all Drathro's talk of logic, he falls for Glitz's ploy hook, line and sinker. Balazar goes from annoying nerd to... well, he's still an annoying nerd but he'll never stone someone to death again. And Dibber continually proves he's smarter (and fitter) than his boss. It's a happy ending.

And that's Rob Holmes' genius. How the hell does he make these happy endings after such implicitely grim storyline? When I recently watched The Sun Makers with the eyes of a grown-up, I found it utterly terrifying. All of humanity was screwed by the Usaurians and then worked and taxes to death for centuries. The Doctor stops it in one afternoon, but what about the years and years of hopeless horror that Cordo and his ancestors suffered? Not only does this story show all human civilization burnt off the face of the Earth, the five hundred survivors are kept at that number by routine cullings. For five hundred years. Five hundred years. But somehow, even knowing that, it still feels right that the Doctor and Peri walk away from it exchanging witty insults. I wonder how Warriors of the Deep would have ended if Holmes had had a hand in it - it sure wouldn't have concluded with the Doctor croaking there should have been another way.

But it isn't just levity. The Doctor's passionate speech to Drathro is exactly the sort of stuff he should have had right in the beginning - he speaks of life with such awe as if even discussing it is not his place. No bombastic shouting or sulks, and it is a revelation to see the Sixth Doctor face an enemy he cannot sweettalk or defeat. As Glitz says, "Don't knock low cunning,". Seeing the Doctor only win the day by being defeated by a bunch of wandering cooks is a nice throwback to the Peter Davison days as well.The Mysterious Planet is a great story, and bar Peri's hairstyle, I think fandom would have engineered its replacement of Timelash without a second thought. It is only when I look at the story as Doctor Who's last, desperate bid to win the ratings war do I think it's in any way lacking. Where's the returning monster, the new villain, the companion departure, the event that stops a story being a disposable one? Where's the thing that makes you desperate to see what happens next? As a Doctor Who story, it's great, but as a television gambit, this is as far from target as its possible to get.

‘Cerebral’ is a word that often gets thrown about when fans discuss Doctor Who amongst ourselves. Let’s be honest, now - we do like to pat ourselves on the back about how *cerebral* the show is, don’t we? I mean, it is much more cerebral than, say, Star Trek or Star Wars, isn’t it; is it any wonder the Americans don’t really get it? More than that, the very towering cerebrality of the program implies something about *us*, too – after all, the simple fact that we have all gravitated towards this show means that we are part of an elite, a select, clubbish group made up exclusively of those with the rare intellects it takes to comprehend, let alone love, such an esoteric, wonderfully *cerebral* work as Doctor Who. Am I wrong?

Well, as much as it might feel good to go on like this, the cold fact remains that much of Doctor Who’s entertainment value was about as cerebral as a fat lady sitting down on a chocolate pie. Think of how often in the series we can observe ludicrous (a) non-science, (b) plot holes, (c) chases and (d) escapes, (e) so-we-meet-again-Doctor! dialogue (and worse), and then of course there’s (f), the show’s amusing tendency to tie up loose plot strings with huge explosions in the final ten minutes. And please don’t make me bring up the Slitheen . . . . It may be painful, but it must be admitted that Doctor Who drew on a vast mishmash of cultural sources, handling them in countless different ways; and the resulting patй-like texture, while undeniably part of the appeal (Doctor Who almost literally contains something for everyone), means that a whole lot of fat and weird gristle can be found mixed in with the lean. Also, another factor is the continuing emphasis on the program as one for children and the family, which often makes for stories that err on the side of accessibility rather than intellectual challenge, for better or worse.

That said, every once in a while, a story aired that truly did live up to the ‘cerebral’ label, and I don’t think anyone, even those who truly hate ‘Ghost Light,’ can deny that it is one of them. This story is dense, challenging, and occasionally frustrating in its obstinate refusal to be straightforward in its narrative approach. At times, it can seem like the Doctor Who equivalent of a European art film – the emphasis is on impression and imagery rather than on completely comprehensible plotting. Its wordplay is buoyant and witty, but it’s also heavy with literary allusions, and can seem mannered and artificial if not approached in the right spirit. It addresses the abstract concept of evolution, but chooses not to make any sort of obvious statement about it; in other words, it doesn’t put evolution under a microscope to dissect it, but rather bats it about playfully like a balloon. This detached approach is not going to be appreciated by everyone, but it can’t be denied that it was daring for the production team to attempt such a complex story in the context of the Doctor Who format. (It has been suggested that omens of Doctor Who’s impending cancellation liberated the production team to experiment, and indeed, it seems hard to believe they would have attempted such a story had they thought a more accessible approach *could* save the program.)

The abstract, impressionistic nature of ‘Ghost Light’ makes a straightforward explanation of what it’s trying to do difficult, and some other writers here have acknowledged that fact - or demonstrated it! And I’m sure that I shall do no better. But perhaps a good place to start is with the ways in which the story depicts the Victorian era, because this time, unusually, the place/time setting is not only there to create atmosphere, but also to resonate with the conceptual subject matter at hand. ‘Ghost Light’ is set in a great old spooky Victorian house, and it does a good job of conjuring up all the morbid associations we expect from gothic literature of this period – the dead birds all over the place are a nice touch – and, indeed, the direct references to James, Carroll, etc., emphasize the self-conscious ‘literariness’ of the approach. More than simply setting a story in the Victorian, Marc Platt’s script exaggerates the Victorianness to the point where it’s almost laughable – such improbabilities as everyone sitting down to a civilized dinner party in the midst of such bizarre circumstances have an element of parody, and Fenn-Cooper, Matthews and Mackenzie are characters that could easily have appeared in Wodehouse. 

