They Came from Beyond Space (1967)

 "I will not have sentiment interfering with our vital work!”

I knew, before watching, only that Amicus made this film at the same time as Daleks: Invasion Earth: 2150 AD, and reused some sets, costumes or whatnot.

Having seen it last night, though, I strongly suspect another Doctor Who connection. Yes, this is basically a cheeky rip-off of Quatermass II, both in terms of the plot and in terms of having an American star amongst an otherwise all-British cast. If you’ll forgive a brief Doctor Who fanboy diversion, though, I strongly suspect Robert Holmes saw this film, at the pictures, a couple of years before writing Spearhead from Space. I suspect said story’s debt to Nigel Kneale comes at least partly via this film, which not only has the plot based on alien meteorites leading to mysterious alien doings, but has as its hero an endearingly rude scientist with a vintage car. Yes, quite.

Rip-off it is, but the film is rather good. The cast may be fairly low-wattage, but they do a good job. The visuals are nicely trippy in a 1967 way, making this rather old-fashioned sort of film look relatively contemporary. It does, admittedly, run out of both ideas and budget once the story leaves Earth, but the rather sudden conclusion is brilliantly hilarious in a way which must surely have been intended. Let us just say that the cameo by Michael Gough is… unique.

This film is utterly bonkers. I can’t call it a classic, but I can say it’s thoroughly enjoyable.

Satan's Slave (1976)

 "Don't forget- tomorrow is your special day!"

This film has such a lurid title, and an equally lurd opening scene and sequence. There's a fair bit of female nudity in it. Indeed, there's even a flashback to the witch hunting days of the 17th Century as a naked woman is branded, whipped and then immolated. Er, lovely.

Shame the film is so slow, dull and talky, then. Even with a scene of Mochael Craze being nebulously enchanted in a lift, causing him to die by suicide. Even with Michael Gough starring- he's phoning it in here, but he's incpable of not dazzling the audience with his charisma.

Candace Glendenning and Martin Potter are ok, but they can't phone it in as well as Michael Gough can. And, let's face it, they are playing cousins who have incestuous sex with each other. That's disgusting, and one wonders what they thoiught they were playing at.

The film drags terribly, consisting of mediocre actors and Michael Gough chatting nonchalantly in a country house while the direction fails to establish any kind of horror atmosphere. Even the twist at the end, with a little light gaslighting of Catherine and James Bree delivering a much less mannered performance than usual, underwhelms. The whole film reeks with the air of "that'll do". If you want a good horror film about Devil worshipping cultists, watch The Devil Rides Out. If you watch this, the only possible reason could be because of an actotr within it (for me, Michael Craze, seen sleeping in the most awful bedding in history) and no other reason. This film is pants.

Inspector Morse: The Silent World of Nicholas Quinn

 "There's always a fifty-fifty chance that the man who found the body did the deed..."

This second episode is better than the first: a complex yet logical series of events that furnishes us with the clues quite fairly, with well-rounded characters portrayed by an extraordinary cast of some of this country's finest character actors. Even better, there are a couple of fiendishly clever twists at the end- and the traditional Morse conceit of having our Wagnerian detective make a couple of wrong turns only makes the whole thing more effective.

It's been decades, plural, since I last read the novel, but this seemed like a fairly straight adaptation to me, although with a few extra visual clues slotted in at the start, as would sometimes happen in Granada's Sherlock Holmes. No doubt it's an '80s thing for the ITV franchises which were, of course, still largely in their pre-1991 heyday.

It's also notable how much of Morse's character is by now shaping up- the crosswords are prominent here- and, of course, relevant- as is the Wagner. Morse's attitude to real ale is, of course, eminently civilised. It's good too, and surprising, to see pathologist Max fleshed out a bit. Peter Woodthorpe maks him quite the memorable character.

There's more Oxford architectural porn here, of course, no doubt for the last time. But there's some interestingly dated attitudes here, in a 1987 adaptation of a 1977 novel. Personally, I've never seen Last Tango in Paris, but certainly not out of any prudery; I haven't got around to it, plus I understand the actual making of the film was a bit #MeToo. It's a proper film by a reputable director and I would not, personally, think of it as porn, just a serious film with sex in it.

On the other hand, I hate butter...

The Man in the White Suit (1951)

“Tea break! We had to fight for it!"

This is, obviously, an extraordinary film on all sorts of levels; I'm hardly going to do other than praise this, one of the finest Ealing comedies. But its greatness lies not in its humour- after all, this is wry, ironic humour, not exactly a laugh a minute. No; this is a film which nicely skewers much of what's been wrong with this country since well before the War.

