The TV Movie

Dear Gary—

Doctor Who the TV Movie is just bad. There’s no getting around it. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. The trouble with Doctor Who the TV Movie is that it is insincere in its sincerity. It plays lip service homage to Doctor Who all the while operating under the misguided attempt to pander to ratings and the lowest common denominator audience. As a result it is bad. Not just bad, it is awful.

However it does not outrage me as it did back in 1996 when it aired for the first time. Back then the one thing that I took away from it and that left a sour taste was the romance. The Doctor, I raved, does not get intimate with his companions.

However, recent viewings reveal that the ‘romance’ is not as blatant as I remembered; in fact it is rather sweet, at least on the Doctor’s part. I’m not so sure about Grace, though. And that is one of the things making this bad. Rather than taking time to allow the audience to get to know her, Grace is handed to us with a cutout character. Like the single perfect tear rolling down her cheek when she lowers her opera glasses. Come on. That whole opening opera sequence with Grace decked out in her finest ball gown is contrivance at its most convenient. It is a shortcut way to present this fairy princess heroine to us on a silver platter. But I can only wonder why she would get all made up and spend money (or let her boyfriend spend money) on prime seats for Madame Butterfly, which she obviously passionately wants to see, when she is on call at the hospital. I guess there were no pre-show announcements back then about turning off all electronic devices.

What about that long-suffering boyfriend Brian? He apparently is a dull fellow and hardly worthy of our saintly Dr. Grace Holloway. It must be so because when she returns home to find him gone the only thing she is upset about is that he took the sofa. (And really, he took the sofa but left behind his shoes?) He has threatened to leave in the past, according to the derisive comments of Grace’s co-workers, so I guess this is no surprise to her; but she has been content to live with him for what must have been quite some time for them to have been so settled in their home together. What was she staying with him for? His sofa?

Then, mere hours after her live-in boyfriend has left her, and only hours after meeting a man (the Doctor) who breaks into her house and who frightens her and who she thinks is mad, she suddenly, in mid motorcycle ride, decides that this is the man of her dreams. I have serious doubts about this woman’s depth of feeling.

I do like the actress, and she does the best she can with what she is handed, but what she is handed is a shallow script that tells us she is a wonderful person but in doing so showcases some questionable personality traits.

Worse than this, though, is the sanitized violence of the production, personified by Chang Lee. Chang Lee is a member of a vicious street gang and involved in a fierce gunfight to begin our tale; yet Chang Lee comes across as a clean-cut boy next door. We are supposed to care about this young thug; we are supposed to believe that this gangbanger has a good heart and is simply duped by the Master.  Doctor Who the TV Movie wants to be hardened and sentimental at the same time. The sugar coated realism doesn’t work.

Then there is the Master. The Master in Doctor Who the TV Movie is the reverse of the aforementioned candy land approach. Classic Who Master always was a bit sugar coated, and arguably this is a fault of Classic Who. The TV Movie presents us with a truly evil villain and calls him the Master, and while the Master always was evil and should have been more evil than he came across, this unredeemable and relentless heavy of the Movie is over the top bad and I can’t quite believe he is the Master. The Master by any other name . . . but then again, the name alone does not make the man.

Next we come to the plot. Classic Who has its share of clunker scripts with gaping holes, but there are usually other elements that make up for this. I can get over the speedy Doctor/Grace connection (which had been my main objection upon first viewing) because of the actors, but I can’t get past the bad narrative.  There is just nothing about it that entertains or enlightens or elevates.

The Master wants to take over the Doctor’s body. Ok, that’s sufficiently plausible. But now, how exactly has he survived his execution? And if he has this ability for his spirit to take on this shimmery snake form and possess other beings, why hasn’t he used this power before? Well, he did take over Tremas’ body in The Keeper of Traken, that’s true, albeit without the shimmery snake intermediary. But then why didn’t he just enter the Doctor’s body straight away and be done with it? And what’s with the whole Eye of Harmony, heart of the TARDIS, need for the human retina, metal head contraption, atomic clock, midnight on New Year’s Eve nonsense? Midnight—really? Midnight on the eve of the year 2,000? Really? Talk about contrivance at its most convenient. And I still don’t know how that muddle of a miraculous saving Grace works in the end, or how or why the two dead bodies of Grace and Chang Lee are resurrected.

