Now after further work he’s looking like this -

I’m pleased with this and look forward to all the images being finished to a similar degree, however this will require some time and patience, progress will be slow.

And so in this account of a drawing the time has come to speak of carpet. As I need the final composition not just to be a literal representation suggestive of choice events and characters of Spearhead but also to suggest it in terms of the colours and other significant motifs I’m drawn to a carpet.

On the floor of the room which houses the Nestene in its elevated tank is a distinctive pattern. I imagine this was set dressing to convey a sense of technology and futurism. It looks typical of the period and conveys a sense of modernity with its abstract printed circuit board design, and whenever this room is on screen my eyes divert to the pattern. It is to me one of the distinct visual elements of this story along with murderous shop window dummies, blue boiler suits and shiny faces.

After a brief attempt to research old office floor tiles/carpets was quickly shown to be going nowhere it was clear this was something I would have to draw if I wanted it as a usable element. Again, with the DVD as reference I took to the computer.

It took a while but gave me this to work with -

For comparison -

As Pertwee will be the most recognizable and prominent face I had to be convinced that I could draw him to my satisfaction before moving on to other elements, a concern which again brings me to worry about source material. Even when good photography exists to represent the filming of a particular episode often the poses will not reflect incident as seen in the story itself. So I took to the DVD, paused it when Pertwee threw the pose I needed and drew what I saw. Of course, he’s never quite posing as I’d like and so adjustments are needed. This was my first attempt -

This is clearly not right but it made good starting point. I corrected it to give me this -

At first I thought this attempt was what I was after but the more time I spent looking at it the more fault I found. One more pass -

Finally I was happy with image and could move on to the other characters.

The killer, when reviewing Doctor Who DVD releases, is the VAM.

How to address these additional features? Should you always have to account for the fact they’re put together on a tiny budget, and convey more verve and imagination than any other ‘extra’ material on any other range? Should you  approach them with a sense of gratitude? Have that mitigate any criticism? It’s a tough one (although the implicit answer, of course, is “no”).

From my point of view, most of the extras on the DW range are solid and, from any sensible standpoint, they deliver. And, while we’re lucky to have them, there has been some money involved – even if it’s a pittance. Plus they appear on product that we pay for, and that alone means I think they should be subjected to a fairly robust appraisal. But I do still marvel that they exist.

This is from DWM #455.

First screened in 1971, The Claws of Axos debuted on DVD back in 2005. Improvements in something called ‘colour recovery techniques’ mean the story has now been reissued again, in a newly enhanced version.

And, really, this four-parter makes the release of any other Third Doctor adventure redundant – because it kind of is every other Third Doctor adventure. As a totem for the era, it’s got the lot. Let’s work through the 12-step program to Pertwee…

• Something falling to Earth
• A comedy yokel
• A man from the ministry
• “Freak weather” conditions
• The Doctor disapproving of a missile strike
• A big power station
• A phallic-shaped alien
• Action by Havoc
• The Master in a short-lived alliance with this week’s monsters, before entering into a short-lived alliance with the Doctor
• The Doctor trying, and failing, to get his TARDIS operational
• The Doctor rubbing his neck and pondering on a thing before stroking his cheek and pondering on another thing
• The Doctor in a grump

So is this merely Doctor Who as a form-filling exercise? No, no. Although it’s clear script editor Terrance Dicks was very much a back seat driver when Bob Baker and Dave Martin were fashioning the story – and thus, we could reason, suggested some well-travelled routes they might want to take – The Claws of Axos is not without its own inventiveness. We’ll get to that in good time. But over-familiarity isn’t the sin here. Instead, it’s the final line on our list that very nearly sinks the whole thing. Such grumpiness!

I’m a big Pertwee fan. Although I grew up watching and loving the Tom Baker years, my viewing was accompanied by my older brother whispering in my ear – like a less-hirsute and not-dressed-in-satins High Priest Hepesh – that it had all been so much better with Jon. Little brothers listen to their big brothers, and so I’ve always had this fundamental belief there’s something a bit special about JP. However, upon watching this tale again, I fear I’m losing my religion…

Has there ever been a more misjudged performance from a Doctor? Every line Pertwee delivers is loaded with contempt. He barges into the story in Episode One, sending Peter Bathurst’s pepper pot-ish Mr Chinn flying, then he proceeds to metaphorically chew the face off everyone he encounters. Of course, it’s that aptly named civil servant who really has to take it on the proverbial. He’s set up as a bureaucratic bogeyman, overripe for a lambasting, however the Doctor’s savagery towards him just feels too much. Sure, Chinn has despicable politics (even dear Jo, in a line surely unloaded onto her by Pertwee, talks of the “contemptible, underhand deal” he’s trying to broker) but those scenes where he’s talking excitedly on the phone to the minister, who, at every turn gets in a deflating barb about the poor old duffer’s uselessness, just made me feel a bit sorry for him – and start to see the Doctor as rather a bully.

There are some small, Pertweeian moments of charm, of course. There always are. His fitful expression when his Venusian aikido fails to put down Bill Filer’s duplicate is lovely. Ditto, the point at which he confesses to the Master, with palpable embarrassment, “The Time Lords have put a block on my knowledge of dematerialisation theory.” Both examples fleetingly humanise the Doctor, but he’s all cranky again in a trice. By the fourth episode, things have reached a pretty pass – he’s even chiding the TARDIS. “Come on!” he screams like a big baby. “You must take the load! You must!”

The final sequence sees the traveller return to Earth, still in a sulk (“Well, this is a fine welcome, I must say!” – Oh shut up!) but now with a croaky throat. Unsurprising, considering he’s been barking non-stop for the last hour and a half. When the end credits roll, it feels like a relief. As if you’ve closed the door on a hectoring neighbour.

Thankfully, Roger Delgado’s Master is here to ameliorate the situation. His dialogue is similarly spiky, but unlike Pertwee, he delivers it with a smile in the voice. His reaction to the Doctor’s TARDIS is a joy: “What a botch-up!” he sniggers, before going on to compare it – in one of his many oddly parochial turns-of-phrase – to a “second-hand gas stove”. It’s telling that throughout Episode Three, in which the Doctor has very little to do, the Master is right at home working alongside UNIT and bantering with the Brig. With meltdown imminent, he teases the old soldier he’d best take the prescribed precautions against a nuclear blast – “like sticky-tape on the windows”.

That this is by no stretch of the imagination the villain’s best showing doesn’t really matter. There is some class in the way he arrives towards the end of Episode One, already fully enmeshed in the tale. Okay, there’s no dignity in being manhandled by muppet mandibles – which is precisely what’s happening to the dastard when we first see him. But I love the sense he’s already on Episode Three of his own separate adventure, in which he’s so far managed to track down the Axons and sweet-talk his way onto their ship, until, in a cliffhanger turn-of-events, they decide to take him prisoner. Even his subsequent confrontation, with the flaccid rod of gristle that passes for the story’s enemy boss, can’t take the shine off the intergalactic criminal.

Oh, and while we’re considering the Master, something that struck me in Episode Four when he and the Doctor are messing about in the TARDIS, is our hero’s pointed remark to him, “You’re the mechanic”. It hints at a more detailed backstory for the character than I think we were ever privy to during the Pertwee years…

Inventiveness. I mentioned that earlier and indeed The Claws of Axos has some neat concepts at play. That the Axons arrival as beautiful people, gently disseminating their poison, is a welcome refresh of the alien invasion storyline, and arguably influenced this year’s The Power of Three. Plus, sinewy eye-sack aside, the realisation of their various forms work well. The golden unitard-clad humanoids are simply effective, Bernard Holley’s impassive vocal tones making a neat counterpart to their garish appearance. And the Shredded Wheat monsters tear along nicely, their stinging tendrils being a particularly natty way of dispensing death.

Director Michael Ferguson’s staging of the story is equally impressive, particularly the multi-layered trippy visuals within the Axon ship, an oil projector playing over the action and emphasising yet again the fact that during this stage of its life, Doctor Who was stylistically most akin to Top of the Pops. Special mention should also be made of the terrific special effect in which we see Holley’s floating, ever rotating head as he communicates with the Doctor and Jo. Even now, it remains mind-blowing.

As Katy Manning relates in this release’s accompanying documentary (see below) it does seem as though characterisation suffers due to the emphasis on visuals. The guest cast – much like axonite itself – defy meaningful analysis. Visiting US agent Bill Filer, for example, is a bottom drawer, shaken and stirred version of Felix Leiter who, at one point is revealed to be carrying a gun simply because that’s what Americans do. And, obviously, the least said about Pigbin Josh, the better… “Oh arr?” Yes, “Oh arr.”

The Claws of Axos is a story that catches a reflection of itself in its own glitter. Like its golden visitors, it dazzles us. But a little investigation reveals something not-so-nice within. Something permanently in a tizzy, that’ll have your eye out if you’re not careful. Some kind of galactic yo-yo.

DVD extras

Unlike other reissued stories in the Doctor Who DVD range, this one isn’t over-endowed with new extras. However, the main motive for unleashing Axos again is that improved picture quality, which is particularly apparent in Episodes Two and Three – so that’s reason enough. However, the few fresh items included are of interest…

“They managed to grab my boobs so many times!” Thanks, Katy Manning. Making-of documentary, Axon Stations! is a confidently produced effort, as the bravado of that title might indicate. It opens with some suitably glam rock-inspired music and a terrific animation sequence, as a frond whiplashes out and draws the viewer into the maw of the Axon spaceship. For a glorious moment, we have become Pigbin Josh!

Within lie the expected line-up of surviving cast and crew (including, of course, Katy) who entertainingly tell the story of The Claws of Axos’ creation. Aside from Jo Grant being inadvertently groped by alien mandibles, the main narrative here is the secret origin of Dave Martin and Bob Baker – who they are and how they came to be.

Their proposed comedy about latter day TV chef Keith Floyd’s army exploits brought them to the attention of Doctor Who’s script editor Terrance Dicks, who saw enough in their writing partnership to commission an adventure and then mentor them through the process. The approach, which necessitated countless revisions and back and forths, reflects what sort of a show Doctor Who was in the early 1970s – a big success, sure, but a workaday success, like Z Cars or Coronation Street. Within that, there’s a sense of hardiness you won’t find in the modern day programme. Nowadays, any talent attached to the series has to be a star signing, but back then, Dicks – and this is to his credit – obviously didn’t feel overly precious about the series, and considered it a reasonable vehicle to occasionally run-in new talent. Looking back on that decision for this documentary, the wise old patron can take some reflected glory in the careers his Bristol Boys subsequently enjoyed. “The lads have done well,” he nods, thinking about Omega, K9, Wallace and Gromit.

