The Collection - Season 2

The Collection – Season 2 Blu Ray

What a tremendous undertaking this Blu Ray release is, not just for the avid Who viewer but for the talented team of documentary-makers and perhaps more importantly the sound and visual restorers of these incredible looking episodes, hitting a Blu Ray milestone at a massive 37 instalments (plus 2 very fine reconstructions). This is the biggest Blu-Who hit so far. I’ve never had the joy of viewing this season in order before. The Time Meddler’s 1992 repeat and The Chase’s Dalek VHS tin release of 1993 were my introduction to Season 2 at the tender age of seven. Back then, my opinions were clear: Time Meddler was moody but boring, The Chase was funny and thrilling. Now, given the intervening years of discovering Season 2 in different forms (VHS and DVD editions or UK Gold repeats spanning almost a decade), I come finally to this masterful release and get to watch it in order. It’s the story of Doctor Who’s growth from naivety and self-importance to maturity and expansion. These are the stories on which Doctor Who has been hitherto built and even almost 60 years later, they’re incredibly powerful and awe-inspiring.

We begin with a held over story from Season One and it certainly feels like a relic of a simpler time. The story’s pace, as noted by the BBC high-ups, is sluggish. Its problem lies in the fact that the episodes take place in real time, so we end up watching the TARDIS crew pace from one - admittedly tremendous - set to the next with no real sense of energy and the cameras pan across with them into new elements such as the – admittedly tremendous – giant ants or giant flies which the characters would have been able to see if only they’d shunted along a little faster or perhaps just opened their eyes. Whilst the design work stuns, Raymond Cusick and Barry Newbury proving bona fide heroes across the season (all their work dazzles), the otherwise inventive director Mervyn Pinfield, can’t get past the 50s style of camera movement, the characters unnaturally noticing things as they appear on the screen, rather than as they would spot them in reality. The same problem persists in the later, similarly plodding Space Museum which, despite an arresting first episode, then falls into this story’s similar trap of watching the heroes walk around the setting in real time. Sadly, on that occasion, the sets are all life-size.

Conversely, at the other end of the season, we have episode one of The Time Meddler which exemplifies a completely different approach to camerawork and storytelling, and it feels far more modern. Almost a year apart, the stark difference between where Doctor Who was and where it is going is marked. Here, the 25 minutes cover a whole evening, the sun falling away into the darkness of the episode’s climax. Although it feels relatively leisurely, the idea that we follow the lead characters in their every move is now a thing of the past and we can span a greater timeframe than at the season’s outset and a greater breadth of locations. It’s what gives The Romans its grand sense of scope. The back-projected sky here in Time Meddler is a touch of genius from director Douglas Camfield who, ironically cut his teeth on the final truncated episode of Planet of Giants. The boy’s obviously learnt a lot over the year and - like his designers - makes for a key player in Team Season 2.

Camfield’s episodes of The Crusade and The Time Meddler are positively sumptuous. There’s a rich confidence in their rigorous approach to television-making. The forests in both convince far more than, say, the jungles of Mechanus with its drab studio floor and invasive studio cameras. It’s a marvel to see Camfield come to life with his exciting film-work early in the newly remastered and now beautiful-looking The Lion. It’s terrifically shot action followed by the slow, lingering shot later in The Wheel of Fortune of Saladin talking almost directly to camera. Here’s a director with a keen sense of comparison, pace, story-telling and beauty. It’s a heart-breaking irony that The Crusade may be the masterpiece of Season 2 we’ll never get to fully enjoy. Derek Handley’s excellent reconstructions go a good way to helping us understand what it may have been like though and they’re very welcome for this reviewer who feels as if he’s finally experienced the story, as near as dammit, in full. Thankfully, the story’s best scene comes at the end of Part Three, in which two of Doctor Who’s later guest stars prove their brilliance in a fiery row in which the offscreen Pope destroys the King’s desperate plans and tears out his fighting heart. It’s also William Hartnell’s best performance in a season full of tremendous moments for him as an actor.

Christopher Barry also excels as director on six episodes here. The Rescue is a perfect little vignette, introducing Vicki with well-scripted efficiency, a strong performance and acute direction. Barry proves in The Romans that he can give us action (the dynamic sinking of Chesteron’s ship) and comedy (the way the camera pans round before Derek Francis’s exquisitely timed coo-ey wave to Barbara). These are masterclasses in how to do successful 60s sci-fi and successful 60s romp. Those early scenes with our TARDIS crew whiling away the hours in the villa are completely charming. Vicki’s invitation at the end of The Rescue must have been irresistible and it’s in these six episodes we see how perfectly she slots into place in this very effective TARDIS team.  

At the bleaker end of the directorial scale comes Richard Martin, a notoriously contention auteur. Martin provides a useful backbone to Steve Broster’s Season 2 Era documentary (Flight Through Eternity) which suffers slightly from its key players no longer being with us, but on the evidence of Martin’s episodes here, he’s the one fellow you wouldn’t want to employ again. The Dalek Invasion of Earth is his best work but even there, he misses out on key moments. Where is that iconic shot of the Daleks crossing the bridge, Big Ben behind them, that made for such a ubiquitous press photo? When are we going to get a decent shot of the Slyther? Time and again in a Richard Martin-directed instalment, the cameras and actors seem to be all at sea. The fight to capture the Dalek saucer at the end of Part Two is a muddled mess, Bernard Kay (so captivating as Saladin in The Crusade) wondering around as if looking for a lens and some motivation. Images are formed in cramped three and four-shots on tiny sets which rarely convince. In The Chase, we see actors waiting for their cue after the cameras have cut to them. This isn’t a common occurrence in the rest of this 60s season. It’s only the Martin episodes which feel quite this feeble. He also has a strange tendency to crash-zoom his cameras into indistinct areas. The cliff-hanger at the end of Part Three of The Chase exemplifies this best, as Hartnell’s line is interrupted by a crash-zoom on… some circuitry. Thankfully, Martin’s got the season’s big blockbusters to bolster his work and it’s probably their all-out ambition (and inherent sense of fun) that makes up for his fudging of much of them.

Carole Ann Ford’s last scene as Susan is one of the most magical moments in all of Doctor Who. It epitomises 60s parental attitudes and William Hartnell is never more on point than here. He’s dignified and gracious, holding it together before the TARDIS dematerialises and the studio lights go out. He could be patronising but he’s gentle. He could be melodramatic but he’s quiet and precise. Hartnell seems to know this is a moment that will live in history, and he is an absolute boss. When Ian and Barbara leave in their joyous montage of (incidentally Douglas Camfield directed) film and photography, we’re left with another golden moment for Billy. His grief at the loss of his co-stars is palpable. It’s such a shame that a wretched boom mic seems to conspire to spoil the stillness of this moment of devastation, but Hartnell emerges victorious. The Web Planet desperately wants to be a season spectacular too. Admittedly, Part One largely succeeds with its distinctly weird atmosphere and climate, aside from an otherwise superb Hartnell experiencing a rare half-hour of dying on stage, the lines always just beyond his grasp. But for the remainder, there’s too little action and the performances are too mannered to be comprehensible. The Web Planet is a story so easy to admire, so ambitious, so beautiful (in terms of costume and design and the filmed Menoptera invasion is superb) and its rich life outside the TV show in comics, annuals and other media speaks volumes but it’s so terribly difficult to genuinely enjoy. All three of Martin’s stories are noisy too, with music used strangely and creaks and bangs of shambolic studio sessions immortalised now on Blu Ray in all their wincing beauty.

Highlighting Hartnell’s struggles in the first episode of The Web Planet leads me to praise him from the hilt for the many glorious performances he gives elsewhere on this boxset. Watching in order, there’s a palpable truism to the way in which he mellows after Susan’s departure. He needs to spoil Vicki, his surrogate grand-daughter to whom he doesn’t owe the same all-consuming responsibility. From The Rescue, we see the playful Doctor we have come to know and love arrive. He’s more polite to Ian and Barbara, more mischievous by the time he reaches Ancient Rome and in that episode of The Web Planet, he’s near-enough manic. The great, great scope and journey of this actor’s performance as Doctor Who is a privilege to be able to enjoy here in 2023 so beautifully remastered, every tic and scowl and squint, there to see. And Hartnell is so in the moment. His growth across the season as a leading character is natural and effective and above all, earned. The loss of his grand-daughter leading him ultimately to be kind.

Watching in sequence also draws out some lovely continuity. Vicki cheekily asks Barbara to make her a dress in The Romans. By the time we reach The Chase, Barbara’s making it and ironically, sadly, it will never get finished. As the Doctor’s relationship with Vicki grows throughout The Romans, The Web Planet and The Crusade in which they’re paired together, so Ian and Barbara become heroes in their own right and the more distant from the Doctor they become. When the chance to leave him eventually comes, it feels like the right time. The natural order has changed. The Doctor has his grand-daughter of sorts back with him, and this time she has nowhere else she wants to be. The kick-arse Maureen O’Brien excels throughout a season in which she’s given much to do. The actor’s irritation at the way Vicki was underwritten is perhaps not backed up by the evidence here. Or perhaps her vocalising her issues propelled writers to throw her into the action. Nevertheless, when Ian and Barbara are gone on their beautifully understated and romantic bus ride, the Doctor and Vicki are the true TARDIS unit. And just when you’re getting used to that idea, the terrific Steven Taylor comes along to add a nuisance brother to the family mix.

