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.

Parallelogurn

Inferno Part 3

The Doctor has disappeared into thin air and only an unscheduled trip to London by Sir Keith can save him! That's right, the Doctor's safety hinges on whether Sir Keith can successfully make it back to the Ministry before all the MPs and civil servants have blissfully ensconced themselves in drinking dens, card clubs and rent boys. Why he can't just make a quick phone call to his hedonistic colleagues is, sadly, left unexplained.

The Doctor wakes up in an ultra-grim version of the 1970s. Which is pretty good going when you stop to consider how fucking grim it was back in the real one. However, the biggest clue that he's landed in an alternative world is highlighted by the fact that the UNIT troops are not only pretty good shots (well, better shots), but they can also run, jump and organise themselves into a half-way formidable fighting force. Something definitely ain't right! And, to make matters even worse, this alternative world is populated by the same dreaded lurgy zombies that have been such a bloody nuisance back in the real one. Cue one of the most horrific scenes ever witnessed in this programme since, oh last week, as Pertwee is harassed by a drooling zombie on a gantry. This shit ain't never gonna get old.

Dr. No has opened up a fashion emporium and Stahlmann has a loyalty card...

But the fun really starts when the Doctor runs into a slew of subtlety twisted dopplegangers. Liz Shaw is now an obedient lackey in a Myra Hindley fright-wig (well, at least her bouffant is different) while the Brig is a bickering buffoon who looks like he has been glassed. In short, the differences are cosmetic rather than skin deep, which is quite a nice twist. In Star Trek's Mirror Universe the heroes meet polar opposite distortions of themselves, whereas in Inferno the characters are essentially the same people who have become the victims of fascistic fashionistas and political circumstance.

Stahlmann turns up looking very cool; Dr. No has opened up a fashion emporium and Stahlmann has a loyalty card. He's still the same impatient bastard we know and hate, only this time he has the authority to have that annoying lady from catering shot, hence this slightly more self-satisfied demeanour. Greg Sutton, on the other hand, has been hurled full circle around the fashion wheel and he's now a straitlaced prick with a broom up his arse, while Petra is still an inexplicably sexy ice maiden, only this time she's really dressed for the part. One can only imagine what Sir Keith would have looked like in this universe. As far as I am concerned he was probably decked out in a kaftan and sandals.

What is especially fantastic about this episode, and Inferno as a whole, is that we get to watch the place go tits up with the added benefit of hindsight. The real joy comes from watching the Doctor dealing with the situation in a proactive way now that his cane of condescension has been kicked out from under him. He can't just waltz around firing off pithy quips and patronising bon mots. This time he has to deal with the menace on his hands on knees with guns sticking in his ears. That'll teach him.

The Nitwit Papers

Inferno Part Two

It really is an episode of 24! The ineffectual SWAT team, the meaningful glances over desks, the sound of a telephone constantly ringing in the background. And as for the violence! Poor old Harry - shot, burnt and covered in that special paint they use for girders. He'll never meet Hughie Green now.

These proto-primoids really are quite brilliant. Zombies armed with the perfect weapon. A weapon so terrible and efficient it is guaranteed to strike fear and terror into the hearts and minds of anyone in the vicinity. Yes, they have the dreaded lurgy! These bastards are so bloody terrifying because you simply can't go anywhere near 'em. They don't even need to bite you, goddamnit! Zombies had it pretty easy in the early 70s.

They have the dreaded lurgy!

Inferno really is grimmer than a wet weekend in Swansea. Even the exciting bits have a desolate feel to them. Case in point: the thrilling chase across the gantries which manages to make Threads look like High School Musical. Factor in a couple of really creepy low-angle shocks and some unearthly howls emanating from the Radiophonic Workshop and you've got one of the most nihilistic and throughly depressing episodes in Doctor Who's long history. And yes, I'm including Paradise Towers.

If I had to sum up the story so far I'd have to describe it as 'eerie bickering'. You know that the shit is about to hit the fan but you can't help but get caught up in all the petty arguments. If they'd rolled out a subplot about time sheets I would have been gripped. Even Greg attempting to thaw out the ice maiden Petra, with the help of some Hai Karate, felt desperately real.

Even the exciting bits have a desolate feel to them.

