The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui by Bertolt Brecht, at the Swan, Stratford upon Avon

 "If we could learn to look instead of gawking

We'd see the horror in the heart of farce 

If only we could act instead of talking

We wouldn't always end up on our arse..." 

The perfect first play for my lovely partner and I to see together, no...? 

This play, currently running at Stratford, is a triumph. Using Stephen Sharkey's translation, it really brings to us the power of Brecht's play, genuinely funny until it really, really isn't, which is, if course, the point- farce that turns to horror. Hitler, like a certain orange man with tiny hands, was considered a joke by most of us, an act of complacency. Farage, too, is an absurd little man. So is "Tommy Robinson". And, of course, as the great Anthony Burgess said, the jackboot is intrinsically absurd, as though it's daring you to laugh... and that's the point. For you don't dare.

Neither Hitler nor Trump had a sense of humour, always a sigh... 

Gatiss is, of course, superb in terms of both the line delivery and the physicality of his performance. He oozes a terrible charisma and, to his credit, plays his interpretation of the character of Ui as written by Brecht, resisting the temptation to do an impression of Hitler, Trump, or anyone else.

The staging, too, is a triumph. Above the stage is a movable area occupied by Placebo, who provide a truly amazing soundtrack, and this is used effectively in order to allow for fast and creative scenery changes. The use of space here is truly inspired.

Beyond Gatiss, the cast impresses deeply, Mawaan Rizwan in particular. This is a fun yet horrifying production that speaks to our own times more than, perhaps, the play ever has. I implore anyone who is able to do so to see this while you still can. 

The Room in the Tower

 "I've given you the room in the tower..."

It's that time of year, and so we have the latest of the BBC's Ghost Stories for Christmas helmed, as ever, by Mark Gatiss and on iPlayer right now along with all of its modern predecessors. It's really rather good, an adaptation of a short story by E.F. Benson. I'm in two minds, though- it's good to see adaptations of other writers, but I sort of pine for that M.R. James feel.

This is typical Gatiss Christmas fare, I suppose, which is no bad thing. Despite the ending, which is thoroughly earned, it's a slow, atmospheric tale in which the feeling of dread is slowly and masterfully managed by both script and visuals. The pacing is slow and old-fashioned, which some will not like. I very much do; the slow pace is precisely the point with a ghost story like this, all about mood.

Tobias Menzies does a good job as the protagonist, but it's incredible how subtly terrifying Joanna Lumley manages to be with what really isn't very much screen time. She really steals the show. The framing device with the air raid works well, too, and helps the ending to hit hard. This is, I think, one of the better Ghost Stories of recent years.

P.R.O.B.E: The Devil of Winterborne

 "I'm Gavin Purcell, not Dennis Wheatley!"

The first episode was good, if cheap. The second instalment is, I think, even better... if cheap. It is, as the above quote suggests, a very low budget riff on Dennis Wheatley devil worship cult stuff, is very cleverly written as the revelations unfold and (SPOILERS!) ends up having no apparent supernatural elements in the end.

It's not just the very well done plot, though. Mark Gatiss again gives us some superb dialogue. The ending is horrifying. Caroline John once again excels at a rather nuanced portrayal of the pipe smoking, older Liz Shaw... and is there a mild hint, as the two of them get a bit pissed on wine, that she and Patsy may be old flames? Are we also going to get Terry Molloy's semi-sceptical detective as a new regular?

The other standout performance is, of course, from Peter Davison, whose character we are kept guessing about until close to the end. His "confession" is truly chilling and shows how bloody good Davison can be when given the chance to play a baddie... although in this case, of course, things are not quite what they may seem...

There's some nice indications of evolving social attitudes here, as well as towards mental health with the character of Georgie, although admittedly this is outsider drama from the younger generation. Overall, though, this is a highly impressive second instalment. 

P.R.O.B.E: The Zero Imperative

 "This is a hospital, Miss Shaw. Not Scooby-Doo."

