Here it is then: the seven year long leviathan. The biggie. The Tom Baker years are so difficult to rank
because we’re never really comparing like for like. City of Death
doesn’t feel like the same show that gave us Pyramids of Mars or indeed
would give us something as outré as Warriors’ Gate. However, I’ve been
very thoughtful in ordering these stories. I’ve asked myself at every turn,
“What would I rather stick on the DVD player and watch right now?” The results surprised even me at times. If stories were
very closely tied in my affections, I’d think about their respective faults and
boons. If lockdown has been good for one thing, it’s the time I can give to
seriously re-assessing and reflecting on these fascinating tales.
42. THE INVISIBLE ENEMY
Four seasons in and finally, the
wheels come off the Tom Baker waggon. And they do so fairly disastrously. On
the Serial Thrillers documentary on the Pyramids of Mars DVD,
Philip Hinchcliffe talked about how with each story, he and Robert Holmes would
approach a concept whilst begging the question, “Can we do this?” Here, Graham
Williams seems not to have heeded that advice. Horror of Fang Rock before
it as a taut, claustrophobic thriller on four sets and it works magnificently.
Here, we have two planets, a spaceship and the inside of the Doctor’s brain. We
have possessed villains, a robot dog, a giant prawn and - weirdly - a clawed
bin bag. That last creation is perhaps evidence that the money was being a
little stretched. The Invisible Enemy could possibly make a great movie.
Bob Baker and Dave Martin always had a keen eye for the epic. But there aren’t any
characters to like. Freddie Jaeger’s Professor Marius is deeply annoying rather
than innocently quirky. Tom’s heart doesn’t seem to be in it. And every aspect
of the design work, whilst clever and laudable (especially the model work),
looks like it needed to be the set-piece of the episode, rather than one
set-piece amongst the thousand. Stupidly over-ambitious, despite its
imaginative nature (even down to its new Space English!), The Invisible
Enemy should probably never have made it to the screen. But then… we’d
never have got K9 (perhaps the only thing about this clumsy mess that truly
works)! Proof positive that if you throw enough darts, eventually you’ll hit a
bullseye.
41. UNDERWORLD
It’s never going to completely
win anyone over. It looks like snot, the cameras are too static and it feels as
if it will never come to an end. However, and it’s quite a big however, that’s
only Parts Two – Four. Like The Space Museum, Underworld has a
seriously strong opening instalment. The cliff-hanger, as a detached, fearless
Tom Baker intones “Carry on, Herrick” and the ship is pounded by asteroids, is
as tense as cliff-hangers get, the Time Lord against the power of the universe.
There’s also a lovely bit of psychedelia accompanied by Dudley Simpson at his
strangest – when the Doctor, Leela and Idas float downwards through the blue,
sparkly zero gravity tube. Apart from that though, the other three quarters of Underworld
really are as dreary as its reputation suggests which is a shame for a script
which includes concepts like the tree at the end of the world, guarded by
dragons. The visuals cannot hope to match the conceptual wonder at play by the authors
but given what they didn’t achieve in The Invisible Enemy, that should probably
have known that.
40. THE HORNS OF NIMON
Now, Nimon’s defenders would
have you believe that it’s a fun pantomime. That’s certainly what it looks
like. The sets are game show sets, giving no hint as to what the planet beyond
may look like, nor any hint of a civilisation. The Nimon costumes look like
those you might find in a children’s theatre piece, high heels making them
taller, huge “scary” heads. Some of the cast are going over the top for the
boys – Graham Crowden and Tom Baker in a room together are majestic. There’s
only one problem with The Horns of Nimon: It’s not funny. It’s just
pretending to be. There are no scripted gags. The improvised ones fall flat.
Look at Tom’s line after the “funny” sound effects echo around the TARDIS set.
It’s not a gag about the racket. It’s simply, “That’s very odd.” It’s played
with all the beats of a gag but there’s no punchline. Everyone looks to be
having lots of fun, except Lalla Ward who looks like she’s auditioning for
Tom’s part, but we can’t have fun with them because the script doesn’t want us
to. Look no further than Part Four, when Romana is transported to Crinoth.
Someone’s turned down the lights, John Bailey plays Sezom for real, there’s an
atmosphere about the place: this is what The Horns of Nimon desperately
needs elsewhere and wants to be. It needs to be played for real; not sent up. A
Doctor Who pantomime might be nice but that’s not what Anthony Read has written
and the result is a show which feels spectacularly at odds with itself.
39. THE POWER OF KROLL
The aspects of Kroll which
work are those which are usually castigated: the monster itself (the biggest
the show had ever seen) looks astonishing for its day; the Swampies are
brilliant-looking new denizens of this marshy moon; the location work is
original and rousing; Tom playing a reed pipe is unbeatable; everything that is
written as a visual extravaganza turns out to be one. The problem is the drab,
grey refinery scenes with their drab, grey characters. It’s worth watching though
to celebrate the late Philip Madoc’s contribution to the show. He was offered
the part of Thawn but gets lumbered with Fenner. The bitterness shows. He
stands usually with his mouth forming a piteous, thin rainbow, his lines read
sardonically with a vivid lack of urgency. Despite this, he can’t disguise his
aching charisma. My favourite moment of bathos comes when Madoc mutters, “You
know, I don’t particularly like the Swampies, but I can’t say I really hate
them.” Sublime.
38. THE CREATURE FROM THE PIT
This much-lambasted jungle tale
suffers far more from some structural issues than it does the giant phallus of
its title and reputation. Like Underworld though, its first episode is a
corker. The jungle is fantastic (imagine if Kinda looked like this -
perfection), the characters are operatic (and the performances thrillingly just
short of going over the top), and that first cliff-hanger is a truly shocking
moment. What’s more, as the sting crashes in, we see the rope alarmingly
thunder round and round and round until… it and our hero are well and truly
down the well. Once we’re in the pit, however, the only thing left to do is
tease out the relationship between the Tithonian ambassador and Lady Adrasta
and it really shouldn’t take two episodes. Sadly it does and even the glorious
Geoffrey Bayldon can’t disguise the thinness of his astrological Organon. Tom
does his best to entertain but he too is on fallow ground. In the end, he
stoops to a blow job. As exciting and off-beat and - in fact - disturbing that
soaring cliff-hanger to Part Three is, there’s no disguising the fact that it
marks the climax of the entire story. How to fill the rest of the closing
instalment is problematic. We then must endure a tepid plot about an otherwise
unmentioned oncoming missile. There’s much invention in The Creature from
the Pit, and David Fisher does produce some beautiful character work. His
worlds are all their own, with customs, idiosyncrasies and believability–
Argolis, Tara and Chloris: all rich and lived in places. But here, his
structure is all over the shop – that’s what kills The Creature from the Pit
in the end.
