After the superb Season Seven, Season Eight begins with a story that represents a considerable down turn in the quality of the era, at least in my opinion. As might be expected from a Robert Holmes story, ‘Terror of the Autons’ has some great dialogue and excellent characterisation, but it also signals a considerable change in emphasis for the series in comparison with ‘Inferno’. ‘Terror of the Autons’ has several features that in my eyes can be construed as faults, although it is by no means a complete loss. I’ll start with the criticisms that I have of the story.

‘Terror of the Autons’ is the debut story of two characters that I feel weaken the era and they do this by beginning UNIT’s transformation from an elite, top-secret military organization, into a Dad’s Army style farcical collection of buffoons. The first of these is Jo Grant. Now Katy Manning is a fine actress and Jo is undeniably rather cute and likeable, but she represents a dumbing down of the series that positively infuriates me. Whereas Liz was a competent, efficient scientist Jo is the living embodiment of the principle that the Doctor Who companion exists so that the Doctor can explain things to the audience. She might be bright and chirpy, but she’s also air-headed and dizzy. As a UNIT agent (which she technically is) she is utterly implausible despite a rather contrived throwaway line about her uncle getting her a job with the organization. Therein lies my problem I think: I don’t object to Jo as a character per se, I just prefer Liz and thus object to the change that Jo heralds. 

The second character that debuts in ‘Terror of the Autons’ and represents a downward slide is Captain Yates. I take no delight in saying this, but whilst Richard Franklin seems like a very nice chap, I personally think that he’s a dreadful actor. As Yates, he presents us with one of the least convincing soldiers ever seen on television. I’m not au fait enough with the military to have much idea of whether Benton and the Brigadier are actually convincingly real soldiers, but Mike seems quite plainly not to be. I think in all honesty that he’s just too camp, although in fairness to Richard Franklin this seems to be as much a problem of the script as it is with his acting. Between them, Jo and Yates weaken UNIT’s credibility and signal the beginning of the organization’s descent into rather twee coziness. Which ironically is of course the very “UNIT family” feeling that many fans seem to like. 

My next major criticism of ‘Terror of the Autons’ is the Nestenes. In ‘Spearhead From Space’, they were a genuinely creepy, menacing threat. Here they are relegated to playing second fiddle to the Master and they suffer from it. The Autons themselves are less successful due to the change in their appearance; in their debut story, they had hollow empty eye sockets and sculpted, pouting mouths, which gave them an eerie, zombie-like feeling. Here however, their faces are completely smooth with no eye holes, and this makes them seem less like ghastly parodies of people and more like, ironically, shop dummies. They actually look more sinister once they don their large carnival heads, regaining some of the eerie incongruity of their shop window dwelling predecessors. On the other hand, the Nestenes do benefit from greater versatility in this story. I like the idea that they can take on literally any form at all if it is made of plastic, and here we get killer dolls, killer chairs, killer daffodils, and a killer telephone cable. This results in some memorable and effective set pieces, such as the deaths of McDermott and Farrell senior. 

My final criticism of ‘Terror of the Autons’ is the use of CSO. I said when I reviewed ‘The Web Planet’ that I don’t judge Doctor Who on its special effects, and I stand by that. What I will criticize however is Barry Letts’ decision to massively overuse CSO in this story. The technique is much maligned by fans, but obviously it has its uses, as illustrated in both ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ and ‘The Ambassadors of Death’. However, here we get CSO backdrops of ordinary rooms, which makes the story look cheap and nasty. The most blatant example is in the Farrell household, but the Museum is also worthy of particular scorn. The use of CSO to show the Nestene doll running around is fine, but CSO kitchens is just taking the piss.

Anyway, enough ranting. For all its faults, there are things that I like about ‘Terror of the Autons’. Firstly, Jon Pertwee’s performance as the Doctor continues to please me here. Much as I find Jo annoying on one level, she and the Doctor do quite quickly establish a rather touching rapport, and whilst she may seem less capable than Liz in some respects, she proves her usefulness as a companion by rescuing the Doctor from the circus and later using her escapology training to slip her bonds in the coach. As I said, she may represent a dumbing down of UNIT, but she is undeniably likeable. The Doctor seems to agree; although he is slightly more irascible and disrespectful in this story than in the previous season, he quickly takes Jo under his wing, despite the fact that she ruins his steady-state micro-welding, nearly blows him up, and refuses to do as she is told. I also like the Doctor’s rather waspish attitude in this story, which some fans have criticized. For example, when Jo removes his gag in Rossini’s (or rather, Russell’s) caravan he crossly demands to know what she is doing there. Rude and ill tempered I know, but it’s also quite funny. Then there’s the scene with Brownrose. Paul Cornell once complained in a scathing review of this story that the production team had turned the Doctor into a Tory and Verity Lambert also allegedly complained about the Doctor being made part of the establishment around this time, in a reference to his status as UNIT’s scientific advisor. I can see both their points, but I just love the idea of the Doctor, who let us be honest has always been rather egotistical, strolling into a gentlemen’s club and charming all of the other members. In my opinion it isn’t so much that the Doctor has sold out to the establishment, it is more that this always rebellious, disrespectful figure can and will charm almost anyone. My basic assumption is that he’s accepted as a member of the club simply because the other members like him.

‘Terror of the Autons’ is of course most well known for introducing the Master. The Roger Delgado incarnation is still my favourite Doctor Who villain, and this story demonstrates why. He’s immediately a commanding villain from the moment that he emerges from his TARDIS in Rossini’s circus in episode one and quickly cows the belligerent circus owner. As the story progresses, he begins to display his trademark charm, but in this story he also maintains a truly ruthless edge. The death toll attributable directly to the Master in this story demonstrates this, and not just those deaths that he causes by allowing the Nestenes to return to Earth. He kills Goodge without a thought, more concerned with leaving his shrunken corpse as a calling card for the Doctor than he is at casually extinguishing a life. He uses and discards Phillips and Farrell, and has no qualms whatsoever about disposing of McDermott and Farrell senior when they get in his way. And whilst I’ve never really paid it any attention before, it struck me on this viewing how out-of-hand and nasty the death of the scientist that he throws from the radio telescope in episode four is. This then is the Master in his debut story; charming and debonair but thoroughly evil.