It says a lot about me was that tonight's viewing was a choice between a 1980s BBC TV production of Sophocles' Antigone and this, a straight-to-video Doctor Who spin-off from the wilderness years. My geek side just won out against my pretentious git side... this time!

Thing is, though, this may not be Sophocles but it's a very impressive script from a young Mark Gatiss, a tale of dark, otherworldly forces, possession and family tragedy that is perfectly paced, well characterised and unfolds in a deeply satisfying way, with revelation after revelation. Bill Baggs' direction, too, is impressive, using stylistic camerawork to cover what must have been a tiny budget.

The dialogue is great, as is Caroline John as Liz Shaw, now running her own outfit investigating supernatural weirdness in contrast to "another acronymic organisation from my salad days"- love the pipe.

Nevertheless... although Jon Pertwee, Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy (especially towards the end) are all great, I tend to feel that the inclusion of so many former Doctors (although I love Sylv's "Trust me, I'm a Doctor") perhaps undermines Caroline John in what's supposed to be a starring role. Still, that isn't the script's fault, and the overall impression is of a compelling thriller that, very wisely, leads with mood and character as opposed to anything too expensive-looking....

Woman of Stone

 "They come to punish..."

Mark Gatiss' annual Ghost Stories for Christmas are, it seems, quite firmly an annual fixture now, something which pleases me very much. This year we have an adaptation of E. Nesbit's Man-Size in Marble; it seems that, aside from her more well-known children's stories such as The Railway Children and Five Children and It, she was also wont to write the odd ghost story for her fellow adults.

Delightfully, the episode is book-ended by two rather witty little metatextual sequences with Celia Imrie as E. Nisbit herself, on her deathbed, telling the story to her doctor ad cheerfully chain-smoking as the lung cancer goes through the final stages of killing her- in themselves these scenres are at once a grim memento mori and a cheerful reminder that the only response to mortality is to live life to the full.

And yet this tale isdark. A newleywed couple, newly married, and all sorts of subtle indications of domestic abuse- the physical kind, yes, but also the cotrolling behaviour that lies behind it. And, with this being the 1880s, poor Laura has no recourse to justice, hope, or even dvorce. Awfil though it is, perhaps her end is a mercy of sorts.

And, of course, the ghostly (if very, very solid) force from the deep dark past echoes all this, the violent jealousy of me who, of course, apply that tired old double standard as they unthinkingly abuse their wives.

I saw the twist coming, yes, but it worked nevertheless. Capital punishment may be barbarous, Jack may be innocent of the specific crime for which he hangs... but I have no sympathy for him.

There is not, it has to be said, much to find scary in this episode. But it was excellent nonetheless.

Lot No. 249

 "Your filthy Egyptian tricks won't answer here in England!"

I must have missed this, last year's offering from the excellent Mark Gatiss in his highly impressive run of Christmas Ghost Stories on BBC 4. I'll be blogging his offering for this year closer to Christmas, as well as a number of older such stories, but watching this little gem tonight was an absolute joy.

I'd never read, or indeed heatd of, the original short story by Arthur Conan Doyle which seems to have been highly influential in shaping the Eyptian mummy subgenre of horror, but Gatiss really evokes the Victorian setting here, and has it oozing with atmosphere. Kit Harington is superb as Smith, our lead, but it's Freddie Fox, chewing the scenery with aplomb, who steals the show as the sinister and dastardly Bellingham.

Gatiss has a real ear for the dialogue of the time, which adds a great deal of verisimilitude. He can't, of course, resist the temptation of including a certain irresistible cameo but, well, the cameo is irresistible, after all. And I like the subtle dialogue link to the Elephant Man.

I suspect the budget for this was tiny, but it certainly doesn't look it. The BBC can do Victoriana with one arm tied behind its metaphorical back and darkness works wonders. But ultimately it's the script and the performances that make this a thing of beauty.

