"He'll shut up soon, Skip. He's, er, got no legs left."
It's an amusing start as a plane descends to land at Heathrow and the stewardess requests the passengers to "Please extinguish your cigarettes". 1972 was a long time ago, even if it's only five years before yours truly was born...
This one promised to be good. Written by Robert Holmes, known to us Doctor Who fans as being bloody good. A premise that seems to have a fair bit of potential- a recently bereaved airline pilot with his little demons and greavances ishaunted by the subtle presence of the ghost of a Lancaster bomber, with inevitably grim results.
And the thing is... in some senses the script is good. The characters, from Captain Rolfe to his friends to the surprisingly decent investigator are all well-rounded and believable. Peter Barkworth, too, is excellent. There's a level in which it works as drama.
And yet... there's just no tension. As horrow, it fails utterly. There's a surprising lack of emphasis on the supernatural here. And, well-written though the characters may be, the whole thing is so slow, uneventful and... well, dull.
Unusually for a Holmes script, I'm afraif this is a bit of a dud.
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