In addition to the writing, we hear a lot from director Michael Ferguson, whose contributions evoke an era of unusual experimentation in mainstream television. He talks of a “creative latitude” and says Axos’ visual richness reflects the fact that, at the time “people had found alternative ways of encouraging their minds to escape reality.” It’s quite a trip for the Doctor and friends, but Katy Manning, at times, is less enthusiastic about the results. She describes the fibrous Axons as “something the dog had gobbed up”, and points out that the focus on technical inventiveness took a toll on the cast’s performance. Nonetheless, it’s probably an equitable pay-off. “It’s got a sensible silliness about it,” reckons Ferguson – a reasonable summation of most good Doctor Who.

Now, unlike Toby Hadoke, I don’t own any headgear. But if had a cap, it would have been firmly set against the other big addition here, Living With Levene.

The premise sees Toby spending a weekend with Benton actor John Levene under the pretext of gaining insight into the ‘real’ man. The knowing tone of voice, self-consciously kooky music, plus jaunty title font are all indicators Hadoke’s wandering into the kind of territory Louis Theroux once reconnoitred in his Weird Weekends TV series. And so we have all the nonsense of Toby ‘arriving’ at John’s house, while his narration conspiratorially cautions us: “These days [Levene] has a reputation as an unpredictable and sometimes controversial figure…” (Oh yes?) “… on the Doctor Who convention circuit” (Oh no).

For me, it’s that last, fannish clause which triggers the alarm. This is Toby Hadoke pissing into the tent, attempting an ignoble and covert takedown of someone who, in truth, is often mocked by those he is most keen to please.

Initial exchanges between the two are unpromising, John cracking one-liners, which Toby solemnly takes at face value. There’s more pleasure, instead, in freeze-framing a shot of the actor’s DVD shelves, and picking your way through his collection. Gladiator, Sexy Beast, both series of Ricky Gervais’ Extras… In an egregious crime against fandom, his Doctor Who discs aren’t arranged in chronological order – and they’re mostly US releases. Plus some post-2005 episodes. Interesting. Hmm, how come he owns two copies of The Time Monster?

This early sequence sees Toby musing, “I’m surprised by how hyper John is. I get the feeling he’s putting on a bit of a show for us.” A valid concern, but it’s only expressed in voiceover, in the past tense and a million miles away from his interviewee.

Fade out. Then fade up again as Toby returns to John’s house for a second day together… and things change. True, we’re still invited to smirk into our sleeves as the actor compares himself to the Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense, albeit with the proviso that rather than the dead, he sees “sad people”. And there’s also the unfortunate moment when he explains to Toby how his compulsion to cheer up lonely old folk manifests itself. “I’ll go up [to them],” he says, laying a friendly hand on Hadoke’s shoulder, before stepping back and adding further clarification: “I won’t touch them.”

We then see the man working his magic with one silver-haired dear. “I didn’t watch Doctor Who,” she says, nonetheless, enjoying the encounter. “Do you know Julian Ovenden?” she continues. “He’s the new up-and-coming one”. John, we might unkindly conclude, has been-and-gone. But it’s here Toby gets on with putting his concerns directly to his subject. There are no more edit suite barbs, and it really picks up. Asking John why he presents himself to folk in such an obsequious fashion, Toby elicits the revealing admission: “It’s an apologetic desire to please, and maybe get a little thank-you.”

Things continue on this tack, as we meet Vera, John’s mum, with whom he is now living in order to provide 24-hour care. Over the breakfast table she talks about her son, and his rough start in life – profound ill heath and a very difficult relationship with his father. “I’m into sea salt at the moment,” says John, self-consciously cutting across the discussion. Then it’s off to meet our subject’s pal, Bob, for a lovely sequence on the local golf course. “He’s someone special, I think,” says Bob of John.
The documentary’s near-redemption arrives at the end, when Toby vocalises the fact he’s always felt a little apprehensive about the man who played Benton, because, in person, it seems as though John’s been to “one too many motivational speakers”. That Mr Levene accepts this remark, and is given an opportunity to respond to it, makes my resolve soften to those earlier sequences. Perhaps I was being unfair. This hasn’t been quite such a sly exercise after all, and maybe the getting-to-know-you bits were always going to be a little stilted.

John Levene was born, as he says several times in this, “breached, jaundiced and dead”. So perhaps we should let him live his life how he wants to. Maybe even afford him a little thank-you from time to time. I still have reservations about the basic premise at work here – which infers negative qualities upon its subject and invites us to conspire against him – but I’m glad that when Toby walks away from this encounter, he does so without laying down some sort of judgment, other than he “rather liked” John.

If I did own a hat, I guess at this point I’d be inclined to raise it to a bad job well done.

The only other ‘new’ inclusion on this disc is the unexpurgated 72 minutes of studio stuff from the story’s recording session in Studio 3, on the evening of Friday 22 January 1971. In terms of completeness, it’s great to have, but not wildly entertaining. If anything, the events captured here are matter-of-fact – there’s no bantering or bust-ups, beyond Jon Pertwee becoming mildly terse when a crewmember gets in his eye-line. All the best bits (such as they are) were already included in an edited-down version, described as ‘Deleted and Extended Scenes’, on the story’s original DVD release and reproduced again here. At least these cuts are jollied along by Richard Bignell’s excellent info text, which reveals that when the title The Vampire from Space was ditched, initial paperwork had the adventure’s new name as ‘The Clause of Axos’. Actually, that would have worked rather well.

Other features from first time around include the Now and Then documentary, a rather ordinary look at Dungeness beach and Dungeness Power Station some 30-plus years on. It’s chirpily voiced by Katy Manning, who refers to the former unconvincingly as “one of the strangest places in the country” and tries to make play of the latter’s “other worldly quality”. One imagines, in the case of the nuclear plant, that sense is even more pronounced now, with the complex currently in the process of being decommissioned.

And then there’s Directing Who, which brings us Michael Ferguson against a plain backdrop, talking about the white heat of TV technology in 1971 and programme makers “greedy” to try new things. The commentary track also dates from the original release, with the late Barry Letts (the show’s producer), plus Katy Manning and Richard Franklin (Captain Yates) on duty. Aside from Letts chiding the other two that “we must watch the story a bit now”, it’s Franklin’s oddball remarks that take the biscuit – including introducing his character as “Jo Grant’s love interest”, his bemoaning of the lack of “pretty nurses” in Doctor Who and a blatant plug for his “novella”. With this testimony unearthed once again for public consumption, one wonders if Benton’s superior officer will be next to receive a knock on the door from a curious representative of the Doctor Who fan police.

All in all, I really enjoyed this episode despite its budget limitations. Had it had access to the budget and special effects of the modern show, it probably would have been quite spectacular. As it stands, though, “The Silurians” remains one of the most memorable stories of the early days of Doctor Who.

Here he takes to the stage:

A true larger-than life performer, he regaled the audience with well-known Doctor Who anecdotes; although they were new to me at the time!

I ducked out of the convention into the hotel lobby for a minute and was lucky enough to see Jon posing with a Dalek for the local paper:

This is my favourite photo, the moment I met him and got an autograph. I remember he insisted on taking his reading glasses (“my bins”) before having a photo taken:

Sadly he passed away just a couple of months after this, in May 1996.

Tom, upon receiving it, told me, “I’m very happy with that one!” (which, I always think, implies he’s not so keen on my other stuff) while Peter said it was the best review I’d written for them. That was nice.

When DWM #449 was published, online someone opined: “I thought the Graham Kibble White review of Death to the Daleks was dreadful. It felt like it was cut and pasted from a larger article and ended up in the magazine as disjointed paragraphs , it seemed very odd.”

Here it is…

Pay close attention to Death to the Daleks and you might just spot the moment when Jon Pertwee became so cheesed off, he ended up quitting Doctor Who.

We know this happened at some point during the story’s studio days, so it’s the VT we must inspect. DWM reckons this epiphany likely took place at the start of Part Three. Here, the Doctor’s been knocked onto his coccyx by a giant root. Jon’s coccyx – always tricky. Giant roots – well, who would have thought? As he lies there, the actor’s gaze momentarily drifts upwards in contemplation. This has been but the latest indignity! Location shooting at a pit in Dorset saw Pertwee not only jumped on by an Exxilon hoodie and showered in sand, but, most damning of all, forced into some not-very-natty boots. Now, back at TC4, stripling director Michael Briant has elected to shoot this thing out of story sequence, throwing all into confusion. Enough. It’s up to the sixth floor to ask, nay, demand, a pay rise.

As Tom Baker can attest, that didn’t quite work out, and thus the Third Doctor gave notice.

All this came in the wake of producer Barry Letts’ own announcement – made during Death’s read-through – that he was also leaving the show. Moments of portent seem to cling doggedly to Death to the Daleks, like an Exxilon city Antibody giving the standard Doctor Who hands-on-shoulders death grip to poor Bellal. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you abreast of the unfolding events as we go along.

In the meantime, this is an adventure short on such revelation. True, there is a neat conceit that pops up in Part Two, and we’ll get to it in a bit, but in terms of Terry Nation’s script, it’s workaday Doctor Who. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Modish Dalek voiceman Nick Briggs puts it neatly in the documentary accompanying the release, “There’s nothing that tastes so much of Doctor Who to me as Death to the Daleks,” so we should probably savour what we’ve got, particularly as this would be the last time Nation would get to play out his familiar story beats with such vigour.

Some of his quirks still work well, such as mysterious hands clutching at bits of scenery in the front of shot while the Doctor and/or companion slouch past obliviously. Others, however, feel almost perverse. Sarah’s plea to the Doctor, “You won’t go away, will you?” plays like a tacit admission that, at this juncture, we know he will do precisely that. Then there are those bits of business which, due to sheer repetition, just feel eccentric. Mining. Why are the Daleks so fixated on that? Wherever they arrive, by Part Three they’ve got the locals digging. Maybe it speaks of something locked in the subterranean layers of their psyche. They’re unconsciously excavating their way back to halcyon days in their underground base on Skaro, where they once frolicked naked in incubation vats, laughing when Caan – he was a nutter, he was! – attached himself to that chap’s neck. But now here they are, trapped inside dingy travel machines. It’s the notion of ‘bunker mentality’ taken to its apotheosis.