The concept is a brilliant one- Sdney, played with the usual brilliance by Alec Guinness, invents an indestructible and dirt repelling fibre which will free mankind from drudgery (according to Daphne, played with charm and splendidly cut glass vowels by Joan Greenwood), as well as destroy much of the industry and ruin both workers and management. What's particularly clever, of course, is that both viewpoints are correct: just not necessarily in that order. This is progress and, as ever, the omelette will come. It's just that the breaking of eggs will not be pleasant for many. It was this way with the Industrial Revolution, and with various smaller waves of progress ever since. These are big themes for an Ealing comedy, but handled with wit and verve in a brilliantly structured film.

Michael Gough has a nice little role, too, and Ernest Thesiger steals the show with his doddery campness as the wise Sir John. There are lots of nice little details, not least the wonderful tubes and bubbling of a very proper chemisty experiment. And, although I wouldn't know, the film seems to capture very well the reality of being an industrial chemist. Yet it also shows us a vanished world- one of strong trade unions and harmonious industrial relations, and of thriving Lancashire textile mills.

Yet it also scolds us as a nation, reminding us that our businesses are far too short termist, too focused on this year's dividends instead of the long term, and that this blinds us to shocks from foreign competition- and prevents us from reacting as we should to things like climate change. I think that, as much as musings over the immediate human price of progress, is the message of this film.

Horror Hospital (1973)

"There's no need to get so uptight about this. I'm not going to rape you."

I was expecting this to be a cheesy British horror film typical of the horror films of its era. I was wrong. It's a serious, genuinely creepy and extremely well directed work of body horror and with a heavy subtext of a generational clash between the young baby boomer generation and its jealous elders who want to get all that free love by any means necessary.

Michael Gough absolutely shines as the villainous lead, pretty much the equal of a Lee or a Cushing. It's good to see Skip Martin, although it's sad how his dwarf character is fatally bullied even by the "heroes".

I'm not saying this is up there with the best horrors, of course, but it's effectively shot, from the opening set piece of the fleeing, bloodied couple being decapitated by the blade in the car to the operation on Judy, shot from above. And the visceral horror of Dr Storm lobotomising his young victims (sex slaves?) is effectively disturbing. Incongruously there's a glam rock band at the start which is actually not bad, and even more incongruously there's Dennis Price as a camp blackmailer who meets the inevitable gruesome death that being gay in a film tended to lead to back in the early '70s.

Watching it now, in our very homebody 2020, it's also an unexpectedly charming period piece for the days of train carriage compartments, bands being called "groups" and gratuitous sex. The main character Jason may be a bit of a lecherous arse, but this film is much better than you'd expect, and well worth seeing.

Batman & Robin (1997)

"This is why Superman works alone!”

Oh dear. What an absolutely terrible film. Incoherent, full of meaningless bangs and explosions, and with ridiculous overacting from Schwarzenegger and Thurman in particular, and a bafflingly miscast George Clooney who plays Batman as a generic superhero of the sort you simply can’t imagine beating up criminals for information like he used to when he was Michael Keaton.

Indeed, Clooney seems to be channelling Adam West as a goody-goody Batman but with absolutely none of the camp humour that was the whole point. And, after largely ditching Tim Burton’s moody darkness reflective of the ‘80s comics, this film drops it entirely. We may have the same Alfred and the same Jim Gordon, but this is otherwise unrecognisable from those distant-seeming Tim Burton days.

The whole thing is just cartoonish and silly. Arnie hams it up as Mr Freeze (always a rubbish villain) from the start, and those constant terrible puns completely erase any possible pathos that could potentially be supplied by his motivation to cure his wife. But even worse is the appallingly silly performance from Thurman, an otherwise talented actress, who completely sends up the character of Poison Ivy, although of course the script does that anyway. Bane is wasted as a generic henchman and Jason Woodrow just gets to be a generic mad scientist to twirl his moustache for a bit and get killed. The whole movie is a tick box exercise of featuring various characters for the sake of it and just wasting them.

Perhaps the worst case of this is Barbara Gordon, although for some reason here she’s Alfred’s niece instead of Jim’s daughter- she unexpectedly turns up from England without telling anyone, for some reason wearing her school uniform, and claims to be English although Alicia Silverstone isn’t bothering with the accent. And then plot convenience let’s her discover the Batcave and a costume that Alfred made for her on the off-chance(!), and she duffs up Poison Ivy in spite of having no apparent combat experience or athletic prowess. This is all just very silly.

And I haven’t even mentioned THOSE nipples, and the scenes with Batman and Robin bidding in the millions for Poison Ivy. Can we just end the franchise now? Oh.

Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (1965)

“An unfortunate misnomer for I am the mildest of men...”