Good Omens: The Hitchhiker

 "We'd like to apologise for the wait and the conditions, but we won't. Cheer up. Things could be worse, and they will be."

There's plenty this episode to amuse, but... isn't this season sort of treading water at this point? The first two episodes were superb, but it's looking increasingly as though there just isn't tgat much going on, just the Gabriel plot thread really, and it's all being padded out with minisides.

This time the minisode, while not the best, is decent enough, by the League of Gentlemen gang and featuring wartime London, prestidigitation, Nazi zombies and a fantastic take on the bureaucracy of Hell. But... it's pretty much the main point of the episode.

Otherwise... well, Aziraphale picks up a hitchhiker who turns out to be Shax, she tells him she's worked out whrre Gabriel is, and she then proceeds to persuade Beelzebub to order her to lead a full-on demonic assault on the bookshop. That's literally it.

There's entertainment to be had, but arc-wise, this episode advances things not one iota. There's literally no reason for it to exist.

The Mezzotint

"By virtue of all that is reasonable, Nisbet, this is a rank impossibility." 

I somehow missed this last year, so I'm watching and blogging it when it's still the season, sort of. This is, of course, magnificent. Horror via existential dread. The pacing is magnificent and Rory Kinnear, as ever, gives a superb performance.

I've yet to read any M.R.James, I've just seen the adaptations. But there's so much going on here, beyond the idea of a picture changing whenever it's observed which may have influenced one Steven Moffat. But it's far more existential and far more gothic than that: this is M.R. James. Williams is a man of his time, yes, but he's nice enough- friendly, amiable to his housekeeper, harmless. Alas, as he discovers, he is the last of his line and thus inexorably doomed. There's nothing he can do. The moving figure in the mezzotint exists to doom him and him alone.

This is creepy, gothic, existentially dreadful. In short, full of Christmas cheer.What's not to love? Happy New Year, all. Now we are back to normal it's back to The Day of the Triffids and Better Call Saul, plus films, and I'll be starting She-Hulk: Attorney at Law.

Count Magnus

 "What did I do?"

This, the latest Christmas adaptation of a short story by M.R. James, whose work I have not read, is as chillingly well-constructed as we have come to expect. As ever with these things, the plot is simple. It is the essence of the Gothic: an Englishman investigates the tomb, and the unholy antics, of the eponymous count, his curiosity leading to a truly horrific and inevitable downfall.

The Swedish setting is atmospheric and the grisly history superb, with hints of alchemy, devilish beings and the Antichrist. The tale of the two villagers who met their own grisly fates echo that of poor Mr Wraxham, almost the stereotype of the cheerfully ignorant travelling Victorian Englishman. A scholar, a cheerful man, taking nothing seriously until it is too late, he is- with Jason Watkins trning in a perfect performance- quite magnificently doomed by his very complacency.

The plot is nothing unusual; just the same tropes arranged a little diffrerently. No; it is the atmosphere that makes this tale, like all of them, so chillingly effective. May Mark Gatiss haunt our Christmases for many years to come.

The Tractate Middoth

 "The other day I was forced to open a hotel door of my own volition!"

Don't worry; this is just a one-off diversion from Life on Mars and The Crown, but Christmas is coming; it would be remiss of me not to watch and blog this splendid adaptation by Mark Gatiss, who also directs, of one of M.R. James' most well-known stories.

And the whole thing is simply a triumph. The direction is magnificent, evoking horror with suspense, and the appearance of the ghost (That skull! Those spiders!) is as impressive as the way it's carefully shot. The cast is similarly magnificent, with a young Sacha Dhawan deeply effective as a leading man, and a strong cast of British character actors from Louise Jamson to Roy Barraclough to Burbage's very own Una Stubbs as a wonderfu comic grotesque. John Castle is, as ever, a splendidly hissible villain. And there's much actor-spotting fun as the Master chats to his mate, a pipe-smoking Nathan Barley.