‘Terror of the Autons’ has been criticized for its ending, when the Master seems too easily convinced to betray the Nestenes by a single line from the Doctor. This I think is missing the point. The Master’s primary aim is never helping the Nestenes to invade, it is always his battle of wits with the Doctor. He simply doesn’t care about anything else; he gets several opportunities to kill the Doctor, which would probably allow him to win easily, but on each occasion he is easily dissuaded from doing so because he enjoys their rivalry. I have no doubt that his ultimate aim is the Doctor’s death, but more important to him is his desire to humiliate his foe, to score a series of minor triumphs before he finally disposes of him. As he says to Farrell, “I have so few worthy opponents. When they’re gone I always miss them”. Interestingly, it is hinted at even this stage that the Doctor enjoys their rivalry too despite the deaths the Master has caused and will no doubt cause later on, the Doctor has a wry smile on his face as the Master drives away in the coach in the end, and in the final scene of the story he tells the Brigadier and Jo that he is rather looking forward to their next encounter.

Overall then, ‘Terror of the Autons’ is not up to the same standard of the previous season’s stories, but is nonetheless entertaining. Unfortunately, it is deeply flawed, but with the following story the season really starts to pick up…

I must confess that on viewing ‘The Mind of Evil’ again, I found it to be something of a disappointment. This doesn’t mean that I think it’s rubbish; it just isn’t as good as I remembered. It does have several things to commend it, but I’ll get my criticisms out of the way first. 

When I reviewed ‘Terror of the Autons’, I said that it represents a dumbing down of the series and the start of UNIT’s decline into farce. This continues here, although not uniformly throughout the story; most of the problems are confined to the first half. Firstly, it is here that the Brigadier is first made to look like a buffoon. The scenes with the Doctor and Fu Peng are mildly amusing, but they reduce the Brigadier to the role of comic foil and he looks like an idiot, unable to get a word in edgeways and the subject of contempt from Fu Peng. Suddenly, the intelligent, commanding and diplomatic military leader of Season Seven is a bumbling fool. Fortunately, he regains some credibility in the second half of the story, as he leads the assault on Stangmoor Prison, and in one of his finest moments shoots Mailer just in the nick of time to save the Doctor. UNIT also continues to suffer from the presence of Mike Yates, who remains an unconvincing character. In Richard Franklin’s defense however, Yates also benefits from the last three episodes, and doesn’t fare too badly in an action man role that sees him tracking the missile to the airfield and defiantly confronting the Master whilst tied to a chair. Finally, the thoroughly irritating Major Cosgrove further cements UNIT’s newfound reputation as a slightly camp and silly organization. 

Another major weakness of ‘The Mind of Evil’ concerns UNIT’s transport of the Thunderbolt missile, which has a ridiculously light escort. The script bravely attempts to address this issue, but with even the person Yates discusses the escort with on the telephone in episode two expressing disbelief at the feeble security measures, this attempt is doomed to failure. I’m also rather dubious about the explosion at the end. The Thunderbolt is referred to as a nuclear missile with a nerve gas warhead throughout, and the Doctor further adds that it will take a nuclear explosion to destroy the Keller Machine. Now I’m no nuclear physicist, but the explosion at the end seems pretty small for a nuclear explosion, destroying as it does one aircraft hanger. And nobody seems remotely concerned about any nerve gas being released. 

My final criticism of ‘The Mind of Evil’ is that it feels padded. Given that the three seven part stories in Season Seven seldom felt stretched out, this is particularly disappointing. ‘The Mind of Evil’ is repetitive; the Doctor undergoes several attacks by the Keller Machine, for example, and then there’s Mailer’s initial, unsuccessful attempt to take over the prison, which is no sooner foiled than the Master arrives to organize a more successfully attempt. Consequently, this is one of only a few six part Doctor Who stories that I think would have benefited from being two episodes shorter. 

On the other hand, there are several things to recommend ‘The Mind of Evil’. Firstly, and most significantly in my opinion, it showcases the rivalry between the Doctor and the Master superbly. During ‘Terror of the Autons’ they only met on screen during the last episodes, but here they get far more scenes together, and it reveals something rather interesting. When I reviewed ‘Terror of the Autons’, I noted that the Master tends to allow himself to find an excuse not to kill the Doctor rather easily. Here, the impression is given that the Master desperately needs to let the Doctor see him win. It is interesting that he almost seems to be trying to impress the Doctor, and certainly has a degree of respect for him; after all, although as he says at one point, they are both Time Lords, the Master lacks the ability to deal with the Mind Parasite, whereas he clearly believes that the Doctor is more than capable of doing so. Even before he resorts to threatening Jo, he seems confident that the Doctor is underestimating himself. Of course, the revelation that the Doctor ridiculing him is his greatest fear speaks volumes about their relationship and it is also here that we get the first hints that the two of them used to be friends. One of their most interesting scenes together is when the Doctor lashes together his electronic loop to temporarily trap the Keller Machine; for a brief couple of minutes, they seem to forget their enmity, both discussing the scientific problem in hand, with the Master seeming genuinely interested in the Doctor’s solution. Even more interesting is the fact that whilst the Master often thinks twice about killing the Doctor, when the Doctor gets the chance to blow his enemy up at the end, he has no hesitation about doing so. In fact, the Master seems keen to show off and generally gloat in front of the Doctor throughout, whereas the Doctor seems genuinely angered by the Master. Given that he quite rightly blames the Master for bringing the Mind Parasite to Earth and given that the Keller Machine indisputably terrifies him, this is entirely understandable, but is an interesting contrast with his attitude in later stories. In summary, the Master seems to need the Doctor’s recognition of his achievements, whilst the Doctor appears to really actively dislike the Master throughout this story. 

Another good aspect of ‘The Mind of Evil’ is Jo. Despite the criticism that I heaped upon here in the previous review, she undergoes something of a transformation here and becomes a capable, useful assistant, rather just an empty-headed companion. She shows considerable courage in dealing with Mailer and the Master, compassion in looking after Barnham, and the complete trust in and loyalty to the Doctor that tend to characterize here. In fact, she’s generally more forthright than I remember her, not afraid to speak her mind, and proving ready to fight when necessary (she holds Mailer at gunpoint in episode two for example, and doesn’t seem particularly scared by him) I still don’t find her convincing as a UNIT agent, but she does at least prove that she has potential as a Doctor Who companion. Jon Pertwee continues to satisfy as the Doctor. His increasing frustration at being trapped on Earth comes through well; he is even more irritable than in ‘Terror of the Autons’, frequently bad-tempered, and very entertainingly rude during Kettering’s press conference. This is topped off by the Doctor’s impotent fury in the last scene, when the Master telephones him to taunt him about his exile. Oh and full marks to Pertwee’s acting when attacked by the Machine; after gurning in ‘Spearhead From Space’, he manages to seem convincingly frightened here. 

The direction of ‘The Mind of Evil’ is excellent, so much so that the Keller Machine, essential a box with a phallus, seems genuinely menacing, as it teleports around and sucks the life from its victims. In addition, Puff the Magic Dragon, potentially absurd, also looks quite good at the end of episode two and the start of episode three. The action sequences are also exceptionally good, especially the pitched gun battle between UNIT troops and the convicts in episode five. Overall, ‘The Mind of Evil’ is far from perfect but contains some memorable sequences and is well worth watching in spite of being slightly disappointing overall.