37. THE PIRATE PLANET
Douglas Adams’s later fame and
fortune cast a shadow over this, his first Doctor Who outing. You can hear his
voice across it, you can see his wild ideas, but they’re not quite fully
formed. They’re not quite working yet. True, structurally this story is as
solid as any four-parter. There are several compounding revelations which
change the trajectory of the narrative. The very concept of a planet raining
diamonds is rather beautiful and the explanation why verges on the genius. But
Adams’s comedy, coupled with Tom Baker’s growing improvisation doesn’t quite
fit yet. Later, in City of Death they would dovetail beautifully, as it
were, into the DNA of Doctor Who. But here, it’s a brand new voice, one that
hasn’t quite hit the correct pitch of this show, one that isn’t quite funny enough,
nor purposefully freewheeling enough, and like a newborn, is a bit unsteady, a
bit unsure of itself. Like a typical first play, The Pirate Planet tries
to juggle too many things at once and many don’t end up landing quite as
successfully as they might. See the first cliff-hanger as evidence: what is it
supposed to be? Funny? Scary? Both? It ends up simply falling flat. Doctor Who
doesn’t quite know what to make of Douglas Adams yet. But it will…
36. THE FACE OF EVIL
I feel unnecessarily hard ranking
The Face of Evil in such a lowly spot. I struggle to put my finger on why
this one doesn’t quite engage me. It’s a great opening story for new girl
Leela. Louise Jameson is a class act and puts in a performance which shouts,
“Here I am!” without it ever being over-mannered, selfish or showy. There’s
some lovely design work, some magnificent concepts, a couple of superlative
cliff-hangers and Tom Baker being absolutely terrifying. The scene in which the
Doctor and Leela first meet is up there with “Run!” and fish custard as to how
to write a new companion meets Doctor scene. Somehow though, somehow, there’s a
disconnect. Perhaps it that the ideas are stronger than the characters. The
tribe doesn’t quite feel real, possibly due to its lack of women. The Tesh are
charmless, irritating and I couldn’t name one of them from memory. Aside from
the striking performances from our two leads, there is no one here to truly
care about. If this were made today, the death of Leela’s father would be the
moment we all remember and filter through ever successive story; as it stands,
it’s Tom Baker shouting “Who am I?!” and that in a microcosm, is why The
Face of Evil engages the brain but not the heart. It’s got a different set
of priorities.
35. THE KEEPER OF TRAKEN
I love Part One. The Keeper
arriving in the TARDIS and telling the story of Traken via the Doctor’s scanner
is the stuff of legend. It’s an unusual departure for Doctor Who in terms of
story-telling vehicles and Denis Carey is quietly, powerfully resonant as the
Keeper. In fact, Part One is a lovely little vignette of an episode, leading to
a cliff-hanger which although arguably routine feels inevitable and dramatic.
After that, however, Traken becomes too wrapped up in its dull politics
and rituals. The conversations about “rapport” go on and on. The Melkur is a
terrific creation, Geoffrey Beevers beautifully articulating its creeping
menace. However, whilst on paper the events of Traken spiral into an
exciting climax, the journey there is dull and its people feckless. The costume
and design work are nice, there’s an unusual, memorable cliff-hanger ending,
but for the most part, The Keeper of Traken is disappointingly dreary,
rather like ironically, being told a story on a scanner screen rather than
experiencing and feeling it first-hand.
34. THE ARMAGEDDON FACTOR
The worst crime committed by The
Armageddon Factor is that it’s too bulky. With six episodes to fill, Bob
Baker and Dave Martin save their characteristic invention for the second half.
The first feels cumbersome but at least John Woodvine is around to offer a
twinkly, stalwart RSC heaviness and he and Tom are a match made in heaven.
Baker is at his very best here. He’s excruciatingly funny, ploughing through
written lines and improv-ed lines at 1000 miles an hour, and then suddenly, devastatingly
fierce. The final scene, the last act of the Key to Time is that TARDIS
scene. Many see Tom going over the top; I see a performance of almost-manic
360-degree mood swings. His eyes are rolling around in his head, he’s playing
the fool, he’s speed-reading and then: Slam! There’s the “colour-blind” line
and we know that our Doctor is as present as he ever was, the cogs turning
faster than any ordinary human could conceive. We can’t imagine the thought
process that goes from eye-rolling to calling out a demi-God. Because this is
force of nature Tom Baker, possibly bored, but completely energised, completely
in control and with a tangled sense of where this scene is headed which only he
can navigate with such dangerous tightrope lunacy. It’s a mad, mad performance
but it’s captivating, exhilarating and unique. We can sometimes, given his
seven-year stint, take Tom’s performance for granted. Watch the last scene here
and remind yourself how unpredictable, extraordinary and intelligent he is.
33. THE ANDROID INVASION
Tom’s got a sore throat. It may
seem like a trivial thing but it’s typical of a show that isn’t quite at its
best. Sure, this is the Hinchcliffe/Holmes era and its leads are Tom Baker and
Liz Sladen, so it’s never going to be dreadful. But there’s a general feeling
that amongst the big-hitters of Season 13, this is the one that got away, the
one that didn’t quiet come together. The plotting is ludicrous at best, the
monsters are average at best and aside from Milton Johns, the guest cast are
forgettable at best. Barry Letts puts some stylish touches to his film work, a
million miles away from the pedestrianism of Planet of the Spiders. But
getting Barry back is symptomatic of The Android Invasion: it’s looking over
its shoulder where every other story of the season is looking forwards. When we
reach UNIT, we’re forced to ask ourselves why we should still care if even the
Brig isn’t going to show up. Like Deep Breath after it, there’s a
feeling that this is yesterday’s work and neither the UNIT family, nor the
Paternoster Gang are going out with a bang.
