Behind the Sofa - The Collaborative Doctor Who Blog

Behind the Sofa: End of Volume 1

Volume 1 of Behind the Sofa has come to an end.

Volume 2 is about to begin.

Don't worry,  we haven't done a JNT and been persuaded to stay, we're simply regenerating. We don't know where you all got the idea that we were leaving!

The reasons for Behind the Sofa Volume 2 are simple: we want to shake things up a bit and get more co-ordinated with our content. This doesn't mean we're going to have secret meetings and decide on our next line of attack about David Tennant's haircut, but it does mean that authors will be co-ordinated so that hopefully you'll see fresh content on the blog on an almost daily basis.  At least that's the plan. In order to make this work BTS Volume 2 will be launching with a handful of contributors and no more. 

Comments will still be available on the new blog but greater moderation will be enforced. The various bunfights that crop up on a weekly basis have become boring and distracting and have on occasion brought BTS staff to the brink of Morbius-like insanity.  But on the other hand things are unlikely to be dull around here and that's as it should be.

So we'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has posted here in Volume 1. It's been fun, frequently insane and you were all fantastic. And so were we.

However, Volume 1 will still be available for reference and very soon it'll be resting at its old address of: http://tachyontv.typepad.com/waiting_for_christopher/

Furthermore, Volume 2 will still link back to the archives.

The other news is that

a) Tachyon TV will be getting a similar face lift before the month is out, with closer ties to BTS itself

b) We'll be releasing a Voyage of the Damned podcast in the next few days

and most exciting of all (we hope)

c) we'll be launching a companion blog called On the Sofa which will be dedicated to everything but the Doctor Who franchise. More news on this will become apparent later this month.

See you there,
Neil, Damon and John

An Important Announcement

After lots of soul searching it is my sad duty to inform you all that Behind the Sofa - in its current incarnation - is coming to an end. It's been one hell of a ride, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has contributed over the last 2 and a half years. It's been emotional.

You have until January 7th, 2008 to post your last reviews and then this blog will be frozen for posterity. Don't worry, it's not going anywhere but new posts will not be accepted after this time.

But don't despair - on January 7th we'll also be announcing some news about the next phase of BTS and Tachyon TV. I can guarantee that it's going to be a very busy year!

Many thanks,

Damon, Neil (and John)

Raise the Titanic

First things first. I would like to begin my review by tackling the spurious argument that you can't expect anything as good (or as challenging) as Blink or Human Nature to go out at Christmas, a statement that gets trotted out whenever somebody has the temerity to criticise this lazy piece of grandstanding garbage. I just don't get it. Is it because you honestly believe that the audience prefer camp and frothy spectacle over plot and characterisation, or is it that they simply can't bear the thought of genuine and complicated emotions invading their post-turkey stupor? Is that how EastEnders ended up with even more viewers than Doctor Who's remarkable 12 million? I'm not suggesting that Doctor Who has to be grim, dark and miserable - at any time of the year - but surely audiences want mystery, suspense, a few laughs and some proper drama. I'm really sorry but Voyage of the Damned falls disastrously short at almost every turn.

Andre Previn wasn't draped in tinsel...

But credit where credit is due: the premise to Voyage of the Damned is great. In fact, the first 35 minutes really touched a nerve with me and I was genuinely enjoying every daft moment of it, especially the sight of aliens reacting to a Specsavers shop front like we would the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. And I can't get enough of disaster movies; as John has already pointed out, it's a genre that has become inexplicably linked with Christmas after appearing perennially on the box during the holidays when I was a kid, and in the case of Die Hard and The Poseidon Adventure, by actively taking place during the festivities themselves. I just hope that they skip the obligatory Christmas theme altogether next year. Having recently re-watched all of Morecombe and Wise's Christmas Specials I was immediately struck by the distinct lack of Christmas trappings up there on the screen. Andre Previn wasn't draped in tinsel. Angela Rippon wasn't a dancing Santa Claus. Somersaulting newsmen were on a bloody beach, for christsake! And the added bonus is that you can watch these shows all year around. Admit it, you can't really do that with a Christmas-flavoured special. Point of fact: try watching The Runaway Bride in early January. Within ten minutes you'll finding yourself feeling ill disposed towards it because you are in the midst of the back-to-work post-Christmas blues. It's a real downer.