But, as I said, the Victoriana goes deeper than surfaces, as the story’s two main villains are revealed as peculiarly Victorian mad scientists, sort of flip sides of the same Darwinian coin: Light is a fastidious cataloguer of life forms, and Josiah seizes on the concept of ‘survival of the fittest’ as a way in which he might gain power for himself. But it is interesting that Platt’s script is more ambivalent than we might expect on the evolutionary question. For while the Doctor criticizes, and ultimately destroys, Light for his refusal to acknowledge evolutionary progress (“We don’t want things to change – we make sure they cannot”), we also can’t say that Josiah’s embracing of the evolutionary concept is held up as inherently superior. After all, Josiah’s ambitions are depicted as disgusting (his cast-off ‘husks’) or absurd (his plot to take over the Empire by assassinating Victoria). Then again, it can be argued that Control and Nimrod are characters who use evolution to dramatically improve themselves . . . . but this is a good example of how ‘Ghost Light’ resists attempts to explain it simply. Suffice it to say that viewers who look for easy answers in the story are setting themselves up for disappointment. (This is not to suggest that such a desire is necessarily wrong – just that it won’t be successful here.)

So, having failed to draw a simple conclusion from the thematic content, perhaps we should at this point turn to the aesthetic elements, which are rather easier. The design, as I said, is very effective at conjuring up the dusty Victorian of ghost stories, and the many dead things and creepy crawlies we encounter not only highlight the natural science themes, but also contribute to the horror of the piece. At many points, ‘Ghost Light’ truly does resemble a nightmare, such as when the insect-headed ‘husks’ (in evening dress!) come to life and shamble towards Ace, or when the wraith-like Control first escapes and chases the others down the hall (a very scary moment). The scene in which Ace wakes up in a comfortable bed only to learn that night is falling heightens the sense that ‘Ghost Light’ is a bad dream from which its characters cannot escape. Even the jokes are often macabre, as when the Reverend Matthews accuses Josiah of “disputing man’s dominion over nature” – while the latter is serving calves’ brains for dinner! 

The story’s one real aesthetic flaw, as others have pointed out, is the physical manifestation of Light, who appears not as the ‘angel’ of Ace’s estimation, but more as a tanned, blow-dried eighties news anchor in soft lighting. It doesn’t help that John Hallam seems to be imitating Terry Jones’s Prince Herbert when he speaks, either. By some miracle, the character remains effective in its conception, and perhaps would have benefited from being winged, as the production team apparently wished to do. (But with Hallam playing him, probably not.)

Fortunately, the other actors fare much better. Carl Forgione’s Nimrod is extremely likeable, and comes across as surprisingly soft-spoken, articulate and humane. ‘The Discontinuity Guide’ compares him to Caliban from ‘The Tempest,’ but apart from superficial similarities this doesn’t make much sense to me; and, indeed, if there is a Caliban in this story, it must be Sharon Duce’s Control, who, like Shakespeare’s character, is frightening and ‘monstrous,’ embittered towards her superiors (“You promise me my freeness!”), and ultimately sympathetic, despite her initially repulsive appearance. And it’s nice that Platt allows her a more explicitly happy ending than Caliban’s, too. Sylvia Syms is also good as the Mrs. Danvers-esque sinister housekeeper, and it is a credit to the actress that the character is transparently above her station even before her true identity as a gentlewoman is revealed. And Michael Cochrane at times steals the show as Redvers, who is given many of the script’s best lines (“That, sir, is no way to talk to a lady-like”).

And as for the regulars, just like in ‘The Curse of Fenric,’ they seem to enjoy exploring the dramatic opportunities provided by script editor Andrew Cartmel’s controversial ‘manipulation’ stories. Sophie Aldred is particularly good here, and pulls off Ace’s more overtly emotional moments far better than she did in stories like ‘Remembrance of the Daleks.’ She is comfortable both with the flippant banter she exchanges with the Doctor (Ace frequently gets the upper hand – “Uncle Josiah knows as much about its secrets as a handbagger knows about the Amazon desert.” “Sounds a bit like you and the TARDIS.”), and with the more serious scenes (she seems genuinely shocked and betrayed when she learns the Doctor has brought her back to Gabriel Chase). And as for the Doctor, Sylvester McCoy does suffer from his well discussed inability to create a sense of danger (when he shouts at Control through the window he seems merely hammy), but overall he’s quite good as well, clearly enjoying himself in his scenes with Aldred. And his performance also softens the manipulative elements of the character brought out in the script – he’s certainly believable in playing this Doctor’s compassion for his companion, as when he puts his hand on her shoulder and says, “I think you care a lot, Ace.”

So, how can we sum up ‘Ghost Light’? In the end, the viewer’s appreciation for ‘Ghost Light’ is going to depend on his tolerance for its approach. It’s true that this is a story that remains confused in some ways, even on repeat viewings. Several plot elements, such as the origins of Control and the transformation of Matthews, have to be inferred rather than deduced by the audience, and this is going to make the story somewhat unsatisfying for some viewers, especially uninitiated ones. Like ‘Kinda,’ ‘Ghost Light’ is ultimately apt to remain something of an acquired taste, even for fans, but it is an oddity that is probably worth the effort in the end, whether because of its cerebral quality, or in spite of it. 

Either way, it has a wonderful final line.

The Curse Of Fenric and I go back and long, long way. In fact, this was only the second Doctor Who story I ever saw (the first being Death To The Daleks) way back in 1991 when I was six years old. I didn’t get into Death To The Daleks at that age, so this is the point where I trace the beginning of my fandom – having said that, I can quite honestly and categorically say that watching this story for the first time all those years ago was the most scared I have ever been in my life. Perhaps that’s why the McCoy title sequence never bothered me too much – I associated it with this story so instead of it being brash and gaudy I found it menacing, signalling what was to come in this story. I was so frightened that I didn’t watch this story again for years and years (meaning that my ancient VHS tape is still in great condition) but now, aged 21, The Curse Of Fenric stands proud in my top three stories of all time.