32. REVENGE OF THE CYBERMEN
There is another version of this
story, soon to be released by Big Finish from a script by Gerry Davis. It was
printed in the DWB back in the day with some gorgeous illustrations and
alarmingly feels much better than Revenge of the Cybermen. I reviewed
this recently when the Season 12 Blu Ray box set was released and it struck me
that the story is at its best when it’s being The Wheel in Space, the
story of the Cybermen infiltrating Nerva Beacon. First they send the Cybermats,
then they attack in force. When we get to Voga, Revenge becomes dreary. The politicking Vogans are dull and muffled
by their poor half-masks in exactly the way that Davros, one story earlier,
wasn’t. Their plight is incredibly difficult to care about. When we get to the
end of Part Two, we’ve seen what Revenge is capable of. If you manage to
get to Part Four, you’ll see everything it does wrong, from the Cyber massage
which even Tom can’t begin to act his way out of, to the climactic spinning loo
roll of a planet. If only the story hadn’t felt the need to explore another
planet, it could have been a memorable, base under siege. Ironically, just the
sort of thing Bob Holmes was so good at.
31. THE INVASION OF TIME
The Invasion of Time does
a hell of a lot wrong. The Sontaran tripping over the sunbed is symptomatic of
a show which has made those sorts of blunders in almost every area. For
evidence from a design perspective, see the corridors: not quite wide enough
for a Tom Baker to walk along comfortably. For evidence from a scripting
perspective, see the final piece of Doctoring genius – he builds a big gun and
shoots the baddie. The story rambles and goes nowhere. I don’t know what a
black star is nor are the writers interested in telling us. The Vardans remain
in tinfoil form until they decide to disguise themselves instead as poor actors
soldiers. Even props are in on the blame game, positioning the Great Rod of
Rassilon (oo-er) on a squeaky, bright red, plastic cushion. And yet… that first
episode in which Tom becomes Doctor Bad is terrifying in its dedication to
subverting the formula. Excitingly, he’s still Doctor Bad for another couple of
episodes and we seriously begin to worry that things will not be OK. Tom is extraordinary
and frightening, a far cry from the painter clown of Underworld. By the
time the Sontarans show up, there’s no steam left in the Doctor Bad idea and
we’re into running around hospitals. But for one episode at least, there is the
unique impression that this is a very different and dangerous show. The
ceremony at the close of Part One is grand and mythic. And Dudley Simpson’s
Time Lord organ proves itself the real star of the show.
30. THE HAND OF FEAR
Doctor Who has a strange
relationship with nuclear explosions. Or should that be Bob Baker and Dave
Martin have a strange relationship with nuclear explosions. In The Claws of
Axos, there actually is one, from which the regular cast hide behind some
cars, presumably to avoid being… well, nuked. Later, they return into the nuclear
explosive damaged building and chat about yoyos. Here, again, Sarah is asked to
hold her nose whilst hiding behind a car, the better to save her from an
imminent nuclear explosion which thankfully doesn’t happen. Larking aside, The
Hand of Fear feels like a strangely modern show for its time. Whilst the
rest of the season is invested in history, Gallifrey or future worlds, here we
are on present day Earth with hospital sets and indeed doctors straight out of Fawlty
Towers. It’s weird but not unpleasant seeing Tom and Liz in their Earthly
domestic setting and marks The Hand of Fear out as distinct and memorable.
The last episode on Kastria feels a little uninspired from a design
perspective, the planet not feeling in any way lived in and lacking a sense of
scale. But the scenes in the nuclear power station have a “newness” about them
which hasn’t been lost over the years. And when Judith Paris’s incredible
Eldrad emerges from the smoke, The Hand of Fear enjoys its defining moment.
29. DESTINY OF THE DALEKS
Destiny has a big issue: it’s
called Genesis. With only two Tom Baker Dalek stories from which to
choose a favourite, fans have always sided with the hard-nosed, gloomy monument
that is Genesis. Destiny seems slighter, far less serious and if
there were a modern-day tone meeting word that summed up the mise en scene it would
probably be disco. Douglas Adams’s wilting humour and anarchic structures don’t
sit well against Terry Nation’s grim, boys’ own page-turners so Destiny starts
out with a disfunction at its heart. David Gooderson sadly becomes the George
Lazenby of Davroses and the Daleks look and sound knackered. However, there is still
much to love about Destiny. Ken Grieve’s location work is ethereal and
strange, even for a quarry. The first episode, aside from the very funny
regeneration scene, is doomy and atmospheric. The Movellans are such a hit we’d
see them again briefly in 2017. Tom is having a ball and the pace rockets
along. It might not be prime cut Who but it’s definitely bangers and mash. It’s
certainly worth assessment on its own merits as opposed to in contrast with the
mighty Genesis.
28. THE STONES OF BLOOD
If there were ever a game of two
halves, it’s The Stones of Blood. The first half is positively Hinchcliffean,
director Darrol Blake providing a strong, witch-folky atmosphere especially
given his decision to shoot all the exteriors on OB. The manor house, the
birds, that excellent Part One cliff-hanger as Mary Tamm lets out her first and
only proper scream. Dudley Simpson’s music is memorable and haunting. Sadly,
the second half in hyperspace dispels with the Gothic richness of the first.
Now, it could be argued that Doctor Who is the only place where this sort of
dichotomy can really work but it feels as if David Fisher has simply run dry on
the spooky mansion plot and jumps instead to something entirely different,
namely a space courtroom drama (and we know how well that worked for Doctor Who
in 1986). The Magara are tedious and visually unstimulating. Almost every shot
they’re in is required to be static. Even Tom Baker’s wig can’t perk things up.
You get the sense that where The Stones of Blood should have piled on
yet more of that delicious, evocative brooding, instead it’s not quite brave
enough to follow it through.