Point of order – isn’t it fun how Nation treats the TARDIS? Much as he did during the previous year’s Planet of the Daleks, he just fills the place with whatever bits and bobs he needs to tell his story – items we’ve never seen before and will never see again. That means there’s suddenly a brand new light hanging portentously above the console, its sole function to conspicuously conk out when required. This approach also means the Third Doctor, the most David Dickinson of all incarnations, suddenly acquires a rather chintzy sideboard. Cheap as (Cyril) Shaps!

While Nation never feels hugely committed to this production, others are grafting hard. Firstly, there’s outgoing script editor Terrance Dicks, who from time to time gently nudges his writer to switch off autopilot and try a new route. Rather than making Exxilon one giant petrified forest, why not have it as a desert world? The folks from Earth – let’s not make them on the run, let’s have them as an established presence with a base camp and everything. And a woman! Who’s second-in-command. As Martin Wiggins’ info text reveals, that last suggestion… well, Nation wasn’t keen. Too fantastical, probably.

The Marine Space Corps (it thrills to see how long the writer kept faith with the notion of sticking ‘Space’ into a thing to jazz it up) are a funny bunch. “We’re down to our last pack of sulfagen tablets, Richard,” says Jill, inadvertently highlighting the way names in Doctor Who can sometimes run counter to the drama. Because what of note could conceivably happen to a Richard? Or, indeed, a Jill? One could potentially avoid this problem by taking the Saward option and have characters swaggeringly address each other by their surnames. But you run the risk of making it sound like we’re in a room of ex-public school fags. Alternatively, maybe opt for futuristic monikers. Hmm, that just adds a further layer of artifice, particularly if they don’t have the right feel. Sabalom Glitz sounds more like a sparkly balm, while The Dominators’ Senex, Bovem, Tensa and Etnin are a vet’s medicine shelf.Here, our core trio are the aforementioned Jill and Richard, plus Peter – the nicest names there are. The connotation is of a ruddy good group of people, actually. The middle-class at large, they’ve come to Exxilon seeking the mineral to cure a plague, but if you look around their camp, you’ll see that despite these testing times there’s no way they were leaving Earth until they’d got their Space Ocado delivery of purified water and fresh greens. As a result, this reviewer was heart-broken when the Exxilons subsequently broke in to nobble Commander Stewart and ended up with peas all over the floor.

It’s notable that this trio all speak in that peculiarly Tom and Barbara Good fashion; wonderful enunciation, well projected and very enthused. “Pass me the vis-you-all file, will you Jill?” says Richard, just back from a briefing with the BBC Pronunciation Department. But then there’s the fourth member, Galloway. ‘Dan Galloway’ it says in the credits, but he’s too working class for anyone to concern themselves with that. There are signs Peter might be the one to turn rogue (“My father was killed in the last Dalek war” he says, hinting at some sort of grudge), but, to be honest, it was never going to be anyone other than Galloway. He’s Scottish, for goodness sake. Laying it on really thick, Commander Stewart – having fulfilled his slim contribution to the plot – uses his final breath to upbraid the no-better-than-he-ought-to-be subordinate: “You’re not fit to command… you’re a glory hunter”. And you don’t speak nicely like Peter or Richard, is the further bit of justification that goes unsaid.

Enough of the class war. Outside on Exxilon we find another of Death to the Daleks’ heroes hard at work. Michael Briant’s direction, particularly in the early scenes, is superb. His cameras rove around that Dorset quarry in a wonderful half-light, with rising mist completing the allure. POV shots of an Exxilon pouncing on the Doctor, and another being brained by Sarah in the TARDIS, indicate here’s someone determined to subvert the show’s often pedestrian house style. A further instance sees the action cross-fade from the marines espousing plot points about the sacred city, to Sarah picking her way towards it. As alluded to earlier, Briant’s entirely sensible decision to order studio filming around the use of sets, rather than story, caused some consternation, but it’s a further testament to someone who would be damned if he wasn’t going to wring everything he could out of the production. Even the root, which emerges from a pond to put the skunk-eye on the Daleks, has an unusual sense of dynamism. Most of the time we can see it’s suspended by chicken wire like some silly Goodies prop, but its speed and the sheer height it attains – coupled with some very special sounds from Dick Mills – makes this another sequence that, in the hands of someone else, could have been risible. As a whole, Season 11 isn’t one of Doctor Who’s liveliest, but despite the saggy script, there’s energy in this story. During its best bits, it positively shines out like the Exxilon city beacon, pulsating majestically to the accompaniment of some fantastic radiophonic farts (again, excellent work, Dick).

When Part One originally aired on BBC1 in 1974, it was followed by another flaxen-haired ‘children’s hero who adults adore’ – Jimmy Savile. On his show Clunk, Click (which that week featured, if you will lovely ladies and gentlemen – wow! – “bean bag guest” Mr Bill Cotton) Jim assigned Britain the task of entering into a postal vote to select what Olivia-Newton John should sing as our entry into the Eurovision Song Contest. However, there was an even bigger decision facing us the following week, as the United Kingdom went to the polls. The CON LAB LIB conundrum, however, wouldn’t be resolved yet, as a hung parliament was called and Conservative Prime Minister Ted Heath set about trying to talk up an alliance with The Green Death’s Jeremy Thorpe and his Liberal Party. It was in these uncertain times Death to the Daleks Part Two played, making it the most politically acute episode of Doctor Who ever, with its depiction of an uneasy DAL-HUM coalition between Skarosians and the doughty lads and lady of the Marine Space Corps.

Here is where we reach Death’s big idea – a big idea suggested by Dicks, as it happens. The notion of the Daleks losing their ability to exterminate is very neat. It begins with a lovely reversal when, upon realising those bubbling lumps of hate are in every sense armless, the Doctor pads towards them. “KEEP-AWAY! KEEP-AWAY” they screech, backing off. Alas, the story doesn’t do much more than that to explore the idea. How wonderful it would have been to see neutered Daleks still presenting a threat with their talent for politicking. Had David Whitaker been writing this, they would have had a high old time pretending to be supplicant to the Exxilons, while secretly seeding civil war. Nation’s Daleks, however, are just too darn thick. Witness one of them trolleying into a gang of glassy-eyed aliens, hopelessly looking for a ruck and getting a comprehensive kicking in the process. Or that one who pathetically hits its own reset switch when it realises Jill’s escaped from the internment camp.

Unable to make much of anything out of the concept, 15 minutes or so after finding themselves in this predicament the Daleks are tooled back up again, each packing machine guns that not only shoot the galaxy’s most ricocheting bullets (PTAW! PTAW!), but are so alarming they make the picture strobe fearfully whenever they’re fired.

Let’s cut to Death to the Daleks’ third star player. Of course, that’s Arnold Yarrow as Bellal. He’s part of a rebel faction of Exxilons whose most obvious point of difference with the main group seems to be their desire to run around without any clothes on. Perhaps they could have rebranded as XXXilons, eh readers? There’s such love in Yarrow’s performances, he’s almost too good for the role. While most of his alien compatriots spend their time hulking around, sucking their faces in, he’s either cowering or cavorting. The bit in Part Four when he and the Doctor have completed their trot through the Exxilon city’s puzzle suites, and he rounds the corner to find two teleporting booths, is just marvellous. Yarrow pirouettes and peeps, desperate to exhibit his character’s thought process in movement. Every step he makes is to underscore that he is of a different species – more meerkat than man.

That journey into the city, then. It’s here the whole this’ll-do-ness of the script finally emerges, untempered by good sense or inventiveness. Nick Briggs, again, stomps all over our shtick by pointing out elsewhere on the DVD the intelligence test facing the Doctor and Bellal could very well have been ripped out of that year’s Dr Who Annual. The only thing that suggests otherwise is they’re never once drilled on the subject of Greek myths and legends. Nonetheless, faced with the traditional endpaper thrill of a maze, our hero seems like a prize plum as he attempts to grapple with the very concept. “There’s a point of entry here…” he surmises. Go on, Doctor. You can do this! “An exit…” he continues, “down here.” Smart work!

The Floor Tiles of Death merit a similar bout of mystification, with the Time Lord laboriously counselling his new pal in how to cross safely, step by step, rather than simply instructing him not to touch the red ones. Jim Bowen on Bullseye managed to tackle aspects of game play far more nuanced than this. And in verse too. From there it’s onto a room where an attempt is made on Bellal’s mental faculties, and then another room where another attempt is made, albeit now on both. It’s entirely fitting that at the points we see the Daleks following in the duo’s stead they’re absolutely unengaged by the challenges, and trundle straight over those tiles. Some tricks, though, are missed. It would have been fascinating to see from whence their maze-tracing appendage emerged, and who wouldn’t have enjoyed watching one Dalek talk another out of a mental breakdown: “ZEG? ZEG! ZEG! DO-NOT-FIRE-YOUR-EXTER-MIN-A-TOR! ZEG! LOOK-AT-ME!”

When Death to the Daleks ends, it does so abruptly – Daleks blown to bits, space plague under control, city melted and humans ready to go home. The speed by which it’s all wrapped up reinforces suspicions there was never really a whole lot of story in the first place. But what about those other tales that surround it? How did they end up?

Well, of course, we know that Jon Pertwee would go on to record two more adventures and then leave the show. He’d murmur something about perhaps coming back once the next fella left, but that would never really bear fruit. Barry Letts, meanwhile, did return for a funny old stint at the start of the 1980s.

And the United Kingdom? Edward Heath fails to cut a deal with Jeremy Thorpe meaning that by Part Three of Death, Harold Wilson returns for a second stint as Labour prime minster, the lights come back on all over the country and the Dalek story enjoys a hike of a million viewers. Meanwhile, Olivia Newton-John travels to Brighton to perform our chosen track in competition with Sweden’s Abba. Although our hopes were pinned to the lacklustre but life-affirming Long Live Love, Olivia sadly met her Waterloo… as did those messed up kids from the Kalid bunker, of course, in the conversely named Death to the Daleks. But that wouldn’t be the end of either of them. Each would put poor shows behind them and find greater glories around the corner. Because soon the time would be right for them to re-emerge and take their rightful places as the supreme powers in the universe…

DVD extras

Beneath the City of the Exxilons is a handsome making-of piece, with lovely Daleky fonts and graphics, plus a terrific Dalek voiceover. Nicholas Briggs, as we’ve already mentioned, is a real cheerleader and thus billed as the ‘world’s biggest Death to the Daleks fan’. Although, in truth, it’s clear he’s well aware of the story’s inadequacies, chortling about its “one or two eccentric moments”. Meanwhile, Michael Briant concedes “it’s only four episodes long, which is relief”. Where everyone is in total agreement, however, is that Arnold Yarrow is terrific. “Like Derek Jacobi playing Bungle,” reckons Briggs. “[He] almost steals it from the Daleks,” says Julian Fox (who played Peter). “I was surprised to see how well it stands up,” admits man-of-the-hour Yarrow, “particularly the bits involving myself”.