It feels prudent to mention the qualities of William Russell and Jacqueline Hill here, who are utterly dependable every single week. They are the touchstones of the series, our ways in. They act with incredible dignity and understatement throughout and viewing their very long journeys across the season here, their unflappability and strength, seems even greater achievements. Miraculously, they’re replaced by Peter Purves, who provides an equally assured and trustworthy performance. In the company of these fine actors, we forget they’re acting. They completely inhabit those roles and make a massive contribution to the show which we’re still thankful for today.

The Time Meddler is unusual because cannily, at season’s end, we’re introduced to a brand-new type of Doctor Who story which asserts that, just as Steven believes, we cannot possibly be in 1066 due to the anachronisms we find ourselves surrounded by. The viewer is wrongfooted by the wristwatch and when the monks’ chanting hymns suddenly warp it might be safe to assume that Richard Martin’s back in the gallery, but Hartnell proves in his sharp, mercurial look that this is for real: things are about to change. The Doctor seems to know more about The Monk than he’s telling us, and there’s a real feeling of a shared history, the mystery of which is vividly exciting. The programme is flexing its wings. There’s no doubting the variety of story-types on display across this season – from the Saracen hordes to the butterfly men of Vortis, this show can do anything - but at its finish, we realise that there are more tricks up our favourite programme’s sleeve. And we end with our three thoroughly modern heroes, looking out through the stars. Although they may have just travelled into the past, they are most definitely headed for the future.

Special Features

Leading this box set’s new deluge of attractive special features are two interviews conducted by the ever-elucidatory Matthew Sweet, whose knowledge of the show and indeed the pop culture of its respective eras seems gloriously unending. William Russell and Maureen O’Brien make for the most charming company. Recorded in 2018, Russell’s elderly appearance belies a sharp mind, keenly aware of his gentlemanly obligations to his co-stars, about whom he talks with adoration and happiness. Maureen O’Brien doesn’t have any such guardedness, exposing Hartnell as a “racist, homophobic” but also brittle man, whose complicated nature she had to deal with daily. Far from being declamatory though, O’Brien is humble, self-deprecating and beautifully honest. Both conversations are incredibly touching and a reminder that although the time we have left with our beloved heroes is on the wane, their status and our fondness for them will be eternal.

The aforementioned Flight Through Eternity from Steve Broster is a strong addition to the now-copious documentaries spanning whole eras. It’s a lovely touch to use the same incidental music as was used in the DVD-era’s Origins documentary on Season One (as well as the Season Three era doc) and feels like a subtle binding tie across the Hartnell years home video documentation. Whilst the stories told within are explanatory, amusing and irreverent – Richard Martin and Peter Purves proving to have meticulous memories! - there’s a feeling that we’re too late to be told the big ones because the people we need to hear from are no longer with us. The section on The Crusade, for instance, spends its time talking about David Whittaker himself rather than the TV serial, whilst The Space Museum section talks more about changes in the staff office. It’s a bit of a shame as this is possibly the last time these stories will be regaled in these talking heads documentaries by those involved. Elsewhere, Broster delivers a cracking first instalment of Doctor Who and the Collectors, in which Emily Cook interviews fans with particular penchants for 60s merch. This feels so fresh and invigorating, an outside-the-Blu-Ray-box thinking, if you will, as to what could be included. Cook is a refreshing presenter, youthful, excitable and respectful, and a visible change in a landscape often populated by us white boys. Best of all though, Chris Chapman’s latest Looking For investigates the life of David Whitaker, perhaps Doctor Who’s real founding father. It’s a story of sadness and joy, and seeing and hearing Whitaker on screen allows him the chance to live again.

With masses of PDF material scanned by the extremely thorough Richard Bignell (praise be), staggeringly beautiful artwork (Lee Binding - praise be), and picture and sound restoration of extraordinary quality (praise be to Peter Crocker and Mark Ayres), this is such a glorious achievement, ensuring that the Who-Ray range engineered by Russell Minton (praise be) is the very greatest Doctor Who product on the market. These are sets which I personally completely cherish. I can’t wait for the next one.

JH

The Collection - Season 22 Blu Ray

Cards on the table: Season 22 has never been a personal favourite. As a child, I came to the stories in piecemeal form: some early VHS releases, the Revelation repeat and UK Gold. Whilst I’d LOVED Revelation, the tantalising glimpses of Colin’s first season on Resistance is Useless and even The Troughton Years led eventually to some stories which looked great ultimately feeling flat. The childhood “first look” tends not to lie. Who doesn’t still love those films they watched over and over again as children? (I’ll throw Romancing the Stone in the Blu Ray player any day.) Watching the 1985 season this week, I’d still stand generally by the assertion that Season 22 looks fizzy but tastes flat. However, the year 2022 represents the most enjoyable experience I’ve ever had with these grizzly, dazzling, bright and in their own way intriguing tales.

Colin Baker strides through the season as if this were the part he was born to play. It’s impossible to view the series without the knowledge that the Sixth Doctor has recently attempted to strangle Peri and failed to apologise for it though. As Attack of the Cybermen begins, we’re not quite sure he won’t do so again and the relationship between Doctor and Companion feels worryingly akin to an abusive husband and an abused wife. Peri just keeps doing as she’s told and the Doctor keeps putting her in unforgiveable positions: asking her to shoot Terry Molloy’s Russell; pushing her off in the direction of David Ashton’s Karfelian “tour”; dismissing her fears of rabid dogs and relentlessly belittling her dialect. Even when she asks if she has a say, he responds, “Of course not. Be quiet,” in a tasteless bit of ha-ha 80s mansplaining. It’s a wonder she stays with him and an even bigger wonder that Colin Baker manages to make our lead such a charming and loveable Time Lord. He rails against the lines, finds a nuance that often isn’t there and smiles through moments which could be needlessly terse. The lengthy TARDIS scenes which delay our heroes’ arrival become a somewhat irritating staple. Whilst events unfold on Karfel, for instance, Peri is busy looking at a curve on a screen, wondering when it might become a line. Whilst events unfold on Varos, Peri is busy finding a big book for the Doctor to unceremoniously slap on the floor. Whilst events unfold on Necros, Peri and the Doctor climb over a small wall. Having two actors of such calibre, such dependable and cherishable leads who are, without fail, acting their hearts out, finding depth, unpredictability and surprise in their dialogue, demoted to C-plot status and given so little to do, is the biggest crime of Season 22 and chiefly its script editor.

There are glimpses of greatness though. Peri wonders what her “first trip to London” might look like above ground, lending a sense of reality to the American botany student in the early moments of Attack. Her interest in the hedgerows in The Mark of the Rani and the unusual flora on Necros remind us that Nicola Bryant is playing a real person with a history. Equally, the Doctor is given some occasionally terrific scenes to play. Colin Baker feels completely relaxed in the role by the time he’s locked in the cooler with Flast the Cryon, finding diverting ways to play some over-verbose speeches. His apparent death at the end of the first episode of Vengeance on Varos feels real and is harrowing. His dialogue with Davros is eminently Doctor-ish and Colin plays his first meeting with Timelash’s Herbert with cool comic timing. He's also a match for the great Patrick Troughton in The Two Doctors, a show which – perhaps more than any other multi-Doctor Classic Who tale, feels like a story with equally billed leading men with equal screen time of equal quality. This should be a show that is working well, that is firing on all cylinders. The ingredients are all there – even including JNT’s infamous “shopping list” stories (This is a season with Cybermen, Daleks, Sontarans, the Master and the Second Doctor, for heaven’s sake – It should fly!) but nothing quite gels. Because, and it must be laid at his door again, Eric Saward doesn’t really know what to do with his stars and he doesn’t quite know how to solve a problem like 45 minutes.