It begins as it means to go on: scarily, with two Russian dinghies heading towards the English coast. Under the water lies the forgotten remains of a Viking longboat, and on the surface a strange mist is falling. The rear dinghy is enveloped…and vanishes. Only one of its crew is found later, washed up on the shore – a gibbering, petrified wreck. I could go on like this for the distance, as it’s such a captivating story that knows exactly how to get a reaction from the audience – be it excitement, interest, puzzlement or terror – and executes it brilliantly. Part of its appeal lies in the unease and fear created by the sense of the unknown, the bread and butter of successful horror. The fact that the soldier Gayev is unable to say what has terrified him so badly, the scene becomes even scarier. I’ve gone on in my reviews elsewhere about my love of a good, absorbing mystery, and Gayev being mute works much more effectively than a cheesy “it was…it was…aargh!” which a lesser story may have employed. This sense extends to the plot: what is the Viking longboat doing there? We find out later, but rarely do we learn anything conclusive. This is evidence that this story is at least as confusing (not to mention thematically rich) as the preceding Ghost Light. Great though that story is the general weirdness of its plot and themes are its be-all-and-end-all; The Curse Of Fenric on the other hand is much, much more.

You look differently on things depending on what mood you’re in. This is such a good story that I actually really like both Sylvester McCoy and Sophie Aldred in it. I’d say they’d both improved since their debuts and to an extent this is true, but Aldred’s performance in much of Battlefield suggests a flaw in this. It must be said that elements coming together is a key factor in the overall impression of a story – a scene or a line might work very well in a story like this, but may just annoy if in a weak story. Anyway, I’m waffling a bit: they’re both on good form here, both clearly enjoying the brilliant script.

Dr Judson’s office is a good example of the quality of the period detail of the story: historically accurate yes, but fundamentally an ordinary room which helps create a sense of realism; visually gorgeous as it was the sepia-tinted The Empty Child very definitely takes place in Blitzworld™, a Second World War that is definitely an artistic construction, whereas it’s easier to believe that this could be real. Dinsdale Landen is brilliant as the tortured Dr Judson and – spookily – he died the day before the DVD arrived from Amazon.co.uk. 

Petrossian’s melodramatic comment that the evil is “cold against your skin” is cheesy, but the scene is rescued by Tomek Bork as the noble(ish) Captain Soren. Apparently Bork was upset at being asked to play a fervent Communist, raising the question about why he auditioned for the role of a fervent Communist, but whatever he felt he gave a performance to be proud of. Ace lying in bed listening to a crying baby is truly chilling, and is followed immediately by Petrossian being clobbered by something that comes out of the sea – this mystery is reaching critical mass. However, I should say that the new 5.1 surround mix replaces his scream with a different one that doesn’t sound half as good as before.

The exchange between the vicar and Miss Hardaker is a brilliantly written one, with Wainwright’s doubts introduced early on without being rubbed in the audience’s face. Unfortunately Jean does not convince as a Londoner, although I’m more inclined to think that Joanne Bell as Phyllis is speaking with her natural accent – which in turn sounds weird when she is eventually turned into an Haemovore, possibly because of the traditional image of the erudite, upper-class vampire. The line of “Maidens’ Point? Well, that rules us out” shocked me a lot when I heard it, as it’s really not what I expect from an original series story; indeed it has only just been added to the DVD as its inclusion in the 1991 video release would have meant a 12 rating. If this was a Russell T. Davies episode I’d be lashing into him right now – but if this was a Davies episode that would have been the third such gag so far (I know, cheap shot).

The ULTIMA machine is very impressive but the thought that it can translate Viking runes is rather implausible and almost spoils things until you remember that these runes were cut specifically for use in the machine, as their translation facilitates the release of Fenric. This is followed by the Doctor revealing to Ace that there’s been subsidence in a grave – the implication is clear, but rather than darkly dwell on it (“something’s been moving under there…”) the Doctor cracks a witticism about Communion wine. This means the subtle implication is left to linger in the mind unaided, adding to the atmosphere, and it also shows that the Doctor knows what’s going on but isn’t telling. The fact that we can’t trust the Doctor adds greatly to the sense of unease, and Ace forlornly reading off a list of the dead Vikings is wonderfully atmospheric. 

The sense that the Doctor is leading the audience behind is heightened when he finds the sealed orders from Russia (which the Commandos would really like to get back) but refuses to explain what they are or what they mean – the audience is left to make their own conclusions when it is revealed that they share chilling parallels with the runes in the church crypt. The first scene with Millington in his office is almost dialogue free, showing how much the music adds to the atmosphere: Mark Ayres is the one person I can think of who can make synthesiser music work in a period setting. The aforementioned translation of the runes is as spooky and atmospheric as everything else, and would make a great poem if a bit of creative editing was done on it. The scenes where it is read are helped greatly by cutting to the runes or to the unique underwater photography (okay not quite unique as Paradise Towers had some, and so did Warriors Of The Deep etc…but who cares about them?); this is much more interesting than merely lingering on the reader, and shows what a good director Nicholas Mallet can be. In fact, it almost makes up for him allowing us to see “PEX LIVES” written on the wall too early in Paradise Towers.

Next we see the dead Russian soldier under the water, which is one of this story’s several nightmare moments. However, my marginally stronger constitution now allows me to look at the scene a bit more closely and you can definitely see his eyes move. Then again, paint my face white, immerse me in water and tell me to play dead and my eyes’d probably move too. That or I’d die. I say paint my face white: he was a black man apparently, and they did a reverse minstrel on him to get that ultra-realistic “deathly pallor” look. Tasteful.

Cory Pulman makes a pleasing impression as the hard done by Kathleen Dudman, although the baby’s Superted toy is the kind of anachronism you’d think someone would have noticed. Also, for Aaron Hanley (who’ll be around sixteen at the time of writing), being able to say he’s been in Doctor Who at a time when the show is quite well-regarded and mainstream again carries less street cred than you’d first think when you consider he’s playing Sophie Aldred’s mother. Alfred Lynch is also good as Millington; I didn’t react well to his deadpan character at first, but it has grown on me a lot over the years.