Russell plunders from two classic Who stories, and one really shit one...

And of all the Christmas themes you could plunder, like the classic ghost story, the historical period piece (Capra or Dickens?) or even a Christmas future, why does Russell insist on plunging contemporary earth in mortal danger every bloody year? He even has to shoe-horn in a stupid (but ultimately necessary) reference to how everyone in London has done a runner. And if the rumours are true then Bernard Cribbens was playing Donna Noble's granddad, which just makes that scene ten times worse, if you ask me.

Anyway, the initial set-up was pretty engaging. Sure, it was derivative but who cares? The very best Doctor Who's of old were always derivative, it's what they did with the source material that really mattered. And if you are going to steal then you may as well steal from the best, and I don't care what anyone says, The Poseidon Adventure is one of the very best, and I defy anyone - even James Coleman - to dismiss Gene Hackman's final tirade to God as anything but a classic moment in cinema history.

Russell also unashamedly plunders from two 'classic' Who stories (Enlightenment and The Robots of Death) and one really, really shit one (Delta and the Bannerman). And I loved it. For large swathes of the audience this would be their first exposure to the concept of flying ocean liners, homicidal servo-bots with art deco heads and goofy, ill-informed alien tourists, and I didn't have a problem with that at all.

Strangely, the one thing that Voyage of the Damned doesn't really riff on is the most obvious contender of all - James Cameron's Titanic. Where was the moment where the Doctor and Astrid are standing on the prow of the ship in some sort of sonic screwdriver-ed oxygen bubble, as they stare wistfully out towards the galaxy, just as the asteroids make a bee-line for the ship? It can't have been that expensive - even Barry Letts could pulled that off. It couldn't have been because they didn't have the time either - the episode had more padding than Shelly Winters stunt double - and it certainly can't have been because it would have been too cheesy. Maybe it wasn't cheesy enough, given what's coming...

Anyway, up until the moment when our merry band of heroes set out along that strut I was having a whale of a time. Geoffrey Palmer was utterly fantastic as the affable uncle about to commit genocide for the sake of his kids (why couldn't he have been the villain of the piece?) and the initial disaster was portrayed wonderfully, climaxing in that great moment when the petty officer got sucked out into space. As the Doctor delivered his chilling  'Kasterborous' speech I settled into a mildly euphoric belief that everything was going to be OK.

And then everything went tits up as Russell hit his own personal iceberg: his lack of self-restraint.

Meet Max Capricorn.  The fact that he was the bad guy wasn't surprising to me in the least. No, the real surprise was the fact that he arrived in the guise of a comedy Davros! He looked like he'd been cooked up by a couple of hard-up fans in a garage! Gliding into view as a bizarre cross between the travel machine in Kinda, an ASDA shopping trolley and one of those grab-a-prize cabinets you find in amusement arcades, you just can't take him seriously. A boo-hiss pantomime villain would have been bad enough, but a boo-hiss pantomime villain stuck in a box? Oh dear.

But Max's laughable entrance isn't the worst part of it. No, his arrival also heralds the moment when the plot holes suddenly converge and engulf the entire script. A disaster within a disaster, if you like. I'm not talking about problems with the metallic consistency of asteroids, or whether the Queen's flag should ripple a bit more, or even the miraculous healing powers of the officer who has been shot in the gut. No, I'm talking about the really serious problems, like: why is Max Capricorn on the Titanic in the first place? And why are the Hosts killing witnesses who are all going to die in a nuclear explosion in the next few minutes anyway? It just doesn't make any sense!

Any why bother with a villain at all? You didn't see Gene Hackman investigating the source of the Tsunami that overturned the Poseidon, did you? No, he was content with just getting off the bloody ship! Why not concentrate on that aspect instead? Surely it would have been more exciting and dramatic than facing off against a villain that no one seems even remotely interested in taking seriously.