Four of the six stories here have massive pacing issues. (The other two suffer from minor pacing issues too.) Attack of the Cybermen feels like a hodgepodge of random ideas cobbled together with little coherence and certainly doesn’t feel like a story in two acts. Despite the fact that fans often point to Part One being the more successful though, I’d argue that Part Two is far surer about the tale it wants to tell. There remain so many questions in the end: why, for instance, does Lytton affect a diamond robbery, gathering together some cronies, to then find the Cybermen who are in the sewers (for what reason?), for them to take him to Mondas, for him to steal a time-ship for the Cryons, whom he presumably left there in the first place? Jesus, he even knew about Stratton and Bates. The diamond job seems like a bloody long-arse way of going about things, Lytton. Resultantly, in Attack things just happen, one event after the next, with little regard for cause and effect, ironic for a time travel story. In The Mark of the Rani, the script starts strongly, with the promise of a meeting of great scientific minds to be crashed by the Master remaining a dangling narrative carrot. Unfortunately, when we should be tearing towards a climax which might leave history devastated in its wake, the Rani (and her companion the Master) are wondering around an empty forest placing land mines on the ground which turn people into trees. The story doesn’t even seem to finish. The Doctor simply fiddles with the Rani’s TARDIS and leaves her and the Master in limbo. Despite a cracking cliff-hanger at its mid-point, Part Two of The Mark of the Rani is arguably the weakest episode of the season and feels constantly as if it’s coming to a grinding halt. The Two Doctors also starts well – we get a whole twenty minutes of Patrick Troughton and Frazer Hines having an adventure. It’s a bold way to begin. And when we meet Colin and Nicola, we’re even happier that we’re getting an extra adventure with them. Unfortunately, the plot meanders around the block a few times, with Part Three enjoying at least three unrelated endings: the Sontaran ship exploding, Oscar Botcherby’s horrible death and then (the least effective) Chessene falling out of a plastic DIY time machine with a half-arsed yelp. Part Two opens with a huge scene wherein the Doctor deduces that the universe is collapsing, ruminates on the effect that will have on the butterfly, then changes his mind and realises that he’s wrong. It gives the show a questionable air of seeming partly pointless and most definitely playing for runtime. Timelash, too is an oddly formed beast, the greatest of which (Paul Darrow) is offed too early into Part Two. As Darrow himself asserts on the show’s Making Of: “When I’m dead, stop watching. It’s boring.” There are exceptionally tedious TARDIS scenes in the programme’s later stages leading to yet another story that doesn’t know how to fill its allotted minutes successfully. Revelation of the Daleks is surprising in how so assuredly and successfully it breezes across the screen in all its violent glory, its narrative threads working beautifully in parallel with one another, the one story written with only Eric Saward at the helm. (Perhaps he just couldn’t fix other writers’ scripts?) Vengeance on Varos – the outlier – shows how to structure things more traditionally, Part One’s cliff-hanger perhaps the best moment of the season, so satisfyingly meta is it in its timing. Its only fault is that the big finish doesn’t quite work in studio, the poisoned tendrils seeming rather feeble and trifling when compared to the hangings, the acid baths and the giant flies of earlier threat.

So if the unusual structures of these episodes don’t quite work, what is so great about Season 22? Most obviously, the production values are absolutely worthy of note. The Mark of the Rani looks the most sumptuous, every aspect of the serial convincing in its historic detail and the Rani’s TARDIS interior is shockingly grand and original; Attack of the Cybermen has a contemporaneous feeling of urban grit in in its filmed sequences; considering it’s all shot in studio, there is a feeling of dread and hostility running throughout Vengeance on Varos; and the fortuitous snowy sequences of Revelation end the season with a peculiar touch of class. There is some fantastic design work, especially in Attack of the Cybermen. The tomb sequences, although not quite evoking the Tombs of the 60s, boast a robustness and realism often lacking in “futuristic” sets. Varos has a holistic feeling to its world’s design, domestic home dwellings looking almost identical to the prison cells from which they have evolved. Revelation too boasts a world we can thematically believe in, the creams and pastels of the DJ booth and Kara’s offices belying the dark underbelly of Necrosian society.

There’s also a real feeling of diversity to the stories on offer which is deeply pleasing. Attack’s large-scale planet-hopping gives way to the oppressive darkness of a series of claustrophobic tunnels on Varos which in turn opens up to the expansive location shooting on The Mark of the Rani and the foreign shoot of The Two Doctors. Each story feels visually different and arresting and there’s a sense of scale and variety across the season. As a body of work, the series is allowing each story a chance to pop, to show off what makes it individual. There’s a sense that the series, despite what Michael Grade asserts elsewhere on this Blu Ray release, can feasibly and believably create alien worlds and a wealth of varied vistas.  

Directorially, there are some excellent decisions made across the season, with Matthew Robinson and Graeme Harper staggering the viewers with their often viscerally thrilling choices, whilst Ron Jones – now a director of considerable Who experience – proves his reason for being on the rota in his best work for the show. Newcomer Sarah Hellings puts some lovely classical work to camera, but also presents some markedly poor fight sequences, whilst staple directors Peter Moffatt and Pennant Roberts ultimately disappoint. Moffatt at times seems to be in battle with the script, the notorious reveal of a Sontaran in long shot only the tip of the iceberg. Look at the TARDIS’s first materialisation. Where is the establishing shot of the kitchen? He’s not even obeying the ordinary go-to rules of a director. We simply cut to Shockeye as if we ought to know who he is. This is a director who doesn’t really understand how to tell the story he has been handed because as I am sure he would have admitted, he didn’t really understand it at all. At best, he succeeds in putting a show on camera. Pennant Roberts, on the other hand, tries his best but struggles with a studio-bound tale without a budget. Viewed in the context of the season, Timelash is easily spottable as the cheapie. Roberts does manage some striking reveals – the Borad himself is shot sparingly and his eventual realisation is a masterclass in make-up and camerawork. Unfortunately, the Borad is the best thing in a show which does unfortunately fail quite catastrophically. The eponymous punishment is a dangerous pit you have to be thrown up into, made even more bizarre by being thrown up into it by an android who lightly taps its victims skyward. The Doctor’s escape from the android via mirror and electronic soundtrack is so awkwardly staged as to be embarrassing and the less said about the Bandrils, the better. For much of its screentime, however, Timelash is mostly tedious and slow. Even the new CGI which works wonders can’t save a story without a shape.

There are shows in Season 22 which should be fantastic. The Two Doctors is full of craftsmanship; look at the cast: John Stratton, Jacqueline Pearce and James Saxon giving performances of supreme skill and personality with dialogue which soars, but the scenes feel disjointed and without consequence. The music from Peter Howell is one of the best of the classic series and the Spanish film work is spectacular. But the uneven structuring and the lack of narrative momentum often brings things to a stuttering pause. What’s missing from this and other tales elsewhere on this boxset is a real sense of purpose. There are no narrative bombs, at least not bombs which are exploded. Why isn’t The Mark of the Rani racing to the finish as its successor, the less-celebrated Time and the Rani most definitely is? Why does the otherwise superb Revelation rely on a few Daleks from a previous story to come to the rescue at the end? Why aren’t the Cybermen’s converting of workers in the sewers the real heart of their particular story? Season 22 is full of ideas which don’t coalesce. Perhaps that’s because they’re ideas thrust upon Eric Saward by John Nathan-Turner rather than ideas which have come into their own fruition via the story writers? For instance, the only bit of the otherwise brilliant Revelation (apart from the slightly fudged ending) that abjectly doesn’t work is the statue of the Doctor which JNT insisted be inserted into the narrative. It’s quite clear that Robert Holmes favours the Androgums to the Sontarans and that Pip and Jane Baker prefer their own Rani to the Master. So JNT’s menu – whilst exciting the fan genes superficially – in the end comes off poorer than the delights found elsewhere in these stories. It’s striking that perhaps the most memorable character in all of Season 22 is Philip Martin’s Sil, the most original creation, embodying an actual socio-political idea.

Season 22 may still fall some way short of greatness, but this boxset does illustrate it at its best. We’re now a healthy distance away from its airing which was poisoned by the announcement of cancellation, and so instead of despairing at Peter Moffatt’s Sontaran in longshot for instance, we can instead thrill at the spaceship explosion behind the villa. We can appreciate and balk at what was great and be a little more relaxed about aspects of the show which didn’t work quite so well. I can’t spend enough words praising Revelation either which I feel I’ve given short shrift here: it’s fantastic. William Gaunt, Alexei Sayle, Terry Molloy, Clive Swift, Eleanor Bron and indeed our regulars shine in a script which is rich in detailed, lyrical dialogue, is blisteringly funny, melodramatic, violent and savage. This Grade A story alone is worth the entry price.

As ever, the team led by Russell Minton have produced a most staggering presentation of a hefty chunk of our favourite show. Whilst the DVD range chose often, rightly, to analyse and digest the shows, the Blu Ray range chooses to celebrate the whole lot, whatever fan opinion might be. Whereas Timelash, for example, was chosen as a “vanilla” DVD release given its reputation, here it’s adorned with new CGI which affects to make the inside of the timelash itself feel joyously dangerous. Attack is gifted a terrific new 5.1 mix and Varos boasts a newly edited full-length rough-cut which proves intriguing and worthwhile.

New documentaries Location, Location, Location and The Making of The Two Doctors are celebratory and touching. As we witness Colin Baker in the twilight of his career reminiscing of happy days, it’s so much easier to feel fondly about these stories. For our stars, these were crowning achievements. Their interaction is full of love and joyful memories. Despite an interview with Nicola Bryant which discloses a worrying and awkward relationship with JNT, Bryant is still clearly so fond of her days with the Doctor. Michael Grade comes across as crass and uninformed which makes his decision to cancel the show seem even more miscalculated. I was loathe to watch the interview given my opinion of Grade but the tyrant exposed himself as the narrow-minded conservative that he undoubtedly is. Colin Baker, on the other hand, is utterly charming and here, more than ever, proves why he was such a fantastic choice to play our leading man. His interview with the fantastically skilled Matthew Sweet allows us a chance to explore a more personal and tragic side to Colin’s tale and viewed through this sadness, his achievements throughout this boxset are even more miraculous. What a talent.

In the end, Season 22 has the last laugh. Here we are, over thirty years later, enjoying the season anew, through the often-reviving lens of the Blu Ray range, brightening the show’s memory and doing justice to these less appreciated eras. I feel better about Season 22. Whilst it has its faults, there is so clearly much to enjoy and here, perhaps finally, it is allowed to shine once more in its inherent brilliance. Thank goodness for this indomitable Blu Ray range.