This is the first of the Amicus portmanteau horror films from Freddie Francis and Milton Subotsky, and the pieces are already in place- a number of vignettes of varying quality, An overarching framework that looks gradually more sinister as the film progresses, a troupe of British character a tor’s including some quirky choices, and of course the ever-splendid Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee.

The overarching framework is that Dr “Schrek” (Nosferatu reference alert) uses Tarot cards to predict the bleak future of each of the very male occupants of a railway compartments. Yes, compartments and, indeed, a steam train; 1965 feels so very long ago sometimes. It’s an odd structure plot-wise, as each character is told their ghastly tale of what awaits them only for none of that to happen and all of them to die in a train crash, but it’s a suitably atmospheric framework and Cushing is superb.

The first vignette, a Gothic take of a werewolf in the Hebrides, is probably the weakest. But the second, where a vine takes over the world(!) features a rare acting role by none other than future Radio 1 DJ Alan Freeman. Not ‘alf, pop pickers. And we get the interesting sight of him interacting with Bernard “M” Lee as a vine threatens to kill them all.

The third tale, with Roy Castle as a jazz trumpeter, is much stronger, as musician Biff steals the time of a Voodoo god that he finds in the Caribbean, with ominous consequences. But the absolute highlight is Lee’s snobbish and conceited art critic who gets his revenge from being humiliated by an artist he dislikes by running him over so his right hand is lost, only to be pursued by the disembodied stop motion hand until, poetically, he loses his hand in a car crash. I suspect an influence on Evil Dead 2 here, but Lee’s very real performance hopes the main thing work. The silly last vignette, with a young Donald Sutherland and  a very Bram Stoker take on vampires and an interesting effect of a bar, can’t follow this but nicely rounds things off.

The vignettes are variable but the Roy Castle and Christopher Lee segments are particularly superb, and the whole thing is atmospheric, fun and entertaining in equal measure in spite of the plot holes and the variable quality of the vignettes. Worth a look.

Batman Forever (1995)

“It's the car, right? Chicks love it."

 Incredibly, I've never seen this until now, after 23 years.After the two gritty Tim Burton films, which I'd seen at the cinema and enjoyed, I wasn't impressed by the prospect of a film that dialled down the atmosphere and just tried to tell an exciting story.

So did I enjoy it? Well, yes, it's a fairly good Hollywood blockbuster action film, and it's even pretty good with the Batman mythos- we get a pretty good Robin origin with the Flying Graysons and the character is made not to look silly, which is no small achievement, even if the fact that the Flying Graysons all wear costumes while performing that Dick's eventual Robin costume will pretty much mirror means that it's pretty obvious who Robin really is, so Bruce's secret is shot too. But then, in this film at least, it pretty much is anyway.

I also like both Tommy Lee Jones' performance as Two-Face and the fact they only did his origin in flashback. But the Riddler, well, Jim Carrey is really annoying and the riddles are a bit perfunctory, the character seemingly being really about those silly brainwave machine thingies; this doesn't really feel like the Riddler.

Also, Joel Schumacher's directorial style is so very generic Hollywood compared to Tim Burton's unique and very fitting style, and even Gotham itself suddenly looks just like an ersatz New York, complete with Statue of Liberty, rather than the Gothic, Expressionist nightmare we've become used to. This is connected to the first two films only by Pat Hingle, Michael Gough, and the design of all of Batman's stuff. And Brude actually gets a girlfriend and still has her when the film ends- what's going on?

Plus Val Kilmer is, if not awful, not great either, and not a patch on Michael Keaton. This just isn't the same introverted, brooding character. But then this isn't really part of the same series of films in any meaningful sense. It's pure Hollywood spectacle, done well but with no real depth or meaning.

Batman Returns (1992)

"I'm tired of wearing masks."

I haven't seen this since 1992, at the old Cannon cinema in Hinckley. I don't much remember what I thought of it then, but I like it a lot now. It doesn't quite beat its predecessor for me (sorry, Nick!)- it doesn't quite have the depth, visual elegance or Batman screentime- but Tim Burton leaves the franchise with two superb films under his utility belt.

Batman’s lack of screen time here is a surprise- Batman and Bruce Wayne are little more than a plot function here, with Michael Keaton not given much interesting stuff to do, especially as compared with the first film. But then we must remember that this isn’t primarily a franchise film but a Tim Burton film; the film is about the Penguin and Catwoman.