A disaster within a disaster...

And then, just when you think things can't get any worse there's that moment with the fucking Queen. What was Russell thinking? Has he never seen Silver Nemesis? Is he after a quick knighthood? What? Was there anyone in the audience who didn't groan when that scene unfurled, like a tape-worm, on screen?  Do you think Primeval would stoop so low as to have a velociraptor attacking a Gordon Brown look-a-like? I think I would have preferred it if Tennant had turned to the audience back home and wished us all a Merry fucking Christmas.

And RTD should never be allowed near numbers. Each and every time he hits a numerical key on his keyboard an alarm should go off and someone with a rudimentary grasp of mathematics should rush into Russell's flat so they can check that what he's just written isn't "oh, that'll do" bollocks. Or employ a script editor. Whichever is easiest. Just look at the evidence: he can't get the Doctor's age right, he locates adventures in the year 5,000,000,000,000,000,000,004, and he creates societies where people travel 10cm in 10 years. Why won't somebody stop him?

The most shameful example of Russell's numerical dyslexia can be found in Voyage of the Damned. I am, of course, talking about the revelation that Shelly Winters' phone bill, the one that will take her 20 years to pay off (yes, 20 years!), is approximately 100 quid. I've seen ming-mongs on the forums desperately trying to wave this away by insisting that Shelly Winters must be on a really low wage, conveniently forgetting the fact that Mr Copper, a glorified tour guide, believes that a million quid's worth of credits is enough to spend on a few trinkets, which therefore implies that 5,000 credits must be worth (factoring in exchange rates and inflation) a couple of quid, tops. Shameful.

But it's not just RTD's grasp of numbers that winds me up, it's his preoccupation with messianic imagery. Just like that other raging atheist, JM Straczynski, he too feels compelled to litter his sci-fi opus with god-like beings of light and resurrected heroes with mystical, magical powers. And it makes me cringe every single time. However, I guess this is counterpointed by the fact that the Doctor isn't really harder than Jesus in the final analysis. He can't stop Astrid from dying for a start; he can only postpone her agony so he can give her a quick tongue sandwich. You know, it says a lot when the Doctor snogging the face of a woman is only mildly irritating when placed next to the image of him being lifted up on the wings of angels. It managed to make his Obi-Wan levitation in Last of the Time Lords look like something out of fucking Akira!

More padding that Shelly Winters' stunt double...

I suppose I'd better talk about Kylie. I'm not a fan of the songstress and the whole thing stank of stunt casting from the very beginning to me. Despite the fact that I may have tapped my toes to a couple of her more recent gramophone records I wasn't exactly sold on her acting credentials. Neighbours and, er, um, Street Fighter?! Still, I decided, it could have been a lot worse - it could have been Catherine Tate again. Or, failing that, another sitcom star with an equity card. This is why Andy Millman being asked to appear in the show during last night's Extras felt so right to me - he's a shit comedian in a low-brow sitcom, of course he's going to be invited to appear in Doctor Who!

Having said all that, Kylie was pretty good as Astrid. The problem is she wasn't given that much to do. OK, so she kills the villain, snogs the Doctor (twice), gets herself killed (twice) and then turns into Tinkerbell (don't get me started on that), which looks like quite a lot on paper, but in reality it's hard for me to really give a damn about anything she does because her character is so two-dimensional. Even Bannanakafka made more of an impression on me and he was a walking deus ex machina! And why make Kylie look so dowdy? She's a glamourpuss in a maid's outfit and yet she still managed to come across as bit, well, meh. That takes some doing. And who wasn't laughing their ass off when Astrid picked up Capricorn on that pallet truck? What should have been a gut-wrenching scene that conjured up images of Ripley taking on the Alien Queen, it had as much dramatic gravitas as a bad French and Saunders sketch.

