Disaster Area
The Seeds Of Death, episode 6
Oh dear, this isn't particularly inspiring is it? Damon announces the schedule change, and at the first chance most of the blog immediately scarpers to take advantage of the rest of the week off.
And no wonder. The Seeds Of Death concludes with the most bog-standard of six-part episodes, played out in painting-by-numbers fashion where the only colours available are Foam White and Martian Green. It's certainly not a patch on any part of The Ice Warriors; that one may be riddled with bollocks plant and cryogenic science, but it has more interesting and better defined characters, superior pacing, and a plot which plays to the strengths of the Ice Warriors and doesn't call upon them to do things they aren't equipped for (like running around).
Count your blessings too if you get narked at the way David Tennant frequently pulls a magic solution out of his arsehole in the last couple of scenes, as The Seeds Of Death is very typical of how often in old Who all the setup and plot explanation would be firmly established before the closing twenty-five minutes, with only the (literal) mopping-up remaining to be done. Solar energy to nobble the Warriors, rain for the fungus, satellite to mislead the fleet; the resolution obediently trogs along from A to B to the dismay of viewers waiting for some kind of twist in the tale that doesn't happen; adequately watchable but an absolute chore to actually review. Just like the episode, that was an awful lot of padding just now to tell you what you already know.
"Out in space, Nomad chirps away "ERROR! ERROR! ANALYSE!" at all the holes in the plot"
It's all gone a bit Crackerjack on everyone as well as Pat hammers on the weather station door - still no handles, note - desperate to escape the tidal wave of phlegm being brought up by exposure to Robert Holmes' pipe. Since even Casey Kasem in a cunning highlander disguise can outwit a lumbering Martian, Jamie volunteers to play red bucket/blue bucket with Eccles the Ice Warrior and hide behind a thin post and disappear, while Zoe unscrews the door, barely stifling the giggles as Peter Glaze tumbles in, covered in custard-pie fallout. More guards are on the way, but the funds for competent SECURITY and DEFENCE personnel has all but run out, leaving half a dozen dullards with STAND THERE AND GET SHOT marked on their helmets. So tediously drawn-out is the story's second comedy chase that there's enough time for the Three Stooges to amusingly press all the controls in the power room before the one nearest the door marked 'shut', before the Warrior is upon them. I'm not kidding you know; by the time the marauding Martian has finally been dispatched by the Doctor's portable tit-dish lashup, and everything made well in the station again, half the programme is already over. It'll be jolly smiles and jokes to the camera before the episode is done.
Out in space, Nomad chirps away "ERROR! ERROR! ANALYSE!" at all the holes in the plot.
With the fungus being washed away by anguished tears at the announcement of Timelash on DVD, the Doctor, sunlamps in hand, nips back to the moon for the final time to sort out Dudley Simpson's bloody timpani drum once and for all. And while he disconnects Dusty Bin, Brian Hayles and Terrance Dicks swap the red and blue buckets for red and blue wires in a feeble attempt to wring out a bit of 'will he, won't he' suspence as the Martian snooker triangle lines itself up on the screen for the opening break. All the armchair Grades who complain about Colin Baker's use of weapons and violence in Season 22 should be paying attention, as the Second Doctor has no qualms whatsoever about the hands-on dispatch of an opponent for what he perceives to be the greater good. None of this self-indulgant namby-pamby guilt complex that Doctors three and five would wrap themselves in either. McCoy and Tennant? Wimps, the pair of 'em. Pat had his own moral agenda, and the ends really did justify the means with whatever possible sacrifices - wiring up the tombs on Telos to zap any poorly-placed interloper rather than risk the Cybermen going out again, for instance - might be necessary to keep evil at bay. All except Jamie at least, who was needed to pull Pat's fat from the fire every adventure.
"Use the retroactive rockets! Wind back to episode one and do it properly!"