Interestingly, though, neither of the two traditional villains are wholly evil; that accolade goes to the splendidly named Max Shrek, a corrupt and morally depraved businessman whose Nosferatu-inspired name fits well with the film’s aesthetic for Gotham. He’s the catalyst for Catwoman. Selina Kyle, a downtrodden and humiliated secretary, single, alone and browbeaten by all and sundry, finds out stuff she shouldn’t and is thrown out of a high window, losing the first of her nine lives, and something snaps. At first it looks as though there’s a bit of a feminist message here, especially as Catwoman’s first outing is to rescue a woman from a man in a dark alley, but this doesn’t go anywhere. Still, Michelle Pfeiffer is pretty good and the kinky latex costume and whip looks cool- although it sort of takes over from the whole cat thing. Still, an impressive treatment of the character.

The treatment of Danny DeVito’s Penguin is much more radical; this Oswald Cobblepot grew up in the sewers, abandoned, and the only cigarette holder to be seen is that of his father, glimpsed early on. The umbrellas and monocle are present and correct, but this is a much more feral Penguin, no angel but genuinely vulnerable, and bordering even on likeable if he were not so lecherous.

These characters are fascinating, and what the film  is about, much more so than Batman or even Gotham. This is notably much more of a Tim Burton film and less of a Batman film than its predecessor, and the respective values you place on those two categories will probably decide which of the two you prefer. Personally, I may like this one less but it is nonetheless superb.

Batman (1989)

"Where does he get those wonderful toys?”

In one sense, and one sense only, this film parallels 1978’s Superman; both of DC’s flagship heroes, in spite of a long and varied Hollywood past, celebrated their fiftieth anniversaries with a whopping big, and rather successful, Hollywood blockbuster. But there the similarities end, because this is a Tim Burton film. And Tim Burton is far more interesting than Hollywood blockbusters.

It’s worth stepping back, though; 1989 was a long time ago, and I was only 12 when I saw this at my local Cannon cinema. But the popular perception of Batman was at best ambiguous, and largely coloured by the magnificent but very singular Adam West TV series, at that time being constantly repeated on UK television. And, after all, the dark, ‘80s version of Batman had only existed for a small percentage of the character’s fifty year history. After an admittedly dark, but very pulp introduction in 1939, it didn’t take long for Batman to morph into decades of Dick Sprang square-jawed straight heroism, which remained in place until the late 1960s. And even the 1970s “Darknight Detective” was very different from the darker 1980s tales of Frank Miller and Alan Grant. This film was, more or less, the introduction of this darker Batman to a wider public.

Tim Burton is, therefore, an inspired choice. This isn’t the Tim Burton we thing of today, of course; all whimsy CGI, a certain style, Helena Bonham Carter and a pre-meltdown Johnny Depp. No; it’s only 1989, and he’s not even done Edward Scissorhands yet. Nevertheless, Burton has a thing for design, and for Gotham it matters. Anton Furst’s cityscape is in some ways the real star of the film, a dark Art Deco. Even the retro fashions- men wear hats with their suits, evoking old gangster films- enhance the atmosphere. Michael Keaton is a deliberate statement as casting choice. And Kack Nicholson is magnificent in exactly the way you’d expect. Kim Basinger is good enough to obscure the fact that the character of Vicki Vale is only there as a token piece of prominent oestrogen in what would otherwise be a sausage fest, and Michael Gough is a fine, grandfatherly Alfred.

Perhaps the fight choreography is a little lacking, but in a film that looks this good and is so well-conceived that’s a minor touch; I can forgive Burton for not being an action film director. And it’s interesting that this Batman relies far more on gadgets than any great physical athleticism. Far more even than usual it makes you wonder why everyone doesn’t know that Bruce Wayne is Batman; after all, he’s the only person in Gotham who can afford all that stuff.

That aside, though, this film is easily as good as I remember it and, in the way it really-presented the character, arguably the most important Batman feature film.

The Skull (1965)

"All I can say to you is to keep away from the skull of the Marquis de Sade!"

I haven't reviewed a film featuring the great Sir Christopher Lee since his sad and fairly recent death, which is remiss of me. So I decided, on a whim, that this rather interesting-looking Amicus film, directed by the ever-reliable Freddie Francis, might do the trick. Perhaps it isn't Lee's biggest role- he's very much the guest star to an extraordinary starring performance from Peter Cushing here- but he is, nevertheless, superb. The auction scene alone (a cameo from Michael Gough!) shows that.

The film is excellently shot and made and, while the effects at the end are a little dated, that's all part of the film's charm. The film isn't perfect- the only two female characters exist only to be imperilled, and the Bechdel test is well and truly flunked, as you'd expect, and perhaps the pacing could be improved- but it's carried by Cushing's extraordinary performance: the moment towards the end where, with facial acting alone, he shows himself being possessed by the skull- is extraordinary.