On the Set of Dr. Who and the Daleks is slight, but lovely. Using silent film trims from a 1965 edition of the TV show Movie Magazine, it features more behind-the-scenes sequences, this time from the first Peter Cushing Dalek film. While he and Roy Castle mess about with a song and dance routine, actor Jason Flemyng – son of director, Gordon – explains why the footage means so much. “To see my dad there is very, very moving.”
Culled from 2003’s Doctor Who Night, Doctor Who Stories presents extended interviews with Dalek operators John Scott Martin and Nicholas Evans. The latter enjoys the best anecdote, which involved manoeuvring his casing over a pavement grill during The Dalek Invasion of Earth so he could sneakily perform a variant of the metal meanies’ usual function and UR-IN-ATE!

In the commentary booth, Toby Hadoke, is joined by Julian Fox plus Dalek operator Cy Town, Michael Briant, assistant floor manager Richard Leyland, costume designer L Rowland Warne and special sounds maestro Dick Mills. Things to note: Town is in that small but perfectly formed club of people who pronounce the Third Doctor’s surname ‘P’twee’, Mills seems to liken his approach for layering sound to the opening titles of Are You Being Served? (“[It’s] ladies’ underwear, then down to kitchens”), Briant cried when he first watched back their footage of Root vs Dalek, and adds that, back in the 1970s, doors that opened vertically were “new and exciting”.

Finally, we venture onto the story’s set in Studio Recording. It’s December 1973. Christmas is coming, but the atmosphere is not so merry. There’s very little banter between takes – the best it gets is an aborted attempt at having Daleks whisper conspiratorially, which is hilarious. Instead, the most prominent sound is the buzz of fierce carpentry a little in the distance. This sombre mood has been set by Jon Pertwee who’s thoroughly discomfited. “It’s very hard to pick up there like that,” he says, struggling to get going from a cue. “It’s very hard to pick up from that point?” parrots production assistant Chris D’Oyly-John. “Well,” huffs Pertwee, “it’s not easy.” A later sequence sees him confiding in his co-stars playing the human party: “I’ve been sitting here for an hour not doing anything, and then suddenly… ‘Boom, boom, you’re into it’.” That’s how you know the Third Doctor’s in real trouble. He tells it to the marines.

This is from DWM #445, and I guess continues my stint reviewing the Revisitation series (see here and here).

As they say on board Storm Mine 4: You know the drill. Another three stories from the DVD fleet’s early years have been dug out of the catalogue, buffed up and reissued in box set form along with a suite of brand new DVD extras. This time it’s Tomb of the Cybermen (first released on disc in 2002), The Three Doctors (2003) and The Robots of Death (2000).

The Tomb of the Cybermen
That Matt Smith cites this four-parter from 1967 as a favourite might, just might, be enough to get the kids watching. If so, then this most paranoiac Doctor Who adventure will surely keep them affixed. A treatise in delayed gratification, we’re promised Cybermen, but Gerry Davis and Kit Pedler’s story cleverly keeps them behind a sequence of locked doors until well into Episode 2. By the time they are unleashed, we’re aching. And they deliver with a blissfully good cliffhanger in which, oblivious to the humans furtling at his feet, the Cyber Controller steps forward and flaps open his Freudian letterbox of a mouth to hum: “You belong to us. You will be like us.” Brrr!

Before we get to that point, we’re presented with a shifty company of characters, all of whom seem to be circling one another, until each of their twisted agendas are unearthed – much like the silver giants below. Famously, even the Doctor’s actions seem muddy and unwholesome, as he flips the levers to unleash the baddies, while simultaneously cautioning the archaeologists to let sleeping gods lie. Other stories will explore the Time Lord’s reckless curiosity further, but it’s never more unnerving than here, because he’s never held to account.

DVD extras

Complimenting the release’s original commentary track, which featured Deborah Watling and Frazer Hines, we have everyone’s Doctor Who fan-friend Toby Hadoke marshalling the guests. For Episode 1, he’s joined by script editor Victor Pemberton and the affable Bernard Holley, who as Haydon is killed off at the end of this first instalment. As he points out, the real difference between TV drama then and now is THERE WAS A LOT MORE SHOUTING IN THE 1960s.

Over the remaining parts, Toby is joined by Watling and Hines who are putting in a new stint, plus Shirley Cooklin (Kaftan) and Reg Whitehead (Cyberman). Between them the chat is pleasant, but like most commentaries, it’s almost all gravy. However, a little meat is offered by Whitehead, who recalls his time opposite William Hartnell in The Tenth Planet. “Not as easy as you might expect – I’ll say no more”. Oh, go on. Actually, that sounds like a plea for muckraking, which, admittedly, would be an odd direction for the official range to take. So what to do? Back to Debs and Frazer trading practised observations and puns. Hines even gives us a “tomb it may concern gag.” By Episode 4, Hadoke is introducing himself as “Frazer Hines’ wrangler”.

By the way, Toby is extraordinary. Prettier than a computer (probably), he’s versed in the CV of every Doctor Who player, able to confirm immediately if they’re living or dead, plus offer up career highlights (Cyril Shaps went on to become the voice of Mr Kipling, Hans De Vries got down to the final five for James Bond) and their domestic situation. At one point our hero is near-apoplectic when Whitehead tells a story about running into one of his old Cyber pals who’d since become a bookie. For the life of him, Reg just can’t remember the fellow’s name. Toby barks some possibilities, but to no avail. Help! Help! Bio-data missing!

When our host later reveals that, in prepping for his duties, he went to the trouble of speaking with the best friend of the long since departed non-speaking Cyber artiste Richard Kerley, well, no-one’s surprised. It was the least he could do.

The Lost Giants is the perennial making-of feature, and adheres to the range’s style guide, with a nasty typeface and lightly glazed talking heads. It’s a perfectly acceptable effort, as cast and crew recall the plimsoll-wearing, music-stand-carrying director Morris Barry and his no-nonsense style. Says Victor Pemberton: “I do remember him shouting at a cameraman a couple of times, which was great fun for me.” Elsewhere Bernard Holley has put in a bit of research, and notes viewing figures rose by 400,00 between the first two episodes. More people saw him dead than alive – that’s showbiz.

Rather better is The Curse of the Cybermen’s Tomb. At first, when Sir Christopher Frayling, Emeritus Professor of Cultural History, Royal College of Art (and practically undetectable in custard) pops up, this reviewer cowered in fear at The Curse of the Spurious Doctor Who DVD Extra. But in fact, this lecture on how the Cyberman story was informed by the discovery of Tutankhamen’s resting place is lovely. Frayling makes some smart connections. The Cybermats, he reasons, were inspired by scarab beetles and the frozen Mondasians nicked the idea from Walt Disney, who, it’s rumoured, retired to a cryogenic chamber in 1966. Frayling knows his Who. He even met Kit Pedler on a couple of occasions. “[He was] a fascinating combination of hard scientist and interested in the paranormal”. We hope for more from the professor soon.

Meanwhile, there’s another of our DVD pals, Matthew Sweet. He’s in an extended version of the Cybermen documentary, which first appeared on The Cybermen Collection in 2009. Sweet’s squeezed into a tiny chair, in a TARDIS nook, to talk us through the history of the Doctor’s second-best baddies. He’s rather good at it too, his soft burr – from somewhere along the M62 – and parochial concerns lend a pleasing Alan Bennett feel to the feature. Of naughty Kellman in Revenge of the Cybermen, who is secretly working for the Vogans, Sweet says: “They have lovely, glossy fair hair, just like him”. He also strings along an argument that the Cybermen are a metaphor for our desire to have perfect bodies, before adding the caveat: “I don’t recall LA Fitness ever claiming they could help you survive in the airless vacuum of space, but you know what I mean”. This kind of wit – delicate and convivial – is rare in the discussion of space monsters.

Aside from a 1960s Walls Sky Ray ice-lolly ad (a counterfeit Troughton covering his face as though doorstepped by Watchdog), the final extra is The Magic of VidFIRE. I was really looking forward to this, but at just under seven minutes, it skimps on detail, despite evocations of “a dedicated team of specialists”. We can only hope in years to come another dedicated team of specialists will revisit this, and interlace further data between the frames.

The Three Doctors
One day, quite soon, Doctor Who will be celebrating a significant birthday. Here’s hoping that when it rolls around, the show marks it in similar style to this very jolly, very garish jamboree from 1972-3.

The Three Doctors is underscored by the implicit acknowledgement its central conceit is the most wonderful thing ever. But the sheer mischievousness of uniting the show’s trio of leads doesn’t give away to complete self-indulgence. The temptation – and there surely was one – to bus in the Daleks and the Master and all the other poster boys is resisted, and instead we’re presented with a four-parter that’s very much its own boss. It celebrates the current incarnation of the show, beefing up the comedy for the Brig and Benton, before going on to profoundly affect the series’ on-going mythos, peeling away another layer of mystery from the Time Lords with the introduction of Omega.

DVD extras

No new commentary track here. However, a request to 2|entertain. It would be nice if your sleeve notes indicated when the original sessions were recorded, just to give a bit of context – particularly as they were all prior to any inkling Doctor Who was to return to TV.

Toby Hadoke guards his DVD franchise well by narrating the main documentary, Happy Birthday to Who. It’s a solid feature, but it doesn’t quite rise to this very special occasion. Instead, it’s as per, with more talking heads, anecdotes and a slightly clunky script. When Toby signs off: “The Three Doctors went down a treat with fans and the casual viewer alike,” one wonders why such demarcation is required.

Delicacies within include a fascinating verbal sketch of director Lennie Mayne, courtesy of Stephen ‘Omega’ Thorne (who says the man “vibrated”) and Katy Manning (“A naughty little boy”), plus Bob Baker’s revelation that in the first draft Hartnell’s famous line actually ran: “So you’re my replacements, a hairdresser and a clown”. Pound for pound, though, it’s Terrance Dicks who delivers. How well did Jon Pertwee and Patrick Troughton get on? “Not at all,” he chuckles. Then there’s his tart remark that “when Barry and I took over [Doctor Who], we got stuck with various decisions made by our predecessors – all of them bad!”