The fact that the Doctor falls for Astrid within moments of meeting her (despite a distinct lack of on-screen chemistry) is either more evidence of his incessant longing for Rose (Astrid's blonde and a bit feisty, you see) or it's just really bad writing. And then there's the bit at the end where the Doctor dumps Mr. Copper in Wales because he wants to travel alone. You might interpret this a battle-damaged Doctor trying to protect Mr. Copper from further harm, or maybe, if you're like me, you'll believe he can't be bothered with Mr. Copper because he a) isn't blonde b) hasn't got a pair of magnificent tits and c) he hasn't flirted with him for the last hour. Sad, isn't it?

And there you have it. Yet another expensive looking Christmas cracker stuffed with bad jokes, shiny bits of disposable tat and paper-thin, er, hats. Quite a nice bang, though.

If the Doctor Who Christmas Special really is the franchise's shop window then isn't it about time we got the Fenwicks treatment instead of another gaudy sale at 'What Everybody Wants?'

Allons-y!

Skinny Idiot Redux

Well, that was pretty damn satisfying, wasn't it? I'm not sure there's anything profound or insightful that I can add when it comes to Time Crash, except to say that I punched the air and blasphemed like a trooper when the 5th Doctor yelled at his successor: "it would really help if there wasn't some skinny idiot ranting in my face!".  Talk about feeling vindicated! Even the Doctor can't stand the smug, mockney twat that he will inevitably become; a Doctor who has as much emotional gravitas as a fluffy hot water bottle. Bwrrrilliant!

Oh, to see a proper Doctor again. A Doctor who actually registers the importance of almost bringing about the total destruction of the known universe by mistake. You know, instead of goofing off about it. A Doctor who's only crime against taste and decency is a stick of celery in his lapel. A Doctor who never snogged any of his companions, relied on his sonic screwdriver (setting #1425: Quiff Hair), or performed any comedy pratfalls. Dare I say it? A real Doctor.

Bwrrrilliant!

Anyway, the tenth Doctor's interminable flippancy aside, there are plenty of great things to say about Time Crash. For starters, you have to admire the way in which Moffat manges to make the damn thing canon. How cheeky can you get? You just try explaining this one away, in between reconciling Whatever Happened to Sarah Jane with your pet theory about UNIT dating, of course. And why would you even bother? As a friend said to me as Time Crash concluded: "That would have made Last of the Time Lords tolerable". It even manages to explain how the Titanic managed to break through into the console - and that's been keeping people awake for months. Apparently.

The music stings in the style of Peter Howell and Paddy Kingsland had me in hysterics. And at least you could hear the dialogue for a change. And what fantastic dialogue it was too, although did we really expect anything less from Steven Moffat? So many quotable lines: the fan, the desktop theme, the rubbish beard, Belgium; there were more jokes in these five, precious minutes than in the whole of season 18. And then there's the inevitable squee factor, watching Davison racing around the TARDIS console spouting technobabble like a true professional, and those lovely throwaway kisses to the past: the Mara, the cloister bell, Nyssa, Tegan... A great addition to this scene would have been the 5th Doctor saying something like "And don't forget Adric..." with the 10th Doctor responding by pulling his trademark jaw-jut face before solemnly muttering to himself, "Nah, I'll never forget that muppet". OK, maybe not.

But, to reiterate a point that it's the 10th Doctor I can't stand, not David Tennant per se, his final lines were delivered quite beautifully. And even though I couldn't quite believe they were actually getting away with self-referential chutney on a massive scale, slap-bang in the middle of a telethon no less, I managed to well up all the same.

And let's face it, if there was a Doctor truly capable of snogging his own face off, it has to be the 10th...

PS: I, for one, can't wait to read Stephen James Walker's analysis of Time Crash when he releases the fourth Telos guide. I honestly believe that that Stephen James Walker is one of the greatest authors writing about Who right now, and if he stumbles over here whilst looking for quotes for the next installment then...  no... wait... Stephen? James? Was it something I said???

The Unusual Suspects

Introducing the new-look Sontarans. Personally, I'm still more scared by Donna. More here...