Yes, there are cliches aplenty- we even have a police inspector dressed exactly like Clouseau in his coat and hat- but this Poe-like tale, in which Cushing's Chris Maitland, a rich collector of macabre items who doesn't enquire too closely into the ethics of their acquiral, is slowly unhinged and turned to murder by the cursed skull of the Marquis de Sade, is suitably griping. We get a satisfyingly lurid account of Sade's life, and some rather nice use of flashback to show us the skull's deadly history. It's only the slight slowness of the admittedly well-directed climax that lets the side down slightly.

This may be a slightly obscure film, but it's worth catching on Netflix if you can and, at 82 minutes, doesn't outstay it's welcome. 

Dracula (1958)

“Sleep well, Mr Harker…”

We get a statement of intent very early on, with some blood spattering on to a coffin- these early Hammer horror films certainly like their bright Technicolor red blood!

We're in some vague part of Horror Film Mittel-Europa in 1885. As with Curse of Frankenstein, this is a stylised and intentionally vague setting.  Jonathan Harker is heading to Castle Dracula and, in a slight nod to the epistolatory nature of the novel, this part of the plot is narrated through his diary. The inside of the castle is at the same time luxurious and bleak, with the large rooms marked by harsh straight lines and a total absence of carpets or any hint of softness.

After a brief and disturbing encounter with a woman whom Dracula is apparently taken prisoner, Harker finally meets Christopher Lee’s Count who, although sinister, appears polite enough, to the point of complimenting a picture of Harker’s fiancée, Lucy Holmwood. It seems Harker, a scholar, is to work as his librarian, but it soon becomes apparent that Dracula is only available during the hours of darkness, and that Harker’s door is locked during the night.

But Harker, we learn, has ulterior motives, and is here to kill the notorious Count, who from this point on ceases to be a character and just becomes a monster, never speaking another line for the rest of the film. But poor Harker is doomed; he agrees to help the temptress he met earlier, and gets bitten in the course of a vamp-fight between her and the, er, vampire. Both she and Drac look great, and there’s lots and lots of blood.

Harker, himself doomed to become undead, manages to make it to the crypt before sundown, but chooses to stake the woman before the Count himself. WHY?

The inevitable happens, and we cut to Peter Cushing in one of those Hammer inns where all the locals stop talking as soon as a stranger enters. Still, armed with Harker’s diary, he’s soon delivering the news of Harker’s death to Arthur Holmwood (played by Michael Gough, later to play the Celestial Toymaker in Doctor Who and Alfred in Tim Burton’s Batman), brother of Harker’s fiancée, and his wife Mina, future star of Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill’s splendid The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. He receives a frosty reception, however, and Lucy can’t be told the news as she’s very ill with anaemia.

We soon see the reasons for this, however; Lucy is delivering her windows open at night and removing her crucifix, allowing Dracula to come in and bite her, night after Night. The erotic charge is so electric here that I’d be tempted to say “get a room, you two” except… they have. For the first time in the film we have the obvious use of vampirism as a metaphor for sex, and as we’ll see this tells us quite a lot about the sexual mores of late Victorian times as opposed to the late 1950s. On the surface this is an unhealthily puritanical message about sex but I don’t think the film is quite playing this straight. Like Curse of Frankenstein there’s something camply humorous about this film, even if it’s played very, very deadpan.

It’s a bit jolting to see Van Helsing listening to audio recordings of himself, even if it is from an ancient-looking gramophone and even though his butler seems to be amazed. There are plenty of audio recordings from the 1880s on Youtube (look for Gladstone and a very drunk Robert Browning!) but none of them have anything approaching this sound quality.

Van Helsing uses this rather obvious expository device to inform us that vampire bites are addictive and that this eventually results in death through loss of blood. Consulted by Mina, he soon discovers that this is what is happening to Lucy. He orders the windows to be closed and Lucy’s bed to be surrounded by garlic, but this is not adhered to and the girl dies.

Van Helsing now has no choice but to let Arthur into his confidence, especially as the undead Lucy is now walking the grounds of the house, threatening their daughter Tania. Arthur catches the undead Lucy the following night, and is only saved from being bitten by Van Helsing. These scenes are atmospheric, effective, and really bring home how this film is set in a dreamlike, stylised world of cemeteries, castles, inns, sleepy border guards and nothing else, which feels culturally German, Slavic and Romanian all at once, and vaguely evokes the cultural mix of Habsburg Austria, yet is full of characters with English names.