Was Doctor Who Rubbish? is a 13-minute rebuttal of the kind of accusations traditionally directed at our favourite show. It features four fans who launch defences against the usual accusations of wobbly sets, bad acting, dodgy special effects, and so on. Alas, their arguments mainly consist of vouchsafing all the standbys (the show looks better on film, and when it’s not too harshly lit etc), when surely it’s better to accept the validity of those criticisms, but point out the shortfalls are a more-than acceptable pay-off for the fact that back in the day Doctor Who got made within a weekly TV production regime inimical to its ambition. Besides, when as recently as 2007 Ricky Gervais was parodying David Tenant’s stint as being blighted by crap special effects and cod scripts, you realise you’re as well taking it on the chin. No-one’s really listening.

Our last port of call is Girls, Girls, Girls – 1970s, with former companions Katy Manning, Caroline John and Louise Jameson discussing the sexual politics inherent in accompanying the time traveller through that decade. It’s a chaotic affair, with metaphorical elbows flashing fast, as each tries to gouge their way into the conversation, either capping off the other’s thought prematurely, or by openly declaring, “I really have to jump in’ – and then jumping in. Revelations include Manning’s conclusion she’d rather land a hit TV show than a “lover of a lifetime” (“You don’t have to wash its socks!”) and that she grew up mimicking Pertwee on the radio. Jameson, meanwhile, reckons feminism quickly became a “dirty word”, while John recalls she was made to watch The Avengers when trying out for the part of Liz Shaw.

The Robots of Death
It’s fitting that one of the programme’s most prosaically named stories is also one of its most competent. In truth, the script for Robots isn’t all that sparkling, but writer Chris Boucher efficiently taps into everything Doctor Who could do well in 1977. We have a limited and well-defined environment, properly delineated characters with understandable motives and – most importantly – baddies that can be reasonably realised on screen.

Upon this bedrock, director Michael E Briant, in unusually close collaboration (as revealed on this disc) with designer Kenneth Sharp, builds something marvellous. It’s a beautiful looking story, wonderfully played and endowed with its own confident rhythm.

DVD extras

“My name’s Tom Baker, and I played the Doctor. Yes I did”. He heads up the new commentary track, alongside Louise Jameson, Pamela Salem (Toos) and the aforementioned Briant. Initially, they have a high old time, with Briant taking pot shots at the script (that’ll be news to Chris Boucher who, on the original commentary, can’t speak highly enough of it). “[It’s] good actors making slightly unbelievable stuff and slightly unsayable stuff sound normal and natural,” reckons the director, who then goes on to claim it was only the efforts of he and Sharp that managed to “turn it into something quite interesting”.

By the time we get to Parts Two and Three, the tone has shifted. Briant has a weird habit of talking about Baker as though he weren’t present, and sighs, “Working with Tom was frequently quite difficult.” That sound? Both teeth and axes grinding. Thankfully Jameson won’t be drawn, and states she must have had a “humour-ectomy” back in the 1970s when she failed to grasp her leading man’s sense of irony. Tom Baker remains undented, and gets on with the business of being Tom Baker. “Jon Pertwee was… a glittering Sherlock Holmes,” he says, offering a new conglomeration of two previously flogged one-liners.

As the story ends, there’s one more revelation from the booth, because rewatching Robots has really affected Briant. “I’m beginning to be of the opinion that we shouldn’t portray violence in that way”, he says.

The Sandmine Murders is the classiest feature across the whole set. It begins with those infamous, red robot eyes, before fading up to reveal a full on Voc. Much of the conversation, again, centres on poor old Tom. Producer Philip Hinchcliffe sniffily opines, “One out of 10 of Tom’s ideas were really good,” while Brian Croucher (Borg) is much more practical. “Some of us [actors] don’t like each other,” he reasons, but says he found Tom, “laidback”. The man himself still isn’t bruised. “Leading actors have to mollycoddled!” he reasons. “You have to play to their vanity a bit”. And quite right too. Enough, everyone, of putting Tom on trial.

Other nuggets include Briant recalling a pivotal conversation with Sharp (“Ken turned to me and said, ‘Archimedes’ screw!’”), costume designer Elizabeth Waller admitting the robot heads were based on the Wella shampoo logo, and Croucher talking us through the delineation between dangerous and safe actors – the former took lunch in the BBC canteen, the latter went to the pub.

Our final feature stars Toby Hadoke, who by this point is as familiar to your reviewer as those he holds dearest. (A confusing business for all concerned – Toby, expect my therapist’s bill in your DWM pigeonhole). Robophobia opens with a spoof posho 1930s ad, the type of which people have been parodying since Harry Enfield and Chums. And it’s long since past the time when they should have stopped. The item looks at the representation of robots in Doctor Who, but is a rambling, not especially nourishing or funny short. Plus it strong-arms Toby into dragging-up, seemingly now a mandatory element in any ‘funny’ extra on a Doctor Who disc. (Again, Mr Hadoke, let me direct you to your pigeonhole).

Implicit but never bluntly stated in all DWM reviews is the question, ‘Should you buy this?’ Well, yes, of course you should. However, unlike previous revisits – which boasted wonderful features like The Seven Year Itch in the first instance, and Come in Number Five in the second – there’s no real hero nestling within the DVD sub-menus. Granted, the additional material is always welcome, but, getting back to basics, it’s actually the beautifully restored triple-bill of some real Doctor Who favourites that ultimately seals this deal.

Reviewing the three stories in the format I opted for here took a small leap in imagination, chunking it up into three mini-reviews rather than one narrative. Since then, where possible, I’ve inserted lists and the like in the copy, cos I think it’s good to break up the flow.

This is from DWM #433 and presented here with an additional joke about Toby Hadoke, which was excised from the finished piece presumably due to grounds of quality (ie. lack of).
Remember the early noughties? When things like ‘scene selection’ and ‘animated menu’ were all we expected by way of extra-mural fun on our DVDs? And we were happy too. Simple times.

Nowadays we demand much more. As of this month, we want a lovingly rendered CGI snake in Kinda, but beyond that we want Clayton Hickman and Gareth Roberts dressed as big ladies ripping fun out of The Masque of Mandragora, or a specially made smaller version of Planet of Fire.

A sequel to last year’s box set, Revisitations 2 buffs up three more doughty pioneers of the Doctor Who DVD range, bringing them in to line with their bejewelled successors. Step forward The Seeds of Death (first released in 2003), Carnival of Monsters (2002) and Resurrection of the Daleks (also 2002). It’s your time to shine…

The Seeds of Death
From Patrick Troughton’s final series in 1969, the six-part Seeds is a plodder. Pitting our hero against the reptilian meanies from Mars, it takes an ice age for anything much to happen. The first three instalments see the Doctor estranged from the action. While it’s kicking off on the Moon, he’s faffing about on Earth trying to organise a ride to get him to the storyline. When he finally arrives, he’s knocked unconscious for all of episode four.

But there are good bits. The model work is terrific, and the notion of a 21^st century world beholden to teleportation system T-Mat is well drawn… even if, latterly, it sounds like a technology coined by Elizabeth Estensen’s sci-fi witch T-Bag. “T-Shirt! Connect me to Oslo!” Meanwhile, Alan Bennion as Ice Lord Slaar is terrific – haughty, slim, sibilant and he sports excellently evil dentistry.

And sssso to the sssspecial features…

DVD extras

Lords of the Red Planet leads the freshly-minted features. A half-hour documentary looking back at the adventure’s creation, there’s an odd regional news feel to the narration. Of the Ice Warriors it says: “Scaled hissing behemoths with claws for hands and arm-mounted sonic weapons. They were a fearsome foe! [Small punctuative sigh] But what of the fertile mind from which they came?”

Thankfully, the talking heads are more lucid, Wendy Padbury revealing she gave Zoe’s leather suit to Oxfam (“How mad am I?!”), director Michael Ferguson confessing he didn’t understand the script, and good ol’ Terrance Dicks recalling how easy he found working with Brian Hayles. But of most interest are the snippets from the original treatment for a sequel to The Ice Warriors. A Peladon-esque tale of royal legacy, it would have definitively named the pincer-pawed perishers’ species as Saurian.

Meanwhile, could someone please let Richard Bignell back indoors? Poor love looks quite abandoned out there on Hampstead Heath, where he’s been assigned the expositional heavy-lifting duties.

[Small punctuative sigh]

So! Do the best monsters come back the most times? This, and other delightfully fannish questions are posited in the very jolly Monsters Who Came Back For More! It features Dalek voice-man Nick Briggs and DWM’s very own Chancellor Flavia, Peter Ware. Between them the duo chew the fat over the DW bestiary and rather thrillingly rank Doctor Who’s foes in order… although we’re sad to report Mr Ware fudges appallingly when selecting a third place candidate after the Daleks and Cybermen.

Michael Ferguson’s Monster Masterclass sees the director postulating a few tips on how to ensure monsters appear truly that – although he doesn’t specifically acknowledge his very finest trick, which is to film them silhouetted against the sun, something that works well in Seeds’ exterior sequences and a device he’d reprise the following year in The Ambassadors of Death.

Carnival of Monsters
Having finally been let out of his bedroom by the Time Lords following a grounding on Earth for three years, the Third Doctor ventures back into space to parlare homosexual slang with Mr Partridge off of Hi-De-Hi!… who’s wearing a transparent bowler hat. As they say, what’s not to love?

This garish four-parter from 1973 is a joy. Told with charm and verve, it mashes monsters, 1920s flapping, time-loop loopiness, men from the Minorian ministry, a prescient pop at reality television and a little bit of tap dancing.

DVD extras

New for this reissue is Destroy All Monsters! a making-of got up as a B-Movie. It’s a fun concept, but the over-urgent American narration quickly palls.

Watching the feature it becomes obvious Carnival has gifted more anecdotes to convention-going DW stars than most other adventures. All your favourites are here: Katy Manning getting stuck in the mud at Tillingham Marshes, Jon Pertwee trousering the binnacle onboard the RFA Robert Dundas, Brian Hodgson and co’s woeful theme tune remix inadvertently accompanying episodes to Australia, and the ever resourceful BBC FX boys using fox terrier skulls to make the monstrous Drashigs. Still, even an old shaggy dog story can be spruced up, and Manning manages to do just that by musing that if she were a pup, she’d be very happy to have her cranium repurposed for the sake of Saturday teatime chills. Barking.

On Target With Ian Marter contrasts the fun of the lead feature by adopting the gloomy tone of a corporate video. It profiles the actor and novelist, who made his DW debut in Carnival, and died at just 42. He’s spoken of with huge fondness by all, Elisabeth Sladen still moved by the memory of their final meeting. Tom Baker, meanwhile, recalls collaborating with Marter on their abandoned Doctor Who film script, declaring him “competent as a writer” but “tainted by education”. However it’s the bits of Marter’s own prose that really impress, Nigel Plaskitt reading aloud the Target Books version of The Ribos Operation, and the lovely evocation of the Shrivenzale’s “warm, sour breath”.