JH

Flux

It could have been the series of compromises. It could have been shot with actors standing two metres apart in front of green screens with CG monsters. In Chapter Three there is a bit of that, but despite the limited cast, Flux is as epic in terms of geography, plotting and intent as Doctor Who has ever been. This is the show rising from the ashes of a pandemic, bolder than ever before. The pre-publicity was, for once, the honest truth: Flux is the biggest story Doctor Who has ever told. It’s a Daleks’ Master Plan for the new generation, a War Games, a Trial of a Time Lord but here written not as a pulpy comic book Boy’s Own serial, nor as Terrance Dicks would assert “an effort to make sure we didn’t have to broadcast the test card on Saturday,” or in an unwieldy fit of behind-the-scenes mania with a script editor storming out at the final throes; this is Doctor Who imagined as an epic.  It’s not the sort of shape one would think likely to befit the anthological nature of Doctor Who but, for one series only, it truly works. Flux is a majestic success, one which proves breath-taking in its scope and ambition, a six-hour television novel to be admired holistically after the event and to be thrilled at episodically, week by week, its cliff-hangers each and every time tugging us forcefully back into the game.

Truth be told, I was about through with Chris Chibnall’s Doctor Who after Revolution of the Daleks which felt rife with his worst writerly traits. I was not, like the trolls of fan forums, ready to stop watching, but there was a feeling that I’d seen him play all his tricks, that I’d still be squirming at his dialogue and clunking plotting when Series 13 came along despite whatever stories he might come up with. True, there were several instances of wincing during Flux (“your as yet unborn child” anyone?) but for the most part, this felt like a writer at the peak of his powers, suddenly finding himself riding solo, rediscovering his penchant for humour and big ideas. This was the writer who brought us the chutzpah of Dinosaurs on a Spaceship and the pace and heart of Fragments and Exit Wounds. The most disappointing aspect of Chibnall’s Doctor Who has been its reluctance to Go Big. Here, that can never be a criticism aimed his way.

The era’s second most disappointing aspect has been its extremely tepid regular characters. The Fam never truly worked, with three quarters of them miscast. Luckily, for Flux, we kept the best one: Mandip Gill. Jodie Whittaker, however, delivers – undeniably – her best performance here. There are still moments of slipshodness, a lack of focus, of poor textual negotiation and flat gags, but for the most part, Whittaker is finally present. In her stance against General Skaak, she cuts a heroic figure, rocking that foggy, Sebastopolian landscape. In her flight from the Angels through the cellar, she leads that gang with distinguished adroitness. In her quiet rising to Tecteun, she feels – for the first time – dangerous: here, unusually, Jodie underplays. The fantastic, earthy John Bishop as Dan Lewis completes a winning trio of TARDIS travellers, his quirky naturalism a pleasing contrast to the more veteran, unearthly regulars. Funny how the slight re-alignment of a leading cast can make for a considerably more winning dynamic.

The Halloween Apocalypse is a bravura opening, spanning so many locations without feeling the need to tie any strands together. Chibnall tells us we’re in this for the long game by the sheer size of his story-telling. Moments of smallness, however, make this instalment fizz. Dan’s reaction to both the TARDIS and his shrunken house are hilarious, his reaction to Karvanista storming his front room genuinely funny. This is a seam of humour that has been missing from Doctor Who for some time. Amongst all the wild concepts here, there’s room for Chibnall to be funny again. This is perhaps illustrated by the very funny, very exciting pre-titles sequence, which sets out the stall: this is massive stuff but by no means are we going to get reverential. As Jodie would say, “What a relief!”

The introduction of Swarm is a deeply unsettling and mythic scene, which thrills in its strangeness and sense of history. Sam Spruell is one of the joys of this season, giving a frighteningly camp, dangerous and dynamic voice to yet another strong Chibnall villain. I love how Chibnall’s baddies are simply bastards: Tzim-Sha, Daniel Barton, The Master, Ashad – they’re not the sort of people you can psycho-analyse. Indeed, the Doctor tried that with Ashad over the video-comms and he agreed that, yes, he was a mad bugger, thank you very much. Here, Swarm’s motives are equally linear: he wants to reign in hell. Obviously. Azure, his twisted sister, is perhaps even more disquieting, Rochenda Sandall playing her as a sensual, insatiable terror. Her final confrontation with the Doctor in The Vanquishers is her defining moment. Quite what she’s doing here in the Arctic Circle married to the boy from The Demon Headmaster remains a mystery though.

The City of Liverpool is one of the silent stars of this series and in particular, the first two Chapters. Director Jamie Magnus Stone shoots the urban landscape beautifully, those gorgeous drone shots of the museum allowing the environment to sing. The Liver Building and Anfield set-about by Sontaran ships are iconic images, as is the breath-taking explosive finish at the Albert Docks. Later, director Azhur Saleem returns to paint yet more beautiful portraits of the Metropolitan Cathedral and St George’s Hall. And beneath the city, the snaking tunnels of Joseph Williamson connect all these locations together, satisfyingly forming the crucible for the season finale, the epicentre of all of time and space. Only in this mad programme…

Whilst The Halloween Apocalypse delights in illustrating the newfound size of Doctor Who (whilst happily retaining its domesticity) War of the Sontarans is the robust, archetypal action story. It repositions the Sontarans as enemies worthy of the Doctor’s steel. And by the time we reach The Vanquishers, the Sontarans have arguably reclaimed their title of Doctor Who’s Third Big Bad. Their costumes are fantastic, eschewing that rubbery RTD blue for the Classic combat silver and – after years of watching Strax – their plan seems as ambitious as their predecessors who, lest we forget, once invaded Gallifrey.

The Crimean scenes are breath-taking, the scale of this real-life historical epic feeling unhindered by the TV screen. Battle scenes dazzle, making their way rightly into those early trailers (incidentally, way more exciting than the Chibnall era has managed thus far – no complaints on the fantastic marketing this year!) and the episode’s gunpowdered twofold climax is the best Doctor Who has ever looked. As strong as Whittaker’s Doctor is in the aforementioned battlefield confrontation, she flounders when asked to explain some plotting with a blackboard and pointer. She’s simply not terribly Doctor-ish. Unless she has a very obvious narrative drive throughout a scene, she’s all energy and no focus. Look how terrific she proves she could be though in the closing seconds of this episode, terrified for Yaz, in my favourite of the cliff-hangers served throughout Flux. It feels old-skool and new at the same time. The scream of the music howling in over Swarm clicking his fingers whilst Jodie looks on desperately. That’s Doctor Who editing of the highest calibre, a moment where every element of production comes together in an edge-of-the-seat moment of spine-tingling excitement.

Once, Upon Time is perhaps the weakest instalment of the series but is by no means unenjoyable. It’s essentially a Heroes-style Six Months Ago episode but told through a needlessly convoluted time-bending device. This is perhaps the only time in the show when COVID-casting becomes sometimes glaringly apparent, most obviously in the scene where Vinder’s real-life line manager is played by an extra, a fluctuating Mandip Gill given all the lines. There are also quite a few Green Death worthy CSO backgrounds against which our regulars strut their out-of-character stuff. Whilst there’s a definite frisson in spotting Jo Martin’s Fugitive Doctor in the mirror, as if we’re watching a forbidden text, the episode ends up feeling rather hollow, as though we’ve ended proceedings in the same place we left them, but with Yaz and Vinder in slightly less jeopardy. That said, there’s a definite satisfaction in seeing the jigsaw pieces begin to align. We are now fully equipped to head into the second half of the maelstrom.

Village of the Angels has already been hailed as an instant classic on the fan forums, and it’s easy to see why. This pushes all of Doctor Who’s most intrinsic buttons. The church echoes The Daemons and there is an elemental folklore feel to Village which suits the show down to the ground. It’s also as relentless an episode as you’re ever likely to find. The Angels just keep on coming, using every trick in their Time of Angels book. By the time they’re chasing the Doctor, Jericho and Clair through the tunnels, hands poking from the walls, they’ve been at the door for half an hour and show no signs of stopping. In fact, this proves to be the story where the Angels win. When Whittaker ultimately transforms into a Lonely Assassin herself, we’re out of breath such is the white-knuckle ride. And then, to top it all off, the Hartnell era titles are interrupted by Bel and Vinder, whose story has been delicately playing out away from the main action. There’s a sense that this show can now do anything and it’s a viscerally felt change.

Survivors of the Flux or A Brief History of UNIT feels different again, pushing boundaries backwards as well as forwards in time. The Grand Serpent is another suitably macabre Chibnall villain, perfectly pitched by Craig Parkinson. His motives remain a delightful mystery and when quizzed by the Doctor the following week, he’s not giving anything away. Robert Bathurst gives his usual charming out-of-his-depth-but-elevated-to-a-senior-leader performance and it’s a genuine shock when he meets his horrible demise. To see Kate Stewart again is a joy and to see her in a new era cements her reputation as a worthy successor to her father. Jemma Redgrave is perhaps stronger than ever here.