Lucy is stakes, and Van Helsing and Arthur have a bit of a chat in some comfy chairs with some brandy, as gents in Hammer films are wont to do. It seems that vampires cannot in fact turn into bats; evidently the budget won’t stretch that far. But, just as our heroes are beginning to get a grip, Mina is lured to Dracula’s base of operations, and from that point onwards is under his spell. Again, there’s a sexual subtext here, and in this case it’s a rather emasculating one for poor old Arthur; apparently he’s not satisfying her. Actually, given the blatant eroticism of what can only be described as the sex scene between Dracula and Mina, I’m not sure the word “subtext” is entirely appropriate…

Arthur’s implied emasculation is even more tragic as he’s clearly a decent and loving husband, as we see him selflessly donating an alarming amount of blood to save his wife, who presumably shares the same blood group. Understandably, he’s a little sapped after this, but Van Helsing has some sound medical advice: “Now, you need plenty of fluid. Tea, coffee or, better still, wine.” Yes, that’s right, Van H. Wine isn’t in any way dehydrating, is it?

We finish with a chase, incorporating a bit of comic relief at the border, and Dracula’s final gruesome death by sunlight. An excellent film, this- atmospheric, just erotic enough, just gory enough and very well-acted indeed.

Blake's 7: Volcano

“If that’s winning, I’ll take losing every time.”

An Allan Prior script, this time. It’s something of a by-the-numbers, mildly disappointing episode, but it’s fascinating to see how Tarrant and Dayna continue to develop and relate with their new comrades. It’s such a shame that Servalan seems to have permanently changed from Machiavellian schemer to stereotypical scenery-chewing baddie.

Stock footage of a volcano to start with, as Dayna and Tarrant teleport down to the planet Obsidian to find some friends of Dayna’s father. Meanwhile, also on this planet are Michael Gough and a robot that, firstly, looks ridiculous and Lost in Space-y and, secondly, looks like a man in a suit. Not good.

Meanwhile, on the Liberator, Avon and Vila are theorising about the planet, its volcano, and how come it has managed to avoid being colonised or dragged into the Galactic War. Is it me, though, or has Vila lost a few IQ points this series? He seems at times to be as stupid as Avon keeps saying he is.

Oh, and there are rumours of Blake being on this planet, apparently. He’s only been away a couple of episodes and now he’s some kind of mysterious, legendary figure.

Dayna and Tarrant are an interesting pair. Dayna entirely trusts her new comrades (especially Avon!), but Tarrant is still finding it hard to trust anyone completely. He seems to be a loner at heart. It’s not long before they’re captured, but their captors don’t seem all that hostile. The chap played by Michael Gough is called Hower, and his rather bland son is Bershar. Fortunately, the old man knew Dayna’s father. They’re friendly pacifists, socially engineered to be that way because of electric shocks and constant propaganda. This bit troubles me. Isn’t this all a bit totalitarian? The script doesn’t seem to have much to say on the debate between peace and free will. That’s particularly disappointing for a programme based on the theme of freedom vs. tyranny.

Servalan is nearby and, although Travis is dead, there are still Mutoids. She seems to know exactly where to find the Liberator. I wonder why that is? At last, a bit of a mystery. It’s not as though Hower and his lot are the only suspects! It’s interesting to see how the politics are changing, too. Now that Servalan is President, and therefore less interesting with no greasy pole to climb, her new underling, Mori, is the new Servalan, a potential Supreme Commander, with the Liberator as potential prize. This gives a real sense of things being in flux, but at the same time the series is feeling a little unsettled and uncertain.

Avon gets a good episode, though. Being leader has given him a sense of responsibility he never had before, but he’s entirely the same person. His closet heroism may be more obvious now without Blake to hide behind, but he still tries to hide behind cynical comments. Still, he’s the one who’s teleporting all over the place, finding out what’s going on, and co-ordinating everything. He’s a more efficient leader than Blake ever was, and underneath it all he’s far more concerned for his crew.

Tarrant and Dayna are, inevitably, betrayed by Michael Gough’s son, who is not quite the pacifist his father is. Meanwhile, Servalan has a fleet of eight ships in orbit.

Things start to get very pear-shaped indeed, with the Liberator surrounded, and boarded by four soldiers. They’re driven away, but not without taking Cally and Orac with them. At least, as it turns out, Dayna and Tarrant were never really in much danger; they’re soon freed by Michael Gough, who soon calmly kills his own son(!) in a not-entirely-pacifistic manner. Even less pacifist is the massive nuclear bomb we’re now told lurks under the volcano, waiting to be operated by means of a Big Red Button. That’s how the planet has avoided unwelcome attention; no one’s called their bluff. Except they’re not bluffing. As soon as our heroes are all back on board, the planet goes boom. This story might not have much to say on the blatantly tyrannical nature of their society, but I’m guessing that Allan Prior was no great fan of nuclear weapons.