Stahlman continues to hone his irascibility down to a fine art in part two, and in another scene reminiscent of Look Around You he stupidly infects himself via the deadly beaker of death. But you have to love a man who would rather keep on working than bother himself with the trifling matter of three brutal deaths on his doorstep. You can only imagine what his reaction will be to Catering's invoice for the last conference he hosted. The Prof is already a nutter so when he starts to turn into an even bigger nutter, armed with a trunction and freaking out to the hypnotic strains of Blue Veils and Golden Sands, it starts to feel more than a little bit terrifying.

And you have to love a Doctor who really can't be bothered with it all. He knows that Stahlman is up to no good. He knows that there is some kind of weird virus on the loose. He knows that the drill is about to go tits up. And what does he do? He decides to do a bunk, that's what! Even more marvellous is the fact that he succeeds.

Or does he? The real fun hasn't even started yet...

It's a Mini Adventure!

Well, that was a breath of fresh air. Forget the fact that The Sarah Jane Adventures is more like good-old fashioned Doctor Who than Torchwood ever was, it's also a lot more like good old-fashioned Doctor Who than Doctor Who ever is! And I enjoyed every daft minute of it.

Having said that, the proceedings get off to a pretty shaky start. Earlier in the day I was watching the Ribos Operation documentary and there's a lovely bit where Clayton Hickman admits that the Shrivenzale wasn't everything it could have been. "If only the director hadn't shown the clearly fake claws flapping away like that," he said, or words to that effect, and then, a few hours later, and mere seconds into Revenge of the Slitheen (great title, by the way), we are assaulted by the worst floppy claw in the entire history of the franchise! Then, after laughing myself senseless over Murray Gold's theme tune (is it Harry Potter? or Doctor Who? or perhaps it's Rentaghost?) I was ready to pack it all in for some proper telly, like The Power of Kroll. Thankfully, things rapidly picked up from that point on. And boy, do I mean rapid - the editing actually gave me whiplash!

But first things first. Do you think Sarah Jane's neighbour pops over for a quick flirt before he's had a quiet word with Tommy Saxondale about his exhaust emissions, or after? Or is it just me?

The editing gave me whiplash!

Kicking off the series with a gently reheated second helping of School Reunion made a lot of sense to me. It's certainly an appealing conceit: this could all be happening in the same school as the target audience; all schools smell terrible and serve up horrendous food, don't they? It's a bit like Terror of the Zygons meets Grange Hill - and I mean that in the nicest possible way - and there now exists a bona fide sub-genre of Doctor Who that features evil IT blocks taking over the world (anyone remember Downtime?). But the most striking (and disturbing) moment occured when one of the evil teachers went a bit "Langham" on Maria as she cowered under the table. Am I the only one who felt they were beginning to stray into dangerous territory here?

It's Terror of the Zygons meets Grange Hill!

Alice Troughton's direction was excellent - and fast! - and anyone who can make the Slitheen look merely stupid rather than laughably abominable deserves some sort of kudos. I can just picture Gareth Roberts chuckling away as he punched out every line of ultra-ripe dialogue delivered by his villains, and while the Slitheen family are still ridiculous beyond words, it doesn't really bother me that much anymore. And, just like Turkey Twizzlers, the kids love 'em.

Liz Sladen was utterly MILFtastic and I'm smitten with her all over again, while Clyde, the new, and less annoying addition to the group, really helps to cement the Scooby dynamic. The only weak link is Maria; despite being flagged up as the central cog in the group (especially if her Buffy-esque voice over is anything to go by) she doesn't really do all that much.

It's impossible to watch Luke without thinking about Martin Fowler...

But what really struck me about the episode was just how keen they are on turning Luke Smith into a mini-Doctor. He's nearly, but not quite, human; he has a super-fast, hyper-intelligent mind; he's a tad eccentric and enigmatic; he adopts the name Smith; and he, er, wears a shirt and tie. It's all very interesting, and the "call me mother, don't call me mother" subtext will keep Freudians happy for hours. Unfortunately, it is impossible to look at Luke without thinking about Martin Fowler. This inevitably means that images of Sonia playing the trumpet are never far from your thoughts. Talk about being hamstrung from the get-go. More on this next week - yeah, I succumbed to temptation - and since it's all starting to blend together now I'd better stop there. Great cliffhanger though, with the mini-David Mitchell unzipping his noggin like that.

Pah! Kids today have it far too easy: Doctor Who merchandise by the skip load, illicit spin-offs to keep 'em interested, all-singing all-dancing web sites, and, most important of all, social acceptance. And now they get this: a superbly constructed and executed sugar rush of Who-flavoured excitement! And Facebook, too! I was lucky if I got an episode of Chocky or Children of the Stones and a copy of Look-In. And if you tell that to the kid's today, they won't believe you.