What holds it all together, of course, is the story, puzzlingly not adapted since 1966. But this adaptation was made with a real love of the source material, and it shows.

The Madness of King George III (National Theatre, 2018)

"May I congratulate Your Majesty on another splendid stool?"

Circumstances, not necessarily good ones, make it possible for me to watch and blog this triumphant production from the National Theatre and the Nottingham Playhouse- both of which will need support in the coming months, as theatres traditionally do in times of plague.

Alan Bennett's wonderful 1991 play (look in the films index for my blog of the excellent 1994 film starring the late, lamented Nigel Hawthorne) is, perhaps, dated by the depiction of blue urine and the then-fashionable diagnosis of porphyria. But who cares. Literary art needs not a diagnosis. It deals in human nature. And Mark Gatiss- not, perhaps, a traditionally classical actor, gives us a performance which may well surpass that of the sainted Sir Humphrey.

The play is, of course, a masterpiece. We first see the king as he is- erudite, sexually repressed, an extrovert forced inwards by a role which forbids introspection. He is a force of personality when sane, as the early scenes effortlessly depict. The reason for his lapse of reason may not be porphyria- Gatiss has suggested a nervous breakdown- but it matters not. What matters is the star, and Gatiss more than delivers. The script sings of human nature, of the 1780s, of the British constitution, of the human psyche. Of all the kings of England, Charles II is the one you'd want a pint with, but you’d want George III on the psychiatrist’s chair. He may have weathered the crisis of 1788. but his end would not be a happy one. The gilded cage, inevitably, has its casualties.

It is, perhaps, questionable that the quacks should all be played by women, but one of them is the wonderful Louise Jameson. But the production gets no further criticism, from me. Again, we see an erudite and human script triumphant. And Gatiss is a revelation. Please... see this production before Thursday.

Coriolanus (National Theatre Live, 2014)

“I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying water in it. One that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning."

I'm a Shakespeare geek, I suppose, but of his thirty-nine plays I have certainly neither read nor seen them all. So, having neither seen nor read Coriolanus, I'm caught between a first experience of the play- one extraordinary both in itself and in what it has to say in our sadly populist times, where militaristic demagoguery continues to plague us.

I can see why the play is not so popular and well-known as the Warwickshire lad's other late tragedies. It is austere, has a proud and abrasive protagonist who is not inclined to self-aware soliloquys, and assumes a knowledge of semi-mythical early republican Rome, in the 490s BC, where the last king has barely been deposed and where, with the first secession of the plebs, issus of class and war intertwine as the young city state conquers its neighbours.

One must surely imagine this play, with its emphasis on the people, the tribunes, the conflict between arrogant privilege and the popular will, would be much less resonant in early Jacobean times than it is today, where Coriolanus as a proud warrior and would-be tyrant evokes not so much the sadly delusional Trump as the much younger, leaner and more sanely arrogant Cummings. Tom Hiddleston is superb, succeeding in seeming authoritative and believable as a proud and reactionary soldier undone by hubris, his performance full of nice little touches, at limes leavening the tragic gloom with bitter humour. Mark Gatis is similrly superb as Menenius, the humour of his performance concealing dark depths. The sparse production, too, is a triumph, allowing the play itself to succeed by its words and performances. It's just a shame Birgitte Hjort Sorensen of Borgen has such a relatively small part.

Magnificent, both as a play and a performance. Not all tragedies have to be Hamlet, and there's a real power in letting the interior thoughts of the protagonist remain opaque. From Hiddleston I've never seen a finer performance.

Dracula: The Dark Compass

“I knew the future would bring wonders. I did not know it would make them ordinary.”

Wow. Well, I suspect that won't have pleased everyone as much as it pleased me. Moffat's clever structural games and Gatiss' fondness of allusion don't appeal to everyone as much as they do to me. Personally my only concern is that a programme broadcast on the first three days of January could plausibly end up as the best thing on telly in 2020. The episode, and the series, really are that good. And it's not all clever plotting, or smirking when we hear good old Bela echoed in "Children of the night- what music they make". It's also horror, and real, effective horror at that. And heart. Lots of heart. For the record, the end made Mrs Llamastrangler cry.