It doesn’t lead anywhere, incidentally, but Servalan muses at one point that, without Blake, the crew of the Liberator are “merely criminals” and “they’ll keep!”

Doctor Who: Arc of Infinity

Part One

“I’m simply following orders.”

A season begins, and it’s the twentieth! It’s quite a landmark, and frankly quite mind-boggling to think I’ve actually got this far. From this point on the rest of the marathon looks like it’s going to be a doddle. Anyway, what exciting new adventures have we to look forward to now?

Er, some technician type people doing some dull repairs and stuff. A planet once full of either wonder or skulduggery now feels very mundane and domestic. Meanwhile, in the TARDIS, the Doctor has repaired the sound on the scanner. Wow.

To Amsterdam, where a couple of backpackers are about to sleep in a crypt. I think I’ll go out on a limb here and assume I’m not going to be the first person in this thread to mention An American Werewolf in London.


Wow, the Doctor and Nyssa are discussing the fact that the TARDIS used to be in a state of “temporal grace”, referring right back to The Hand of Fear! I never noticed the reference before. But even though my initial thought was “cool”, I immediately started wondering whether it was healthy for a show, in 1983, to be referencing a fairly throwaway line from 1976. This is a turning point, I feel; we’ve had plenty of continuity references before but this feels worryingly gratuitous, as though the show is gradually starting to aim itself at the fanbase and not the general public.
 
“Impulse laser?” No, you muppet, it’s an armadillo. This is one of those scenes which occasionally appear in episode one and make you fear for the rest of the story. As does the appearance of the High Council, with its obligatory regenerated Borusa. Somehow all the familiar trappings of Gallifrey are being used in a purely perfunctory way, which rather strips them of any impact they once had. And the Time Lords’ hostility towards the Doctor is just aggravating; you know full well they won’t actually kill him because this strange extra-dimensional figure needs to bond with him and this mysterious traitor is clearly working for him. And the whole thing achieves nothing but to allow Johnny Byrne to put this bit of the plot on pause for a bit. So far this is every bit as bad as his previous Keeper of Traken.

Fortunately we get Michael Gough, albeit pointlessly wasted in the role of Hedin, and the magnificent Colin “Archie” Baker as Maxil. So far he’s been the best thing in it.


Part Two

“I have my orders.”

“You don’t have to relish them so much.”

Crikey, the number of bedrooms we’re seeing in the TARDIS these days is ridiculous. This time it’s the Doctor’s room we see. Come to think of it, it’s episode two and we’re still seeing a lot of the TARDIS interior, something that seems to be happening a lot these days.

To Schipol Airport, and who should arrive off the latest flight but Tegan. She’s back! And wearing actual clothes! This raises the possibility that we may see her actually wearing different outfits in different stories. Can it be?
 
The Doctor gets a mild ticking off for failing to return Romana, but receives an otherwise disconcertingly friendly welcome from the High Council following his initial rough treatment. They all agree he hasn’t done anything wrong. And then promptly sentence him to death. Even though they’ve abolished capital punishment. It’s not the Doctor’s lucky day.

Tegan, meanwhile, has lost her job, but as soon as she realises her cousin has disappeared she throws herself into the investigation. That’s the Tegan I like to see. But, er, isn’t the fact that she of all people should turn up a bit of a massive coincidence? Other important characters are the Castellan, probably the most obvious red herring in the history of the world, and Hedin who, for equal and opposite reasons, must obviously be the baddie.

There’s more continuity as Damon informs the Doctor that Leela is “well and happy” as the Doctor regrets he missed the wedding. Again, this is nice, but it’s a reference to something which was screened five years ago, it’s not relevant to the plot, and it’s hardly subtly done. Should the programme be doing this sort of thing?
Nyssa, being brave and generally heroic in a way which demonstrates how recent stories have started to give her some bare outlines of an actual personality, tries to rescue the Doctor. He doesn’t seem very keen though, and is apparently executed…


Part Three

“So it’s you.”

No he isn’t, shock horror, he’s just floating about in some other reality being gloated at by our mysterious villain. Elsewhere, Maxil and the Castellan continue to twirl their metaphorical moustaches while Tegan gets on with actually advancing the plot, finally uncovering the villain’s layer.

We also get a scene in which Ome- er, the mysterious bad guy strokes his “chin”. This is quite the silliest thing to appear in Doctor Who for quite some time. Unfortunately this is about the most entertaining thing to happen this episode, most of which consists of Omega just trying to delay the plot. It’s all very dull.

Still, the villain’s identity is at last revealed, and I’m pleased to see we get a full and detailed explanation from Hedin of how he survived the events of The Three Doctors: “No, he exists, Doctor!” It’s almost as though he was the Master…


Part Four

“If I am denied life, then all must perish!”