Let's face it though, there wasn't much of an armada here anyway with crap spaceships that couldn't go any further from Mars than the moon without conking out, and crap tacticians that didn't think that maybe fewer ships with more fuel to spare between them in case of error might have been a more sensible plan. Use the retroactive rockets! Wind back to episode one and do it properly! But it's no good. The skies open up and a weedy, farty whoopie-cushion noise echoes round the plains of Kakrafoon as the Martian fleet plunges into the sun, and Dark Helmet, urged by Michael Fergusson to die less quickly because there's still time to fill, is hoist veeeeeery slooooooowly by his own mirrorlon petard. Good triumphs once again because evil is dumb.
Oh man, writing this up feels like it's taken forever. The TARDIS crew must have the same feeling, the way they whizz off through the torrential rain and straight out of the adventure. Or maybe it's the way T-MAT control so stubbornly refuses to learn from the mistakes that got all of humanity nearly blown up, starved to death or asphyxiated in the first place; the status-quo has changed so little that the deja-vu has the Doctor scurrying away to escape before Meglos' timeloop can carry them all the way back to the start again. Can I come too?
They wouldn't be in such a mad dash to be off though if they knew it was The Space Pirates next...
The Bumper Book Of Made-Up Doctor Who Facts has this to say about The Seeds Of Death, episode 6: Poor research for Mission To Magnus was responsible for the cancellation of the original Season 23, as Phillip Martin made the grevious error of writing in Ice Warriors who weren't stupidly vulnerable to their own weapons, thus upsetting the balance of all the remaining scripts.
This is a Martian. Martians are also called Ice Warriors. Classrooms with modern colour television sets will be able to see that the Ice Warrior is green, as Martian ice is lime flavoured. Mars is also home to a special type of seed pod. These pods are made of latex. When oxygen is applied to the pod, it bursts into a cloud of spores which grow into the fungus Rabidus Effervescia, better known to us as shampoo. The main applicatiion of this fungus is to cushion a person's fall after being shot.
Other things I learned from today's programme are: laboratories keep water in testtubes and beakers instead of bottles and taps (Look Around You also did this joke). Ice Warrior guns have a 'treacle' setting. Sound waves can generate enough heat to destroy bakelite, and, I anticipate, polystyrene doors.
Beaurocracy is as alive as ever a century from now, which throws new light on the overall speed of the scripts. It seems that as well as advances in weather control and instant travel, the 21st century has also mastered bodily reanimation as they've brought Nicholas Ridley back from the dead. And nothing makes a bald old man look more senile and less dignified than a PVC romper suit. He may be the pen-pusher type than Jon Pertwee would put the wind up every other week, but Sir James Gregson has my sympathies as Radnor's report really is the litany of total incomptence that it sounds. Just look at him squirm. Earth control can't organise their arses onto a toilet seat, but at least they've got a top notch carpentry crew since they've fixed that cubicle bloody quickly after the Ice Warrior smashed it to bits. 
Miss Kelly puts forward the idea of a satellite to act as a support relay for T-MAT, which would have made a much better notion as the backup system that should have been in place BLOODY AGES AGO, the berks. The satellite can only support a couple of thousand microwave channels at a time, but it'll cook enough Findus ready meals for South Croydon, so it's a start.
The Seeds of Death Episode 5
A Martian heads for the Weather Control Bureau. The control panel is a triumph of usability - let's make everything DRY! It's at this point where my mind starts to wander and I'm left imagining how such a system might work. Not from a technical point of view, but who chooses which days of the year are nice, and which days are overcast? Do they create the odd thunder storm to liven things up? Does it always snow at Christmas? Are major sporting events ever rained off? Who decides? Is there a phone-in vote? A lottery? Is there a random element to keep weather forecasters in a job? I need to know! And since this Bureau only controls the UK's weather system then the Ice Warriors will have to invade every Weather Control Bureau on the planet! However, if they are as well protected and staffed as this one then that shouldn't be too much trouble, and it's not as if the UK will warn anyone else of an impending attack.
And all this talk of the weather confuses me still further. The Ice Warriors are supposed to be reptiles and yet they can't stand the heat. When was the last time you saw a lizard on a polar ice cap? However, I do love how the Ice Warrior's heads slip back into their shells when they eventually pop their oversized clogs. 