It's a bold move to properly resolve the cliffhanger at the end of the first episode at the start of the third. It is, though, perhaps even bolder to invite comparisons to Sherlock by fast forwarding to the present day. It's lovely to have, though, after the initial excitement with the helicopters, some time to breathe, and to allow Dracula to acclimatise himself to the twentieth century, a time of wonders for him, where even a poor household has access to untold wonders, and even to chide us on how we take all this for granted.

It really should be an obvious, tired cliche to have Zoe Helsing be a great grand-niece of Agatha who happens also to be played by Dolly Wells, but it somehow isn't, because blood is lives, everyone is drinking each others' blood, and we can be poetically ambiguous about which Van Helsing is which. Likewise, the conceit of having the Jonathan Harker Foundation (nice bit of misdirection with Jack's phone) wanting Dracula for his blood is only really there for characters to meet each other so the plot can happen, but it allows us to meet this version Renfield, played with comical panache by Gatiss, yet again getting away with cheekily writing himself a fun character to play. And it's clever how we see Dracula scoff at the notion of rights- he's a vampire aristocrat, so he's all about blood; he and the probably-going-to-be-reshuffled Jacob Rees Mogg should get on well- only for Renfield to use his legal rights to get him freed.

Alongside Claes Bang, though, the other star is Lydia West as this version of Lucy Westenwra. She may have been bloody good in Years and Years but she's bloody extraordinary in this, perfectly playing the nihilistic charm of the bored, beautiful hedonist. Her dialogue tempts fate, of course- "I'll sleep when I'm dead" and "everyone smiles when you're pretty" are both dead giveaways if you're paying attention. And Dracula soon ends up giving her a regular thrill be feeding off her in at least a bit of a gesture towards Bram Stoker's novel. And yes, of course the feeding is a not-very-subtle metaphor for sex. We expect no less.

But the horror of this conception of the undead is present too, with Dracula calmly informing Lucy that exactly nine occupants of the graveyard are "suffering" in their coffins- and one horrific undead child has managed to get out. The reveal of what it looks like is superbly done.

But the real horror is for Lucy- not her rather erotic and cheerfully longed-for death; not the existential horror of being undead; not even the unimaginable torture of being cremated while conscious. No; it's the fact that she's disfigured, and simply cannot live without being beautiful.

But the ending is not hers; it belongs to Agatha/Zoe, who ends by confronting Dracula over his fear of facing death, the common thread that binds together his weaknesses. I'm not sure this quite works if you look too closely, but it's so artfully done that we don't particularly care. And that final scene of Dracula and Agatha dying together, erotically, with death and orgasm literally metaphors for each other... that's romantic, and perfect. Because the reason why this is sublime, and Twilight is shite, is not that vampires shouldn't be romantic. They absolutely should. But the romance must always be twisted, never vanilla.

Dracula: Blood Vessel

“The sophistication of a gentleman, Agatha, is always a veneer...”

Ah. It's good to get another Moffat/Gatiss season to binge on, or savour, as one's lifestyle permits- these episodes are bloody ninety minutes long, you know.  But this is another good one. Not as good as the opening episode, granted, but it wouldn't be; middle episodes rarely are.

What this episode manages to do is take the somewhat claustrophobic premise of Dracula's long sea voyage from the Balkans to Whitby and construct a taut little thriller which, for those of you reading this who are Doctor Who fans (and I suspect many of you are), tends to evoke the mood of Horror of Fang Rock, except with more blood. Much more blood. I don't recall this aspect of Stoker's novel being so heavily focused on in any previous screen version, although the brief scenes in Nosferatu are certainly iconic.