We Didn't Start the Fire

I bloody love Inferno, me. I really shouldn't. It's a Pertwee. It's seven episodes long. It's got really crappy monsters lurching around in it. I ought to be running for cover, not putting aside a whole Sunday afternoon in which to wallow in it. I honestly can't put my finger on why Inferno pushes my buttons so (my big pulsating orange buttons) but there's something so relentlessly grim and depressing about the whole thing that I always find myself being sucked in whenever I fire (sorry) it up in my DVD player. Despite the story's sci-fi trappings (parallel universes, mad scientists, zombified werewolves, and evil dopplegangers) Inferno remains resolutely realistic, and even though it represents a time when macho men wore khaki casual, medallions and cravats, it's hardly dated at all.

Inferno Episode One

We join the third Doctor as he doggedly rehearses for his upcoming X-Factor audition; his first stop after fixing the TARDIS will be to pop forward to the Birmingham NEC in May 2007 where he'll proceed to murder Gilbert and Sullivan and flirt with Sharon Osbourne. However, putting up a fight in the melodious stakes is the virtuoso whistling maintenance man, Harry Slocom, who, sadly, won't even get to take part in Opportunity Knocks because he's about to fall victim to the local drilling project's lackadaisical health and safety policies. He should have told them to switch it off and back on again...

I should be running for cover, not putting aside a whole Sunday in which to wallow in it...

The Inferno project is an oppressive place to work in, even before all hell starts breaking loose. This is mainly down to Professor Stahlman's peculiar 1970s management style; long before any annual appraisal and staff development nonsense crept into the workplace, this is what it was like working in the white heat of technology. Or is it the set from Look Around You? Stahlman is the kind of boss that will happily fire you as you come off the late shift on Christmas Eve, or your usefulness to the upcoming RAE submission had come and gone, and his impatient suffer-no-fools attitude is both nostalgically entertaining (you half expect Frank Spencer to turn up as Slocom's replacement) and boo-hiss chilling. If they remade the story today it it would have to be an installment of Torchwood featuring Gordon Ramsay effing and blinding his way through choice dialogue like, "You're not turning the f**kin' drill off, you f**kin' muppet. Get out of my sight, you complete twat!"

I always enjoy it when the third Doctor tries to do a runner...

Great chunks of this episode are comprised of pure, undiluted exposition as we are brought up to speed on the intricacies of the drilling project: its raison d'etre, pitfalls, rewards and politics. Yes, politics. Inferno occasionally feels like an episode of The Power Game or The Sandbaggers, but it's the hyper-real stench of power-mad ruthlessness that gives Inferno an aura of pervading dread and Quatermass-esque immediacy. It could so easily have been as dull as ditch water but, thankfully, the sweetly constructed info-dumps are delivered by a host of interesting and compelling characters. There's never a dull moment when you've got snide menace being exuded by Stahlman, benign enthusiasm gushing out of Sir Keith, improbable sexiness seeping out of ice maiden Petra's every pore, and boisterous common sense spilling out of Greg like a kidney from a dingo. Each character is instantly fascinating and colourful, and counterpointing the grim frostiness that permeates the labyrinthine management structures of the Inferno project itself are the ubiquitous UNIT family, who are already beginning to feel all nice and cozy (the weird bonhomie over the Brig's photo, Benton sniggering like Corporal Pike, Liz doing what she's told without so much as a whimper), and the net result is remarkably entertaining.

Stahlman would happily fire you as you came off the late shift on Christmas Eve...

I'm actually disappointed when the show turns into Doctor Who again as Harry transforms into a homicidal wolf man, although at this point he still looks like he's walked off the set of Dawn of the Dead. The fact that Harry seemed such an affable chap, who could also carry a tune, makes his transformation into the primal, er, primoid genuinely disturbing, and his plaintive, quasi-threatening roar is quintessential Doctor Who.

Camfield's direction (pre-heart attack) is quite superb. The juxtaposition of a savage murder with Benton hammering away on a nail is both imaginative and ghastly, and his decision to use stock music, including Delia Derbyshire herself, pays dividends. Sometimes it's hard to know where the music stops and the sound effects start, which results in a profoundly unsettling effect. Camfield even manages to make people standing in rooms chatting look exciting, and if you squint really hard you could actually be watching an episode of 24.

Harry looks like he's walked off the set of Dawn of the Dead.