Oh dear. For some fans, ‘The Dжmons’ epitomizes the Pertwee era; if this is true, then the Pertwee era isn’t very good. I take no pleasure in slating a story so widely considered to be a classic, but there is so much wrong with ‘The Dжmons’ in my opinion that try as I might, I just can’t find it in me to like it. 

I’ll start with what I do like. I like the basic plot, although this is largely because it is the plot of Quatermass and the Pit. Not that I’m complaining, since many very good Doctor Who stories are hugely derivative of other stories; to continue the Nigel Kneale theme for example, I’d like to point out that ‘Spearhead From Space’ of which I am a huge fan, draws heavily for inspiration on Quatermass II. I merely point it out since it explains why, in a story that is so mediocre in most respects, the basic premise is sound. 

Secondly, I like Jon Pertwee’s performance. It has been argued that the Doctor is at his worst in ‘The Dжmons’, being intolerant, patriarchal, and patronizing. This is all quite true, but it works for me in the context of the season. During the first three stories, he was bad-tempered and irritable, resenting his exile and desperate to escape. In ‘Colony in Space’, he suddenly and unexpectedly gets a brief reprieve from his exile and is markedly more relaxed and generally in better humour than in the three prior stories. It makes sense then that having been reminded so dramatically of what he has lost, he is even more foul-tempered afterwards, his exile once more enforced. Having said that, he goes a bit far with Miss Hawthorne; I don’t believe in magic either, but if I knew that someone who did had just seen a thirty-foot tall were-goat I think I’d be a lot more understanding if they thought that it was the Devil. 

Finally, I like the Master. No change there, then. Interestingly, after offering the Doctor a half-share in the universe in ‘Colony in Space’, he now seems genuinely to want to kill his rival. I’ve noted as I’ve reviewed the past four stories that the Master often finds excuses not to kill the Doctor and seems to want to impress him; having perhaps finally realized that he can’t, he seems to have adopted a “sod him then” attitude, which fits in nicely with his character development over the season. In addition to this, watching this season in sequence, I suddenly realized just how much it must have stung him when Azal offers his power to the Doctor first. This is particularly of note given that being humiliated by the Doctor is his worst fear, as exposed by the Mind Parasite in ‘The Mind of Evil’.

That’s about it for what I like about ‘The Dжmons’; the rest is in my opinion utter dross. For starters, UNIT’s degeneration into farce is complete by this point, all traces of the secretive, paramilitary organization of Season Seven lost. The Brigadier is little more than a buffoon here, doing nothing but blustering and issuing ludicrous orders (“Chap with the wings there…”). Sergeant Osgood, a ridiculous caricature who frequently questions orders, does not help this. Captain Yates is even worse. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I dislike the character, and this story epitomizes my reasons why. Yates is smug, cheeky and generally irritating. I’m no expert on the military, but he seems remarkably lippy when he’s talking to the Brigadier on his radio transmitter, most notably when he smugly tells Lethbridge-Stewart as an afterthought that the Master is responsible for events in Devil’s End and promptly hangs up. He’s even worse when he points out Bok to the Brigadier in Episode Five, adopting an air of superiority and a suppressed mirth as he demonstrates the gargoyle’s threat to his superior. Nice to know he’s getting some amusement out of the impending end of the world then… UNIT basically feels like Dad’s Army and has lost all credibility. Benton at least is quite good here though, John Levene proving quite good at fight scenes. 

‘The Dжmons’ also struggles for cliffhangers. The Episode Four cliffhanger is absurd, with the threat posed not to the Doctor or his companion but to his archenemy. It typifies the silly cosy “UNIT family” attitude adopted by the series. Imagine a cliffhanger in which some Daleks face destruction – the principle would be exactly the same. The cliffhanger to Episode Two is even more flawed, but in its resolution this time. Bok, it is made clear, is a statue animated by Azal, a powerful alien fully aware of how his own people’s psionic science works and with a far greater understanding of it than anyone else present. The Master, an intelligent Time Lord who has been studying Dжmon technology in order to summon Azal, controls Bok. So why exactly is Bok, animated by Azal and controlled by the Master, scared of a trowel? The Doctor’s explanation to Jo that although he doesn’t believe in magic Bok does, smacks of complete bollocks. 

Speaking of complete bollocks, we have the ending. Firstly, I find it hard to believe that Jo’s self-sacrifice is sufficient to make Azal blow himself up: if so, it is no surprise that he is the last of his kind. For starters, he considers the Doctor irrational but shows no sign of self-destructing in response. It is, quite simply, a contrived and nauseating ending. It isn’t helped by the fact that Jo’s cry of “Don’t kill him, kill me” is horribly melodramatic and poorly delivered. She could have just thrown herself in front of the Doctor, as she did in the novelisation, but instead she just bounces frantically up and down and offers herself instead, as though bidding for some kind of terminal auction. 

In short, ‘The Dжmons’ is full of annoying trivial shortcomings that add up to drivel. The story feels as though it is struggling to fill five episodes, with UNIT wrestling with technobabble outside the heat barrier (which incidentally is quite well realized and one of the story’s better aspects). Then we have the Doctor stating that the release of heat energy in Episode Two is final confirmation of his theory about what is happening, but then refusing to explain to anyone else until he is certain. So what, precisely, does he think “final confirmation” means? What he actually means is, “I’ll explain in Episode Three so that we can crowbar another cliffhanger in first”. To be fair, there are also other minor things that I like in ‘The Dжmons’, including Professor Horner, the final scene, and Azal himself – Stephen Thorne is not the most subtle of actors, but he fulfills his role very well here. Overall however, I just find ‘The Dжmons’ to be a smug, slightly glib, self-satisfied runaround, playing the UNIT family game by numbers.

Following the superb ‘Spearhead From Space’, the production team wisely changed tack and tried something rather different, instead of trying to repeat the success of Pertwee’s first story. The result is a longer, almost ponderous story, but one that approaches its subject matter very well and delivers a morality play unlike anything seen to date in the series. It also goes a lot further towards established Jon Pertwee’s Doctor after his comparatively short and action-packed debut.