It is, of course, a relatively cheap episode but one full of wit, incident,  scares, suspense and (thank whatever gods may happen to exist) Dolly Wells once more as the supremely quotable Sister Agatha. It's also full of a splendid cast which, as many of us are indeed Doctor Who fans, includes both Catherine Schell (still a beautiful woman, probably) and Sacha Dhawan, who is having quite the month.

The mystery of Cabin 9 is nicely handled, and the various passengers all have their little secrets and peccadilloes. The plot is awfully clever but, again, is restrained; this isn't Sherlock and there are more jump scares than narrative tricks. The narrative tricks are there nevertheless, though, and we get a superb twist at the end, as Sister Agatha manages to bury Dracula beneath the waves (shades of the Angel season four finale) for longer than he thought...

A rare vintage indeed. To be savoured.

Dracula: The Rules of the Beast

“I’m undead. I’m not unreasonable...”

Well, obviously, this is going to be clever, awesome and very literate indeed; it’s written by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. You don’t go into a first episode from them and expect it to be rubbish- and it certainly isn’t. I’ve only seen the first episode thus far, but it’s a superlative but of telly without a doubt. Yet it wasn’t quite what I expected.

I’m not saying the structure of the story isn’t clever. I’m not saying the dialogue isn’t witty. But both, while masterfully done, are notably restrained. This isn't Sherlock, it's horror. It's jump scares, horrific concepts (Here, some people just randomly become undead when they die, some become vampires, and only a select few retain their sentience after a while. Most just scratch at their coffins. And this is a secret known to gravediggers around the world. Shiver.) at a Dracula, in Claes Bang, who may very possibility be the very best screen Count ever. And yes: I'm saying this in a world where Christopher Lee once walked, and realise what I'm saying. Bang is that good.

John Hefferman is ideal as Jonathan Harker, too, but the other standout performance is from Dolly Wells as the drily witty Sister Agatha- the hero, I suspect, of the series; her surname at least gives strong indications. She is, I suppose, our Peter Cushing- a deliciously quotable nun who has, perhaps, lost her faith but who is determined to understand, and combat, the undead.

It's 1897- the year Bram Stoker's novel was written, although not when it was set. The action is split between Transylvania and Budapest, both still part of a Habsburg Hungary. This is literally a tale of the Gothic- Dracula is an ancient horror from an old, labyrinthine castle in the wild east of Austria-Hungary, planning to move to the more "modern" England to kill, feast and be replete.  The episode is, I think, set up for this- an origin story of sorts, loosely following the early parts of the novel.

The plot begins with nods to past iterations- the scene where Harker and Dracula meet is very Bela Lugosi, right down to the "I never drink... wine". But we soon depart from this to a narrative with twists and turns which satisfyingly surprise us without ever becoming overly labyrinthine; we shall leave that to the castle's architecture. We have suspense, scares and just one little Doctor Who in-joke; we are introduced to our new Count and his world, and is good. Mrs Llamastrangler and I are hooked.

That cliffhanger, though....I don't care about Mina, but please let Sister Agatha live.

Martin's Close

"Thirteen!"

I'm only on my second glass of this rather nice Spanish red, so I think I'm safe to blog this short M.R. James adaptation, the second in a new annual series of Christmas ghost stories to be written and directed by Mark Gatiss.

It is, of course, a rather enjoyable half hour, both creepy and erudite, as Peter Capaldi's prosecuting barrister states a rather unusual and supernatural prosecution on the charge of murder. Simon Williams is also rather good as the present day narrator, usefully feeding exposition to those of us whose knowledge of Judge Jeffries runs to "hanging judge", "Duke of Monmouth", "Bloody Assizes" and not much else. Apparently this bloody man was a humorous wit, the kind of chap you'd enjoy a pint with. That feels like a very Mark Gatiss thing to know.