And finally, I always enjoy it when the third Doctor tries to do a runner. His holier-than-thou condescension and selfish streak is miles away from the funny uncle persona he eventually mellows into, and I love it. His banter with Stahlman is immanently quotable, and his surreptitious use the Inferno project for his own ends backfires magnificently with a deliciously surreal trip into the mind of Syd Barret trapped in a fun house. Barking.

In short, this is a blinding start. I care about the characters, I'm suitably stressed out by the monsters and the whole place is rapidly going to hell in a hand basket. It doesn't get much better than this.

And now it's over to Damon for jokes about "penetration", "deep drilling", "vibrating tubes" and the devil's own semen.

Tachyon TV Needs You!

UPDATED (0715 17 July)...

Wow! Simply, wow! We've been really bowled over by the response we've had to this post, after around 12 hours we've almost reached our target (the Dalek totalizer to the left should be showing you the current state of play) and we'd like to thank the hell out of each and everyone of you who have responded. It has been truly amazing and I certainly feel very humbled by such a response.

Reichenbach Balls

Fandom is advised to stay away from Outpost Gallifrey, also known as the OG. Fanboys are warned that fandom is now entering meltdown. Fandom is closed. I repeat, fandom is closed...

Just who the hell is sending that message at the beginning of Last of the Time Lords, anyway? Is it a Spiridon Travel Agent's answer phone? A Rough Planet Guide to Backwater Civilizations billboard? Magrathean spam? What?

Sorry, let me back up a bit. Nothing can be gained from me listing all the stuff didn't like about this episode - we'll be here all day and I'm a week late already. No, I'll save my vitriol for the upcoming "so bad we had to reform" Tachyon TV commentary podcast. Instead, I'm going to pop  a handful of Prozac as I attempt to focus exclusively on the stuff I genuinely liked about the season finale. In the paragraph after that I will attempt to wax lyrical about some of the stuff I can just about tolerate. (Keith Topping translation: I am a sarcastic twat).

Is it a Spiridon Tourist Board answer phone? Magrathean spam? What?

Right, I pretty much loved every single scene between the Doctor and the Master. It's hard to believe that only a few weeks ago I was cheering for plucky Sam Tyler as he struggled to free himself from a coma, and now here I am booing and hissing John Simm as he effortlessly turns in one of the most deliciously hammy, yet genuinely sinister, Doctor Who-villain performances in years. And I just lapped it up. Simm's range is simply stunning and the bit where he snarls viciously during the 'We've all gone a bit Blackpool!' Scissor Sisters debacle allows me to forgive him just about anything. My admiration for Simm increases with each and every viewing and no matter how depressed I get with this episode as a whole, he'll always be there to cheer me up with his multi-layered madness.

I especially enjoyed the Master's decision to spite the Doctor by holding back life, and I felt a twinge of fanboy angst when the Doctor cradled his nemesis in his arms after all those years of bickering. Lovely bit of fanwank, that. I just didn't like the way we got there. Nice orgasm, terrible hand job. How much better would it have been if the Doctor had been responsible for the Master's mortal wound (if only by accident), and it all happened, alone, on that windswept cliff-top, without a room full of people standing around like a bunch of lemons, gawking at them. How much better would it have been if the Master had dropped silently into the waters below, leaving it up to our imaginations as to whether he regenerated or not, instead of that Saturday Matinée afterthought, apparently shoehorned in to placate future (yes, future!) production teams, and a reference of Return of the F***ing Jedi!

Damn, and I was doing so well. I've also committed the cardinal sin of suggesting a better way of doing things without a BAFTA to back me up. Slash my fanboy wrists.

as far as Russell T. Davies is concerned "hard science" is a value judgment...

But I just can't help it. There are dozens of brilliant moments peppered throughout this episode, it's just the overall journey that feels so bewilderingly incoherent. For example I just can't shake this feeling that the Master was originally going to shrink the Doctor (it is his goddamn modus operandi after all) and Dobby-Doc was the unfortunate result of RTD trying to tie the whole season together via the Lazarus experiment. Sure, the effect is incredibly impressive for a British television show but there is something spectacularly wrong about the whole thing that I can't get my head around. And while I enjoyed the Master's sadomasochistic relationship with his "pet", and I do appreciate the fact that the Master needed to see the Doctor subjugated in order to complete himself, I don't buy his bizarre gamble that turning his screwdriver up to 11 wouldn't kill his adversary before the game was up. And it looks, well, weird. Last week I was accusing RTD of turning Doctor Who into Harry Potter and now this. I've racked my brains to come up with a better reason for this sense of innate wrongness - Doctor Who is a programme that regularly presents us with impossible things - but the best I can come up with is is this: the Doctor spends most of the episode as a walnut on legs. Will that do?