These seed pod bombs can suck the life out of a room faster than Maureen O'Brien, and it soon becomes apparent that the bad guys want everyone on earth to endure the same breathing difficulties as they do. They achieve this by turning the planet into a giant Ibizian nightclub - but instead of fun and frolics in the foam it's murder on the dance floor (groan). There is also the suggestion that anyone who is in close proximity to an exploding seed will eventually be transmogrified into a giant turtle - just look at the screen grab of Professor Eldred on the right - notice how he's suddenly growing a shell? Spooky, huh?
However, to be fair - and please bear with me for a moment while I actually attempt to review an episode - episode 4 is an absolute blast compared to the leisurely build-up of the first 3 installments. They are plenty of iconic images to savour: from the Ice Warrior bursting out of the T-Mat, to an alien marching morosely around Hampstead Heath (which is pant-wettingly eerie), to Zoe doing a podium dance in yet another Ibizan discotheque, which also provides the basis for one of the most striking cliffhangers the programme has ever delivered. I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually looking forward to part 5...
Oh what a blessing to be unconscious and not dwell on how farcical the plot is. Some debate still goes on as to how much of The Seeds Of Death is the work of Brian Hayles and how much was added by script editor Terrance Dicks. The official BBC documentation backs up co-authorship. By this point in season six it's more likely Uncle Terry simply couldn't be bothered, since it makes no logical sense and 'warriors' isn't spelt with three Ws. There are any number of better black and white Whos you could ring off that through skillful writing transcend the limited resources on show, but this episode sure as hell doesn't even try to join that elite group; 'underfunding' is everyone's buzzword for the day, as whether human or Martian, both parties tie themselves down to a painfully threadbare yet overcomplicated situation of their own making, without any kind of backup or even the smallest margin for error. Like the Jocks and the Geordies from bygone Dandy comics having a 'Who Can Come Up With The Least Thought-Out Plan' contest, there's no way either side could possibly survive unless the other lot were as equally ill-prepared and dim.
Case in point; the fungus spores and foam that will spread and absorb all the oxygen from Earth's atmosphere. That's a lot of atmosphere. And seventy percent of the world is covered by water, so that's right out for a start. Morover the seeds don't grow in summer conditions, so the southern hemisphere is currently out of bounds. And they don't like heat or rain either, so equitorial and tropical regions are a no-no. Out of what's left, access is limited to the primary T-MAT terminals reachable from the moonbase. So that's maybe - maybe - half a percent of the Earth's surface if they're lucky.
Ah yes, the weather. There's still the little matter of precipitation to overcome, so to remove all doubt as to who's going to win the stupid plan cotest, Slaar beams down one Ice Warrior, whose mission must succeed at all costs, to face whatever unforseen (but fortunately rubbish) military forces may be waiting to greet it on a hostile planet. You read that right; just as the operation of the T-MAT network and thus the welfare of the entire world is dependent on Miss Kelly alone, so success of the invasion relies upon one single Martian against possibly overwhelming odds. Why not just get the two of them together and arrange a blow-football match between them for control of the Earth, and stop all this farting about in the middle?
Wouldn't a better idea be to T-MAT to every major city on Earth a neutron bomb? Send them down, denotate them all in one go, then mop up what's left. Whammo. Sure, there'd be a certain level of fallout for a while, but what's a bit of gamma dust to a reptile? Humans are so witless, they're hardly going to let a little thing like an atomic explosion shut down the system. They don't even bother to warn the other T-MAT stations when a deadly alien booby trap suddenly appears out of nowhere and blows up in their own cubicle, or ask where the fuck it came from. The first thing Radnor does when technician Brent collapses is to call out the guards. Nice one mate, I'm sure they'll be very effective against toxic smoke. It's also comforting to note that in the future, the human race will be capable of inventing an instantaneous means of global travel, but not a quiet air-conditioning system.
And what is the bastard point of the Ice Warriors teleporting the Doctor into space instead of simply shooting him? What do they hope to achieve, hide the evidence so the Proctor & Gamble attack down below goes unnoticed? Fewsham accepts without question that he's condemned the human race to extinction, since the 21st century takes everything it's told at face value without the slightest shred of evidence to back it up, in the name of fake drama. Somebody a little less gutless who has actually been paying attention might have deduced that even in the worst-case scenario, the southern hemisphere is presently untouched; it would be simple enough to transport the Doctor there and just say you gave him a terminal vacuuming, since NO-ONE IS EVER GOING TO BLOODY CHECK.