27. THE ARK IN SPACE
I get why this is revered. It’s
all about context. From the cosy confines of the Pertwee era comes suddenly a
dark tale of humanity and body horror and it’s quite a jolt. Removed from its original
context though, it’s easier to see that much, much better was to come from
Holmes and Hinchcliffe. The scenes of bodily transformation in The Seeds of
Doom, for instance, are far more frightening and well-shot. The production
team learned to turn the lights down to create an atmosphere: compare this to Planet
of Evil the following year. Kenton Moore’s Noah is as wooden as the
(otherwise amazing and rightly celebrated) sets and Wendy Williams needs a shot
of something to bring Vira to life. After the first excellent episode has put
its stars so wonderfully at the forefront, the guest cast arrive and sap all
the energy from proceedings, Part Two being the worst offender in terms of
pace. Nevertheless there’s an argument to suggest (bolstered by Russell T
Davies’s and Steven Moffat’s vocal admiration for this four-parter) that The
Ark in Space is a template for a perfect kind of Doctor Who story: an
isolated environment, explored by its regulars establishes the new setting as a
star of the show in its own right; the monsters are not simply evil but
following terrifying animal instinct; and the climax comes down to a noble act
of humanity. It is many ways the strongest of that type of story and there’s a
direct through line from here to 2006’s spectacular The Satan Pit.
26. IMAGE OF THE FENDAHL
It’s by no means up there with the
classics of the Gothic Horror era, and there’s a tiresome return to the TARDIS
in Part Three (I hate it when the show does this – it usually points to a
weakness in plotting), but Image of the Fendahl nevertheless is unique
in its presentation. The first episode has barely any music and a slow, creeping
atmosphere. By the time we reach Part Four, Dudley Simpson has gone full-organ
on us and there’s a mania to the events on offer. Similarly the cast seemingly
become more and more deranged as the strange happenings spiral out of control.
We begin with the innocuous sight of cows in a field and end with a suicide via
revolver. Image of the Fendahl is unique in that it is perhaps not
best enjoyed one episode at a time, rather as one continuous dreadful departure
into the realms of pure evil. Our experience of the story is in that way
similar to the way I imagine humans encounter evil: creeping. You don’t realise
you’re in its clutches until it’s got you.
25. MEGLOS
What’s so bad about Meglos?
I’ve always wondered why this is considered the turkey of Season 18. For my
money, it’s probably the most confident classic season of them all in terms of
conception and realisation and Meglos has never particularly stood out
as anomalous. The colourful, vibrant first episode rattles along, despite our
heroes arriving far too late to the plot. Paddy Kingsland’s score is magical
and there’s a desolate magic to the plains of Zolfa-Thura. Tom Baker is on
terrific form as the Doctor. Aside from the bell-plants and the final
appearance of the slithering titular cactus, there aren’t any disastrous design
faux-pas and the cast are by and large excellent. What is unforgiveable
though is the story’s treatment of science versus religion. There are no
complications to the debate. Science is right and religion is wrong. As a confirmed
atheist, even I find the handling of this topic shallow, patronising and not a
little offensive. There’s no “Logar is everywhere” moment as there is in Planet
of Fire to point to the fundamental benefits of faith and belief. Everyone
on the Deons’ side of the argument is proven to be foolish, and everyone on the
side of science can be righteous, but I suppose that’s only what you’d expect
of Jesus H Bidmead. Apart from that, I am really rather fond of this pacey, energetic
run-around and its operatic, fun characters.
24. THE SUN MAKERS
Bob Holmes writes his first out
and out comedy. His characters had always been one step removed from reality
but here, he goes for broke. The Sun Makers is genuinely funny but also
genuinely moving and in William Simons’s Mandrel genuinely disconcerting. The
Gatherer and The Collector are Dickensian in their realisation and speak a
language all of the their own, Richard Leech and Henry Woolf providing
tremendous charisma as the company men. Despite the (perhaps deliberate)
blandness of the design work, these characters seem rich against it. What this
story really needs though, and is perhaps why it is not so universally
applauded, is a monster. Imagine if, rather than the Steamer, Leela was sent to
the Beast of Pluto, I think people might have a lot more to say about The
Sun Makers which, despite its beautiful script, is arguably forgettable
from a visual perspective. Its magnificent words risk being lost in a sea of
beige, grey corridors.
23. STATE OF DECAY
The keynote of the work of
Terrance Dicks is structure and here, as in Horror of Fang Rock,
everything in the geography of the world has been designed to aid the story’s
shape. Whilst the beautiful costumes, set designs, performances and music
combine to make something arrestingly unique in Doctor Who (for the first time
in the show’s history every department seems to have picked colours from a mood
board), the real star of this show is Terrance’s script. It’s remarkably
straightforward with only mentions “The Wasting” itself hanging over from
previous drafts, although in my head the wasting is what happens to you when you
end up in the castle cellars. Dicks’s scripts have an assuredness about them, a
confidence in their simplicity. Here, in the hands of director Peter Moffatt,
they’re brought to rich, autumnal life. It’s the only story of Season 18 which
doesn’t quite fit. There are no great themes to ruminate on, no complexity to
unravel, but simple stories are often the most disarmingly enjoyable.
22. TERROR OF THE ZYGONS
This beloved story arguably
punches above its weight. David Tennant loves the Zygons, meaning that there
are a clutch of 70s fanboys feeling vindicated in their nostalgic regard for
this four-parter. There’s admittedly lots going for it. It’s directed with
characteristic gusto by Douglas Camfield and there are supremely memorable
moments of titular terror. The not-Harry in the barn with the fork is the stuff
of nightmares. The bloodied nurse falteringly finding her way through the
forest is sinister. The lauded reveal of the Zygons at the end of Part One is
striking: the “o” of the baby-faced creature’s mouth disconcerting and
horrific. But Terror of the Zygons is simply a series of exciting
moments. It doesn’t particularly hang together. Some work far better than
others. The climax in London doesn’t convince for a minute (it’s even less convincing
than Scotland) and the Part Three cliff-hanger is strangely lacking and tediously
shot. The Doctor’s flight from the Skarasen looks like it comes from a show
made ten years earlier, especially considering the fundamentally brilliant
design of the Zygons themselves. The story wants to do too much, visit too many
places, use too many characters. Destiny dictated that at some point one or two
of those aspects wouldn’t quite hit the mark. Fortunately though, with Douglas
Camfield at the helm, there are plenty that do and they remain etched in the
memory.