It should come as no surprise if I note that the strength of ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ lies in the characterisation, something for which Malcolm Hulke is justifiably renowned, and which I’ll inevitably come to later. This however overlooks the significance of the plot, which is unlike any story seen so far in the series. Whereas in ‘Spearhead From Space’ the Doctor confronted an alien invasion from outer space, a plot with precedents in the series, in ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ the threat is not from outer space, but from an “alien” species native to Earth and with a claim on the planet that predates humanity’s by many thousands of years. The only other “home-grown” menace defeated by the Doctor in the series is WOTAN, which was a new creation, whereas the Silurians have been in hibernation for aeons. This immediately provides the moral dilemma faced by the (alien) Doctor, since he finds himself caught between two species which both live on Earth and which both have a valid right to exist there. And therein lies rub; we immediately have a tragedy in the making, as anger and hostility on both sides scupper the Doctor’s attempts to negotiate a peaceful coexistence between Silurian and Human, resulting in attempted genocide by parties in both groups. With a plot such as this, the conclusion is inevitable; the series format does not lend itself to actually letting the Doctor negotiate peace between the two species, and so the story advances towards the climax with the viewer realizing that the Silurians are not going to get to reclaim their planet. It is this foregone conclusion that provides the framework for the marvellous depth of characterisation presented by the script, but most notably, it allows us to get to know the Third Doctor in more depth.

It is in ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ that Jon Pertwee really establishes himself. During ‘Spearhead From Space’, his extended periods of unconsciousness meant that the Doctor didn’t get much to do for more than about two episodes. Once he had recovered, the four-episode length of the story meant that the remaining screen time was devoted to foiling the Auton invasion. Here however, the Doctor gets seven entire episodes to involve himself in the story, and we really get to see his new character at its best. Firstly, after the jovial nature of the final scene of ‘Spearhead From Space’, we get to see his relationships with Liz and the Brigadier after some time has passed, and they have developed somewhat in the intervening time. The Doctor and Liz clearly work well together as a team, even more so than in ‘Spearhead From Space’, and he seems to appreciate having a capable scientist as a companion, especially during episode six as he tries to find a cure for the Silurian plague. His relationship with the Brigadier is more complex. They are still clearly friends, but there are hints of strain, the Doctor making several jibes about the Brigadier’s military approach to the problems facing them, which eventually visibly start to erode Lethbridge-Stewart’s usual diplomatic attitude. Despite this, his respect for the Doctor seems undiminished, and they continue to pull together under stress, as witnessed in episode seven when they communicate volumes simply by making eye contact. 

In fact, I suspect that the Doctor is almost exclusively responsible for the tension between himself and the Brigadier; there is a general feeling that his relief at being given somewhere to stay and resources with which to repair the TARDIS at the end of ‘Spearhead From Space’ has been rather tarnished as the fact of his exile sinks in. Whilst he has agreed to help the Brigadier (and is willing to do so when the situation merits his involvement) he clearly resents the Brigadier summoning him to the research centre in episode one and refuses to go until Liz talks him into it by massaging his ego. By the end of the story, this situation is rather worse; the Doctor is frustrated by his failure to negotiate peace, and make clear his intention to revive the Silurians one at a time in an attempt to reason with them. Then the Brigadier blows them up. The final scene, as the Doctor tells Liz that this is murder, is remarkable and shows Pertwee on his finest form. The Doctor seems genuinely stunned that the Brigadier has committed such an act, despite the human casualties of the Silurian plague and the fact that they tried to wipe out humanity a second time by using the disperser. It shows the Doctor’s high moral values and his disappointment when others don’t live up to them. In short, the entire story shows this new Doctor to be a strong moral character and Pertwee conveys well his frustration when humans and Silurians alike make peace impossible. 

The characterisation of the supporting characters is what makes ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ famous. Whilst Hulke has a reputation for creating what Terrance Dicks calls “people monsters”, this is only half of the equation. The human characters are just as complex and flawed as their reptilian counterparts. To start with the Silurians, there are only really two that we get to know in any detail, the Old Silurian and the Young Silurian. The Old Silurian represents the Doctor’s best hope for peaceful co-existence, since he realises that the primitive apes of his time have evolved into an intelligent species and agrees to try and live in peace with them. Had he survived, the denouement might have been very different. Early on during the story, the Silurians as a people are clearly shown to be rather more than just a new race of monster; as the Doctor points out, the Silurian wounded by Baker doesn’t kill anyone deliberately except for Quinn, who tries to take it hostage. The dinosaur that attacks people in the caves is twice called off before it can actually kill anyone (although of course it does kill one of the pot-holers in episode one). This suggests that the Silurians can be reasoned with, and the Old Silurian embodies this. Then in episode five, the Young Silurian infects Baker with the plague and any hope of a peaceful solution is dashed. For all the Doctor’s optimism, it seems unlikely that the humans would forgive this attempt at genocide (which results in a significant death toll in London), whether all of the Silurians supported it or not. Once the Young Silurian kills the Old Silurian, the situation becomes even more clearly irretrievable, as this angry creature, furious that his home has been invaded by apes, single-mindedly focuses on reclaiming Earth from the animals that have overrun it, too arrogant accept that they are intelligent, and too blinded by hatred to seek a peaceful solution. Yet for all that the Young Silurian is clearly a “villain” in the traditional Doctor Who sense of the term, Hulke refuses to make him some two-dimensional ranting madman; earlier in the story, he seems to be simply power-mad, but in episode seven as he announces that he will accept the responsibility that he has claimed as leader and will sacrifice himself to ensure that the rest of his people are saved, we see that however evil and misguided his actions are, he is genuinely motivated by the welfare of his people. 

The humans are just as well characterised. All of them have complex motivations, and do not divide easily into good guys and bad guys. Doctor Lawrence is presented as a deeply obnoxious, unpleasant man, who shouts and sneers his way through the story before meeting his end in episode six. Yet despite this, he is an understandable character; his career is on the verge of collapse, destroyed by forces totally outside his control. In episode one, in a brief flash of conscience, he shamefacedly apologizes to Quinn, telling him that he knows that everybody is doing his or her best to find the fault in the cyclotron. Then there is Doctor Quinn, an initially rather likeable character and ironically a unique example of human/Silurian peaceful interaction. But any chance he represents of peaceful coexistence between the two species is blown when his greed for knowledge motivates him to take a Silurian prisoner, resulting in his death. This also has a visible knock-on effect; his confidant Miss Dawson, on discovering his body, becomes a fierce proponent of revenge attacks against the Silurians, urging Masters to order a full frontal attack to wipe them out. She has no knowledge of why Quinn was killed; she merely assumes that the Silurians are hostile. Both her response, and those of Quinn and the captive Silurian are understandable, emotional reactions, and yet it is precisely these reactions that stand in the way of the Doctor’s desire for peace. Then there is Major Baker, misguided and trigger-happy, yet also with the best of intentions and a fierce, blinding loyalty to his own kind that reflects that of the Young Silurian. And of course Masters, a seemingly reasonable and rather likeable civil servant, trying to do his job, surprisingly willing to listen when enough evidence can convince him, and yet so thoughtlessly self-important that it doesn’t even occur to him that he should stay in quarantine. This results in not only his own death, but those of dozens of people in London. This is why ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ is such a tragedy; everyone’s motives are understandable, if not excusable, yet they make a peaceful solution utterly impossible. 