Something else that I simply can't get over is the second coming of the Doctor. Tinkerbell. Jesus. Manga. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Superman. It's like flicking through a Forbidden Planet shopping catalogue. In the 1970s we had Buddhism rammed down our throats, this time it's magical syrup laced with cheese and pop culture riffs. Bidmead must have been spitting digestives because as far as Russell T. Davies is concerned "hard science" is just a value judgment. It's a terrible moment, and whenever my step-daughter gives me that "rolled eyes" look I know we're knee-deep in Timelash territory. There is an explanation for it, I think - something about a telepathic circuit - but I'm too far to busy slamming my head into a cushion for it to register properly, and things rapidly start to unravel for me from this point on.

Maybe exploding black hole converters are harder to market as a Character Options range...

Thankfully, the Prozac has starting to kick now, so here's more stuff that I liked: Martha's family being kept as bait in the Master's garage (sorry, spaceship) with Jack chained up like a kipper. It would have been even funnier if the Master wasted away the hours killing him over and over again. I also don't have a problem with the fact that the Toclafane were the Utopia refugees all along. They kind of had to be, I suppose, so I was prepared for the "twist" (although Davros did throw me for a second). The "twist" also gives Simm one of the best lines of the entire series when he describes humanity as the worst monsters of them all, and there is a lovely sense of insane irony about the whole thing.

I don't even mind the whacking great 'let's turn back time!' re-set button. After all it's been done before (canonically!) and I had a great re-set dream myself a few weeks ago, but please, before you go and whack said button, for god's sake make it mean something! Sure, Japan bites the bullet off-screen and there's a squat in London that looks a bit put-upon, but if you are going to erase all the so-called damage, then at least show us some of it first! Let's set off a couple of black hole converters for starters. Launch some ships. Wipe out Swansea. Perhaps all the money went on Dobby? Maybe exploding black hole converters are harder to market as a Character Options range. Last year we got swarms of Cybermen and Daleks going at it, this year we have six BILLION phantasm balls heading back to defend the Paradox Machine whereas Jack only takes on THREE of them. With a gun. Off-screen.

Wipe out Swansea.

Martha's departure is one of the most boring in the series' history. Turlough comes pretty close, and Leela's exit made about as much sense, but this break-up was pure Hollyoaks. Let me get this straight: she decides to stop traveling through time and space because the Doctor won't snog her, even though she's putting out and everything. Is that it? How emancipating is that?

Martha had (and still has) great potential as a companion but from Gridlock on - and Cornell notwithstanding - no one seemed to know what to do with her, and as a result her gap year was utterly implausible. Did anyone buy the fact that she'd walked across the entire planet as Dobby's ministry on earth? It just felt a bit Rose-lite to me. How disappointing must it have been when she finally turned up at a huge resistance meeting in a kitchen somewhere and she dropped the bombshell that she was there to tell them a fairy story. And  don't tell me that the Master didn't know!? The whole planet is under his control, he's got a traitor in every garage and it still hasn't got back to him that Martha is turning up on people's doorsteps with a ridiculous story about a countdown that hasn't even been announced yet - and people not only believe this shit, they actually tell each other stories about it! Sorry, I just don't buy it.

And then, in lieu of anything reflective or poignant, the Titanic rams into the TARDIS. My only conscious thought during that final moment of grandstanding insanity was this: "Oh well, could be worse - it could have been Catharine Tate again..."

PS - the drugs don't work.

The Bumper Book of Made Up Doctor Who Facts has this to say about Last of the Time Lords: in an early draft of the script the Doctor's three words to the Master were, "You bleedin' muppet!"

Toad

I had this dream a couple of weeks ago. In it, Paul McGann returned as the 8th Doctor in an anniversary special so special it was accompanied by no less than six different Radio Times covers. This special took place in the middle of the - wait for it - Time War and the last act hinged on a dilemma for the 10th Doctor. Thanks to some indefinable technobabble he could stop the war from happening, effectively erasing it from the timeline. The catch is he has to sacrifice his 9th and 10th incarnations to the dustbin of history in order to do this (his memory would only live on in the mind of Rose et al, who are cut off in an alternative universe, and who get a nice little cameo). After much soul searching, Tennant heroically gives himself up to something mystical and swirly created by the Mill (he gives a cheerful wink as he does it but the tears are clearly visible), and the 8th Doctor is left standing at the controls of the TARDIS as if nothing had ever happened. Jack is dumped in Cardiff with amnesia. Martha is still training to be a Doctor. Gallifrey is back in the heavens and the Daleks are hiding in their super massive flying saucers, plotting and scheming. The special ends with McGann's Doctor doing a runner from the Time Lords who want to prosecute him for breaking the laws of time (even though he saved their lives!) and I'm guessing that RTD hands over the reigns at that point (this act will later be known as the 'Holy Reboot') but I woke up before I could check OG for all the goss. In my dreams I have broadband.