21. GENESIS OF THE DALEKS
My theory is that this Doctor Who
equivalent of The Odyssey, this sacred text, is just that namely because of the
1970s LP. In shortened form, it’s arguably far better. All the great bits are
left in – mostly from the first two episodes – and the dross of finding the
time ring and getting locked in a study can be expunged. Of course, those first
two episodes are palpably incredible. David Maloney directs the gloomy affair with
a keen sense of reality. The first scenes of the gunless Dalek circling under
voice control is a pivotal scene in the grand story of Doctor Who. The cast are
impeccable. Michael Wisher and Peter Miles are perhaps the ultimate double act
of the Hinchcliffe/Holmes years. The “Harry, I’m standing on a landmine” scene
is a cracking exercise in how to direct and play out tension. After the opening
two episodes, however, the show starts to feel a bit flabby. There’s not quite
enough plot left for the remaining four. Sure, there are stand-out moments –
Davros’s speeches chiefly. But there starts to creep in a clumsiness. The big
moralist speech of the final cliff-hanger doesn’t quite make it there, slipping
forward a few minutes to give us a rather drab, though very well directed
moment of peril instead. For this seven-year-old watching on its VHS release, I
was missing some Dalek action. This is their Genesis but it’s the story
of the fall of Davros, not the rise of the Daleks. I’d have loved to have seen
them blasting their way out of that bunker, heading out into the universe, a
force to be reckoned with. Instead, they decide to talk to camera.
20. FULL CIRCLE
If The Ark in Space is a
lesson on how to write a base under siege story, Full Circle is the
archetype for how to write an alien planet four-parter. The status quo is set
up, the characters introduced, something happens to upset the status quo (an
ancient planetary legend coming to the fore), the mysteries of the society are explored
and unpicked step by step until the reasons for the ancient planetary legend
become clear and the path to overcoming the danger is obvious. All that’s left
to do is play out the climax. On paper, it sounds easy but Andrew Smith comes
up with a world of such well-thought out intricacy that the twists and turns
still come as surprises. He picks his moments of revelation at cleverly judged
stages in the narrative to keep the action moving forwards and creates a
thematically strong monster to boot. Such structures sound common in Doctor Who
but they’re remarkably rare. This is a bullet proof script, masterfully
directed by Peter Grimwade, with only the arrival of Matthew Waterhouse, whose
character is at least well-written, proving a disappointment.
19. SHADA
Shada has been released on
so many occasions now. There was a time when it represented a holy relic, a
lost tome. Nowadays, we’re perhaps overfamiliar with it. Its recent completion
by animation was a lovely addition to the story’s many iterations, perhaps the
ultimate one, but how I wish it had been released in six instalments, whatever
their respective lengths. Seen as a movie, it seems unnecessarily cumbersome;
viewed as originally intended, it fair whips along. There is so much to love.
Tom and Lalla, a couple in love, are at their most endearing. Denis Carey’s
Professor Chronotis is a sublime characterisation. Douglas Adams’s additions to
the Gallifreyan mythos – the Panopticon archive of dangerous books – brands the
Time Lords as a race to be feared once more, to be in awe of. Even their
literature can manipulate time and space. Perhaps only Douglas Adams’s
imagination could hold a candle to the vastness of the Time Lords’ powers. I
adore this perspective on the Doctor and his race – there’s nothing wrong with
looking up to the bright, the intelligent. JNT thought, “It was a bit smart up
there” and felt the need to lessen the companions’ intelligence to aid viewer
identification. Chris Chibnall is in favour of the “flat team structure.” But I
like my Doctor to be an edifice. It doesn’t mean he has to be po-faced, distant
or Superman; I want him to be the cleverest person in the room, and by having
him travel with similarly bright people, it makes me want to be with them even
more. Intellectual snobbery? I don’t care. Cambridge looks lovely from here.
18. THE SONTARAN EXPERIMENT
Never talked about, bookended by
two Doctor Who totem poles, this slight two-parter is what I’d rather watch. It
has a peculiarity about it – all shot on location, all on OB, but with no
buildings, no horizons which aren’t empty. There is a definite, dreaded feeling
of desolation. I love the bleak, bleak atmosphere of The Sontaran Experiment.
Styre is a merciless villain, his leaving the man to thirst to death perhaps
the cruellest and most disturbing of his gambits. Dudley Simpson plays a
blinder here too. Watch as he builds doomily to the Part One cliff-hanger as
Rodney Bennett’s cross-cutting shots do the same. You could argue that the robot
looks cheap but when it first appears, floating across the moorland, it’s
anachronistically frightening. Short and slight, but full of menace and
brooding terror, The Sontaran Experiment is a forgotten treasure.
17. NIGHTMARE OF EDEN
Bob Baker’s solo effort for
Doctor Who and he writes a story about drug smuggling in space. That’s bold.
Nevertheless, he goes for it. He doesn’t shirk away from his responsibilities:
we see people high on Vraxoin, we see its devastating effects and the whole
interstellar collision stands as a metaphor for the damage such profiteering
can provoke. The story is pleasingly structured with a number of set-piece
scenes. There are real scares – the eyes in the jungle. There are real laughs –
Tom’s probably improvised escape from the security men; the scene in which Tom,
chasing a man in a grey suit, walks into a room full of similarly grey-suited
extras. There is an intelligent use of what the show can do given its budget:
each new floor that the Doctor comes to during his chase is exactly the same
set. No, the Mandrels don’t really work and everyone points at the “Oh my
everything!” scene as the one where Tom Baker finally loses touch with reality.
But nobody mentions the chilling moment a few scenes later when he stares away
from Tryst and whispers, “Go away.” It’s the mark of what Tom was so
charismatically doing as an actor, choosing his playing deliberately; the
silliness of one scene highlights the seriousness of the next. Nightmare of
Eden is a tight, well-written, funny thriller and more than holds its own
against the season’s clear winner, City of Death. If Shada had
been finished, these three stories together might well have enhanced Season
17’s flailing reputation.
16. THE MASQUE OF MANDRAGORA
I think Masque might be
better thought of it if started with a different scene. Elsewhere, it proves to
be such a rich, vibrant production: lavish costumes, gorgeous set designs,
beautiful location footage. But we start in an ill-dressed TARDIS corridor with
a CSO boot cupboard. How much better to start with a shot of the new console,
pulling out to reveal the glorious wood-panelled control room in all its glory?
Even its reveal is fudged because the Doctor has left the lights off. It would
be a far stronger statement of intent regarding what Season 14 is going to be:
this is Bob Holmes and Philip Hinchcliffe flexing their muscles, sure of
themselves, at the height of their powers. They know what they want to achieve.