Production wise, ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ stands up well. It can’t help looking slightly shabby next to its glossy predecessor, but the sets are effective, and there is some excellent direction, including the Silurian viewpoints in episodes two and three. The notorious incidental music isn’t too bad either, mainly because it is used at just the right moments to be effective. Overall, ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ continues the high standard of Season Seven begun by ‘Spearhead From Space’, and really establishes the Third Doctor’s characteristic strong sense of morality.

"There's a wealth of scientific knowledge down here, Brigadier - and I can't wait to get started on it."

There are few Doctor Who stories about which I have such a wealth of feeling and which have had such profound effects on me. This may, on the face of it, seem a little strange - after all, I wasn't born when it was first transmitted, and didn't actually see it until the not terribly impressionable age of 21. This is, of course, because when I watch it now, it seems inseparable from Doctor Who and the Cave Monsters, a closely related story indelibly imprinted on me from the day I bought it (as pictures of little blond me clasping it excitedly to my little bosom on the way home from Blackpool will testify).

It's a cracking story - slow and grim, but feeling unusually 'real' and undoubtedly the series' best 'world disaster'. One of the few seven-parters that seems epic enough for its length, this is easily the best Pertwee for me, and one of my all-time faves. It's the only Third Doctor TV adventure I find as good as the book, a great relief after finding several of those other strange TV stories that came to me as 'adaptation of the novel' such a let-down. 

Despite my delight in it, I can see a few flaws from the off. Some Who stories work best watched episodically rather than all in a bunch, but this is not one of those stories. It's not hard to see why, stretched over seven weeks, it didn't capture such a huge audience in the most recent BBC repeat (but it cheered me up, as at the time I was mostly working in Wallasey, hundreds of miles from my beloved and thoroughly cheesed off in a grotty hotel. Besides, it was jollier than listening to The Massacre on headphones). Although it builds up brilliantly by the end, it doesn't start by following on from Spearhead with anything like the same punch, verve or on-screen expense. It could do with a bit of a kick near the beginning to draw people in.

Starting off on colourised video, it immediately looks cheaper than the preceding story, and the dodgy T-Rex is no help. Not as dodgy as Bessie seems, though; with the Doctor tinkering to get her going, you reckon that the Brigadier bought it for him from a scrap merchant to save on the budget. Once the story gets going, it's terrific, but it seems to take an age to start up, and the 'mystery' of the opening episode isn't pulled off as excitingly as it should be. But at least - despite the opening - it seems much more cerebral than last week (must be all the scientists about). 

What makes Doctor Who and the Silurians work right from episode one nonetheless is the quality of the characters, and the actors playing them, even before we come to the first not-all-bad 'monster' characters since Varga. It's striking that no one character that can be labelled as just utterly evil, or completely insane (at least to start with), the usual Doctor Who shorthands for the villain. Malcolm Hulke captures a fatal flaw in the Doctor here, perhaps more craftily than at any other point in the show. He writes for Pertwee at the perfect time when he's still new and appealing and can get away with lines that make him less likeable, without coming over as merely unpleasant. Liz Shaw remains one of the most fabulous companions, despite being treated appallingly at times - already sidelined in just her second story, it's sad that in a saga full of doctorates, only Dr Shaw is deprived of hers and made to work as a secretary: "Personnel will be handled by Miss Shaw." Among many guest appearances, Peter Miles stands out in the first of many shrill, manic parts, and Fulton Mackay steals the show with the charismatic Dr Quinn. He's frightfully good, very laid-back and with a little humour, though with an unmistakable undercurrent of bitterness. It's a real shock when he dies so early, adding to the unexpected realism. Perhaps the standout performance, though, is Nick Courtney's Brigadier, who in a story crammed with much better-drawn characters than we usually get still emerges as the most complex of the lot. While not playing the lead in the way he did in much of Spearhead, he manages to move from hero to villain while remaining entirely true to the spirit of the man. 

What story we get in the first episode largely consists of a spy plot, which might work a little better if it wasn't dropped so quickly not because of underterrestrial evidence, but because the plot no longer needs it. Quinn and his strumpet are briefly implicated, his throwaway line about knowledge to be gained providing the most intriguing moment. We hear about a planned programme of sabotage, but it never quite gets going. The Doctor, however, is on a planned programme of really winding everybody up. He's already far less likeable than he was in Spearhead! "It's not worth 15 million pins if it doesn't work, is it?" never fails to make me smile, but it's not a line calculated to win co-operation. His threat to Dr Meredith that he can do whatever he pleases is also jarring; in the past, he may have said such things as a Provincial Officer or an official Examiner, yet that was play-acting, and our Doctor now appears to have become an authoritarian for real. Thank heavens the Brigadier is there to take him down a peg. Can you imagine anyone else getting away with dismissing all his clues and calling him "Dr Watson," a bright remark which sends the Doctor into such a sulk that he decides to go down into the caves very suddenly. As if just for the cliffhanger.

It's not as if the first cliffhanger is even much cop. We may have had a little tension from ancient mind-destroying horrors, all very At the Mountains of Madness and Quatermass and the Pit, but they lose their nerve and reach for the unconvincing T-Rex (or "some sort of dinosaur") when it comes to something to bring us back next week. It's then lured away by the sound of someone having sex on creaky bedsprings. I'm scared. As if to draw further attention to budgetary shortcomings, Lethbridge-Stewart admits he only has 5 or 6 men - and they really have a Brigadier in charge of them? The Doctor even returns from his deadly cliffhanger with no ill effects at all. Fortunately, it's about this point that things really take off, with Baker swiped in the caves and the reptile person emerging into the light and wandering about so gorgeously shot it's as if the director's just woken up. Simmering tensions between Lawrence and Quinn come crashing on Miss Dawson, and all at once the stakes seem raised - it's only part 2, and the director's already demanding UNIT be recalled.

Admittedly, Farmer Squire's wife isn't a patch on Meg Seeley, but I'm always a sucker for that Quatermass-style selective race memory, and the great three-eye-view of Liz as she's attacked for the cliffhanger is actually rather gripping. Amazingly, the pace keeps up, and the Doctor both spots what's suspicious and doesn't help very much, forcing Quinn onto the defensive instead of gaining his confidence. And, gosh, they've got a 'copter for the search (which is done rather well). It all looks much darker than Spearhead, and the tone's darker too, with very little comic relief and rather less pizzazz - but it no longer feels cheaper, and by now it's drawn you in.