This tale of a guilty man, an arrogant young country squire who thinks he can use and then jealously murder a poor ans simple girl, unfolds slowly over half an hour as the ghost of his victim slowly nudges him towards his barbaric fate. The BBC, of course, shows its usual skill with period drama and Capaldi, as he is wont to do, shines in a role that demands a big actor. Enormous fun. If you missed it, it's on iPlayer...

Good Omens: Hard Times

"I didn't really fall. I just, you know, sauntered vaguely downwards..."

A surprising start, this time, as an extraordinarily long pre-credit sequence charts the history of what both Aziraphale and Crowley would no doubt refuse to call a friendship, and has a lot of fun along the way. So Crowley raises an eyebrow at God's genocidal plans as Noah builds his Ark, and it's in fifth century Britain that both of them realise they've been cancelling each other out with their various schemes so they may as well achieve the same thing by doing precisely sod all. It's all a rather funny addition and ends with a highly entertaining Second World War scene containing 66.67%  of the League of Gentlemen, which can never be a bad thing. and the other 33.33% is William Bloody Shakespeare.

Meanwhile, in the present day, the plot doesn't really advance much, but it fails to do so most entertainingly. We, and Adam, learn that Anathema is a new age type. Shadwell hasn't got much of an imagination. Crowley and Aziraphale are a superb double act, and both Sheen and Tennant are amazing. There's a new horseman- Famine.

It's all very silly in a very Douglas Adams kind of way. And there are few more pleasurable ways to spend fifty minutes.

The Dead Room

"When were you born?”

“1990.”

“Christ!”

This is an admittedly cheap but well cast attempt in BBC Four where Mark Gatiss (naturally!) writes and directs a deliberately modern slant on M.R. James style ghost stories for Christmas. It’s a very good piece of drama with excellent dialogue, a superbly characterised central character, and yet... it isn’t eerie or scary. And it’s not immediately obvious why.

Simon Callow is, inevitably, spellbinding in the central role of Aubrey Judd, veteran radio teller of horror stories, while Anjli Mohindra alsonimpresses as his obscenely young producer in what is essentially a two hander on two similar sets and could easily have been a stage play. This isn’t the 1970s M.R. James adaptation so no sumptuous location filming please; we’re BBC Four.

The script is in many ways superb and literally gothic in that a sun from Aubrey’s past literally comes back to haunt him. Yet, in the wake of A Very English Scandal, there are many poignant reminders of the real dangers of being gay in the 1970s, something which works well. I also admire the light breakage of the fourth wall as Aubrey eloquently deconstructs the modern ghost story; it can’t be too modern, requires a certain distance, more or less within living memory, and a certain old-fashioned reticence in holding back the nature of the horror. You can, he claims, base a horror tale on a horror from as recently as the ‘70s!

And yet, good though this is as a little piece of drama, it doesn’t quite work. I’m not sure the script is to blame, or indeed Gatiss’ direction; I suspect it’s the case that limited resources are the culprit here, and the play just isn’t scary. And that’s a shame.

Doctor Who: Twice Upon a Time

“You’re the first Dalek that ever got naked for me!”

It’s a brave move to start the Christmas special, where a greater number of viewers than usual are watching, many of them digesting large late lunches and just a little bit on the merry side, with “Previously on Doctor Who...” and a load of monochrome clips from 1966. But Moffat, in perhaps the last script he will ever contribute to the programme, dares to do it. Right after bringing back the Cybermen from The Tenth Planet he shows us bits of the story. Then William Hartnell morphs into an outstanding David Bradkey and, for the next hour, everything is brilliant.

There’s a lot more going on than a multi-Doctor story, of course, but it’s a joy to see one from the man who penned Time Crash. The repartee between the two Doctors is magnificent, and the running joke of the new Doctor’s admonishment of the old Doctor’s casual sexism is both nice social commentary and a nifty bit of foreshadowing. Yes, I raised an eyebrow at how the old Doctor- refusing, like the new Doctor, to renew himself- had a flicker of modern day orange regeneration energy, but some things are inevitable. But there are things to squee about- the old TARDIS, inside and out, “the Ship”. And, after all these years of Doctors with a number as a prefix, it’s great to see the Doctor again.