If the brief is a Galilean-Italian astrology story of cults and courtrooms, I
can think of no more sumptuous example than this edifying, beauteous
production. Jon Laurimore, Norman Jones, Tim-Piggott Smith and Gareth Armstrong
represent the cream of the crop, a cast of refined, enriching performances and
Dudley Simpson returns afresh from The Brain of Morbius, keen to mark
the programme out as his show, once again. In every department, Masque
succeeds. It’s lavish.
15. ROBOT
As an introductory story for a
new Doctor, Robot acts as more of a fond farewell to the era just gone,
one last hurrah for the UNIT boys, especially considering that effectively, it
really was. That honour might have gone to Zygons had it closed the season,
providing a palindromic shape to Season 12, but alas, its shunting to Season 13
makes it seem like an afterthought. By then, we’re a year removed and we don’t
need them anymore. Here, they are still assured, professional and comforting
and it’s important to feel as if one is coming home, especially on the arrival
of a new Doctor (See also, The Power of the Daleks, Spearhead from
Space, The Christmas Invasion and Deep Breath). Tom Baker,
however, doesn’t need an army to protect him. He leaps from the screen, and
although at times uncertain and perhaps even a little mannered, his Doctor
arrives almost fully formed and certainly joyous in that wonderful, wonderful
costume. His free-wheeling, anarchic breeziness means that within an episode’s
time, he’s the show’s star and the regulars are deposed to very definite
semi-regulars. Nevertheless, Robot feels like rejoicing. Terrance Dicks
produces a script that celebrates what the UNIT family have become and also
what the new man means for the future. Because as Robot comes to a
close, as Sarah accepts that jelly baby, as Tom smiles that infectious smile,
all bets are off. Things are about to change.
14. PYRAMIDS OF MARS
From a watertight Terrance Dicks
script to a leaky Bob Holmes one. Paul Cornell suggested that Dicks represents
“structure structure structure” whilst Holmes goes for “the big moment.”
Putting Pyramids side by side with Robot, that judgement is never
more clear. There are moments in Pyramids to thrill any Hammer fan. The
death of Namin is gruesome without being gory. The killing of the poacher
frightening in its simplicity. There’s an actual bloody shooting in it, a
walking corpse, a revived ancient evil, hiding in a priest hole and a mummy in
a coffin. Gabriel Woolf’s Sutekh is masterfully voiced. It’s all stirring stuff
and you can see in the writing that Bob Holmes was loving throwing one
frightening moment after another. But you wouldn’t have got this past Terrance.
It doesn’t make any sense. The last episode is woeful in its scripting and in
its design. But for the most part, Pyramids is about thrills and for the
most part it remains deeply, darkly thrilling.
13. WARRIORS’ GATE
We never really talk about Doctor
Who as high art but if there were ever a story vying for that title, it’s
surely Warriors’ Gate (although I’d argue that Ghost Light is
absolutely that). Watch the camerawork for about three minutes and you’ll see
that Daryl Joyce (and Graeme Harper) are going for a very different approach to
televising a sci-fi adventure. Joyce shoots off-set into the lighting gantry. There’s
a feeling that this director is creating something new, something Steve
Gallagher’s original, off-beat script gives him license to. Later, we see
striking shots of Gundan in slow motion, charging a banqueting hall, a glowing
Romana and her Tharil friend disappearing into nothingness and the shots in the
black and white Tharil gardens have a strange uncanny aura about them. It’s not
easy to work out what’s going on in Warriors’ Gate. I’m still not sure
that I do. But when Doctor Who looks so rich, feels so different and creates
something as unique as this space age analogue poetry, it positively demands to
be seen.
12. THE TALONS OF WENG-CHIANG
This Victorian tale of the
macabre should arguably rank higher. Everyone knows the many, many reasons why:
Jago and Litefoot, Chang and Sin, Greel and his donors, David Maloney, Tom
Baker, John Bennett, Christopher Benjamin and Louise Jameson. This is
gruelling, lascivious stuff and deservedly one of Doctor Who’s great texts.
However, however, however, it’s only exceptional for its first two thirds,
before Robert Holmes’s structural issues again become sadly obvious. He
literally writes himself into a corner. When he begins, his sprawling narrative
covers a mortuary, a theatre, a town house, a police station and the sewers. By
Part Six, Tom and the gang are crouching behind a table and the story has
nowhere left to go. Had the story come to its conclusion at the end of Part
Four, our heroes thwarting the rogues on their final attempt to retrieve the
cabinet, it might well be my all-time favourite. As it stands, Bob Holmes’s self-confessed
“dog-leg” that is Parts Five and Six means the story limps to its finish line
but perhaps only relative to the glorious success of its preceding episodes.
Elsewhere, there is such greatness to be found.
11. LOGOPOLIS
A story once revered now seems to
have fallen out of favour. It’s easy to see why. The poor thing looks cheaper and
cheaper as the years roll by. For the big season finale, possibly only the
second of its type (The Armageddon Factor being the other obvious contender),
it’s a shame a little bit more money couldn’t have been put to one side. We
have two episodes on the TARDIS set and filmed in a layby, followed by two episodes
in the most obvious “outdoor” sets since The Dominators. However, what
nobody can deny is the devastating funereal atmosphere of Logopolis. It’s
the natural end point of this season of entropy but also of an actor pushed to
leave a role he loves, his wings clipped along the way. Tom doesn’t look happy
here and he’s always played the Doctor according to his mood. You can sense his
frustration. He wants to go out with a bang; instead, he’s waffling about time
cone inverters. But that’s what makes Logopolis such an interesting,
arresting and deeply sad watch. The world literally tumbles down around our hero.
He doesn’t do very much. For half an episode, he’s shrunken and on his own
muttering to himself about cheeseboards. But at the last second, with
everything stripped away, his fate sealed, what does Tom do? Smile.
10. THE ANDROIDS OF TARA
Why this elegant, swashbuckling
tale isn’t more loved, I’ll never know. It’s got a leisurely pace, admittedly,
but David Fisher creates a world we’d like to spend even more time wallowing in.