The Doctor's baiting of Quinn at his cottage is well done, and finally gets under Quinn's cool, but it's a shame; if the Doctor had still been Troughton, he might have charmed him into something, not just got his back up. It's a miracle that he nearly gets something out of Miss Dawson, given that she and Quinn are so blatantly both in love with the same person - Dr Quinn. It remains difficult not to feel rather sad and rather regretful at the Doctor's tactics when we find Quinn dead, despite the rather good cliffhanger to introduce the new race. Given all that, the bathos of the following scene is shocking. Is "Hello - are you a Silurian?" the silliest line the Doctor's ever uttered?

Hulke's characterisation of the Doctor in regularly giving him such 'foibles' as being a git and lying to people, rather than making him entirely heroic, again come to the fore when his not informing the Brigadier of Quinn's death instantly begins to undermine his position with Lethbridge-Stewart. While there's perhaps a little much dodging in and out of the caves, Baker being trapped in the foaming rock pool looks rather nastily effective (and more interesting than the more prosaic mantrap of the book). The Doctor and Liz going down and then Liz popping up again seems a little easy, but it sets up the arguments which make up most of the next episode, and concludes, in effect, the first story. Yes, that's right. It’s really two stories meshing in the middle, rather as if the Holmes 'split story' technique had come in early: Doctor Who and the Cave Monsters (ooh, what's going on in the caves?) followed by Doctor Who and the Silurian Plague, with a whole new set of issues once all the first have actually been resolved. Perhaps it's this aspect that makes the serial seem to go on far less long than many other six-or-seven-parters, even with if it means one story ends with a rather unimpressive gurning cliffhanger.

Perhaps resting on the cliffhanger point itself is a little unfair. Watching it now, it's striking that the real revelation - and of course the 'message' - that we have by the end of part 4 is that both sides are very similar people, and not in a very attractive way. The immediate ancestors of this story are not the more straightforward monster tales of the Troughton era, but Whitaker's historicals and accounts of high-ranking intrigue. I wonder if Galaxy 4 would have had the same effect on me? I suspect not, with its simpler "Beautiful can be bad, ugly can be good" reversal rather than shades of grey and two races each split into myriad fears and hopes, and without the critical innovation of the 'prior claim' on what we think of as our planet. It's on these people that the story turns: a politician trying to do what's best but with the minimum of embarrassment; Morka arrogantly refusing to see any other view than that the planet belongs to his people; the Brigadier increasingly frustrated as the Doctor's behaviour and lack of trust forces him into a corner; Okdel hesitantly prepared to exchange knowledge; Miss Dawson gunning for the 'monsters'. Having said all that about 'character', it's interesting that Vietnam-era aggressor Morka (so much more memorable a name than 'Young' - presumably he wears a leather jacket and, aged only 65,226,801, is much more hip than Old Okdel's ungroovy 65,226,858) is the only reptile person that sounds like he's doing an American accent. Satire, or just bad acting?

Altogether, this patch has got some splendid dialogue, with actors mainly arguing in twos - Young Silurian and Scientist, Doctor and Old Silurian, Lawrence and Masters, plus that great debate, with Liz speaking for the liberals, Miss Dawson subbing for the Daily Mail (string the monsters up! It’s the only language they understand!), Masterly inaction and the increasingly deranged Lawrence hilariously accusing everyone else of delusions. Who says ‘talky’ means dull? The argument between Liz and Dawson fair blazes, for example, while the discussion between the Doctor and Okdel is far calmer, with the revelation of the Moon - and Baker shouting 'traitor' (off) at him. Admittedly, I suspect the Saudis would have something to say about humanity giving away hot places, but at least it saves the Brigadier (ironically). It's still not got quite everything going for it, though, as some splendid reptile people plotting and Baker’s near-escape are made far less watchable by the music reaching new lows - this is ‘When Kazoos Go Bad’. They’re so intrusive, you could call it 'The Power of the Kazoos', couldn’t you, making the ear-splitting Sea-quel 'The Evil of the Kazoos'…

It's a good job there are so many character moments about, of course, as once again the action seems to consist of people going into the caves and coming back out again. When the mucky Brigadier responds to another childish diatribe with "I lost a lot of men in those caves, Dr Lawrence," there’s a calm pain about him that’s really impressive, and only slightly undermined by the way he’s already admitted he has very few men, none of whom were seen to die there. Meanwhile, back in the reptile people's shelter, things are no more harmonious. There's quite a savage row between the cave leaders, with Okdel basically saying "Shut up or I'll kill you." He's clearly shaken when he gives the Doctor the bacteria, though (as well as shaking!), and then Morka does the equivalent of shooting him in the back. It's not even a trial of strength! It's a shame, as Hulke has given some thought to 'creature character', yet neither their characters nor culture are as complex as the humans', and Morka in particular often comes over as caricatured (but I suppose you can't get it all right first time). Let's face it, this is hardly a very stable or civilised system of government. Mind you, the Cabinet might be more fun with third eyes; Brown boggles Blair while he’s not looking, Beckett blasts Brown over dinner, but is toasted by Jack Straw with his three-eyed glasses, and Straw’s then savaged by Blunkett's guide dinosaur... Which all makes it rather odd that, up top, Masters remains an unusually subtle and well-meaning Who politician (or possibly civil servant, as it's never made clear on screen, and the book gives him a civil servant's rank but makes him an MP!). "My report will of course exonerate you completely - I'm sure you did everything in your power," though, is just the sort of kindly way of saying "Bang goes your funding, good luck finding a university post" that actually makes you sorry for Lawrence, a wretched man with no faith but suddenly acquiring Job's job description.

This episode having been stuffed full of more drama than you find in most whole Who stories, it's glorious to reach the end and discover that the climax lives up to it. The Doctor arguing about confining Baker and not putting him into hospital is done with real conviction, and it's notable that once he returns to the surface, all the talking starts to pay off. His leaving the caves triggers Morka's coup, and gets everything moving up top. Baker is very eager to convince himself that he escaped… but it's hardly surprising, as he's been self-delusional all along, with his saboteur obsessions. Then he staggers out to die, for a staggeringly grim cliffhanger - surely the scariest in the series so far. And there are still two episodes to go…

Facing the gravest threat to humanity since the Black Death (or possibly the last story), the Doctor immediately trusts the Brigadier to act, and Lethbridge-Stewart appears to trust the Doctor again to get the problem sorted - though he's not forgotten the trouble his scientific adviser's been earlier. The Brigadier's worth his weight in gold, doing the right thing immediately at the hospital (even though that happens to be ordering people about with a gun), and the Doctor sets up his regimen of injections. Part of the implicit bargain here appears to be that when the Brigadier tells the long-suffering Liz to staff the phones and she protests, once again the Doctor backs him up! No wonder she ends up leaving so soon, and of course sooner still it's all the more ironic that the Brigadier completely stiffs the Doctor at the end, with Liz his apologist - as if even she finally loses patience with the Doctor, despite agreeing with his views (and in the book, of course, she's pissed off with him throughout).