Into part two, and the drowned soldier waking up is the moment that freaked me out the most as a youngster, and therefore is my candidate for Doctor Who’s scariest ever moment for the default reason that it’s the moment that scared me the most. QED. However, the close up of the Haemovore’s hand looks very fake and rubbery – you can even see the bubbles escaping through the hole in the glove. They definitely work better in long shots. Fenric getting round the Doctor’s plan of giving the translation to Dr Judson by burning new ones into the wall is a great plot device, but I do feel it could have been better explained as it took me years to work out what was going on in this story. I’m alright now, I understand it because I’ve had so many years to think about it, but looking at it objectively I have to criticise it. I’m no fan of crass exposition, but sometimes the plot is a little too cryptic for its own good. It does lead to a nice revelation from the Doctor though, about nine hundred year old runes that weren’t there before (although wouldn’t Judson have noticed too?).

Nurse Crane is a great character. Making someone annoying is a difficult task for a writer and actress as they can’t genuinely irritate the audience; the viewer must like being annoyed by them to feel an appropriate level of schadenfreude at their eventual demise. Here this works very well. Ace’s anger at the poison (glowing green, naturally – my earlier comment about The Empty Child succumbing to simulacra applies here to an extent) is rather poorly acted, letting the side down a bit. However, Aldred makes up for this with the lovely scene where she comforts Wainwright over his loss of faith, which also has a parallel with The Empty Child. The ULTIMA machine is booby trapped with a big green bottle of poison in full view, which is rather silly, although it does lead to an amazing scene where Millington reveals to the Doctor exactly how the toxin will be released. The Discontinuity Guide asks how the Russians expect to get away with the ULTIMA machine in their little dinghies: firstly Millington suggests that they only want a part of it, and in any case unless they rowed all the way from Norway it’s safe to assume that they have some transport waiting somewhere, out at sea.

I’m still not sure how Millington and Judson know about Fenric. Then again there’s a lot I don’t understand about this story; it is ripe for fan speculation, which is always a laugh (except when it gets out of hand). My theory is that Fenric implanted the knowledge in their heads, since he’s been manipulating their entire lives.

More atmosphere (yes, more) comes when Jean and Phyllis are swallowed by the sea. They work much better as zombies (apart from the aforementioned accent) as there’s less call for them to be naturalistic, which really isn’t their strength. Here’s another interesting nugget: when the Doctor tells Kathleen he doesn’t know if he has family, she replies “it’s the war isn’t it? It must be terrible not knowing” to which he replies “yes”. This takes on a double meaning in light of the new series…maybe there was trouble brewing even at this stage in his life. Nice bit of retro-active continuity there. You’ll have to excuse me one moment as my head appears to have become lodged in my bottom, but I think I’m alright now.

Ace explains to Judson about the logic diagram, which is the closest we get to some proper exposition. Come to think about it season 26 is full of complicated plots – apart from Ghost Light (which needs no mention) there’s the ambiguous link between the Cheetahs and their planet in Survival, and Battlefield which is just generally garbled. The Haemovores also appear properly now – they are well designed, costumed and shot which is reflected in the fact that like the Zygons they are popular monsters despite only having one appearance in the show.

Into part three and it’s raining all of a sudden. Since the changing weather was by necessity worked into the plot I really don’t have a problem with it and I think its weirdness adds a lot. In fact, the special edition’s regrading process takes something away because although the faded colours are there the light and shade is still that of bright sunshine, so if anything it looks even less realistic. What’s the problem with it being rainy while the sun is shining? That happens. There wouldn’t be rainbows if it didn’t. I’m waffling again, aren’t I? The Haemovores marching along the foggy beach look wonderful.

The scene where Kathleen rebukes Ace for suggesting she’s an unmarried mother is a good one; Ace often puts her foot in it in period stories but here it feels natural and a mistake that could genuinely be made, as opposed to calling a nineteenth century gentleman “bog brain”. The later scene when she learns of her husband’s presumed death is also brilliantly acted.

The curse being passed down through the generations taps into a derivative but successful idea that mankind is being manipulated, although it does raise the question of whether there’s a conflict of interest between Fenric and the Fendahl. Next we come to the famous battle in the church. This is pretty ordinary, with the seeping water being unimaginative nonsense, and is only really notable for the reappearance of Ace’s ladder last seen in Ian Briggs’s previous story Dragonfire. While it worked in such a silly story as that, it feels like too much of a contrivance in a more realistic story here and also shows how elements of Ace’s character were not built upon by other writers. It is notable that we get more “professor” lines here than in any story since Dragonfire too.

Eeeeeevil, eeeeevil since the dawn if tiiiiiime! It’s a well written scene, but Sylvester McCoy is floundering hopelessly. It’s a shame as it’s potentially a good scene as well as being an important one for the plot, but all people do is laugh at it. Ace manipulating the soldier is a disappointing scene though, and possibly the worst of the story. She’s there talking utter gibberish, and this highly trained soldier’s standing their lapping it up. Sorry, I don’t buy that. After this the word ‘Ingiga’ comes out of the ULTIMA machine – it took a long time to work out that Ingiga refers to “the great wyrm” or something like that, and so here probably refers to the Ancient One. The cliffhanger is great, if slightly cheesy, but it loses something in the feature version as all the build up comes to naught. Much as I like the feature version it’s not perfect – while I appreciate having to edit the episodes into one for timing reasons some of the cut outs could have been better left out, such as lingering shots of people sitting or walking that add nothing to the story. Fenric’s teleporter is a great special effect though. 

Ace’s cry of “Mum, I’m sorry!” is a good subtle moment of characterisation, and is soon followed by a well directed sequence where the soldiers shoot at Phyllis and Jean. Fenric’s “eulogy” shows a villain with a black and twisted sense of humour, which is very rare and makes it such a great villain. Nurse Crane’s death is deeply disturbing, helped by Landen’s unsettling smile; the guest cast of this story have a fairly high mortality rate of 64.7%, and these deaths are the deaths of real, fleshed out characters. Phyllis’s and Jean’s deaths are also good, and the Ancient One comes across as a very sympathetic character. I like the shock of Fenric passing into Soren after being defeated at chess (yes that’s derivative too but it’s still pretty stylish). My only gripe is that Fenric keeps going round with his eyes shut.