And then we reach The Vanquishers, which, truth be told, feels a bit like a party balloon slowly deflating, as Chibnall places his toys a bit too neatly, one by one, back in the box. None of his ongoing narrative threads feels as if they’re concluded with any noteworthy grace. The final defeat of the Flux via a Passenger is neat but it’s too easy. Where do the TARDIS crew find him? How do they get him there? How do they eject him from the TARDIS? Why doesn’t he eat them all? Swarm and Azure are disposed of by Time flicking his fingers at them and they seem fairly pleased. Their ambition to reign in hell was presumably just a bit shallow. Joseph Williamson, enigmatically brought to thundering life by Steve Oram is simply told, “That’s it, your plot’s over and done with,” at which, mad as box of frogs, he walks off uncharacteristically into oblivion. After all Bel and Vinder’s universe-spanning agony to find one another, they simply meet and have a hug in the TARDIS. Where’s the moment they glimpse one another again? Where’s the dashing across battlefields towards one another? Elsewhere, this has been a beating heart of the series but here ends on a drab, almost unimportant note. When the Grand Serpent is left to stew in eternity, we’re treated to one reaction shot of Parkinson which bleeds into a crossfade – it feels too brief and he deserves better. The Diane and Dan romance is astonishingly badly handled too: she’s been through a lot, sure, but she comes up with the Passenger solution, proving herself adept at this type of thing, after which it all seems a bit much and without even a “I know you weren’t actually late, Dan” she snubs him and he goes home, sadly. At least we think he goes home, wherever his tiny house is. Jodie’s missing memories amount to the black and white house we’ve already seen a few times; we’re no further forward. Even Karvanista doesn’t get his moment of vengeance and quite why the TARDIS is so knackered I’m still not entirely sure.

What does work in the finale is the imagery: the Lupari ships in formation is an awesome sight, in the truest sense of the word. Dalek, Cyber and Sontaran ships arriving en masse is wondrous. There has been a real sumptuousness about the visuals throughout Flux with DNEG’s CGI becoming a defining feature in this tremendous looking series. The worlds-spanning establishing shots have been a gold standard from The Halloween Apocalypse, but that cheap and nasty, orange typeface I could have done without.

There is a satisfying tidiness in the closing instalment, each plot strand tied up in neat narrative bow, but there’s an even greater feeling that nothing particularly dramatic, nothing particularly human has happened. It could well sully how inarguably strong the rest of the show has been but the remainder glows so brightly, it’s hard to take too much offence at Chibnall stumbling at the final hurdle. He had after all kept so many plates spinning for so long, it was perhaps inevitable that at some stage, he’d drop them.

This reviewer could keep waxing lyrical about the wonders of Flux as a whole though. I haven’t mentioned Kevin McNally’s finely cured Professor Eustacius Jericho, Craig Els’s extremely well-pitched (often hilarious) dog man, the tiny detail of the servants of the Grand Serpent sporting a snake tattoo, Bel’s pre-titles sequence with its surprise flying Dalek squad and a fiercely beautiful look to camera, the lovely Brigadier cameo, the revelation of who the Doctor’s previous companions were, Angelic wings in a mirror, the very brio of a threefold Doctor and that final terrifically well-played scene with the watch – nail-biting.

The closest comparison I have to Flux is Steven Moffat’s ludicrously wonderful novelisation of The Day of the Doctor with its River Song, Silence and Brigadier cameos added alongside its Daleks, Zygons and Time Lords. It’s as if this wants to be the next ultimate Doctor Who story. The Biggest Baddest Baddies are here doing what they do best, UNIT is here being brilliant, there’s an Ood, there’s a fobwatch, there’s even a nod to the Master and it’s a story which puts the nature of the Doctor at its very heart. Against the odds, a 60^th anniversary series is going to need to fight damned hard to make an impact when Flux has running through it the very DNA of Doctor Who. This is everything a fan could want. What a fabulous cast of characters. What a series. Truly, thank you, Chris Chibnall. With Flux, you captured my heart.

As an entity in and of itself, the six-part epic earns a 9/10 from me.

JH

Revolution of the Daleks

Chris Chibnall isn’t going to win any awards for being particularly revolutionary with this New Year’s 70-minute special. All the ingredients are there for a classic story, full of Doctor Who staples: the Daleks out of their shells; the inevitable production line; their blinkered human allies hoist by their own hubris; Captain Jack doing the heavy duty action heroics; the departing scenes of not one but two companions. So what’s wrong with it? Why is it so unaffecting? Why doesn’t it make the heart pound and break by turns?

Workmanlike is a word I feel I’ve used a lot to describe Chibnall’s writing (as well as clunky) but by workmanlike I mean you can distinctly see the writing at work. You can see how the plotting has been spreadsheeted, the “character moments” positioned, the fates of characters foregrounded because his approach is so cliched and hackneyed. Goodness, he even uses the sentence, “You’re meddling in things you don’t understand.” At his worst, Russell T Davies’s writing could sometimes feel like a string of fantastic events and character beats held together by an often very thin thread. Chibnall’s fantastic events aren’t particularly fantastic, his character beats aren’t particularly hard hitting and his threads are bare.

We start with a flashback to the 2019 New Year’s Day episode. It’s odd. As if the production team are asking viewers to remember that staggeringly amazing special from a few years ago. But it’s badly gauged. It leads into a scene in which a dead Dalek is transported in the back of a van. Surely, the moment we’re waiting for is the twitch of an eyestalk or a blinking light? Instead, it stays dead and we have a clunking poisoning scene which relies on the killer knowing exactly which mobile tea unit the victim is destined to visit. Far better surely to have the reveal of the Daleks in the riot scene, where they can be spotlighted in all their newly armoured glory and open with an exciting prison break?

Unfortunately, the prison break is not in any way heroic or clever. We don’t see the Doctor even planning an escape. Instead, our heroine pines away in her cell mournfully reciting Harry Potter. Talk about a teenage fan girl. This is exactly what Jodie’s Doctor feels like generally: someone trying so hard to be the quirky, eccentric hero she worships and getting it so astronomically wrong. It’s as if even Chibnall has noticed. He keeps his leading lady away from the screen for very long sections of the programme and in last season’s finale had her fall asleep while the Master read her an audiobook. I honestly wonder how this casting came about. When The Woman Who Fell to Earth aired, I was delighted to be feeling positive about a female Doctor, the gender of our lead suddenly seemed surprisingly irrelevant but I have never been thrilled by any decisions made by Whittaker herself and here she reminds us in every single scene why she is such a poor choice for this role. Her dialogue, however off-beat it may be, never strikes me as real. She cannot handle the meter, the jargon or even the tone. I look at her and wonder if she has any idea at all as to what her dialogue actually means. “So it looks like a Dalek but it can’t be a Dalek unless it is a Dalek,” she garbles, trampling over all possible meaning that line could have had. She doesn’t know which words to stress, how the gag works, how to play that line. It’s incredibly infuriating to see one of the biggest leading roles on television handed to someone who does not understand dialogue which is in any way heightened.

Captain Jack is a welcome note of cheap campery. At least he would be if he were given anything to do that was cheap or camp. Honestly, he doesn’t even flirt with anyone except Graham and that’s a repeated gag from Fugitive of the Judoon. I can’t think of a character less suited to giving emotional advice to the current companions than Captain Jack but that’s what he seems to be here for. His big scene with Yaz is the best of the episode but it really isn’t what Jack is about. He gets to fire a gun once and look delighted to be immortal but he’s frankly wasted. And he doesn’t even get a goodbye scene! Instead, he leaves in a clearly dubbed phone-call, as if he were an afterthought. It’s as ham-fisted as Chibnall at his most typical.  

Even Chris Noth seems to be camping it up more than Barrowman. His performance here is far broader than the star-quality he delivered in Arachnids in the UK. Despite having the best lines, he overplays them and they occasionally fall flat. Harriet Walter is dignified, making the most of the little she has to do and is exterminated too soon.

By the time we reach Clifton Suspension Bridge, the tension is all but depleted and it’s a struggle to care. To use the spare TARDIS (which perhaps we should have been introduced to in the pre-titles sequence rather than the Dalek) to solve the problem like the Daleks seems over-simple given the episode’s runtime and the protracted goodbye scenes, whilst refreshingly free from the overwrought or the fantastic, don’t feel in any way earned.

Perhaps with a different TARDIS crew, the next series might feel breezier, fresher but the over-riding feeling that Revolution of the Daleks leaves us with is one of tiredness. For over two years, we’ve seen a badly cast quartet of actors tackling lines which more experienced, more talented, cleverer actors might have managed to deliver. They are routinely upstaged by guest stars and have seemed ill-formed and badly managed as characters. The problems with much of the Chibnall/Whittaker era are in evidence here and writ large: good ideas badly handled, tense scenes devoid of tension, a lack of finesse in plotting and dialogue and a leading cast who completely fail to engage. Luckily, we have the best one staying on: and it’s Mandip Gill.

3/10

JH

The Faceless Ones

When The Faceless Ones was announced as the next exciting animation project from BBC Studios, a secret little bit of me thought, “Oh no, not that one?” It’s a show that has never been hailed as a classic. It’s not even much talked about. Indeed, its matters of interest to the roving fan are usually summed up in one sentence: It’s the one at Gatwick Airport where Ben and Polly leave cackhandedly. It’s just possible that an early appearance from Pauline Collins could liven up this tale’s reputation and sense of invitation but even then, discussion usually reverts to talk of her now sadly absent millinery stylings. There’s a paucity of publicity photos related to the story and the aliens are one of the show’s least visible, least celebrated examples. Was this a fair summation of the merits of The Faceless Ones? A rightly forgotten, average 60s tale not even visibly promoted by its makers at the time? Or was the animation set to suddenly reveal a hitherto unnoticed classic? The answer, as is so often the case, lies somewhere in between.