Sadly, from this juncture, Nicholas Courtney’s reminisces of the last day he saw his friend alive now takes on an unwanted piquancy. Real troopers, both.

The A-Z of Gadgets and Gizmos breaks new ground for the DVDs. Never before has the life-sapping essence of those weirdly anonymous afternoon clip shows (Animals Do the Funniest Things et al) been so wholly assimilated into something associated with Doctor Who. This is an alphabetical scamper, which tells you nothing (K9 had a “useful set of ears”) and trots out a load of bizarre non-jokes (Rassilon had the De-Mat gun “banned, yes, banned!”). There are 26 reasons to skip this one. Mary Celeste and Other Maritime Mysteries is also a miss. Taking the fictional disappearance of Carnival’s SS Bernice as reason to blether on unengagingly about other vacant vessels, it never feels more than spurious. Although there’s some small entertainment in seeing men from maritime museums being forced to cogitate on the veracity of The Chase.

Happily, the new DVD commentary puts us back on course. DWM’s Toby Hadoke is in charge, and sounding uncannily like Antony Worrall Thompson. Your reviewer likes to picture Toby simultaneously reducing a gluten free ‘Spicy Tikka’ marinade on the hob while prompting Peter Halliday for reminiscences about voicing the Silurians. But that’s a mite fanciful. He’s probably got people to do that.*

A rotating array of guests join him in the booth; the aforementioned Halliday, fellow co-stars Cheryl Hall and Jenny McCracken, plus sound effects designer Brian Hodgson and script editor Terrance Dicks. Carnival marked Hodgson’s final Who story, having been with the show since the beginning. He concedes it’s a “slightly sore point” many of his audio creations are still featured in the series today without credit. Meanwhile, McCracken attempts to tell a tale about appearing in a Hollywood film, but is trampled under Dicks’ ardour for the Drashigs: “Oh, there’s the Drashigs! We mustn’t ignore the Drashigs!” There’s also some insightful chat about Jon Pertwee, McCracken remembering how standoffish he was with visiting performers and Hall positing the theory his comedic background made him insecure being surrounded by ‘proper’ thespians.

Resurrection of the Daleks
Although Doctor Who turned 21 in 1984, Eric Saward’s two/four-parter (both cuts are available) feels oddly adolescent. Mistaking cynicism for sophistication, it’s a surly tale full of killing, that’s determined never to crack a smile. And that’s despite the fact it’s replete with the most rubbish hats in DW history.

Mind you, the docklands location looks terrific, and Terry Molloy’s debut as Davros is immediately convincing. But as Tegan says, in the story’s best scene, “It’s stopped being fun, Doctor.”

DVD extras

Toby Hadoke’s grip on all things tangentially Who tightens in half-hour documentary Casting Far and Wide. And it’s a lovely piece, which sees our hero visiting five actors, all of whom appeared in Resurrection. Roger Davenport is the jolliest of the quintet, despite the fact his character – known only as ‘Trooper’ – didn’t even have a name. “He represents 10,000 incredibly strong fighting men all working for Maurice Colbourne,” he reasons, not altogether seriously. In contrast, Del Henney (Colonel Archer) is morose, revealing he hasn’t made a living from acting in the last 20 years. “It’s a tough business,” reflects a deflated Mr Hadoke after their meeting.

In the course of his meanderings, Toby also chats to Leslie Grantham (Kiston), Jim Findley (Mercer) and William Sleigh (Galloway) and then exits the documentary, doubtlessly winning a pub bet by covertly name-checking as many Dalek stories as possible in his closing spiel.

Come in Number Five is the big production number for the whole box set. Hosted by David Tennant, it looks back over Peter Davison’s tenure in Doctor Who. With a definite interest in office politics, it’s a times quite catty. The BBC’s Head of Series and Serials (1981-83) David Reid recalls his reaction to Davison’s casting – “Initially I thought, ‘That’s a bit dull’” – while Christopher H Bidmead talks of “creative tension” between Barry Letts and John Nathan Turner. Throughout, there’s an evocation of the Doctor Who production office constantly in a shambles, with the producer AWOL during crises, and writers and directors not coming up to scratch.

All the while, tensions simmered regarding the approach the series should take. Remembering his relationship with JNT, Davison admits: “We just went in different directions.” However, a welcome advocate for the beleaguered producer comes in the form of Steven Moffat, who supports the decision to cast big name light entertainment stars to raise the programme’s profile. “If I’ve got the right part for Bruce Forsyth,” he warns us, “you think I won’t do it? You betcha I will!” Coming soon: “Here they are, they’re so appealing, come on Daleks do your evil-ing!” Ahem. But back to JNT, a man as divisive as a mag-in-a-bag, he’s best summed up by Reid: “People had wonderful things to say about John – and terrible things.”

Packed with new and archive interviews (a testament itself to a decade of shooting DVD extras), the whole thing is a candid and clever appraisal of an era that still influences the series today. And it all ends with Tennant donning his future father-in-law’s coat and ambling off into the depths of BBC Television Centre. Perfect.

Tomorrow’s Times (love that low-funk intro music) is capably helmed by Frazer Hines and trots through Doctor Who’s treatment at the hands of the press in the early 1980s, while Walrus will scratch an itch for many a fan – a clip from the dimly remembered educational series in which a Welsh housewife debates the importance of inflection in speech, with a Dalek. “Oh, there’s lovely!”

Finally, there’s the new commentary track, appended to the two-part version of the story. Nick Pegg helms, very much from the point-of-view of a man who makes his money trundling Daleks around Upper Boat, and commends the nice “door work” of his Resurrection forebears. He’s joined by writer Eric Saward, Terry Molloy and visual effects designer Peter Wragg.

The conversation doesn’t flow easily, the most revelatory moment being when Molloy puts forward the theory Davros suffered from Asperger’s. Then there’s Saward’s remembrance of Janet Fielding’s hatred for her costume. “She just sort of bore it with…” What? Good grace? “Well, whatever,” is as close as he can come to summing up the fiery actress’ mode of resilience.

Across six discs Revisitation 2 brings us Death, Monsters and a Resurrection. A microcosm of Doctor Who in a box, it’s well worth getting.

*You got off lightly. At one point we were set to extemporise something around ‘Mouths Ate My Vindaloo Calf’.

Hmmph! More like Misses and Dead-Ends.

The Time Monster, Underworld and The Horns of Nimon are three of the heaviest thuds in Doctor Who history. Ostensibly linked by each story’s dalliance with Greek mythology, it’s more logical to think of this release as a handy DVD landfill set, ready to be buried deep in your DW collection. Forget about the “beautiful packaging” (thanks, 2|entertain press release), a lead-lined slipcase would be more appropriate.

Too harsh? Well, “Simmer down, Stu!” as we don a baggy protective suit, move into an adjacent room and pry open The Time Monster.

Screened in 1972, it’s a daft mixture of whimsy and hard science. The plot? The Master attempts to raise Kronos, a destructive Chronovore, from the time vortex, and ends up being pursued by the Third Doctor to Atlantis for his pains. Sounds good, but along the way the story is bludgeoned by a mob of weird stylistic tics.

For one thing, there’s a menagerie of odd animal metaphors. Kronos could “swallow a life as quickly as a boa constrictor can swallow a rabbit,” cautions the Doctor. What, fur and all? “Fur and all!” Elsewhere, the Master has summoned the Rapunzel-like Krasis to help him tame the chranky chreature, reasoning: “Surely Kronos obeys the Priest of Kronos as a pet dog obeys its master?” But while he’s commanding the monster to “stay in your kennel”, the hirsute holy man warns the rotter he’s like “a child trying to control a rogue elephant.” Meanwhile, in that ancient city soon to succumb to rising damp, Jo is as “quiet as an Atlantean mouse”, King Dalios proves “too old a fish to be caught in [the Master’s] net” and they all agree Kronos will soon arrive “like a tiger comes when he hears a lamb bleating.” To quote loopy lab rat Stuart Hyde, “Suffering catfish!”

Running alongside this, the script makes woeful attempts to get hip to the lingo of the time. We’re not here to chide a 1972 drama for being indicative of 1972, but it is weird Captain Yates would describe a medieval knight as: “Some goon in fancy dress… the King Arthur bit.” Similarly, with the Master at his mercy, Sergeant Benton rasps: “You’re still in the soup without a ladle.” Has the Brig been sending his boys to jive-talking night classes?

Taking the biscuit – and devouring it as quickly as a bone-crushing reptile can gulp down a soft-coated mammal (yes, fur and all) – is Jo’s info splurge when Kronos reveals itself as Ingrid Bower’s big benign bonce. “But, you’re a girl! A little while ago you were a raging monster and an evil destroyer!”

The plotting is a similarly ill-fated mixture of “I’ll explain later” (the Doctor’s rescued from episode four’s cliffhanger by Jo pulling a TARDIS knob marked “extreme emergency”) and earnest over-elucidation (“Time isn’t smooth, it’s made up of little bits”). But within that, there are some neat moments. The Doctor’s rivalry with the Master is nicely played. From their paralleled reactions about the unfolding plot to their verbal sparring when TARDISes entwine (“What a bore the fellow is,” says the Master), they shine. That, and the bit when the renegade confesses: “I’m sorry about your coccyx too, Miss Grant.”

But for The Time Monster’s apologists, it’s not about the banter, or Ingrid Pitt’s very nearly under-acted Queen Galleia. Nope, it comes down to the Doctor’s “daisiest daisy” speech. This glimpse of our hero learning to find solace in the natural world is a gentle evocation of Buddhist philosophy, and beautifully played by Jon Pertwee. But we plummet from such heights. Twenty minutes later Benton’s making a TOMTIT of himself in his birthday suit.

So let’s tong The Time Monster into a non-corrosive container, and consider Underworld, in which ersatz Argonaut Jackson leads his crew on a quest to find their species’ genetic race bank.

First screened in 1978, it’s initially very impressive – the Fourth Doctor and Leela materialising in a realistic-looking universe staffed by a realistic-looking spaceship. There are also exciting allusions to Time Lord lore, as the Doctor tells of his race’s disastrous prior encounter with the Minyans. Meanwhile, on board the R1C, the crew bandy around Gallifreyan terms. “I’ll dematerialise him!” growls Herrick, while the aged Tala has “gone past the regeneration point”. Steeped in Doctor Who mythos, the potential for where the story might take us is exhilarating.