Even the Brigadier's unusually efficient bit of martial law is unable to prevent Masters reaching London, and while the journey may be less tense than in the novel, the arrival is stunning. The Marylebone scenes are extraordinarily well-mounted and scary; aliens with rayguns are one thing, but this is even worse than the more obviously memorable Autons on the high street; this is an everyday place ravaged by a horrible illness, and is horribly plausible in its turn. It looks like a documentary or some disaster drama. It makes you really proud of Doctor Who, that it can be so depressing! Oh, hang on... As the guard pitches over and the camera follows the blue lamp, it looks like the end of the world is approaching. 

Mass death and panic are brought home by also focusing on the death of poor Masters, staggering around London before toppling down, and accompanied by Morka's most chilling line so far, a whispered "I am the Leader now" that finally sounds in control, just as Lawrence is on the verge of finally losing his in winding up Dr Shaw. The effect is to suggest the Wenley Moor director is stupid and the new shelter leader isn't, but viewers will of course know they share the same critical error of disregarding the Doctor: "They're only apes," says Morka.

Lawrence's final end is striking in a number of ways - it's yet another real character who hasn't even made it to the final episode, let along out the final credits, and as well as his ghastly blistering from the plague helping bring home its threat, his raving is highly disturbing. As with the disease, this unusual story first warns, then illustrates - it doesn't just tell us that the place is riddled with nervous breakdowns, but actually shows us one, and very squirmy it is to watch, too. The story's length and well-drawn characters mean that almost uniquely in the series, Lawrence has time to descend into paranoid madness, and we care about it.

This is perhaps the most frightening episode of Doctor Who, because it's the most believable. We see the spread of the disease; we see people we 'know' die from it or lose their minds from the horror; we see our heroes desperately struggling to find a cure, or the Brigadier trying to keep the country afloat on the 'phone. Extraordinarily, rather than becoming dated, the modern advance of combined drug treatments to check the effects of viruses like HIV only adds greater plausibility - though the same can hardly be said for the line, "Some of these drugs are so new we don't even know their properties yet." So they could be, what, dancefloor fun, or antifreeze?

So caught up can you be by the terrifying culture shock of the biological warfare that it's easy to forget its instigators. Unwise, of course, but so do the regulars, and although it's interesting to see 'young stallion' Morka cutting from the front, it's difficult not to feel that the cliffhanger reintroducing a less virulent threat and carrying off the Doctor with his most unconvincing boggle actually lowers the dramatic tension rather than raise it as a climax should. Still, more room for the Brigadier to come over well ("With respect, sir, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. …But there's no time to refer it to the Defence Committee!") before making something of a tactical blunder in allowing his mean to be lured out. 

In the endgame, it's obviously easier to convey the drama of a big ticking bomb / gun / molecular disperser than it is to show a disease being cured all round (thrilling zooms on: hospital beds and Horlicks!), even if it still feels like a lower gear than last week's. More interestingly, you can see points at which the trust between the Doctor and the Brigadier deteriorates further; after being kept waiting so long for the antidote formula, Lethbridge-Stewart would be only human to entertain the odd doubt on the Doctor disappearing in the company of 'the enemy'. The Doctor then reappearing, in white, framed by psychotic reptile people, not only looks scary - he actually shows no sign of being bothered at first that they’re going to kill UNIT's CO. It's Hawkins' attack that saves him, and only then does the Doctor appear to make up his mind (but, some might say, at least Avon gets killed). 

The reptile people’s random killing of base staff at the end is actually quite chilling, too. Monsters usually threaten; they don’t just scythe down characters straight away! It's rather more like a modern terrorist drama than typical Doctor Who, and serves to emphasise both this serial's unusually high body count and how few of those have actually died in the "thrilling shoot-out" action you'd normally expect. We're still some way off the credits for part 7, yet most of the people in part 1 are long-dead, and half the cast who made it this far will be dead by the end. It also serves to emphasise the deadly intent of the rather uninspiring prehistoric microwave with which the human race is to be cooked, though in fairness the machine also supplies more evidence of the so far somewhat sparse reptile civilisation. A bit of art wouldn't hurt, a bit more technology, or more than two sound effects while they do everything by third eye 'magic'. 

"Doctor, what do you think you're doing?" asks the Brigadier, who by now is clearly far from convinced that the Doctor is play-acting when he goes to help the Elder Earthlings (and in that rather unwise t-shirt, he does look a bit shifty). "You mustn't help him!" he even orders Liz, who - like the audience - has more faith, but the skilful writing and Courtney's performance make his not trusting the Doctor an inch perfectly understandable. It's also rather impressive that the Doctor really does have to overload the power core to scare off the reptile people - for once, it’s not just a bluff - and that the same thing that wakes the reptile people in the first place becomes the cause of their downfall, rather than the power being merely a background detail.

With the machine blown up, the monsters in retreat and the Doctor saying "Yes, I know, I'll try fusing the control of the neutron flow" (admittedly not then the cosy nod that that sort of line has become in retrospect), you'd expect this to be the end, but the last few minutes are brilliant - just when every other Who story would finish, we get great stuff like Morka finally showing he’s not just a violent egomaniac, as he realises that leadership involves responsibility. It makes his death suddenly poignant, and rather graphic. The Doctor is really, well, Doctorish with his pursuit of scientific knowledge, and what a joy it is to see that - except for the Brigadier, who is having none of it, but not yet blustering. Lethbridge-Stewart gives him a seriously evil look as the Doctor contemplates a reptile revival, and while I'm on the Doctor's side through and through, now I can see what's brought the Brigadier to this point, I wonder if the Doctor couldn't have retained his trust, and so kept Morka's people alive. It isn't really their disagreement that precipitates the final crisis, but their distrust - it's not impossible that the Brigadier's sealing of the caves is not inevitable, but in part a lesson to the Doctor, to show him 'who's boss'. Both actors are at their very best, with shock meeting quiet, deadly efficiency. Has Jon Pertwee a finer moment than that appalled look at the exploding caves, in a fantastic Doctor scene that lures you into thinking it'll just be the comic relief? 