'Ah, but it'll never happen', I sigh, as I stuff my bedsheets into the washing machine. But now... now I'm not so sure. I mean, how on earth (naturally) is Russell going to top this?

Imagine Delgado ramping up some Brotherhood of Man as the Sea Devils march on a Navy base...

In season 1 we got a Dalek Invasion of Earth - and a regeneration to boot! In season 2 we got Daleks bitch-slapping Cybermen served to us on a plate! And now we get he Master goofing out to Rogue Traders as the planet is invaded by a swarm of Star Wars torture droids! Pinch me, I'm dreaming! Paul McGann has to be next, surely?

I was initially disappointed by The Sound of Drums. I thought it was a disjointed mess hamstrung by a CBBC performance from John Simm that made me wince with embarrassment. I was not a happy camper and there's a draft review on my hard drive where I kick this episode around like a dead puppy, showing no mercy and risking the wrath of Julian Joolz. But I decided to give it another chance. The second time around I didn't feel quite so tense, mainly because I was prepared for all the bits that originally irked the hell out of me, and as a result I really liked it. In fact, I liked it a lot. I can't say that I'll ever clutch to my fan bosom like Blink, but if there's an episode of Doctor Who that demands a second viewing, it's this one.

Perhaps the Toclafane are Sontarans that the Master has shrunk with this TCE...

I get it now. Sure, the plot is still relentlessly ridiculous, and the science has the stench of Harry Potter all over it, but I actually get Simm's performance now. Part of the initial problem stemmed from the fact that the BBC had drip-fed us images of Simm looking all dark and/or sinister. These carefully chosen tidbits (no whacky thumbs up!) didn't prepare me for the unhinged lunacy that assaulted me on Saturday night. But there's more to Simm than meets the eye. I noticed that the Master is pretty damn cool when he's dealing with the important matters at hand and it's only when he's forced to deal with the stupid, puny humans that he engages in all that passive aggressive sarcasm that occasionally teeters on the edge of ham. If I focus on the contempt brimming beneath the surface in these scenes it suddenly works for me. And besides, even in his wilder moments Simm is still far more restrained than Eric Roberts ever was.

When the Master is dealing with the Doctor it's a completely different story. The mobile phone reunion is a definite highlight of the season so far; it crackled with raw emotion and it was played beautifully by Tennant and Simm. The moment where Simm initially greets the Doctor proves beyond doubt that Simm really is treating the part with respect, and I'm sorry that I ever doubted him. And speaking of shiver down the spine moments, I loved all the Gallifrey bits too; although it definitely implies that Delgaro and Pratt et al were all dancing to the beat of the Doctor Who theme tune. But I really can't knock these full-on snogs to the past. Er... Squee?

The episode also presents us with a classic old-skool utterly bonkers Master scheme. A dodgy alliance with an alien race (that will inevitably turn on him), hypnotism on a major scale, an elaborate disguise, a propensity for stealing UNIT vehicles, and the persistent implication that he's far more interested in humiliating the Doctor than he is in actually taking over the planet are all present and correct. Plus - for all the Ainley fans out there - his plan is insanely (and needlessly) complicated. For starters, why did he bother to gas the cabinet? How did the Master know that the Doctor would be watching Martha's telly at that very moment? Why did he try to kill the Doctor if his plan was to age him? As if aging the Doctor is going to stop him! Just shrink the bastard! By the way, the aging effect reminded me of the 1996 TV Movie (i.e it looked bloody awful) and Tennant as an old man looks like the cannibalistic grandfather from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. And that can't be good.

It's so di-e-f**king-getic!

Captain Jack did sod all in this episode. All of the Torchwood references were unintentionally hilarious (he made a shit TV show about shag-rabbits as a tribute to the Doctor! Ha!) and I can't shift this image of Owen trying to get his leg over a Yeti. Martha doesn't fare any better. I couldn't really give a toss about her extended family and if Reggie Yates never appears in this show again then Russell is a genius of misdirection, but somehow I doubt it. It looks like Martha will take on Rose's mantle of the protector of Earth next week, but here she's pretty ineffectual and a little bit shouty. Very trad.