Three minutes and 18 seconds into part two it’s all gone wrong, as non-speaking, smock-wearing extras feebly flee down chroma keyed cave corridors. Underworld is all but defined by the budget-saving decision to realise its subterranean scenes with bluescreened model shots – and it kind of works. However, it gives the action a horribly stilted quality as folk run in, look for their mark, stop… and then begin their performance. It also feels like a missed opportunity. If you can drop anything in back there, how about something more visually arresting than dreary caves?

Tom Baker does his best to pep things up, mooning around in a gas filled catacomb (“Whatever blows can be sucked!”) and, as the venomous vapour withdraws, playing straight down Camera 3 with: “I wonder where it all went?” There’s also a lovely, tiny bit when drippy Idas asks the Doctor and Leela to take him with them. “No,” says Leela. “Yes,” says the Doctor simultaneously.

Alas, it all culminates in “another machine with megalomania”, a line spat-out by Baker. He seems fed-up. So do the rest of the cast. And the crew. And your reviewer. It’s such a let down after that opening, you can’t help feeling fleeced.

Thankfully The Horns of Nimon, from 1979, calibrates your expectations perfectly with its establishing scene of two old men in silly hats bitching. This Greek oddity – in which the Nimon promises to revitalise the shagged out Skonnon empire in return for a stream of supine youngsters and hymetusite crystals (a cocktail that’s got many a former DWM editor through a long night) – turns out to be the most coherent production here. Almost everyone’s pulling in the same direction.  Just not very hard.

So you’ve got Malcolm “Weakling Scum” Terris (Lalla Ward, on commentary duty, says he looks like “a furious baby”) whose character doesn’t even merit a name. Then there’s Graham Crowden, delivering Soldeed’s lines by the syllable (“Dis-a-ppeared? What-are-you-talk-ing-about?”). And while soppy Simon Gipps-Kent and Janet Ellis head the de rigeur delegation of identi-clad extras, Skonnan guard captain Sorak’s content hanging around dressed like a satanic paper fortune-teller. Finally, there’s the Nimon – a top-heavy bovine beast who stalks the sets arms akimbo, as though waiting for his deodorant to dry. Brut, presumably.

For the majority of the tale, the Fourth Doctor refuses to take part, instead larking around with K9 in the TARDIS. He’s having a great time, but a lot of this feels like it’s been winged on the studio floor; moments of whimsy that ring with the rhythm of comedy, but not the content. “Define gum tree,” says K9. “Well, it’s a tree that gives gum,” says the Doctor. Oh dear.

It’s a shame, because Anthony Read’s script does sport some terrific lines. In a lucid moment Soldeed explains his relationship with the Nimon: “I fawn to him a little. That satisfies his ego… I play the Nimon on a long string.” A bumper-sticker, there, for producer Graham Williams’ relationship with Tom Baker.

Thankfully, Romana is happy to pull in the slack, and takes charge wherever she goes. Of the Skonnos battle fleet she declares: “A good shout will see them all off”, and it’s telling the last shot of the story is Lalla Ward breaking into the hugest grin. This has been her adventure, even if it was a very silly one.

Extras

If anything will persuade you to occasionally disinter this box set, it’ll be some of these…

Between Now… and Now! features Professor Jim Al Khalili taking on the science of The Time Monster. And guess what? Time actually is made up of little bits. Meanwhile, Into the Unknown looks at Underworld’s tumultuous production. The real heroes here are designers Dick Coles and AJ ‘Mitch’ Mitchell who presided over the complete rewiring of Studio 1 just to make those CSO shots possible. At the end, Graham Williams wrote to Coles: “I look forward to working with you again – perhaps on an easier project, such as a remake of Ben Hur!”

The real joy here, though is Underworld – In Studio, grimy video of the story’s recording sessions. In between takes, Tom Baker muses, “I would like to have been born… at the beginning of movies and working with people like Keaton. I would have adored it.” Best bit, though, is when the floor manager asks Tom to enter a scene in a sensible fashion. Uh oh! “I’m supposed to look strange, sir! I don’t come from [bleep!]-ing Ealing!”

The commentary tracks offer up further jewels. On Nimon Graham Crowden recalls how fellow thesp Edward Petherbridge told him: “You’re a ham actor, but beautifully cooked,” while on Underworld, Tom Baker’s in fruity form. “Darling,” he says to Louise Jameson, “what lovely legs you’ve got. They’ve been good to you.” Louise: “Well, they’ve got me an Aladdin or two.”

However it’s The Time Monster track you’ll never forget. The episodes are variously farmed out to different commentary teams, but John Levene’s solo efforts on episodes two and four (if you want to jump straight to them) are utterly brilliant. From his opening “I’m very flattered to be John Levene” to his obsession with who’s wearing “slightly narrower trousers”, it’s wall-to-wall madness. Levene extemporises on simply everything. A poster of Elton John in Ruth’s lab prompts him to reveal his favourite EJ track (we won’t spoil that revelation here), and he talks us through every teeny bit of business Benton manages, from wiping a bead of sweat on his sleeve (“My idea”) to straightening his uniform (ditto). “This is where Benton shines,” he says, as the sergeant blinks in the back of shot. “I show great concern.”

Finally, there’s Who Peter on the Nimon DVD, a wonderful documentary celebrating the long-running relationship between Doctor Who and Blue Peter. Russell T Davies pops up throughout, revealing he’d entered that infamous 1960s design-a-monster competition (his effort was something based on an all-in-one tap), but Janet Ellis steals the show, reminiscing about her stilted chat with Sylvester McCoy shortly after Doctor #7’s casting. “He wasn’t… fluent.”

Who Peter will continue on future releases. Fantastic! Absolutely fantastic! I’m going to certainly look in and see how they get on…

The scene: 2 entertain’s offices, late 2009. Enter Grun, King Peladon’s champion. Hair the colour of raspberry ripple, eyes and nipples glistening in agitation. He has a message of great import, but he’s as mute as early reaction to the new  K-9 series.

“What is it, Grun?”

“Gnngh!” he moans. Then he gathers himself. Mime. He can converse through mime, and begins sauntering around in an I-am-a-robot fashion.

“Kamelion? Is it something about Kamelion?”

Yes, nods Grun, frantically, but there’s more. He takes up an imaginary lute and plays a silent madrigal.

“Oh… Kamelion and The King’s Demons. Is that right, Grun? The King’s Demons?”

Yes!

“Well, that’s part of our next Doctor Who DVD box set. It’s going to be coupled with…”

Grun sashays back and forth, cupping his chest.

“…Planet of Fire, yes. There’s a problem?”

“Gnngh!” he confirms and moves into a complicated routine, involving lots of paperwork, rubber-stamping and…

“There are clearance issues regarding the box set, currently scheduled for next January, and that means its release date will have to be put back? Is that what you’re telling us?”

Grun puts his left index finger to his nose, and points forcefully with his right. Correct!

“What to do?”

And lo! With a thunderclap, The Curse of Peladon and its sequel The Monster of Peladon jump menacingly forward in the DVD release schedule.

Originally screened in 1972 and 1974, these stories are utterly interlocked, despite the two-year gap. But while it would be madness to release them separately, it also does them no favours offering them up together. The problem is, Curse and Monster stack up to make 10 episodes of pretty much the same thing happening. By the final part, the saga’s spent so long trailing around that secret passage it’s knackered.

And what about that concealed corridor? Shuttling characters from situation A to situation B and back again, it’s not just a secret passage in the story, it’s a secret passage through the story.

Okay, I’m being terribly disparaging. It’s just that – and readers of a sensitive disposition look away now – both tales are a bit dull. In the former, Peladon’s attempts to ascend to the Galactic Federation prompts a visit from the body’s delegates, and unrest at home (parodying the then uncertainty over the UK joining the Common Market). Monster, meanwhile, riffs on the miners’ strikes of the early seventies, as the planet’s pit workers rebel against working conditions. These are political allegories, but neither need necessarily equate to plodding telly. The problem is, on Peladon the debates are mainly played out by the planet’s ditchwater-like residents.

The insipid Royal Family is central. Take King Peladon (please!). He’s unable to make a single decision and, weirdly, permanently on the cop for a father figure. As soon as High Priest Hepesh is offed, his highness is all over the next silver fox: “Doctor, what should I do?” Mind you, there’s a certain silvery sheen to his patter. “You bring a welcome beauty to a serious occasion,” he tells Jo… albeit in such an earnest manner, he brings an unwelcome seriousness to (what could have been) a beautiful occasion.

We meet his daughter, Queen Thalira, in Monster. A chip off the old block, she proves lack of character is – perversely – the dominant clan trait. Cowed by Ortron, the latest member of the Duplicitous Robed Old Man franchise, her calling card is to whimper “I’m only a girl” and supplicate herself before anyone with a wisp of facial hair. She’s lucky the Master’s on his Who sabbatical.

The serfs also fail to impress. Clad for panto, most project as though they’re competing with a front row of boisterous cub scouts. When they’re not duly (and dully) laying in the plot, they’re shrinking in fear from yet another event they’ve ascribed to ALF-alike deity, Aggedor. Honestly, is no-one around here going to take responsibility for their actions?

And then there are the miners. It’s at this point we find ourselves at this oddest of junctures for a Doctor Who review – having to come up with something cogent to say about hairdressing. Clearly, these chaps are sporting badger-type barnets to denote their work underground. It’s an odd caste system. If Justin Lee Collins arrived at Peladon, would he be denied his TV career and set to work bailing hay? Good times! Whatever, it all denotes a lack of imagination when it comes to the Pels. They’re so silly, so stuffy – they are the planet’s true curse. Let’s never speak of them again, particularly when there’s so much to be enjoyed courtesy of the story’s garish onlookers.

Where to start? Alpha Centuri! A uni-eyed, six-limbed hermaphroditic hexapod, s/he is a one wo/man Channel 5 documentary season. Tottering around, opining shrilly, Alpha is just fabulous. Sometimes a jobsworth (“Mind you, I reserve the right of veto!”), sometimes a snob (forever banging on about “primitive planets”) and sometimes – just sometimes – rather brave (“Thank you Eckersley, but you’re still a traitor!”), s/he’s one of the most successful creations of the Pertwee years.

The grumpy old delegate from Arcturus is almost a match. Voice burbling impotently, he’s ensconced in a life support machine (or “box of tricks” – sensitively put, Doctor), complete with its own disco lights. With water trickling through the dome, it looks like he’s working up towards a full on Ibiza foam party in there. It’s a shame he never makes it to the second story, instead ending up looking like a discarded hankie when Ice Warrior Ssorg opens fire.