The revelation that the baby is Ace’s mother is great, although the flashbacks added to the feature version are unnecessary and overstate the point. The Doctor’s dark betrayal is another great moment, as McCoy seizes the opportunity to play to his strengths. The notion that Fenric has been following the Doctor’s travels affecting the chess set in Silver Nemesis gives the McCoy years a proto-Bad Wolf set up, which is nice. My only gripe with the ending is that Fenric is killed so easily; okay so Soren’s body is killed but does Fenric die so easily when deprived of a host? That’s disappointing. Also, the bunker exploding for no good reason is melodramatic and should surely release the poison. The final scene is beautiful, but again the feature version (through necessity of some technical problem) cuts out the Doctor’s final line. This is a disappointment, although it’s still a great sentiment to end on.

The Curse Of Fenric is very nearly perfect, and the teeny, tiny flaws I’ve mentioned can’t diminish its greatness at all. This story defined my childhood terrors and as such affects me deeply – therefore, ironically in such a long review (3070 words), I find it quite hard to sum up quickly. Therefore, I’ll end with a message to all the parents who complained that The Unquiet Dead was too scary: your kids may have sleepless nights now, but in ten years time they’ll never get enough of it.

Ten years after ‘Doctor Who’ disappointed legions of fans, Doctor Who finally returned to our screens in a blaze of publicity that is almost unnerving. With Queer as Folk writer and Doctor Who fan Russell T. Davies at the helm, I was hugely optimistic about the new series for the eighteen month period between the announcement of the series return and the broadcast of the first episode, especially having read Davies’ New Adventure ‘Damaged Goods’. Nevertheless, I found myself wracked with doubt and worry about viewing figures, press reaction, public opinion, whether or not there would be a second series, whether or not the associated merchandise would be any good, what impact the series would have on the regular range of Doctor Who novels, and perhaps most importantly, whether or not it would be shite. My excitement built once more when casting news was revealed, clips started getting aired on television and I started to see photographs of amusing blue monsters with bitch tits, but ultimately it wasn’t until I sat down and watched ‘Rose’, the first episode of the new series that I was finally able to decide what I thought about the new series.

‘Rose’ is visually one of the most striking episodes of Doctor Who I have ever seen. This is largely due to director Keith Boak, who provides a narrative pace many times faster than any previous Doctor Whoepisode, a stark reminder that the series hasn’t been made by the BBC for sixteen years and that television is not what it used to be. A lot of character interaction happens during forty-five minutes, and there are numerous fast cuts between scenes, as well as various showy camera shots. The opening shot of a star field before the camera zooms in on Earth and then rushes down into London grabs the attention immediately, by dint of being rather dizzying, especially when the image on the screen comes to rest on Rose’s bedside clock. This is followed by speeded-up footage of London during the evening rush hour, none of which is new to television, but all of which is new to Doctor Who. Mercifully however, Boak has enough restraint that the episode doesn’t suffer unduly from the bane of modern television drama, very short scenes. The scene in which Rose follows the Doctor out of her house and pesters him for answers sees the pair walking towards a retreating camera, but the scene is a complete piece of work, with the pair talking throughout and no sudden cuts to other characters in different situations. We get this later of course, but the focus of the story is on the fledgling relationship between the pair and everything else remains secondary, and the direction reflects this. Also worthy of note is the early scene in which Rose finds herself surrounded by Autons in the basement, which manages to be compellingly creepy. Incidentally, it is rather ironic that given the budget spent upon the series, the Autons lookexactly like modern shop manikins and thus less alien and somehow cheaper than they used to. In time honored tradition, the episode also benefits from some nice location work, with the shots of the London Eye being especially effective in creating the much vaunted British feel for which the series is known. My only real criticism of the actual production is the often intrusive incidental score, which isn’t anywhere near as bad as the excesses of Keff McCulloch, but is still irritating. 

But what of the actual story? I would discuss the plot of ‘Rose’ at this point, except that amusingly it hasn’t got one. This isn’t a criticism as such, because the episode has another agenda upon which it concentrates, but for an episode that has an incredibly fast pace by the standards of the old series, bugger all actually happens. For the second time in the series history, an invasion of Earth by the Nestene Consciousness is used to provide a back drop for introducing a new incarnation of the Doctor, and the premise is largely identical to that of ‘Spearhead from Space’, right down to killer shop window dummies coming to life. It’s worth pointing out that the premature ejaculation of the episode onto the internet has resulted in its widespread dissection even prior to transmission, and one major criticism seems to be the deus ex machina ending involving the anti-plastic. Which can be interpreted as a nod to the deus ex machina ending of ‘Spearhead from Space’ involving the UHF transmitter; the observant will notice that in both stories, the Doctor provides the means of defeating the Nestene Consciousness, but ends up being restrained and is dependent upon the plucky new companion to intervene and save his life. 

What Davies realizes, and what Philip Segal et al sadly failed to realize, is that the best way to appeal to a new audience is to assume that the viewers no nothing. Whereas ‘Doctor Who’ opened with a strange little man in a police box flying through space reading self-indulgently ironic literature, ‘Rose’ opens with the titular (no pun intended) Ms. Tyler finding the everyday and mundane world around her slowly giving way to the weird and disturbing. Davies uses Rose in the traditional companion manner, and she is very much the point of audience recognition. And this is the primary function of the slightly plotted ‘Rose’, as the audience is introduced to the Doctor via a character rooted in reality. Rose works extremely well; bearing in mind that the last proper companion that the Doctor had on television was the spectacularly unconvincing Ace, Rose is a thoroughly believable character, a working class London shop assistant, with a rough old slapper for a mother and a uninspiring relationship with her boyfriend. Davies could quite easily have made her more eccentric or iconoclastic, but this would have missed the point; she’s deliberately ordinary, because it makes her juxtaposition with the Doctor all the more striking. On the other hand, she’s also likeable and strong enough to cope in a crisis, and contrasts nicely with boyfriend Mickey who is reduced to cowering in abject terror when faced with the Nestene Consciousness. 