Its characters are rich: Count Grendel and Madam Lamia making for a partnership
with electricity flying between them. The first two cliff-hangers are
particularly wholesome and leave a lasting impression. The costumes, sets and location
work are elaborate and lavish. There’s an exciting adventure story (The
Prisoner of Zenda) at its heart but it’s also terrific fun, Tom Baker
proving that he’s at his absolute outrageous best when larking about. Peter
Jeffrey is a magnificent villain and a perfect foil for Tom, the plot boasts genuine
surprises, there’s a staggeringly well-shot night-time swordfight and it’s very
difficult to find a fault in the gorgeous-looking literary homage. It even pleasingly
recycles the Kraal’s android designs, meaning that the world of Tara and the
rest of the Doctor Who universe subtly link together. Perhaps it’s because The
Androids of Tara does its job so seamlessly that it’s often overlooked in the
face of its brasher bedfellows.
9. PLANET OF EVIL
Call me a Philistine, but I’d rather
slip this in the DVD player than Pyramids of Mars or even Talons.
Certainly Genesis. The story of the Planet of Evil is an exercise
in mood. It is genuinely frightening. Roger Murray-Leech’s deep, multi-layered,
red jungle is a star of the show in its own right, meaning Zeta Minor becomes
as believable an alien a world as Skaro, Ribos or Androzani. Once we get inside
the Morestran ship, it’s a joy to find the atmosphere of the first half of the
story persist. This could look like The Ark in Space but instead, David Maloney
is playing in the dark. Frederick Jaeger puts in a defeated, sickly
performance, a million miles away from his irritating, quirky turn as Professor
Marius two years later. His transformation into the anti-man, alone in his room
with only a mirror for company, is as disturbing as its literary antecedent, Dr
Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The make-up is inventive and disturbing and the scenes
of the anti-man leaving crew members for dead, filmed from a distance, as eyewitnesses
spot the fleeing culprit are suggestive enough to be truly horrific without
being graphic. This is Doctor Who at its most nerve-shredding. Maybe it’s lost
in Season 13 alongside so many fan favourites, but I’d recommend this to a newcomer
to the show if they wanted to know what the Hinchcliffe/Holmes era was like. It’s
a perfect distillation of their tremendous skills.
8. THE RIBOS OPERATION
Garron and Unstoffe are a better onscreen
double act than Jago and Litefoot. They really should be more celebrated. Iain
Cuthbertson and Nigel Plaskitt are remarkably performed and could easily be the
stuff of spin-off series. See also, the Graff Vynda K and Sholakh, Paul Seed
and Robert Keegan respectively barnstorming their way through this beautifully seasoned
Bob Holmes script. Perhaps its position outside the Hinchcliffe era means that it
tends to lose points, but to my mind, Holmes returns to the show less
fagged-out and more refined. This script has a solidity about it often missing
from his much-vaunted classics. Parts One and Two form a heist story with just
the right amount of complexity. Parts Three and Four venture into the city and
the catacombs, and like all the best stories, it all comes down to character. The
power of Paul Seed’s climactic madness as the Graff is far more terrifying than
any Shrivenzale. He is spectacular. Speaking of which, so is Tom. Returning
after his summer hols, he is a renewed man. In Season 15, he seemed
occasionally to be reaching. Now he’s confident and empowered and he knows that
comedy is the new black.
7. THE BRAIN OF MORBIUS
Tom Baker versus Philip Madoc was
always going to be a winner but here, alongside a rich, Gothic script, Barry Newbery’s
evocative, vaulting design work, and Christopher Barry’s assured direction, it’s
a sure-fire classic. There’s little to say about Morbius other than
whatever Bob Holmes did to Terrance Dicks’s script, he created a bravura horror
story of the grand guignol. It’s strong in every area it needs to be: lighting,
set dressing, playing. Everyone is in on the act, everyone knows what needs to
be achieved for this melodrama to work. Performances are once removed from
reality but played for real, cobwebs dangle creepily from the chandeliers and lightning
whitens the screen at the most turbulent moments. There’s even overlaid studio
rain. Everything is working so harmoniously, so smoothly, that it’s easy to miss
quite how much effort and energy has been expended on creating this vivid, grizzly
synergy. As a child, the shots of a bloodied Condo, dragging himself along the
darkened corridor, actually crying, were starkly moving. For all its frights, there’s
a story of abuse here which is no less hard hitting and shows up Solon as the
true villain that he is. With Philip Madoc’s innate charm, it’s worryingly easy
to forget what a nasty piece of work his character is. Unforgettable stuff.
6. HORROR OF FANG ROCK
The legend goes that Robert Holmes
suggested to Terrance Dicks that he’d “always fancied a story set in a
lighthouse.” I imagine, knowing what we do of Holmes, that Horror of Fang
Rock was exactly the sort of story he had in mind. It is a story of claustrophobia,
of abject dread. Scenes go by seemingly leisurely, but we are rivetted, waiting
for the worst, because we know it is coming. And indeed, it does. Just this
once, everybody dies. Trapped in the small, stone building, they have
nowhere to go. As in State of Decay, Dicks has thought of the power the
lighthouse has in the narrative and uses it not just as a MacGuffin to rid the
Earth of the Rutans but as a hostile environment all of its own, a character in
the narrative. He has thought about its geography, the Rutan moving up through
the windows on the outside of the lighthouse, so as to avoid detection.
Tom Baker is in the mire too. He knows this is a scary one and he plays it without
humour. The only moment he seems to relish is in telling the inhabitants of Fang
Rock that “Lord Palmerdale has fallen from the lamp gallery” and it sends a
chill down the spine. Bleak, ghostly and disturbing, Horror of Fang Rock
is the sort of story fisherfolk tell their friends by moonlight, a frightening,
local mystery of the unwitnessed deaths of the lighthouse keepers.
5. THE ROBOTS OF DEATH
Almost everything about The
Robots of Death is superb but there’s one aspect I’d like to focus on: that
cast. Tania Rogers and Tariq Yunus are not going to win any BAFTAs (although
Rogers does have the necessary innocent, privileged girl quality about her) but
you can’t ignore David Collings, david bailie, Pamela Salem or Brian Croucher.
All seem to truly inhabit their parts. This is a world they are living in. The
way they operate their future-world apparatus (wrist communicators, chest mics
and keypads) as if they do these things every day gives the planet a strong sense
of believability. Salem seems begat by terror in the latter instalments.
Croucher is far more frightening here than he ever was as Blake’s 7’s Travis.