You have got to keep a close eye on this chap as the Ice Warriors reveal themselves. Surrounded, he's the first to make a break for the door. Unfortunately it does take him a while to get moving. Even on fast forward it still takes him minutes to shift his carcass across the floor before being Mirrorloned. Mirrorloned to total death. Although his gut still ripples from the overexertion for minutes after total death.
The Doctor's a little more preoccupied with the underlying Martian plan to concern himself with tubby dying. In what amounts to dastardly cowardice, the insanity turtles are going to sabotage the voting mechanism for the now global Eurovision Song Contest. Worldwide juries are in place and are keen to listen to a little Icelandic seal scraping, set to bongos, or a little Venezuelan clog shuffle in order to take their minds off the fact that the entire world's gone to shit because there are no deliveries anywhere any more. The descendants of the once mighty Eddie Stobart are now to be heard screaming "We told you so" to anyone within earshot.
As the panels in Bombay, Stockholm and Izmir(!) are waiting impatiently for the Doctor to stop prancing around like a tit at a Timmy Mallet convention, and get on with doing some bloody work, he appears to content with re-enacting scenes from a Three Stooges film. Either that or my copy of The Seeds of Death is a victim of a less than usual rigorous production standards that the Restoration Team usually insist upon. 
The Seeds of Death Episode 3
We finally discover what the Ice Warrior's plans are for Amazon's mighty distribution system. They want to send letter bombs (basically prophylactics stuffed full of anthrax) to DVLA centres across the globe. All of earth's major cities are under threat - Hamburg, Oslo, and Merthyr Tydfill, to name but three - and the results could be disastrous for humanity. Now that Amazon is responsible for shipping both food and books to the world, starvation has already started to spread across the planet - a mere two hours after the postal system went tits up! Obviously the art of refrigeration has been lost along with the secrets of rocketry.
Is everyone playing along at home? Moon... Earth... Moon... Earth... It's.... the arched window!
Fireball XL5 chunders on. Inside, Professor Matthew Matic (voiced by David Graham) frantically tries to establish control, not helped one whit by Venus (voiced by Sylvia Anderson) calculating their odds of survival, or the steam pouring out of Robbie the grumpy comedy co-pilot's head (dialogue written by Dennis Spooner) at their predicament. But it's not all bad news as the Ice Warriors have had enough of this wooden acting, and even their reactions are quicker than Zoonie the Lazoon's wobbly string-walk to the cubicle before being shot down.
I don't recall Fritz Lang's Metropolis having Charlie Chaplin in it. But that's definitely him, accompanied by Dudley Simpson's old-timey silent movie piano as it goes plonky-plonky-plonky-plonky-plonk. Now the problem with watching Ice Warriors in action by today's standards is, unless you can give the impression there's a large force of them at work (which The Monster Of Peladon, for all its faults, does), they simply aren't mobile enough to exude any menace. Get a 70s Action Man out of the attic (eagle-eyes optional). Subject it to a few lit candles and melt the hands and limbs a bit, dripping wax all over the shop for added effect. Stick a thimble on its head and paint the whole mess green. Now try standing it up. That's what a single Ice Warrior looks like lumbering down a corridor. Patrick Troughton has to do enough 'chase' acting for three people as Sonny and Cher following him just can't do it. They're absolutely useless.
While the Doctor bluffs his way into the central control room - he could have given the Ice Warriors the same made-up Shadow Proclamation spiel that even the Sycroax didn't fall for, the gullible twats - the Rockin' With Judy Jetson comeback tour is being planned out in the solar energy room, success of which will depend on Phipps being able to shift the weight of the pissed-up old Ood with a bottle of turps blocking the ventilator grille. If I were Zoe, I'd be fucking LIVID if Kelly told me she'd been transported up and fixed the T-Mat system already, and the rocket journey had been a complete waste of effort. Or Zoe's just thick. That'll probably be it, since when she says "I think I heard something&qu