The casting of Billie Piper in the role worried me immensely when I first heard about it, mainly because I’d only seen her in The Canterbury Tales, which was admittedly quite promising but wasn’t enough to stop memories of her execrable pop career making me feel queasy. In fact, she’s perfectly cast as Rose; she conveys the characters initial confusion at her encounter with Autons and Doctor in the basement of the department store in which she works, and continues to express a convincing amount of bewilderment as the Doctor continues to intrude into her life dropping bombshells of information about living plastic and dimensionally transcendental vehicles. But she isn’t stupid either; she has the intelligence to find out more about the Doctor via the internet, and despite initially dismissing Clive as a “nutter”, she doesn’t wallow in denial for long, especially as the Doctor quickly reappears, rips her ersatz boyfriend’s head off, and then whisks her into the TARDIS. There is an especially nice moment when the Doctor quickly ushers her into asking the obvious questions, and then when she chokes back a sob he gently tells her, “That’s OK. Culture shock. Happens to the best of us.” This is followed by a great moment, in which both Rose and the audience are reminded that the Doctor doesn’t automatically react like a human would, as he forgets Mickey, to Rose’s fury. Piper gets just the right amount of emotion into the line, “I’ll have to tell his mother he’s dead, and you just forgot him, again.” Crucially however, for all of the death and destruction that she either witnesses or unwillingly flirts with, Rose seems to be enjoying herself; the scene in which she swings to the rescue on a length of chain like a blonde Mrs. Peel demonstrates that she’s brave enough to fight the inevitable monsters (again, compare with Mickey, who is scratching at the TARDIS doors), and the final shot of the episode as she runs grinning in slow motion towards the TARDIS doors is marvelous. 

Of course the question remains, what about the Doctor? I was no more expecting Christopher Eccleston to be cast as the Ninth Doctor than I was Paul McGann to be cast as the Eighth back in 1996, but whereas I could immediately see McGann in the role, I couldn’t begin to imagine how Eccleston would step into the role. The answer it seems is in rather manic style; the Ninth Doctor is barking mad. From the moment that he offhandedly pulls Rose to safely, casually tells her, “Wilson’s dead”, and then plants a bomb in the middle of London, he grabs the attention. There are one or two moment during the episode when Eccleston is slightly too mannered (his delivery of “Run for your life” sounds extremely self-conscious), but he seems to become increasingly comfortable with the role as the episode progresses. At times he has enormous charisma, so that when he says to Rose, “They want to overthrow the human race and destroy you. Do you believe me?” she replies “No” and he points out, “But you’re still listening”, it’s easy to understand why. Eccleston’s grasp of comedy is also surprisingly good given his dramatic background; he does a better-than-should-be-possible job of attacking himself with a plastic hand, and delivers the line about the transmitter in a deadpan enough fashion that it makes the looming presence of the Millennium Wheel in the background genuinely amusing. In addition, Eccleston’s Doctor is undoubtedly one of the most manic, energetic to date, typified by Eccleston’s mad grin such as when Rose asks him “Is it always this dangerous?” and he cheerfully replies, “Yes it is.” Davies’ script gives us a Doctor whose mania is also punctuated by moments of real passion, and Eccleston conveys this well also; his impassioned defense to the Nestene Consciousness’ accusations is that of a man who is haunted by guilt (“I fought in the war! It wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t save your world, I couldn’t save any of them!”). The Doctor’s arrogance is also worth mentioning; he seems to delight in baffling Rose, firing rapid explanations at her and knowing full well that she won’t be expecting them (“Is that alright?”), and patronizing humanity on several occasions. I also like the fact that he says of the unarguably hostile Nestene Consciousness, “I’m not here to kill it, I have to give it a chance”, suggesting that whatever it might have done, he would at least like to try and find a peaceful solution. He is also utterly dismissive of the realistically traumatized Mickey (“He’s not invited”). At the end of the episode however, we see a more welcoming side to him; when Rose points out, “You were useless in there, you’d be dead without me”, he admits, “Yes I would. Thank you” and he has the air of a hopeful little boy seeking a playmate when he invites her to join him. There is a hint in ‘Rose’ for the long term fan that the Doctor has recently regenerated, as he inspects his face in a mirror in Rose’s house; if this is the case, it might be that the Ninth Doctor calms down as the series progresses, but as things stand, he’s at least as fast-paced as the direction. Nevertheless, he’s a captivating character. 

Of the other aspects of ‘Rose’, a few things should be mentioned. There is a seam of what is often described as post-modernism running throughout the episode, from the media awareness of the Doctor’s “He’s gay and she’s an alien” line to the nod to compensation culture, with Rose’s mum trying to persuade her to make a claim for trauma. Perhaps the most obvious sign that ‘Rose’ is set in the twenty-first century is the fact that she immediately searches for information about the Doctor on the internet (and Clive’s wife’s surprise that one of the readers of his website is female did not go unnoticed Russell!), and the use of the Doctor as a semi-mythical figure in human history is something that has previously been used with some success in the novels. Criticism has been leveled at the burping wheelie bin and the disembodied hand, but both of these raised a chuckle. Rather less forgivable is the Auton Mickey, largely due to the execution; it beggars belief that Rose takes so long to notice that Mickey is acting oddly when she returns to the car, especially as he looks like he’s been smeared with Vaseline and is grinning like an imbecile. This in turn leads to the restaurant scene, and whilst I love the Doctor posing as the waiter, the rest of the scene doesn’t hold up to scrutiny; if the Auton wants the Doctor dead, why doesn’t it use it’s wrist gun, and if not, why not? And why does it become so disorientated when the Doctor rips its head off, given that it’s a solid lump of plastic and none of the other Autons have proper eyes anyway? Mention of Mickey brings me to the guest cast; I enjoyed Mark Benton’s likeable performance as Clive, and he brought a sufficient amount of gravitas to the memorable line, “He has one constant companion… death”. As Rose’s Mum, Camille Coduri is adequate if unspectacular and she does get an inherently irritating role anyway (and why is she using a hairdryer when her hair looks dry already?). But the real weak link is Noel Clarke, who is utterly appalling as Mickey for at least the first half of the episode. He gets a bit better once Rose finds Mickey gibbering in the lair of the Nestene Consciousness, but for the most part his delivery is rather, as it were, plastic. 