The Doctor loses. He actually loses. And the first person to beat him since Tlotoxl is to become his friend; it's easy to conclude that it's a shame they had to get on after this. I'm no longer sure that's true. Perhaps this is simply a better story than any that follow with the Doctor and UNIT, and none of the rest could cope with this level of drama. But perhaps also the Doctor realises that UNIT is in the right place at the right time, and could be doing the right thing if he changed tactics and tried harder to persuade them; it's a better excuse for his becoming the 'establishment' Doctor than any other I've heard, and despite his loud distaste for politicians, for once it's an argument for working 'inside the system'. This Doctor's instincts have been spot-on, and he's tried to do good throughout, but it's all undermined by his own fatal flaw: arrogance. Ironically, the Doctor realises that the solution is for everybody just to get along with each other, but his confrontational approach and unwillingness to trust people with information shows that he's incapable of following his own advice. In life, in politics and in Doctor Who and the Silurians, getting everyone's back up rarely gets you results, even if you're right.

Run end credits - and notice how much shorter they are than for than part 1. Oh, and I have to get this out of my system: he's not Doctor Who. They're not Silurians. But it's still a cool title.

This story has a lot to answer for… Reading its message that green scaly rubber people are people too turned me into a Liberal. Appropriately, it's one of the few Who stories I saw first as an adult that I can remember exactly where I was when I saw it for the first time. It was five am the day after it was released by BBC Video, and I was crashing in a sleeping bag on someone's floor (the glamour of politics) and blearily determined to get it all watched before it was time to go out for another day's trudging the streets to canvass and deliver leaflets in the 1993 Christchurch by-election, which turned out to be a great Liberal Democrat victory over the Tories. Devoted as I was to the cause, this story was still something I desperately wanted to make time for as early as possible, and I was thrilled - even though it had actually been a life-changing experience many years earlier. And without having read the book, who knows? Perhaps I wouldn't have been there at all…

Season Seven is one of my favourite seasons in Doctor Who’s entire history. This is probably clear from my glowing reviews of ‘Spearhead From Space’, ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ and ‘The Ambassadors of Death’. Despite the high quality of those three stories however, they are still, incredibly, surpassed for a season finale, which is in my opinion the single greatest Doctor Who story of the Pertwee era. 

‘Inferno’ is of course best known for the parallel universe plotline, which I’ll come to shortly. However, the first two episodes, before the Doctor makes his trip sideways in time, are more than captivating enough in their own right. There is a sense of doom throughout this story right from the very beginning, which is almost palpable. This is due largely to the direction and the chilling incidental music, which continues to be a notable feature of the era. The location work of the installation is very moodily shot, and is nicely complemented by the tension in the studio scenes, as the thoroughly unpleasant Professor Stahlman clashes personalities with those around him, his obsession with his project his only concern. The appearance of the green slime, in ominous close-up shot, form output pipe two signals a homegrown menace straight out of Doomwatch, and it is immediately obvious that whatever it is it doesn’t bode well. The transformation of Slocum into a Primord confirms this. Despite the increasingly silly appearance of the Primords in later episodes, the partially transformed victims of the slime are much more successful; Slocum’s ghastly complexion here is rather effective, as he utters chilling snarls from between spittle-flecked clenched jaws. The effectiveness of these creatures lies in what they represent; they are unrelentingly aggressive, mindless brutes, their strength enhanced by their transformation, oblivious to pain, and almost bullet-proof. Not only that, but their touch brings transformation into one of their number, an immediate sentence of loss of intelligence and descent into savagery. Even in later episodes, when their full transformation is achieved via rather poor “werewolf” make-up, the storyline and direction manage to paper over their visual shortcomings and emphasize how dangerous they are rather than how ridiculous they look. 

The parallel universe aspect of the story works on several levels. Firstly of course, it is fascinating to see dark reflections of the Brigadier and Liz, as the Doctor finds himself trapped in a fascist version of Britain. Caroline John gets to show off her acting skills, presenting a cold version of her usual character who gradually comes to trust the Doctor in the face of certain death, and ultimately shows a noble side, using her last few hours of life to help the Doctor save himself and the Earth of his universe. Nicholas Courtney however, positively steals the show. When one actor is usually only seen playing the same part, it is difficult to forget that they can in fact play other roles; the Brigade-Leader may be a twisted version of the Brigadier, but they are worlds apart in more ways than one. The Brigade-Leader is also a soldier, but he is a brutal, sadistic bully, taking obvious pleasure in interrogating the Doctor and always ready to shoot anyone who stands in his way. More than that, he is ultimately exposed as a coward, concerned purely with his own survival, a fact that is nicely emphasized by comparison with Section Leader Shaw, Greg Sutton, and Doctor Williams, towards the end of episode six. It has been suggested that it is after seeing how his friend could have been, that the Doctor’s friendship with the Brigadier, strained by the events of ‘Doctor Who and the Silurians’ earlier in the season, becomes really strong. This certainly seems to be the case. 

Of course, the real genius of the parallel universe plotline is that it allows us to see what happens when the Doctor loses. From the beginning of episode five, when the Doctor announces that it is too late to stop the forces that have been unleashed, we know that he isn’t joking; this is not “our” Earth, but a different one, and as such we don’t know, as we usually do, that the Doctor will find someway to save it. Episodes five and six are amongst the most relentless and dramatic episodes of the entire series, as carnage is unleashed and the world starts to die. The acting is superb, as each character realizes that they are doomed, and the direction reflects this, the fiery sky outside casting a deathly pall over events. The model shot explosions are well realized, and radio reports of widespread destruction caused by earthquakes give a real sense of widespread destruction. The cliffhanger to episode six is horrifying, and as the episode seven reprise fades away, the viewer is left with the chilling realization that the parallel Earth is beyond help. This results in a marvellous final episode as the Doctor frantically tries to make sure that same fate does not befall “his” Earth.

Pertwee is at his finest here, giving a powerful, intense performance. My favourite moment is when he yells out “It’s the sound of the planet screaming out its rage”. After the dramatic climax, during which the Doctor literally saves the world, the final scene gently calms things down, reaffirming the Doctor’s friendship with the Brigadier right at the end, and also his relationship with Liz, ironically the last time that it is seen on screen. The guest cast is almost universally excellent, with particular mention worthy of Olaf Pooley as Professor Stahlman, and Christopher Benjamin as Sir Keith Gold. I must also mention John Levene; this is the first time Benton makes a real impact in a Doctor Who story, following his debut in ‘The Invasion’ in the previous season. Considering how likeable the character is, Levene’s performance as the thuggish Platoon Under Leader Benton is just as good as Nicholas Courtney’s as the Brigade-Leader. Overall, ‘Inferno’ is a triumphant end to a fine season, and a highlight of the era. My only criticism is that, due to behind the scenes decisions by the production team, Liz never gets a proper leaving scene outside of the novels.