And then there's Rogue Traders. I instinctively knew that I'd be hearing that song come Saturday. I was mentally prepared for it. The only problem was that I had expected to hear it in the opening montage of Doctor Who Confidential as Anthony Stewart Head delivered some witty puns about balls. I wouldn't have minded quite so much if the music hadn't been so di-e-f**king-getic! The Master's wife tries to dance to it! The Master turns it off with his chunky Dr. Evil style control panel! This means that the Master actually likes that f**king song and that makes me want to tear out what's left of my hair. And this is supposed to be 2008 - so it isn't even a topical song! Hell, it won't be a topical song two weeks from now. Imagine Delgado ramping up some Brotherhood of Man as the Sea Devils march on a Navy base. I know I can't.

Tennant as an old man looks like the cannibalistic grandfather from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Anyway, there's 42 minutes left to go and anything could happen. I'm steeling myself for mild disappointment because that way everything else is a bonus. I want to know what's hiding inside those spheres for starters. Are they mini-Faces of Boe? Could they be Dalek balls? Or are they a fleet of Sontaran warships that the Master has shrunk with this TCE? The possibilities are endless but one thing's for sure: it's going to be ridiculously exciting and it's going be epic. And camp. And funny. And loud. And it's going to be adored by the kids. And whatever the outcome on Saturday night, you've got to hand it to RTD: there's nothing even remotely like this on British television. Hooray!

The Master Card

I haven't been around much lately, mainly thanks to work, the phallanx of builders camped outside the caravan, a pervading sense of ennui, and other miscellaneous stuff (aka Facebook). However, if Derek Jacobi regenerating into John Simm didn't goad me into getting off my fat arse then nothing would. Plus, I don't want you to think that I only show up to pour scorn on the new series. Today I'm going to gush like an incontinent fanboy in a fountain factory.

The massive upturn in Doctor Who's quality started a month ago with the Human Nature/Family of Blood double header. I was already a big fan of the book (especially when I sold it on Ebay for 90 quid) but these two episodes were far better than anything I'd dared to imagine in the mid-1990s, back when I would always run Virgin NAs in my head on a TV budget. And yes, Tennant delivered a wonderfully nuanced performance too (admittedly as a completely different character) which made me love him just a little bit. I was also suitably impressed by the punishments dished out by our "hero", even if they don't sit very well with his current persona. Perhaps the Doctor's unflappable smugness is just a mask and - ? Hang on, didn't I trot out that excuse for his performance this time last year?

Even my 18 year old step-daughter was completely freaked out by Blink, and she thought The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was "a bit lame"

Then, just when I thought it couldn't get any better, it did. Blink was a treat from start to finish. It also happened to feature some of the most terrifying monsters ever seen in the series. "The one with the statues" as it will be known for generations to come. Even my 18 year old step-daughter was completely freaked out by it, and she thought The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was, I quote, "a bit lame". Even Blink's plot holes are endlessly fascinating. For example, why don't the angels move when the characters aren't facing them - or do the audience factor into the equation too? Blink also scored high for not featuring Dick Van Dyke all that much and for providing us with the greatest companion we'll never actually have (both in Doctor Who and in real life). That Steven Moffat, eh? What a guy.

And then there's Utopia. I can't work out whether the Radio Times gave it a scathing review (well, as scathing as the Radio Times ever gets) to throw everyone off-balance, or if it was simply because they don't worship the Master like we do. I'll return to this point later. The trailer didn't give me cause to suspect anything - it looked like a Mad Max knock-off, Jacobi was going to be wasted as someone other than the Master, and Captain Jack was going to ride the TARDIS like a bucking bronco into the Vortex (can someone upload a "revised" version of the opening titles, with Barrowman hanging onto the side of the TARDIS throughout, to YouTube, please?)

To put it bluntly, I wasn't holding my breath. In fact, I was mentally checking tick boxes before the first 10 minutes were up. Ridiculous time-zone: check. Sylvester McCoy-class "monsters": check. 2000AD vibe: check. Mockney takes on classic moments: check. A weird, eerie sense of foreboding permeating every scene: hang on a minute, that's new.

Thank you Russell. Even the put-down about "blogging" is forgiven.