So what of the Ice Warriors? Neither of the stories feel as though they belong to the Martians, whose slow sibilant whispering and lumbering movements (Warriors’ gait, anyone?) leave them trailing a little behind the rest of the menagerie. They clearly get a better innings in Curse, which creatively posits them as the surprise good guys of the piece – and it’s interesting this state of affairs is made clear to us before the Doctor cottons on. Not often we get the jump on him.

Lord Izlyr is a fine ambassador indeed, politicking hard and summing up his colleagues with a nice, arch line: “Arcturus is a coward by logic and Centuri is a coward by instinct.” His counterpart in Monster, Azaxyr, can’t quite live up to that. Much more old school, it’s revealed his overriding ambition is simply a return to “the good old days of death or glory”.

And then there’s Eckersley. The human in charge of the trisilicate refinery in Monster, he may have the dullest brief, but he’s the best thing about the whole 10 episodes, gifted lovely breezy lines like: “Sorry chum, I’ve got too much to do!” while blasting an innocent. When Azaxyr takes command in part four, the engineer chirpily disassociates himself with all the controversies, saying: “All this argy-bargy is nothing to do with me!” Even when he’s revealed to be a wrong ‘un, Eckersley mooches around, hand in pocket, smiling pleasantly. His finest moment, though, is when it appears the Doctor’s copped it. “He should never have got involved in local politics,” he sighs. Quoted, as they say, for truth.

With this colourful array you’d think the Time Lord might be sidelined. Oh no. He’s there in the thick of it, injecting himself into court life – all regal flourishes and bows – and making friends with Aggedor, courtesy of a Venusian lullaby (presumably denizens of that planet need something to settle themselves after a high energy day of karate). And by the way, come Monster, aren’t the Pels merchandising the hell out of the Royal Beast? His tusky visage appearing on drapes, walls… maybe even sweatshirts, available in all shades: blue, yellow and, of course, maroon, maroon, maroon.

Monster’s sequel status also allows us the opportunity to measure the Doctor’s tall stories against reality. When he tells Sarah Jane what a good pal he became with King Peladon, you can’t help reflect that, really, they weren’t that close. Then he greets Alpha Centuri: “My dear fella!” Again, were they ever more than acquaintances? Stop over-egging it, man! Although, how he’d sugar-coat the unprecedented beating he took from manic miner Ettis at the end of part four is almost reason enough for a third TV return to Peladon.

Almost.

DVD extras

The big deal here is two-part documentary, The Peladon Saga, which puts the stories in the political context of the time. Plus we also learn about their production; the omnipresent torches got soot on the lights and were technically a fire hazard, and even the hairspray used was illegal. Meanwhile Ettis actor Ralph Watson is still glowing from the mighty duffing-up he administered to Jon Pertwee. “Who else has done what I did to Doctor Who?”

Jon and Katy looks at the relationship between… well guess. Katy Manning is effusive, not just about her co-worker, but – refreshingly for a former Who companion – her character, whom she felt grew over her time in the series.

Then: “There were other monsters in Doctor Who, but none of them were as frightening as the Ice Warriors.” Sonny Caldinez, there, who played Ssorg and Sskel in the Peladon stories. Interviewed for Warriors of Mars – a profile of the Martian meanies – he’s laying it on a bit thick, but you can’t fault his fidelity to his former screen species. “You looked at them,” he continues, “and you thought to yourself, ‘Jesus, they are grotesque!’.”

The final weighty feature is On Target: Terrance Dicks, a tribute to the man’s huge body of work in Doctor Who novelisations. It’s a warm-hearted piece, with latter day ‘Who writer Paul Cornell enthusing: “Terrance Dicks is Doctor Who!” Best bit is when the pleasant, open faced Cornell fatally over-thinks things, and challenges Dicks on his stock description of the Fifth Doctor, suspecting El Tel had cleverly worked a cricketing pun into that pen portrait. Dicks’ reaction? Amused befuddlement.

Photo galleries, a deleted scene (rebuilt with photos and an audio off-cut) and a comparison between storyboard and the opening of Curse flesh out the release (the commentary track wasn’t available for review as DWM went to press). But, much as she did during the whole Peladon saga, it’s Ysanne Churchman – the voice of Alpha Centuri – who steals the show. In a short sequence nicked from David Jacobs’ Where Are They Now?, she recalls her brief for the role: “We want the pure voice of a young boy, with the mentality of a homosexual civil servant.”

And do you know what? They got it.

So much so that it stirred my mind back to a simpler time when The Doctor would casually dispatch villains in a variety of ways, including blasting them with guns, pushing them into acid baths and gassing them with cyanide. The good old days, as I like to call them.

So, I’ve compiled a list of ten moments of shocking violence in Doctor Who – perpetrated by the Time Lord himself.

1. An Unearthly Child

The original and the best. The First Doctor is stopped by Ian, seconds before he stoves in the head of a wounded caveman with a rock.

2. The Dominators

The Second Doctor places a nuclear device on the Dominators’ ship, blowing them out of the sky.

3. Inferno

The Third Doctor smilingly explains to the Brigadier than the Venusian grip he has applied to Stahlman will soon paralyse him for life. Similar venusian chops, kicks and jabs pepper the Third Doctor’s era.

4. Day of the Daleks

The Doctor casually blasts an approaching Ogron, blowing Ten’s ‘be the man who never would’ speech out of the water.

5. The Brain of Morbius

The Fourth Doctor gasses Solon with cyanide, in a move that could easily have left him and Sarah sealed in a crypt forever.

6. The Seeds of Doom

Four punches out a henchman with a thinly-disguised relish. Later on he twists Scorby’s neck, as if to break it, after punching him in the gut.

7. Arc of Infinity

The Fifth Doctor simply shoots Omega.

8. The Twin Dilemma

The Sixth Doctor tries to strangle Peri to death.

9. Vengeance on Varos

Take your pick. Doc Six maneuvers two guards into a BATH OF ACID and leaves two different booby traps involving stinging plants and a laser to kill two cannibals and a guard.

10. The Two Doctors

The Sixth Doctor chloroforms Shockeye to death.

I’ve got nothing on the rest, barring the Seventh Doctor’s disabling of Patterson in Survival and the Ninth Doctor’s knocking out a guard in the one where Rose turns into the Time Vortex, or whatever the hell it is that happens in that episode.

Have I missed any obvious ones? It wouldn’t surprise me to discover that Hartnell stabbed someone in the neck in one of his less obvious stories.

Isn’t that a beautiful Christmas tree? The lights flash blue and white.  Progress-wise, this year I had very little time to blog/plug but got a lot of acceptances (some straight through 2011), let go of a lot of reprints, wrote 26 BRAND NEW short stories, wrote 8 BRAND NEW novelettes, wrote four unfinished novellas between 15,000 and 30,000 words in length — which I may make available on my blog to read next year.  I mean, why let good stories go to waste.  Or maybe I will get around to editing and finishing those novellas.  I have future eBooks & Kindle titles on the horizon.  I realized that, money-wise, it doesn’t pay to release a second short story collection.  I can earn more individually.  I was shortlisted a couple of times by some decent pubs, made second readings, almost made it into 4 professional level magazines/venues.  And that’s just the fiction department.  Oh yeah, did I mention the steampunk and satire offers?

Below you will find pictures of just half of this year’s gifts.  It’s mainly a Cybermen-themed Christmas this year, with David Tennant regenerating into Matt Smith and all.  And my son is now a Dr. Who fan and absolutely adores The Cybermen (he’s scared of the Daleks).  Oddly enough, he’s also more a Christopher Eccleston fan.  One of the items I searched the UK high and low for was The Cybermen Age of Steel 4-figure collection.  Collect them all, open up the packages, and you can build a fifth figure.  The Cyber Controller.  I also picked up The Next Doctor on DVD and ordered a Cyber Leader Voice-Changing Helmet to seal the deal.

Some of the other gifts, which are already wrapped, consist of model kits with glues and paints from my old man, though they say ages 8+ and 12+ on the packages.  So I guess the little one will have to hold on to them until he’s old enough to understand them.  Those are made by Revell.  There are also Bob the Builder videos.  Believe me, Doctor Who wasn’t the only stocking stuffer.  There are some other wonderful toys and gifts ranging from Super Mario to Toddler Costumes to Spongebob Squarepants-themed games, and, like last year, play food items.  Like “make your own pizza.”  The Spongebob game in the picture below is actually Connect Four, but obviously for a slightly younger age group.  Then there’s the one last-minute gift I just couldn’t put down.  The paint job was so realistic.  It reminded me of the Super Powers Action Figures of the 80′s.  Remember those? The Justice League of America Boxed Set: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern.  These figures are mint and pristine! And who doesn’t love the JLA?

Now that’s a big ass cup of coffee (by the way, that’s made of metal).  Just couldn’t resist.

In a reduced and very affordable fashion, I also treated myself to a few early-season gifts.  First, notice the non-fiction book above on Pompeii.  You got it.  It’s research time.  Lawrence Dagstine will be coming your way sometime in 2010 with a story set in Pompeii.  It could be before Volcano Day, it could be after.  It could be Alternate History or not the story you’re expecting.  But you know me when it comes to Historical Weird Tales.

Also, I can’t recommend enough WEIRD HISTORY 101 — published by Falls River, and if you’re a B&N member, you might be able to get it reduced now for $4.00 — in hardcover.  This tome is sooo awesome.  It’s like a mini factbook and reference tool for the writer, and just all around interesting to own.  If you’re a writer of historical tales, alternate history, steampunk, or period pieces, trust me and go to Barnes & Nobles and get this book.  Doesn’t matter what genre.  Author is John Richard Stephens.  You won’t find these kind of facts on Google, or between the pages of traditional historical reference books.

And if you look up above, I finally have a new computer desk.  Nice to have shelving and a drawer, but still unsure of what to fill it up with yet.  Now that the little one has gotten older, the bookcase units pretty much belong to him and his toys.  Now that I have a Kindle, most of my print books will be donated.  Those I wish to keep will be locked away in storage between two households (yeah, there’s that many).  But that desk above is situated in a new corner, it’s my new workspace, and it’s where I’ll pen that Pompeii tale for you Dagstine readers when the time comes.

With that said, I’ll probably only update this blog four more times before the New Year.  Stay with me in 2010.  We have many adventures to go on together, and much awaits.  Won’t you join me? To all my fans and readers…

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Lawrence R. Dagstine

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