Cloudbusting

SJA: Warriors of Kudlak Part 1

If you thought you had this story pegged from watching last week's trailer then, well, er, you'd be right. Let's face it, this episode is never going to win any prizes for originality but it's so much fun you hardly notice, let alone care. It's pure, unadulterated fun. Can you see what I did there? Un-adult. Like, because it's a kid's show. Oh, please yourselves...

In the proverbial nutshell, Grantham - an overzealous reject from The Apprentice - is running a Laser Quest emporium as a front for a sinister insectoid race who like to snarl a lot whilst dressing up as Mark Lamarr. Now, am I just hopelessly out of touch with the yoof of today or didn't this kind of bollocks go out of fashion in 1988? Laser Quest, I mean; a pastime so tedious it didn't even bother to have a bloody Zed in it's name. Perhaps I'm completely wrong and da kids are still into this shit, or maybe the author just thinks that they are and he has a vague - and probably unpleasant - memory of running around like an idiot back when he was a teenager in 1987. Who knows? More importantly, what would James Coleman do?

The game looks like it was written in BASIC on a $&@!-ing ZX80!

The other element of this episode that led me to question this show's yoof culture credentials can be witnessed in the hilarious scene where an archetypal yoof plays an arcade game in a cafe that appears to have been transported into to the late 1970s. The game he's playing looks like it was written in BASIC on a $&@!-ing ZX80! At first I thought the guy must have been into hardcore retro gaming or somesuch nonsense, but the High Scores table had swirly CGI graphics all over it! I'm surprised that these kid's used handles like 'Halo' - if they thought that Horace Goes Skiing was cutting edge then watching an XBox 360 fire up would have blown their heads clean off! I can only assume there was a rights issue and instead of showing the poor guy playing a real arcade game they knocked something up on the PA's mobile phone ten minutes before they shot the scene. I'm nitpicking, of course.

Sarah Jane Smith is the Doctor!

Anyway, Sarah Jane is on the trail of some missing kids. She meets with a parent of a teenager who has recently gone missing. This being the 21st century she is a single parent. I think there's a quota that the CBBC have to hit. Sarah promises that she will use her powers as a journalist to find the missing boy, when we all know that if she was a real journalist she'd have the public believing that the mother had killed her own son within a couple of weeks. Tops. Thankfully, there is a clue that ties all of the missing children together: the weather. Because every time it rains...

There's a fantastic moment where Sarah Jane cobbles together a massive Heath Robinson contraption for detecting transdimensional whatsits that have been left in the earth's atmosphere by the evil child-snatching aliens. And she points it at the big sky. And you just know that something good is gonna happen.  Just saying it could even make it happen. Think the Doctor jerry-rigging that Dalek scrambler in Remembrance of the Daleks and times that by a thousand. Because Sarah Jane Smith is the Doctor! Forget whether they should ever cast a female Doctor - they're already doing it! And given her age I'm guessing/hoping that she'll manage tick the celibacy box that we desperately crave from this franchise right now. Sure, she's only human with one solitary heart, and that can dull your excitement a wee bit, but I can still feel the influence of the Doctor(s) on her shoulders as she takes on the villains, not to mention her companions. She even dresses like them. Last week we got her take on Tom's Planet of Evil jacket, and this week she's decked out like a curvy Eccleston. She is practically dreaming of Ogrons!

Elizabeth Sladen is so much better here than she ever was back in the golden age, too. No "'octors!" to be found here. Just a compelling, believable and utterly captivating performance that you can't take your eyes off. And the kids are alright too. And besides, all the alien eccentricity we'll ever need is provided by Martin Fowler.

This week, Martin attempts to discover what it means to be human. Again. Today's lesson: comedy. Why doesn't Clyde just show him that episode of Star Trek: the Next Generation where Data does his stand-up routine and just be done with it? Not that many kids today would know who Brent Spinner was, which I guess is probably the point. And instead of sub-chaplinesque slapstick pap and maudlin chuff, at least this fresh take on the 'tin man' idea flirts with genuine humour. Data had dull-as-ditchwater Geordi as a guiding mentor, whereas Martin has Clyde, a man who will probably attempt to teach him the fundamental concepts of humanity through the lyrics of Rhianna's 'Umbrella'. I know which one I'd rather watch.