The first thing most obviously noticeable about The Faceless Ones is the insane pace of the first ten minutes. It makes no bones about setting up what will be the status quo for the next four episodes. Polly is captured, the Commandant established, the Chameleon Tours boys are definitely wrong ‘uns. There’s an escape-from-a-landing-plane, a police chase, a very quick murder, a kidnapping and some verbal-sparring all in the first third of the episode. There’s a looming sense of dread-mystery hanging over this almost-noir suspense thriller of a first episode. Watching the Chameleon Tours men escort their bandaged patient through Departures is the stuff of classic film and puts one in mind of The Invisible Man. The final shot of the episode and the alien, its back to us, is a true spine-tingler and that moment, along with the eerily beautiful climax of Episode Four mark the story’s pinnacles.

However, once the status quo is established, its writers David Ellis and the usually reliable Malcolm Hulke, don’t really know what to do with it. There are repetitive scenes in the bland sets which really start to test the patience. When in Episode Three, the irritating Commandant asks yet again for the Doctor’s passport, there’s a definite feeling of treading water and we ache for the story to move into second gear. The self-imposed obstructions, such as the dratted passport business or Samantha Briggs being essentially put on hold by everyone she speaks to, hinder the narrative progress and there’s a feeling that very little of value is being learned in the time available. The mysteries are not enough to sustain themselves and their answers – when they come - are fairly facile. The Chameleons believe themselves to be the cleverest species in the universe, but they are easily taken in by the Doctor’s tricks and haven’t considered that a car park full of comatose youngsters might attract attention. They bicker like children and have formed petty cliques amongst themselves. They hardly behave in the most intelligent manner. But then again, neither do the relatives of any of the 50,000 missing passengers, excepting Samantha.

The story does pick up when we reach the Chameleon spaceship but even then, the irritating ambient sound, like a wet finger on a wine glass, evaporates any tension that might be had aboard the celestial vessel. Take the Episode Five cliffhanger: finally, the Doctor is face-to-faceless with his aggressors and… it’s all just so irredeemably flat. Donald Pickering delivers a disengaged vocal performance (presumably predicting that one day he’d have a cartoon face with as much expression to match), alongside another clearly uninspired Bernard Kay, for some reason equating Scotland Yard with a rubbish Scots accent, which he never loses even as the Chameleon Director, despite the fact that Jamie loses his rubbish Scots accent. The overthrow of the Chameleons however is in fact an uncharacteristically mature engagement with the alien menace for Doctor Who, putting intelligence and care at the centre of the winning formula. Lots happens in Episode Six, meaning that the otherwise slow-burner is bookended by two fast-paced instalments which work far better than the tepid remainder.

What The Faceless Ones does do particularly well is make the Doctor the star of the show. This is perhaps the first story to feature Patrick Troughton as we remember him nowadays, butting heads with officials, scheming whilst playing the clown and showing a certainty of tone, tightrope walking his mercurial balance between humour and tension. He is, in short, magnificent here and acts his co-stars into a corner. The only person to come out of this with as much dignity intact is Wanda Ventham. It’s certainly not the unceremoniously dumped Ben and Polly, who do at least enjoy a touching farewell which ends the story on a high note.

The animation itself is perhaps not quite as immediately impressive as The Macra Terror last year but it has far less scope to work with and a more difficult job. Unlike Macra with its alien colony interiors, outdoor terrain and gloomy mineshafts, this story’s sets are simple, sparse and dull – a series of grey box rooms. We also spend lots of time in each of them and it’s to the animators’ credits that they manage to avoid the pictures feeling as repetitive as the dialogue. Character models are strong (and we have a far better Polly!) although if I have a slight niggle it’s that the haircuts look rather like hats, wobbling atop the jaunty heads. Frankly though, this level of animation was far beyond my imagination even five years ago. Ten years ago, it would have been unthinkable. I can’t quite believe I have four ways to watch The Faceless Ones, a story perhaps less deserving than most to have enjoyed the treatment. Now, I did notice a Leatherman van in Episode One. Is there just a chance that this animation crew have been prepping The Evil of the Daleks too? Now, that might elicit a rather different response on announcement: “Oh yes, it’s that one!”

For now though, I’ve got three more ways to watch The Faceless Ones and even though it might be a rough diamond, there are still many elements to enjoy, not least the faultless Patrick Troughton. Dare we imagine that one day, perhaps soon, we’ll be able to watch, nay marathon, the whole of his era? We can hope!

6/10

JH

The Timeless Children

“It is solid enough but by far the least interesting of all the series finales since the show returned and the most derivative.” That’s what I wrote of Chris Chibnall’s previous finale, The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos. Finales are notoriously disappointing. Traditionally the grand set up of the penultimate episode is let down by a damp squib of an ending. The only finales which truly work in my view are The Parting of the Ways, The Big Bang and Death in Heaven. The remainder seem either overwrought, overwritten or strangely languorous and talky. After all the action of the build-up, we’re left with a conversation and however human that is, it can’t help but feel like deflation. That’s true to a degree of The Timeless Children which spends an awful lot of time in a room outside the Panopticon with a physically immovable Doctor meaning that in terms of geography, the story literally can’t go anywhere except the realms of the metaphysical. However, I’m also surprised and delighted that those three outstanding finales mentioned above now have a fourth stablemate because, perhaps against all the odds, Chris Chibnall has only gone and bloody done it.

The Timeless Children is a strange story. I wonder if it is a story that actually needed telling. The moral is essentially, as the Ruth Doctor tells us: whatever’s happened in the past, it doesn’t matter. So why bother exploring it at all? “Everything you think you know is a lie,” the Master tells the Doctor but we the viewers don’t actually know anything to begin with. We don’t know if the Doctor ever knew her parents. We don’t know where she came from in the first place. To re-write a history we know nothing about seems like a bit of a pointless task and surely a hiding to nowhere? But what we get here is mesmerising and robust. It is powerful and interesting. It is in the Doctor’s confusion and disconcertion where the drama lies. The Master’s narration over the beautiful images of early Gallifrey is pleasingly mythic and seeing the Capitol in crumbling disrepair feels iconic. I’m not sure how much I like the idea of the Doctor being a special child fallen from the stars (too Superman?); I prefer the idea of the bored student among many who did a brave thing and ran away one day. Cleverly though, Chibnall makes sure that both avenues of possibility are still open and as bold as his re-writing of canon is, he actually plays everything safe. There are no huge revelations, no jaw-dropping surprises. Things play out in measured, thoughtful movements and peak with that Brain of Morbius montage letting us know that everything has always been OK. That’s the real punch-the-air moment: that nothing was wrong with canon in the first place, that everything fits together, and as if to prove it, we get a glorious, reeling rendition of the theme tune to bring this whole incredible history and universe together.

There is another cleverness about this story and indeed this series and it’s perhaps a delicate issue. Since the casting of Jodie Whittaker as the Doctor, the obvious questions are very quickly asked: If we’re going down that route, why has the Doctor never been black? Why has the Doctor never been disabled? Why does the Doctor not represent me personally? How many degrees of self are there in the world for the Doctor to represent? And that’s the danger of identity politics. Chris Chibnall neatly assures us that in fact, the Doctor has already been all those things and can be any of those things. We don’t need to measure his or her identity any more by virtue of their sex or race or age. If anything, The Timeless Child broadens out the possibilities still further by making all those distinctions irrelevant. Having inhabited all those roles, why should the Doctor even notice anymore? And perhaps that is the over-riding message here: The Doctor, wherever they may be from, whichever body they inhabit, can be anything. And so can we all. The past doesn’t matter; the future is more important. And in The Timeless Child, Jodie Whittaker finally, finally convinces that she has the chutzpah to take on this part. For once, she convinces throughout. She is real; tangibly the Doctor. She is never better than when playing the victim and here, she is the centre of a very personal persecution throughout. Desperate, confused and scared, this episode plays to Jodie Whittaker’s real talents and she brings, ironically, her felt humanity to the part.

These last three episodes have been as grand, enjoyable and bold as Russell T Davies’ Utopia/ The Sound of Drums/ Last of the Time Lords or Steven Moffat’s Face the Raven / Heaven Sent / Hell Bent. They are the respective writers’ magnum opuses, Doctor Who in long form with an authorial vision at the centres. Chris Chibnall’s Who represented by this three-part finale is linear, exciting and personal. If I was unconvinced before about what Chris Chibnall had to bring to the table (and I’m still not sure I can hear his voice across his work), then I’m looking forward to what comes next. Because even amongst all the often nail-biting heroic posturing and sometimes po-faced mythologising of the show, there’s still room for those completely silly Cyber Lords. That’s the heart of the show, right there: the birth of the universe, bodily regeneration, Irish dreamscapes and camp robots in headdresses. Yeah, Chibnall understands what presses our fan buttons alright.