Overall then, ‘Rose’ is flawed, but an interesting start to the new series, and one that has tremendous promise. Mention of the mysterious War, in which the Doctor apparently fought, smells to me like an intriguing plot thread to be picked up again in future episodes. And although I wasn’t wild about the idea of having a pre-end credits teaser for the following episode, it certainly whet my appetite for the next episode...

Doctor Who works well when it emphasizes the contrast between our everyday world and the Doctor’s bizarre existence. “Rose” nails this contrast nicely in its opening shot; we begin with the vastness of space, zoom in on Earth, and run straight into a bleeping alarm clock. It’s time for Rose Tyler, ordinary teenager, to go to her boring retail job. We see that the universe is a vast place, but not for her—at least, not yet. 

The following montage establishes that Rose’s life is okay, but not exactly fulfilling. Her boyfriend Mickey is affectionate, and he does funny dances, but he’s not enough to compensate for the tedium of her daily routine. Rose’s mother Jackie, seen lounging on the couch in sweats and dialing up her gossipy friends, is not much of an inspiration either.

It’s a great way to introduce a new companion, at least in theory; Russell T. Davies is preparing us for Rose’s decision to abandon everything (and everyone) and run off in the TARDIS. But right from the start, Davies holds back and compromises his attempts at deeper characterization and drama; we get a hint of what Rose’s life is like, but only a hint. Jackie and Mickey are to become vital parts of the storyline, but they leave no impression here, with rushed and largely silent introductions. Clips of the bored Rose are unwisely paired with sped-up shots of London and Murray Gold’s cheerful music, which undermine the feeling of stagnation that the sequence is trying to create. 

I want more. Since Rose’s domestic life is so central to the series, it needs to be explored in greater detail here, before the aliens show up.

That said, the aliens get a great introduction. I have a poor overall impression of Keith Boak’s directing, but he nails the moment when the Autons emerge from the shadows to attack Rose. It’s a good horror scene—and, frankly, it’s also the first scene that feels like “proper” Doctor Who rather than a music video. The creaking plastic sound effects are a nice touch, and help to make the Autons seem more real.

The Doctor’s introduction is also perfect. He grabs Rose at the last moment, leads her in a flight down a corridor, and starts merrily spouting techno-babble as soon as they reach safety. It’s like the original series was never gone. Christopher Eccleston and Davies have modernized the character’s costume and speech, but, for now, this is still the heroic and wacky and brilliant Doctor of old. Though there is a glibness and artificiality to his rapid-fire exchanges with Rose, they are genuinely clever (I like the students routine), and thankfully they stay on the topic of Autons; in future episodes, Rose becomes so jaded that she flirts with the Doctor and makes stupid jokes in the midst of mortal peril, which is of course ridiculous.

After Rose escapes and returns home, we learn more about her mother, who has the Triple Crown of unpleasant traits—vanity, cupidity, and stupidity. Davies seems to have fun patronizing this character, yet later on he grants her enormous importance. Again, I’m not sure that he’s using the best methods to reach his goals—am I actually supposed to like someone as self-absorbed and shrill as Jackie Tyler? At best she’s a funny sideshow, but that’s not good enough if I’m supposed to feel genuine sympathy for her.

I do smile, however, during the scene when Jackie tries to seduce the Doctor. It works because it’s a new kind of humor for the show. Unfortunately, Davies overplays his hand in future episodes and goes overboard on the juvenile innuendo. In fact, he has a tendency to repeat all of his jokes, good or bad. But they’re fine in “Rose” because they’re still fresh. I don’t even mind the deliberate camp when the Doctor is attacked by a plastic arm. I went along with it on a first viewing because, again, it was something new, and it’s actually a funny bit of business. Little did I realize that Davies was establishing the silly and decidedly non-threatening tone that would poison the bulk of his episodes.

With the arm defeated, the Doctor and Rose start talking exposition again. It’s odd that I initially considered this episode too fast-paced because, during this particular stretch, it’s more leisurely than most episodes of the original series. There are interesting elements to this scene, though, particularly the Doctor’s condemnation of humans as TV-watching slugs who are ignorant of the war raging around them. He could mean the Time War, but I think Davies is slipping in an oblique reference to the War on Terror. In fact, I think he’s making fun of us all for sitting around on our backsides and watching Doctor Who while the world burns (a theme he returns to in “The End of the World”). I’m not sure what to make of this, but it’s fun to speculate about it. Notice how Gold is trying much too hard to make this scene exciting with his inappropriate “thump-thump-thump-thump” music.

Davies’ silly sense of humor returns in full force with the introduction of Clive, a spoof of tubby Doctor Who fans who obsess too much about the series. There’s something annoying about this kind of in-joke; surely Davies qualifies as a Doctor Who obsessive himself, and, like a nasty troll on an Internet message board, he seems all the more pathetic for declaring his superiority to other fans. But I’m just talking trash now, because I actually like Clive. He serves his purpose of building up an aura of mystery around the Doctor. Some of his lines are heavy-handed and melodramatic, but that’s what Doctor Who is all about. Hands up everybody who wanted him to show Rose photos of previous Doctors…

Clive’s monologue about the Doctor as a harbinger of death is cleverly intercut with Mickey’s deadly struggle against the trashcan. Since I’m a Doctor Who nerd, though, I’m obliged to compare this scene to the one that inspired it—the infamous Auton couch murder from “Terror of the Autons.” That scene is played straight, and it’s fairly harrowing in its depiction of a nice character’s brutal death. In “Rose,” by way of contrast, we get a goofy Auton trash bin that belches after gobbling up its prey. While I don’t hate the burping bin as much as some fans, I don’t respect it either. It’s a bit funny and mildly creepy, but when the original series was at its best (as in both Auton episodes), it could be exceptionally creepy.