It soon became apparent that the Cursed Earth rent-a-mutants were just that - a device to give the episode some impetus; just like the Autons in Rose they are merely set dressing. And thank your extinguished heavens for that, because something far, far more interesting was simmering away in the silo; the last thing we needed was a scene of Malok (that's my name for him anyway) filling in all the blanks about the end of the world, and why they still drive trucks and fire bullets in a trillion years time etc etc.

Minutes before Utopia aired I was chatting away with some of the guys (OK, it was Damon on gmail) and we joked about how cool it would be if Jacobi was the Master all along and he regenerated into John Simm while the Doctor freaked out about it. Nah, we agreed sagely, they wouldn't do it. Even at the very last moment I still didn't believe it. I was half expecting Jacobi to hiss "I... AM... THE... DOCTOR!". I thought it was the same watch. I thought he got it from Tim. I thought John Simm wouldn't be along for another week. I thought this show wouldn't - couldn't - possibly give me it on a plate like that. If you'd have told me three years ago that we'd see something even alluding to the scale of the content in the last ten minutes of Utopia then I would have snapped your hand off at the wrists. Thank you Russell. Even the put-down about "blogging" is forgiven.

I'm a sucker for fanwank.

How the new fans felt about all this is beyond me. Maybe the Radio Times nailed it for them. The Master isn't like the Daleks - people don't hold the same kind of race memory for him. I just made damn sure that two new young fans I know were supplied with a copy of the TV Movie With the Pertwee Logo On It long before Utopia was transmitted (they will be experts in the playground today), but I'm not going to get drawn into their meandering retcon nonsense about the number of regenerations the Master has left or whether Paul McGann fought in the Time War or not. Really, who cares? I'd rather not know, thanks.

That said, I am a sucker for fanwank. Who isn't? When said fanwank is directed by Graeme Harper and stars two of the greatest thespians to grace our telly schedules, then I'm happy to roll over and die. Un-fucking-believable. Even Tennant was a great Doctor this week. From the radiation room scene on, he finally became the Doctor for me. Hallelujah for that. And Barrowman is so damn charming as Jack you can forgive him just about anything, even Torchwood.

Yeah, I admit it, I was punching the air with my fists and then clapping like a seal. I didn't even do that when I was ten. More importantly, I now know the true meaning of the word 'squee'. Thanks for that.

Sure, Simm was a bit too arch for me: "Bye! Bye!" - I ask you; I've even seen other forums suggest that this is down to post-regenerative trauma but I reckon they are clutching at straws. Just look at him in the trailer where he's giving that whacky thumbs up in a scene that actually looked sinister less than 48 hours ago. I think he's going to be a hyper villain, like the Joker crossed with Baron Hardup (as a favour for his kid, bless), but, for the first time in a very long time, I'm giving this show the benefit of the doubt...

Disaster Area

It hasn't been a good week for the Beale family. First of all, little Peter (version 0.2) nearly died a horrible death in a episode of EastEnders directed by Wolfgang Peterson. In the very same episode, his sister, Lucy, was outed as bona fide psychic Tomorrow Person - with obligatory track-and-zoom fish-eye lens treatment and everything! - while, 50 miles away, her father, Ian, performed a bizarre homage to Dawn of the Dead while Phil Mitchell doubled for Ben Gardener's head in Jaws. And then, to top it all, Cindy copped it on Doctor Who (banging into Ripley on her way down). What a palaver!

Bring Back Open Air!  Just so we can sit in the audience and throw science textbooks at Chris Chibnall. Actually, scrap that, I don't even care about the science, let's throw some William Goldman or Robert McKee at him instead. Wouldn't that be a great Twilight Zone-style ending, with Rod Serling banging on about hubris, or throwing stones, or something equally patronising. You get the general idea. Oh to be a fly on the wall in Pip and Jane's...

This was classic Chibnall dirge: people running up and down corridors shouting meaningfully at each other about absolutely nothing, fretting like headless chickens and chucking one-liners around like hand grenades primed by an illiterate Eric Saward. All wrapped up in an improbable plot that hinges on a premise so irritating it just reminds you how much more of this tripe you have to sit through (oh great, 12 more minutes!), and proof, if any be needed, that any author who attempts to hang a Doctor Who story on a flimsy real-time it's-a-little-bit-like-24 gimmick is always doomed to failure.

...fretting like headless chickens and chucking one-liners around like hand grenades primed by an illiterate Eric Saward...

The pub quiz/Who Wants to be a Millionaire password protection nonsense. I ask you! Imagine Sarah Jane Smith lau