8/10

JH

Ascension of the Cybermen

During last week’s unsettling scenes of Ashad the Cyberman stalking the dark Villa Diodati, I leant over to my wife and whispered, “This is how I remember the Cybermen of my childhood.” It was true of course, but in actuality, the metal meanies had never been as truly frightening as they were last week. The Tomb of the Cybermen, a story I lapped up as an adoring seven-year-old fan in 1992, whilst purporting to be the stuff of nightmares, is actually more an exciting run-around with added ridiculousness by way of the Cybermats. The silver giants in their icy tunnels is a frightening memory but it’s not a real one. Whilst still a towering masterpiece of Doctor Who storytelling, at least to my mind, Tomb is admittedly fairly bereft of tension.

Here, in Ascension of the Cybermen, we have all the tension one could ask for, with helpful lashes of 60s silliness to boot. Whoever came up with the Cybermats, be that Kit Pedler, Gerry Davis or Victor Pemberton, Chris Chibnall seems to be pretty much on the same wavelength, engineering his own addition to the Cyber mythos in the form of the almost laughably ridiculous but equally strangely malevolent Cyber Drones, flying metal heads with a monopoly on the lethal. Opening this space-thriller, they make for a strong summation of what’s to come: pulpy and silly but with a genuine sense of threat, oppression and pace.

We open with the stark image of a floating Cyberhead, classily seguing into the title sequence and from there on in, we don’t stop. Just as Praxeus took us round the world, Ascension takes us across the galaxy: from a near extinct planet, to a Cyber Carrier Ship (with pleasing echoes of The Wheel in Space) and finally to the seeming utopia where Ko Sharmus resides, cross-cutting with what would appear to be Ireland. Separated from the TARDIS and with our crew split up, there’s a genuine sense of peril and the Cybermen have never felt this relentless. As they wake and approach Graham, Yaz and their party at the close of the episode, despite Yaz’s optimism in the face of adversity (and isn’t she brilliant here?), I’m worried for them.

Like the Cybermen, Chris Chibnall’s dialogue and plotting doesn’t half clunk along, but for once this seems appropriate. It feels as mechanical as the monsters it explores. See for instance, how the Doctor’s technology is proven to fail within the first ten minutes. It’s played out in such an obvious, direct contrast to the tech she took to Ranskoor Av Kolos with such confidence and quickly she’s seen to be a lot more vulnerable than usual. You can see it being set up, as each of the TARDIS crew ploddingly carry a separate device which they can handily explain to the guest cast, before it gets blown up. As cynical and obvious as the plotting and distribution of dialogue is, the upsetting of the team gives this story the drive it needs to propel it into space and beyond. The sci-fi dialogue is hokey throughout, as if the writer doesn’t really “get” sci-fi or is writing for an audience less familiar with it and who need it popularising. See for instance, the discussion in Graham’s ship as the crew decide how to pilot their vessel to the carrier ship. They do everything to avoid saying, “Re-route the auxiliary power!” and it ends up feeling clunkier than the cliché would. But Chibnall isn’t writing poetry, as Maxine Alderton was last week. He’s writing schlock; exciting, tense, brilliant, unbeatable schlock. And this tart, a self-confessed fan of Cyberwoman, loves it.

I’m intrigued to discover more about the disturbing mystery of Brendan and to find out precisely to what the “Ascension” of the title relates. The image of Ashad cutting into a sleeping Cyberman as it screams is weirdly upsetting and like the death of the kebab man in Chibnall’s very first episode of this new era, suggests the writer can have a biting, vicious streak. The arrival of the villain of the season seems a little obvious and his self-dramatising entrance just a bit annoying after the more off-kilter, more original and savage nature of his threat in Spyfall. But as we take a breath before plunging into a finale which promises so much, it seems opportune to take a moment to reflect on what this season has given us: huge ups and downs, some extreme highs, a brilliant Master, a couple of bona fide classics, some irritating polemics, the companions at their best and worst, and in one instant in Ascension, as the TARDIS crew turn on the Doctor as her plans fail, we see Jodie Whittaker at her peak. “I know!” she shouts and in that moment is the most real she has been since she took over as the Time Lord.

Ascension is essential viewing, an encapsulation of all that is terrific about the Cybermen – from the design of the ships to their unstoppable numbers. Their total strength feels as vast and immovable as the space in which their terrifying corpses float.

8/10

JH

The Collection - Season 26 Blu Ray

It is incredibly difficult for me to review Season 26 with any sense of perspective. One of my earliest memories is of sitting on my Dad’s knee, the night drawn in, as two white-faced girls approached a vicar in a graveyard. It’s such a peculiar and awkward shot: the reverend facing towards camera and talking to the girls behind him without turning his head, instinctively knowing they are there. There’s a confident strangeness in it that pervades The Curse of Fenric and indeed, the whole of Season 26. That strangeness captured the heart of this four-year-old, making me a lifelong fan and since 1989, I have watched the stories in this beautiful boxset time and time again. I treasure them dearly. They’re a part of who I am, of how I see the Doctor (here, a small, gentle outsider, fighting the good fight with words and subtle magic) and the benchmark by which I view all other television and film. I laughed in the face of The Lord of the Rings. It’s trying to sell me big themes painstakingly slowly and earnestly through people I don’t care about. Here, there are themes unfolding every few minutes and the characters are immediately present and live on long after those criminally under-rated closing credits. There’s a breathless freneticism about the show, an unwillingness to sit still. The manic energy of Ghost Light, the original cut of Fenric, Survival and even Battlefield mean that whatever is happening on screen, it doesn’t last long but usually thrills. On the eve of cancellation, there’s a sense that this show will not go gently into that good night. It’s doing things it has never done before; it’s giving us snapshots of a programme that does chime with its audience; that is modern and ancient at the same time; that can endure; that is slave only to the imaginations of its writers - and in Ben Aaronovitch, Marc Platt, Ian Briggs, Rona Munro and Andrew Cartmel, it found the most imaginative.

A youthful voice can be heard across the season. Despite Aaronovitch’s success with Remembrance of the Daleks the year before, there’s a feeling that each writer believes this might be the only script they’ll ever see produced and are ploughing all their energies, all their ideas into them. In The Curse of Fenric, we have Doctor Who Meets Dracula but it’s also Doctor Who Does World War Two Movie (for the first time!), Doctor Who Does The Turing Test and Doctor Who and the Evil from the Dawn of Time, as well as wrapping up threads we didn’t realise needed tying up from Dragonfire and Silver Nemesis. In Ghost Light, there are allusions to Alice in Wonderland, William Blake, Kafka’s Metamorphosis, Darwin’s Origin of the Species, My Fair Lady and far more besides. These are shows brim-full with high concepts, literary, historical and scientific. Without any bias and including the 21^st century iteration, it would be easy to pinpoint Season 26 as the most dense, rich and academic that the series has ever been.

Of course, that means that some ideas don’t fully come into fruition and end up feeling like stories off-screen. What in other tales would be important plot points are skimmed over with abandon. Battlefield is full of this. Morgaine’s relationship with Arthur is not explored well enough before she discovers he is dead so the emotional ending doesn’t land. At this point, we are supposed to feel for her, but the fact is we never really knew her. Bambera goes from being suspicious of the Doctor, to becoming his tour guide, to wanting to arrest him and his freaky friends over the course of twenty-five minutes. Shou-Yuing, like Jean and Phyllis in Fenric, becomes Ace’s best friend almost immediately because she is the only person of a similar age and they become very quickly attached without us learning very much about them or they of each other. After fifteen minutes of Fenric, Ace has met the girls at church, met up again on the beach and fallen out with them. In Ghost Light, our leads become part of the Gabriel Chase furniture without anybody asking who they are, including the people who live in the house. Only Survival’s sense of pace truly matches the unfolding of its themes. Structurally, we have one episode at home, one on an alien world and then a return to Earth where the familiar has taken on new meaning. What doesn’t particularly come into focus is the oft-cited lesbian subtext which I’ve always struggled to even notice. Despite all these perhaps shallower explorations, there have never been 25-minute instalments of the show so cram-packed with ideas, philosophy, reflection and meaning.

The Special Edition versions produced for DVD find a new home here. At the time of their production, they were hailed as “definitive” ways to view Battlefield and Fenric. It’s difficult to review these tales without at the very least alluding to the Special Editions, versions deemed more satisfactory and truer to the original visions of the writers and directors. Here, there’s also a Workprint Edition of Ghost Light with deleted scenes re-positioned (although the nature of the archive material means that picture quality can vary). This offers a “fuller” version of Ghost Light to enjoy and many fans may see it as an opportunity to get a version they might, just might, be able to follow! However, the truth is that while the new editions certainly offer a fresh take on the originals and many notable improvements, they come with attendant disadvantages as well as boons.

For a start, that aforementioned crazed pace of all three stories is damaged. Part Four of Fenric works so well as broadcast partly because of its manically cut energy. In the Special Edition, we’re given a slower more brooding affair, which may flow more smoothly in earlier sections but doesn’t crescendo like the original and even pauses for a flashback sequence which really isn’t needed. Granted, there are many scenes in the broadcast version in which the Doctor and Ace seem to materialise at different locations as if using a teleport. They leave Kathleen and Audrey in the operations room, Ace in a foul rage, and we cut directly to them entering Millington’s office quite calmly without any hint of a passage of time between the scenes. Then they’re off to the church, then they’re on the beach, and through it all, we don’t actually know why they’re there, what they’re looking for or what they want. The Doctor and Ace simply turn up and interact with the supporting characters as if they’ve known them for centuries. In the Special Edition, there are helpful segue scenes and we feel we are following them more carefully but it still doesn’t iron out the oddities of Fenric’s plotting. Why do the haemovores arrive when Judson works out that the logic diagram is a computer code? Why do new runestones appear in the church crypt? And indeed, what exactly do the Doctor and Ace hope to achieve by arriving at the army camp? It’s never stated but they seem to have a good idea. Despite its seemingly more user-friendly pace, the Special Edition reveals a story in which still, things simply happen, one event after the next, with little cause for explanation. Depending on how much the viewer prizes structure, surely dictates how enjoyable this relentlessly gothic and brooding tale can be.