Where is the gruffness of Zen? The sarcastic whine of Orac? The perky paternalism of TIM? The Biddy-Biddy of Twikki?

Meanwhile, back at the MILFcave, Sarah Jane calls upon the trusty Mr. Smith (boy, that steam powered unveiling ain't never gonna get old, is it?) and Alexander Armstrong kills the script stone dead with his insufferably bland interpretation of what a sci-fi supercomputer should really sound like. Where is the gruffness of Zen? The sarcastic whine of Orac? The perky paternalism of TIM? The Biddy-Biddy of Twikki, for pity's sake?! Sadly, Mr. Smith is as boring as the name implies. But he does manage to plug the necessary gaps with the aid of some flashing lights, and it isn't long before all of the protagonists dovetail nicely in the 80s hell that is Combat 3000, and a pleasingly retro cliffhanger to boot.

In short, I loved it. Bar the odd nitpick and my total inability to wax positive about anything for more than a paragraph, I'm really being swept along by this show. It's by far the best articulation of the franchise right now as far as I'm concerned, and I can't wait for next week. In fact, I didn't. I've seen it. One word: "Minty!!!!!!"

Flangetastic Day

Inferno Episode 7

I first saw this episode on the Pertwee Years VHS compilation back in 1991. I wasn't overly impressed: it came across as a pedestrian mad scientist romp with an anticlimactic denouement. But of course it's anticlimactic, how could they possibly top last week's stab at perfection? In short, this is the 'love conquerors all' cut of Inferno. This time we get the happy ending.

Greg is convinced there will be a blow and so he offers to take Petra to a Berni Inn, where he's just hoping there'll be one. It looks like these two can't keep their grubby little paws off each other, no matter what the political climate happens to be at the time. This is the main reason why I can just about cope with the positive afterglow of episode 7 after wallowing in nihilistic despair for the last three hours: the thought of Greg and Petra getting hitched just makes me want to smile. I can imagine them going on shopping expeditions to Biba, followed by romantic evenings down the Swiss, blissfully unaware that their alter-egos where burnt to a crisp in mid-fumble. I bet there's a Missing Adventure written in the 90s where they get a messy and unnecessary divorce before dying from the clap.

This is the 'love conquerors all' cut of Inferno...

The Doctor finally awakens from an extremely convenient expositional coma and delivers a wonderful monologue when he agonises over the "terrible, terrible things" happening to the planet he's just scarpered from. I'm not Jon Pertwee's biggest fan by a long chalk but even I have to doff my hat to the man - it's one of the most emotionally charged and touching moments I've seen in any era of the programme. Just beautiful.

And you can break out the champagne: Sir Keith ain't dead! I know, the Doctor can't quite believe it either; it appears that even fatal car accidents are more benign in this universe. Sir Keith's inexplicable existence also proves to the Doctor that instead of wallowing in self-pity and wondering how he'll spend his last few moments on earth with a huge nose, he can actually get off his arse and do something about it! Cue sirens and countdowns, lots of running around, pernicious use of flanges, more shambolic werewolves, and a strangely empty moment where Armageddon is narrowly averted. Just in time for tea and biscuits.

Even fatal car accidents are more benign in this universe.

There is one memorable moment, though. The haunting scene where Stahlman starts smearing green slime all over his face whilst squawking like a demented Stephen Hawking is delightfully disturbing. However, I can't help believing that If Inferno had been a tight 6-parter with zombies instead of werewolves it could have been the perfect story.

Poor Elizabeth Shaw. After enjoying a great subplot back in the deadly dimension of doom, here she's just a perfunctory cipher.  Caroline John gives a decent enough performance as the feisty scientist throughout season 7 but it's difficult to shed any tears when she leaves. Fortunately, whether by accident or design I can't remember, the Doctor does at least get to say goodbye to her ("I shall miss you, my dear"). Poor Liz didn't even manage a trip in the TARDIS, although I like to believe that the Doctor popped back for her now and then. Probably in a Missing Adventure, just before she catches the clap.