Once Mickey has been digested by the bin, he reappears as an obvious Auton duplicate. Why doesn’t Rose notice? On this point, I have no trouble suspending my disbelief. Mickey’s Auton makeup is exaggerated for effect, which is fine, and there’s really no reason why Rose should suspect he’s been replaced by a plastic clone. I also have no problem with the subsequent hi-jinks in the restaurant. Here, I think, Davies’ humor works; the short-circuiting Mickey and the Doctor’s fiddling with the champagne bottle are genuinely funny. I particularly love the moment when the Doctor, grinning like a maniac, holds out Mickey’s talking, disembodied head to a pair of clearly horrified witnesses. The Doctor is reveling in the freakishness of it all, and so am I.

The episode takes another downturn, though, when Rose enters the TARDIS. Producer Phil Collinson claimed that the new TARDIS interior would eclipse the obvious studio sets featured in the original series, but I’m afraid he was bragging without foundation. The new TARDIS still looks like a set, and it’s an ugly set to boot. I was intrigued by rumors that the interior would have an organic look (it was even suggested that it would be coral), but ultimately the production team went with a traditional metallic design, twisted into shapes that merely resemble something organic. I hate it. The console and its surrounding columns are like some freakish octopus-thing. And the color scheme is horrible—black, green, and orange? Paul McGann’s TARDIS set, though overdone, had a warmth and grandeur that this TARDIS can’t begin to approach. And, since the new TARDIS is obviously smaller than McGann’s, it hammers home that the 2005 series is a lower-budget production than the TV Movie. Terribly disappointing, I’m afraid, and we’re likely to be stuck with it for a long while.

On the subject of bragging, Davies said that Rose’s first look at the TARDIS was one of his favorite scenes in the series. While I can appreciate why he said this—her stunned reaction is dramatic—the scene is definitely too rushed to have the impact he attaches to it.

Fortunately, there’s another upswing in quality once the TARDIS lands on Tower Bridge. Eccleston plays the character with authority here, and even on a first viewing I was able to laugh at anti-plastic because I intuited that Davies was having fun with his little plot contrivance. I never believed, for a moment, that he would produce such tidy solutions to all of the Doctor’s future conflicts. In such a hectic episode as this, the anti-plastic is just a necessary step to keep things moving. One could hope for something better, of course, but then again the Doctor never comes up with a compelling or credible way to defeat the Autons, does he?

The Doctor and Rose descend into the Auton base, clearly one of Doctor Who’s most impressive locations. I’m not so enamored of the Nestene Consciousness, however, which is portrayed as a CGI lava face. Davies seems to have a fondness for CGI villains, but I don’t think they work. The Autons, like other rubber Doctor Who monsters, come across best with a human spokesperson as their leader, not a visual effect. It certainly doesn’t help that the Nestene’s dialogue is gibberish. I get the feeling that Davies was cutting corners here, saving himself the trouble of writing hardcore science fiction dialogue. All we hear is the Doctor’s end of the conversation, and much of what he says—some guff about warp shunt technology and constitutional rights—falls flat. How many of these lines are actually that interesting?

Negotiations with the Nestene Consciousness break down so quickly that the Doctor looks foolish for trusting it. He also looks ill prepared for the confrontation, as he is quickly incapacitated by just two Autons. I must admit, though, that it’s exciting when the Nestene sends out the invasion signal. The electrified Ferris wheel is a great image, right up there with the best surreal visuals from the original series.

Commence the Auton rampage. It’s a decent sequence, but again I have trouble with Gold’s music, which is catchy but over-the-top. Clive’s death has impact since he’s likable, and because it’s wonderfully ironic that the one man who was smart enough to notice the danger is the first to die when the aliens attack. Once he’s gone, though, it’s hard to care about what happens in or outside the mall. Boak does all right when he shows the mannequins smashing windows, but once they’re free, he resorts to fast cutting to conceal the fact that they’re not doing anything interesting. No one is shown being killed (not even Clive) and nothing really impressive is destroyed. And Jackie Tyler, that least sympathetic of characters, keeps screaming in close-up until you start rooting for the Autons to get her. Again, I’m forced to conclude that the parallel segment in the original series is much better—it’s better directed, better scored, more violent and more effective. I also don’t see much of a difference in budget between the original and the new series, since in both stories we only see the Autons on the march in a single location.

The Doctor continues to fare poorly as Boak cuts to him struggling vainly against the Autons—several times. Eccleston looks weak and desperate, which is not how I want to see the Doctor portrayed, even in a situation like this (especially in a situation like this, I should say). He is made to look impotent, of course, so Rose can become an action heroine and save the day herself. This is very reminiscent of the TV Movie, when Grace averts the end of the world by fiddling with wires as the Doctor bugs out under a blue spotlight. It’s bad writing in both cases, since neither resolution is satisfying. The trouble is that companions—including Rose—are not impressive or capable when compared to the Doctor, so it’s hard to contrive a way for them to excel. Here, we get Rose swinging on a chain like she’s Tarzan’s mate and knocking a couple of Autons into a vat of molten plastic. Like the anti-plastic contrivance, it’s fine, but not actually good.

The final scene sees Mickey, freshly rescued from the Nestenes, cringing at Rose’s feet like a dog. It’s one of many indignities the character must suffer; in later episodes, he can’t even walk down the street without tripping over his own feet. That’s a shame, because he’s infinitely more sympathetic than Jackie, and he deserves better treatment. Rose spurns him rather cruelly, essentially telling him “thanks for nothing” before she vanishes back into the TARDIS. It’s not a pleasant scene, despite her huge smile and dramatic slow-mo dash into the Doctor’s world. But, you know, I respect it—Davies allows me to feel uncomfortable at Rose’s treatment of Mickey and her mother, and I like that. Uncomfortable is definitely a new feeling for Doctor Who, and it’s good for the drama.

But there’s a lot going on here that’s not so good for the drama. Ultimately, “Rose” is too silly and rushed to succeed on a human-interest level. It works only as a fast-paced and fun introduction to some basic Doctor Who concepts and equally basic characters. Future episodes do build on its foundation, but not effectively; in fact, the problems with “Rose” only get worse, as the regular characters become gradually more developed but far less likeable. Still, for an action pilot, this hits close to mark. It’s not my idea of Doctor Who, but it is a reasonably good idea of Doctor Who. It’s just a shame that the rest of the season doesn’t live up to its promise.