Such illogicities punctuate Ghost Light too. Although the Workprint Edition explains the glowing rocking horse and ostrich eyes, there are still remarkably few explanations. Why does Lady Pritchard’s candle have a suddenly-exploding flame? How and why exactly is the Reverend Matthews devolved? It may be poetic justice for his failure to change his mind, but how does Josiah manage to achieve his Homo Victorianus Ineptus? Those hoping to find answers in the deleted footage will be disappointed, although watching the Workprint is a fascinating experience in and of itself and it’s a delight to be able to see what might have been. When asked what my favourite story is, I always answer Ghost Light. I love that the explanations are so thin on the ground; I love that it puts atmosphere first and basks in its over-stuffed bizarreness. I love the oppressive music, the tearaway performances, Sylvester McCoy, Ian Hogg, Carl Forgione, John Nettleton, Sharon Duce; I love the magnificent sets, the stone spaceship, the cliff-hangers, the allusions, the gags and the omnipresent, pervasive Victoriana – from the décor to the philosophy. I can appreciate it might not be to every fan’s tastes but the fact that this was broadcast in 1989, in Doctor Who’s dying hour and the last story to be produced, speaks volumes of a production and writing team who were torch-bearers for the future rather than coffin-bearers of the past.

Both Battlefield and Fenric Special Editions sport new effects and grading which do improve the viewing experience (although I remain very fond of the grey textures which saturate the original Fenric). It’s a pity that rubbish snake in Arthur’s spaceship wasn’t replaced but the knights flying down to Earth through space feel now more epic and mythical. The climax of Fenric Part Three sees Judson’s eyes more startlingly green and there’s a new cut for the Blu Ray just afterwards to retain the impact of that moment. The soundtracks are also improved by Mark Ayres’s 5.1 remixes. It may seem like a miniscule detail but the thunder and explosions heard across Battlefield Parts One and Two helps piece scenes together geographically. The extra horns added to the Fenric soundtrack, however, may sound classy but to my mind, take away from the ethereality of the original. All told, from a visual and aural perspective, the new editions give Nu-Who a run for its money.

Battlefield has always been seen as the worst story of the season. I’m sure, given the excellent Writers’ Room feature (which surely should have been longer!), that Ben Aaronovitch would agree with me. But there’s still loads to love. It may look like a cheap summer holiday for a BBC department not particularly in favour, but there are some delightful directorial flourishes: the reveal of the new Brig in the wing-mirror (and a big hand for Angela Bruce – the only Lethbridge-Stewart substitute to ever work); the cut from the “Doctor being back” to Ancelyn’s gloved hand on the TARDIS blue; and those explosive fight scenes in the last act.

Although Aaronovitch’s script does jump around the houses with abandon, it’s the design work which is the biggest criminal here: the spaceship sets look like gameshow backdrops, the aforementioned video-effect snake and its attendant POV look cheap and the knight costumes are dreadful. Ace asks, “Is it an android?” of a clearly lit knight in armour, making her seem unforgivably thick. Famously, these should be cyborg knights as written, but someone in costume couldn’t read a script. Still, the pub and brewery sets look amazing. (I didn’t realise the pub was in studio for years.) Despite the general lacklustre reception to Battlefield’s design work, even in 1989, let’s not forget too that this is a story featuring an actual helicopter spiralling out of control. I think I could forgive all the design work if the Part One conclusion had gifted us an actual explosion. As it happens, the arrival of the baddies is drab and makes for the most disenchanting cliff-hanger of the whole McCoy era.

Had the Brigadier met his ultimate end fighting the beautifully designed and sinister Destroyer, it’s possible that Battlefield’s reputation may be stronger and that it may be far better remembered. Everything in the production is steering towards the Brigadier’s death: his initial reluctance to go back to UNIT, “I’m not playing,” the music as Doris watches his departing from the lawn, his parleying with Morgaine, his eventual betrayal of the Doctor. All would have been worth it had any of it meant something. As it happens though, I think Aaronovitch ultimately did the right thing. Battlefield’s loss is the series’ gain. Even though Steven Moffat killed the Brig off-screen (twice, no less), in my mind, the old soldier is out there still righting wrongs, facing evils and personifying the very best of stiff-upper-lip Britishness. Long may he and Nicholas Courtney reign.

Survival ends the season with a philosophical and strange bewitching tale of feral instinct and the power of humanity against the animal. Like Battlefield, design elements break the sense of urban reality, namely that wretched cat prop and the gloves worn by the cheetah people. Andrew Cartmel repeatedly tells of his disappointment with the feline threat on various features throughout the Blu Ray, but really it’s only the hands that offend; just look at that beautiful mask by the lake, it’s yellow eyes and sinister smile boring into Ace’s onlooking gaze: this makes for magical television. Dominic Glynn’s score is another highlight of the season, those coruscating guitars providing an element of the strange and off-centre across the story. Anthony Ainley thrills in his finest take on the Master, his possession making him seem dangerously unstable (and damn, doesn’t that costume look good!). King of all, however, is Rona Munro’s beautiful script, its very own beast. Difficult to quantify, hard to pin down, the poetry of the story’s survival-of-the-fittest themes filters through to all the guest characters, even Hale and Pace and Ace’s charity worker friend, making every aspect of every scene feel like all of apiece, exploring matters of the most base instincts.

It’s ironic that the show ends on a tale exploring what is needed to survive in a dog-eat-dog world. As the 1980s, perhaps the most selfish modern decade, drew to a close, Doctor Who was a show about looking outward to new worlds, new ways of thinking; about being gentle whilst fighting injustice, about love conquering hatred, about pacifism and idealism beating anger and aggression. At the heart of it, is perhaps the finest Doctor and companion pairing of all time. The Professor and Ace personify all the vibrant energies of Season 26 and Sylvester and Sophie are charming, cute and yes, wicked. Even through all their animosity here, they eventually go “home” to the TARDIS. McCoy’s Doctor feels like the paternal figure Aldred’s Ace never had and if there’s a word to describe that relationship, what else could it be but love? It’s the only word that truly describes my feelings for Season 26. It is messy, yes, over-stuffed and wants to be about everything, but in the end, it’s impossible not to see the astonishing efforts of a team of powerhousing writers, desperately seeking to paint their original, vivid and enchanting imaginations on screen for the one and only time. I can excuse all the mistakes of their youth, because these writers’ hearts and the heart of the show itself beat louder than any officious cancellation notice. This was the series showing us what it could be and what it would be. Doctor Who would be back and no doubt about it. Season 26 is transcendental.

JH

Addenda: Lead feature of the Blu Ray boxset is the documentary Showman, chronicling the rise and fall of John Nathan Turner, singling out the 20^th anniversary celebrations as a perhaps unlikely turning point in JNT’s flamboyant life. Chris Chapman’s hour and a half doc is a stellar piece of work with a range of deeply insightful contributors including John’s childhood friends. Surprisingly moving, it sees the later years of JNT’s career as an undeserved and tragic decline, leading to his ultimate ill health and probable alcoholism. This is a man whose face simply didn’t fit with the upper echelons of the Beeb, even more tragic because he would be a pioneer these days. God, wouldn’t he have loved a show like Peter Capaldi’s casting reveal? If only he were still around, we fans, and this moving documentary, could have made him feel proud.

Sophie Aldred’s conversation with Matthew Sweet is another delight. She has a quiet, unsensational vocal quality but her stories are utterly engrossing. It’s enlightening to hear about her time at Manchester University and this interview gives, remarkably after 30 years, a fresh perspective on Aldred’s life. Sophie also joins cast members on location for the mesmerisingly well-shot Curse of Fenric documentary, directed by new series writer Pete McTighe. It celebrates the four episodes as the glory that they represent without the more prevalent fan cynicism of the adjoining years, and seeing Nicholas Parsons so happy to be associated with our little show and this incredible story is particularly poignant this year.

I’ll admit, the Behind the Sofa series doesn’t do anything for me. I don’t know if it’s the editing but the episode clips seem too long and we too often cut to our viewers watching in silence, making the show feel sluggish and unengaging. If they were half the length and twice as poppy, I might feel more inclined to love them but, despite enjoying the company of the sofa teams, they feel distant and charmless, only very occasionally offering a nugget of a reaction.

Once more, the superb quality of these box sets is evident here though in abundance. The restoration is phenomenal. Battlefield, in particular, looks far better than its videotape heritage would sensibly allow for. How marvellous to have these four special stories together in Lee Binding’s beautifully designed packaging, together for old and new generations to assess and re-assess. I hope they feel the love I do for these adventures. They were the past and they are the future and in so many magical moments and special scenes, remain completely unbeatable.

JH

10/10