I started this series of reviews with a declaration of love for Inferno. And for the first time in a very long time blogging hasn't tempered my affections. Sure, she's a little plump and occasionally rough around the edges - and I could certainly do without her hairy palms - but she's still got it, deep down where it counts. She's still got heart and soul.

Apocalypse Now

Inferno Episode 6

This is my all-time favourite episode of Doctor Who. It's got it all: excitement, drama, pathos, humour, pant-wettingly scary music, and one of those extremely rare moments where the Doctor stands by helplessly as the entire supporting cast cops it*. But what really sets Inferno apart for me is the fact that I really care about this planet, even if it is overrun by fascists and werewolves. Unlike Earthshock or Resurrection of the Daleks, which also killed off their guest artistes with gay abandon, I didn't feel blessed relief or mild irritation. This time I actually gave a shit. It's impossible to dismiss this reality as a throughly disposable evil when these guys spend their last moments on earth trying to help a pompous old twat peddling some vague promise about saving their theoretical twins from another dimension. This selfless leap of faith is one of the most beautiful and uplifting things ever to grace the series, if you ask me. That and Petra's dress.

I care about this planet, even if it is populated by fascists and werewolves.

Having said all that, the Brigade Leader is still a complete and utter bastard - and a sniveling coward to boot! Sure, it's the classic ineffectual bully cliche writ large but you can forgive this when Nicholas Courtney delivers the performance of his life: not only does he give the real Brigadier some long overdue balls (his rant at Benton is a delight), he also manages to imbue the Brigade Leader with a tragic undercurrent that hints at possible redemption before ultimately succumbing to fear and violence.

Petra really comes to the fore in this episode, too. Like a meek contestant suddenly turning on Gordon Ramsay during a particularly bad service in Hell's Kitchen, when she unleashes what is almost certainly years of pent-up repression and anger, you can't help but feel a warm glow of empowerment. You go, girl! Greg Sutton proves to be a top bloke (who doesn't harp on about nipping off to a Berni Inn once) and Liz Shaw completes her transformation from unquestioning lackey to proactive avenger. What's especially satisfying about this subplot is the fact that Liz's decision to shoot the Brig isn't a last-minute twist: she switches her allegiance gradually and progressively throughout the story, which makes her journey seem much more gratifying.

But let's not forget that Inferno is terrifying, too. Sod the bloody werewolves and just concentrate on the landscape instead. When we emerge outside into the bleak, fire-sodden apocalypse, we know the game is up. It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it and only Threads (produced over a decade later and screened after the watershed) can compete with Inferno's shit-your-pants imagery.  That montage of the earth being consumed by lava and semi-possessed primords is, for my money at least, the most disturbing moment in the entire series. If I had been born when this first went out then I'm pretty sure I would have been scared for life.

You go, girl! 

The final moments in the garage are simply amazing. Forget the seriously dodgy effects and the liberal use of CSO, the concept is bloody fantastic and should be applauded. These people are going to die a horrible, horrible death and there's bugger all the Doctor can do about it. It's desperately sad, and even if Pertwee appears stoical on the outside you know (or at least hope) that it must be tearing him up inside. Of course, if Tennant was doing this he'd be crying by now, staring into the middle distance with his jaw jutting out and his hands stuffed heroically in his trousers, but I digress.

Just stare at that final image of Greg and Petra and reach for the tissues. It's enough to break my 38-year-old heart.

* David A. McIntee can get stuffed! 

Turn the Heater On

Inferno Episode 5

There she blows! Up until this point a mere soupcon of shit was being flicked towards a battery operated fan, so please stand well back as a large bucket of diarrhea is flung into a Boeing 747's jet engine. They've only gone and unleashed the power of the earth's core! The numptys!

The Doctor turned out to be a fat lot of use, didn't he? Even though he was armed with the benefit of hindsight he still couldn't save the day. Primarily because he couldn't just flounce about patronising the hell out of all and sundry.