Best of all, however, and rarely celebrated when talk turns to Robots is
Russell Hunter. He makes for a supremely complicated Uvanov. Bitter and sensitive,
strong and frail, Hunter’s Uvanov is fascinatingly real. I’d like to direct you
to one line in particular. He is on the bridge stairs in Part One addressing
Zilda. “You know it’s amazing the way you people stick together,” he says then
stops and quickly corrects himself, “No, it’s not amazing; it’s sickening.” I don’t
know whether Hunter is correcting a stumble here, but it is delivered so believably,
so honestly, that we forget he’s acting. He’s living this part. And true to character,
he corrects himself so that he can throw an insult at someone. Robots is
full of this stuff from him and it’s all the richer for it. But, of course, Hunter
is just one cog in Michael Briant’s beautifully efficient machinery that forms
the holistic wonder of The Robots of Death.
4. THE SEEDS OF DOOM
Six-episodes of high-octane
action which see Tom Baker thump a chauffeur unconscious, dangerously twist John
Challis’s neck and throw himself through a glass ceiling. This is the Doctor as
action hero. He even picks up a revolver and we believe he’ll use it. We never really
think of Tom Baker’s Doctor as James Bond. That epithet is usually reserved for
Pertwee but it’s a role that suits Tom down to the ground. Because he’s the spy
that’s even more eccentric than Bond, MI6’s (or UNIT’s) loosest cannon and along
with his knack for fisticuffs, he’s inventive, knowledgeable and here, brilliantly
detached. “You must help yourselves,” he says spookily after proffering the
only advice the men on the Arctic base are going to get. The violence here
points to a show that has disregarded the shackles of its youth, that wants to
be adult and gruelling, and it manages it so successfully in The Seeds of
Doom. The scenes in the cottage are desperate and unsettling. The scenes on
the Arctic base are doomy and tense. There’s nowhere to run from the approaching
beast and the characters, like real people - not the ones of traditional children’s
drama - begin to snap at one another, make chemical bombs, make feeble but desperate
decisions and in some circumstances, simply run away. This is hard-edged,
uncomfortable viewing. Just look at how Tom screams “Scorby!” in Part Two as a
statement of how seriously everybody is taking this. It all comes from the top
and when the top is Tom Baker as Bond, you know this is going to be something truly
special.
3. THE LEISURE HIVE
When my Dad picked up the 1998
DWM polling issue in Forbidden Planet Manchester, I was only 13 years old. He
flicked slowly through the pages, counting down from 10 to 1, starting with The
Web of Fear. He asked me what my favourites were and as each page turned, I
hoped that fandom would think the same, that we would be celebrating the greats
together. Unfortunately, it seemed that fandom didn’t like Revelation of
the Daleks, Ghost Light and The Leisure Hive quite as much as I did.
I was thoroughly disappointed. I hadn’t, up until that point, realised what the
Greatest Ever were supposed to be. The Leisure Hive, even today, I think
is one of the very finest. For many, I suppose it represents the point at which
Doctor Who turned its back on fun and those 70s titles and Tom’s lunacy,
but just look at what it replaced them with: Lovett Bickford’s frankly staggering
direction is lustrous, poppy, imaginative and artful. There’s a notable piece
of camerawork every few minutes. The opening pan along the tents is exciting.
We’ve just had the new title sequence. It’s a shock. We need that to bed in. And
we know that the pan is going to end up somewhere. Cleverly, we realise where
we’re headed as we hear Tom’s snores and just before we reach the TARDIS, we
know it’s about to appear. It’s a punch the air moment. Then there’s the
disappearing crane shot from the beach into space, the TARDIS appearing in a moving
shot, the cross-fade from the out of focus extra to the shuttle, the upshot as
Stimson is killed, the cliff-hangers. It’s relentlessly fantastic, shot after
shot after shot right up to the end of Part Four. Peter Howell’s incredible
score marries spectacularly with the pictures. And David Haig is mesmeric. This
is the brand-new Doctor Who, confident, blistering and definitely,
definitively, here. I love it.
2. CITY OF DEATH
How can any romantic not love City
of Death? Unlike perhaps any other Doctor Who story, including the new
series’ Tenth Doctor and Rose, this is the Time Lord and companion in love. They
race across the streets of Paris hand in hand, accompanied by that delightful
Dudley Simpson refrain. They talk about bouillabaisse and order double waters. It’s
joyous and funny and a thrill to share time with them. They are the “perpetual
outsiders” we can never hope to engage with, but we can observe them on their
lofty purchase, gladdened that our Gods know how to holiday. The Jagaroth in
the bubble, I hear you cry? Makes perfect sense to me: before the chicken and
the egg at the start of all creation came the Jagaroth. It’s what ultimately the
story is about. City of Death’s only issue structurally (and it’s
amazing that there’s only one given the speed at which Douglas Adams and Graham
Williams knocked this out) is that we don’t know the human race is under threat
until the very last minute. If we had, maybe there’d be a bit more tension as
the Doctor races alone across Paris in that final episode. But who cares? City
of Death is funny, timeless, shamelessly romantic, it has John Cleese in it
and even finishes with a sexy saxophone motif. In Doctor Who, that right there
is unheard of.
THE DEADLY ASSASSIN
Never has Bob Holmes produced a
script of such structural aplomb: four episodes, four very different problems
to solve. Save the president! Fight the court case! Escape the Matrix! Stop the
Master! That might seem over simplified, but it ensures that each episode is a riveting
sketch in its own right. The Deadly Assassin is knowingly grandiose. We
start with scrolling text, let’s not forget, narrated by Tom Baker as if to warn
us that this is big stuff. Gallifrey is, for the first and best time, richly explored
and its society is a vital and complex one. The politics are real, the
characters fascinating, the results perfection. The mystery of the Time Lords
was once treasured by fandom – but for me, there’s a woolliness about those early
appearances - and Holmes decides he’s the fellow who’s going to go for broke
and dismantle the whole wretched pack of them. He does so with such
unforgettable prowess that the mythology established here would follow the series
forever. The very latest episode, number 851 no less, returned to the Matrix,
as did the Wachowskis in 1999. On the story’s DVD commentary, Tom Baker attests
that “this might be the best Doctor Who story I’ve ever seen.” It’s very
difficult to find fault with that statement. This is the best. This is as good
as they come. And the best of it all is the unfettered dreamscape that occupies
Part Three. The Deadly Assassin is the definitive story of the Time
Lords and in that respect it has never, ever been bettered. Monumental.
JH