It’s an indulgence, perhaps, for Moffat’s old mate Mark Gatiss to be cast in his swansong, but appropriate; he excels as a man snatched from the point of death and knowing he must return. And it’s inevitable, appropriate and cleverly done that Bill should return. And the seeming enemy is linked to the Weapon Forgers of Villengard- a lovely little reference to The Doctor Dances and Moffat’s first ever story for Doctor Who. Then again, I’m tempted to see the plot resolution- there’s no real baddie, just a rather nice scheme to duplicate the Matrix on Gallifrey and ensure the memory of everyone who has ever lived is uploaded just before the point of death- as being a call back to the sort of plot Moffat used to write in the early days.

It’s nice to see the Doctors discuss their mutual fears of their impending regenerations, and it’s great to see the truly wonderful chat between Bill and the old Doctor; never mind what he was running from when he stole the TARDIS; where was he running to? The answer is that he wanted to find out why it was that good prevails, and he doesn’t understand that the reason is him, the wandering God, the perfect encapsulation of the outgoing showrunner’s philosophy.

We also get the return of an old friend from Into the Dalek, references to RTD’s old stomping ground of New Earth as a nice little tribute to Moffat’s predecessor, and of course a great big tribute to the Hartnell years to make clear that Moffat is in no doubt as to what he is; a custodian, standing on the shoulders of others, making his own huge contribution, and handing the show on to others. He’s undoubtedly a name to be spoken of on a par with Robert Holmes. If we never see him on the programme again, we shall miss him. And let us not forget the sheer personal sacrifice of dedicating seven very busy years to Doctor Who. Steven Moffat, we salute you.

There’s a nice further twist, of course- the Captain is one Archibald Hamish Lethbridge-Stewart. But then it’s on to the regeneration- with touching goodbyes from the uploaded memories of Bill, er, Nardole, and Clara, who manages to restore the Doctor’s memories. It’s a nice little update of the farewells from a Doctor’s companions prior to regeneration that was so fashionable in the ‘80s.

But the Doctor must die alone. And, ancient though he is, and weary of mourning so many friends and loved ones, he convinces himself that the universe sort of needs him and, after a brief farewell speech that owes a fair bit to Terrance Dicks he finally regenerates. The regeneration itself is awesome, but so is Peter Capaldi. Magnificent, and one of the great Doctors. And then... Jodie Whittaker gets to utter just two words and her first thirty-odd seconds are very, very Matt Smith.

Magnificent. Truly magnificent. Although I have no idea what the slightly sozzled not-we made of that...

Gunpowder: Episode 3

"I mean to die!"

So here we are at the finale, a somewhat tricky episode dramatically as we all know how it ends.The answer to this conundrum is, of course, to make it all about character. So again we get the contrast between Catesby and Cecil, although this time with very contrasting fates. Once again Liv Tyler's Lady Vaux acts as the conscience, perhaps even the chorus, but her role seems disappointingly passive throughout, and she's the nearest we get to a significant female character. But I suppose the nature of things in 1605 makes that difficult.

Much of the episode plays out the asymmetrically contrasting plottings of the doomed Catesby and the puppetmaster Cecil, leading to Catesby's inevitable doom and Cecil's inevitable elevation, and it's gripping enough to entertain despite the fact that we all know full well that Fawkes will be caught red-handed.

More interesting is the inevitable martyrdom of Father Garnett, whose tortuous death has been inevitable ever since he declared himself a coward last episode. Fawkes, though, comes across (deliberately, I'm sure) as an extremely weird individual, and even during his horrible torture it's less easy to feel sympathy. There's a lot of torture in this episode. There's a lot of torture throughout.

It's a decent little series, though; historical drama by numbers but sumptuously done as the BBC always do. It's just that, well, it doesn't really do anything new.