This is the episode where everyone realises they’ve spent money to film in Amsterdam, so they’d better make sure it shows up on screen. This leads to plenty of outdoor chase scenes, and an amusing moment where the Doctor’s plans are scuppered by a lack of coins for a payphone- that wouldn’t happen nowadays!

We’re also treated to the most eye-poppingly absurd technobabble to justify the location: “Amsterdam is located on the curve of the Arc, below sea level to maintain pressure for atmospheric conversion.” Why on Earth did anyone think it needed to be explained at all?

The Doctor uses a gun again, this time threatening Omega with it, and the story basically ends because Omega didn’t bother thinking through his plan properly because he’s basically a rubbish villain. Er, right.

“So, you’re stuck with me, aren’t you?” says Tegan, inviting herself back on board the TARDIS. “So it seems” replies the Doctor. It really comes across as though he’s never liked her very much. I’m beginning to suspect he doesn’t. I’ve never known such a dysfunctional TARDIS crew before.


Overall, well, rubbish. I have no hesitation whatsoever in awarding this 1/5. This is the first time I’ve felt a story was pure fanwank, with no substance whatsoever. The plot is gruel thin, the villain’s actions make no sense, and worst of all the trappings of Gallifrey are rendered dull by being treated as obligatory references to be ticked off to please the hardcore fans instead of fun concepts to be played with. Suddenly all the sense of wonder is gone. This sets a dangerous precedent- is this how the icons of the series are going to be treated from now on?

Doctor Who: The Celestial Toymaker

The Celestial Toyroom

"It looks dead boring to me. Come on!"


Whenever I think of Steven and Dodo it's in the clothes they're wearing here. Dodo herself looks like the absolute personification of the 60s. It's a strange beginning, with the Doctor becoming both invisible and intangible. There's some nice continuity here, with references to the invisibility of the Refusians in the last story, and the Toymaker showing the TARDISeers some clips from recent stories.

The Toymaker himself, a god-like being straight from an episode of Star Trek, is unlike anything seen before in the series and, at first, quite intriguing. Certainly he's well-played throughout by Michael Gough. This is very surreal and weird.

Sadly, after the first five minutes the plot is suspended while we're forced to watch a kids' game show slightly less good than Pat Sharp's Fun House. Ironically, the concept of the Toymaker forcing our heroes to play the games is in theory quite good, but the execution is so dull. There's no creepiness, no atmosphere.

Incidentally, the Toymaker- a powerful creature with an arbitrary nature who seems to be omnipotent- is presumably an Eternal as has often been said. It seems he's bored with his life; watching this story I'm beginning to understand how he feels.

Strange to see Carmen Silvera in this!

The Hall of Dolls"You know, I feel very foolish talking to a playing card."


The cost of losing is eternity with the Toymaker. A truly terrible thought. as is the fact we're not going to be seeing much of Hartnell for most of this story- he's now invisible, intangible and silent.

For the first time, Dodo is beginning to irritate me really quite a lot- could this story be largely responsible for her bad reputation within fandom? She's very stupid here, seeming to enjoy herself with no impression of the danger she's in or the weirdness of her surroundings.

The Dancing Floor"Why don't you go back in your box?"


It occurs to me that this is a very cheap story, with a very limited cast and a small number of sets, with nothing required to look particularly impressive. And the story's still not engaging me- in fact these games and fake TARDISes are getting tiresomely repetitive. Not much else to say about the episode. As this is the last reconstructed episode though i really must heap praise on Loose Cannon for the excellent job they've done, especially with no telesnaps.


The Final Test"Now don't start red herrings, you charlatan!"


"I think I'm going to enjoy this game" says Dodo, lightly dismissing the mortal peril she's in. Aaargh! And as for the bit where she goes to help Cyril...

Fortunately, halfway through the episode the games end, Hartnell is back (yay!) and the plot resumes. In fact, the second half of the episode is actually watchable at times. I liked the bit where Steven tries to punch the Toymaker- unlike Dodo, he has a personality. And in offering to stay behind so the others can escape he shows himself to be truly heroic.

Interesting to see the Toymaker offering power to the Doctor if he acquiesces- as far as I can recall this is the first such scene ever.

Odd cliffhanger though- the Doctor's got a spot of toothache?



Well, that was awful. Only the first ten minutes and last ten minutes of the story were at all watchable, the middle bit consisting entirely of tiresome games. Even worse, the writing for Dodo's character is starting to suffer alarmingly from the character's total lack of background and definition, and that's bad scriptwriting. This is my least favourite story so far by a long, long way.