And it's brilliant. I bloody love Inferno. Just when you think things can't get much grimmer the entire cast are now staring death in the face. There's no way out. No miraculous last-minute leap to safety. Not for this lot, anyway. OK, we know damn well that Liz, Brig and Benton will all survive back in our universe, but we've spent more time with the alternative Greg and Petra than the so-called "real ones", and don't they make a lovely couple? Petra is already melting (and I don't think it has anything to do with the Inferno) and it looks like the threat of imminent death can do wonders for your deep-seated complex about being within five yards of a virile man.  Wisely, Greg decides to do a runner with Petra as soon as possible. Probably to the nearest Berni Inn.

A large bucket of diarrhea is flung into a jet engine..

Sadly, the promise of 25 minutes of futile melancholy is shattered into a thousand tiny pieces with the arrival of a posse of werewolves. Irritatingly, in much the same way that the recent Sunshine pissed its carefully crafted ambience up the wall, Inferno decides to trot out some incongruous monsters, too. Just be thankful that they didn't fling their own shit around the control room. Their hilarious entrance looks like an audition for Thriller twelve years too early and while the zombie-look that they sported in the first few episodes was genuinely terrifying, here they look like a bunch of rabid Chewbaccas crossbred with Cornelius from Planet of the Apes. But, once again, they are perfect fodder for the playground. One touch and it's 'Goodnight, Vienna", and it isn't long before Benton is sporting the worst false teeth since Albert Steptoe.

They are bumping off characters in the "real" world, too. In a perverse twist the chauffeur sent to delay Sir Keith from haranguing his colleagues decides to do the decent thing and ironically ends up killing them both. And now it seems abundantly clear what will happen - this world will die but the Doctor has to get back to reality so he can save all the spares. I can hardly wait...

An Alternative Lifestyle

Inferno Episode 4

There's quite a bit of padding on display in this installment. And I'm not just talking about Liz Shaw's hairdo. However, you have to admit that it's quite sweet - profound, even - when the Doctor prods her into questioning her role in fascistville, as it helps to cement your sympathy for these jackbooted loons; if they were evil dopplegangers you would be cheering on their demise and breaking out the petards. Instead, we believe that some inherent goodness is beating away in their stilted hearts (although Stahlmann is still fair game in either universe) and they are worth saving in spite of themselves. Even when Nicholas Courtney instills the Brigade Leader with a deliciously hammy bastard quality - most evident when he ties the up the Doctor and shines his lamp in his face (good old fashioned 1970s torture where you simply bore your captive into submission by incessantly barking at them) - deep down inside you hope that he's still the thoroughly decent chap we know and love.

It helps to cement your sympathy for these jackbooted loons...

As if to remind us that these people could be the good guys, we are provided with a brief and wholly unexpected sojourn in "our" reality, which also reinforces the fact that things are still going tits up over there as well. There's just a lot more paperwork so it runs a little slower. It also transpires that you don't have to be a totalitarian twerp in order to sanction a project that will tear the planet apart. Which is a strangely subversive thought.

Back in the alternative shit storm, the Doctor is having a rum old time of it. He's locked in a cell next to a zombie (who is apparently having a quick kip before his next startled lunge-fest), he's chased about a bit, he's roughed up by his mates and he's treated with even more contempt than is usual. Stahlmann, meanwhile, is succumbing to the power of the dreaded lurgy and he even does that tortured mad scientist Doctor Who dance in a corridor when no one is looking.

I love a good countdown, me.  Especially countdowns that are really monotonous and accurate. And if the 24 vibe wasn't strong enough there's even an early attempt at superimposing the famous clock into the proceedings. Damn, Sean beat me to that gag. Anyway, in a bold move that is either really clever (dig the multi-layered deja-vu motif, man) or really cheap (there's only the one set) the Doctor finds himself ending the episode exactly as he started it - pissing in the wind with a gun pointed at him. Stop the episode, he needs to get off.