For any of that inane jumble to work, the characters of the Master and Chang Lee have to work, and they just don’t.  The despicable Master with his glowing green eyes is not going to fool anyone as the wronged victim; except that is for the delinquent Chang, who despite being pursued by gunmen takes the time to sit in a public waiting room for news of the total stranger he accompanied to the hospital just on the off chance he could steal his meager personal effects. The Master tells Chang that the Doctor is evil; that the TARDIS and the Doctor’s body are stolen from him, the Master. And the kid believes the obviously possessed guy who has basically told him ‘obey me or die’ just because. Just because he’s stupid. Just because he’s naïve. Just because the script instructs him. Just because. But you see we have to believe that Chang believes the Master (and isn’t simply being mercenary based on the bags of gold the Master has promised him) because the street punk with criminal intent is really a kid with a heart of gold who wants to do the right thing. Yeah, right.

But you know, Gary, I could even forgive this. And I can forgive the whole TARDIS key thing—the key works for Chang; the Doctor has a spare in a cubby above the P; somehow the Master got into the TARDIS without one (or maybe he found the spare). What I find that I cannot and will not tolerate, however, is the claim that the Doctor is half human. This is the single most idiotic thing ever done in Doctor Who and deserves to be ignored.

It is a shame, really, because Paul McGann as the Doctor is good and this leads me to the few things about Doctor Who the TV Movie that are good; and they all have to do with the Doctor. To begin, Sylvester McCoy in his brief cameo is a breath of fresh air in this stinker. I can believe that his Doctor has made over the control room into the serene library feel that it now has, and his sitting down to a cup of tea and a good read is understandable and long overdue. Then we get the regeneration. Sylvester McCoy was short changed when he first regenerated into himself; he is well compensated as he regenerates out of himself. Although I find serious fault with the malpractice of the hospital and its staff, the scene of the Doctor on the operating table is well played for tension with the audience aware of the two hearts and non human patient time bombs that the hospital personnel are unconscionably oblivious to. The death and subsequent dramatic regeneration are equally effective (although I cringe a bit at the Frankenstein cuts and the resurrected Nazarene comparisons).

In my original rankings I placed Colin Baker dead last with Paul McGann slightly above him. These rankings were based on recollections of vague impressions from infrequent viewings. After considered reflection and upon a more studied screening, I retain these rankings through no fault of the actors. Both suffer from their productions. I came to appreciate Colin Baker’s Doctor, but he was given sufficient time to rise above and he couldn’t quite break free from the confines of the mostly mediocre material. Paul McGann, on the other hand, did not have any time to rise above the dreadful material he was handed. In the little air time he was afforded, however, he is charming. While I don’t necessarily feel any need for more Colin Baker, I would dearly love a chance to get more of McGann’s interpretation.

Parenthetically, Gary, I have recently discovered the McGann mini-episode The Night of the Doctor, and I am aware of various books and audio adventures involving all of the Doctors. I haven’t yet decided when I have finished on my slow path of the official Doctor Who series if I will venture on into these various mediums.

In the meantime I journey on, Gary, leaving behind this bridge between the Classic and the New. It is a brief and regrettable look at the Eighth Doctor who deserved better.

Marco Polo

Dear Gary—

After completing my run of classic Doctors and before forging ahead, I would like to take a moment to go back to the one serial that I missed in my first go through—Marco Polo. I did not discover the wonderful world of reconstructions on the internet in time to view this in its proper order, but I would like to take the time now to properly finish out the original series.

What a treat.

It is pure delight to revisit the First Doctor along with Barbara and Ian and yes, even Susan. I had nearly forgotten how truly wonderful these early Doctor Whos could be. This is good old fashioned story telling that takes its time to develop character and plot. This is Doctor Who that is not afraid to depict the Doctor as a grumpy old man who is vulnerable to the elements and to ordinary aches and pains. This is Doctor Who that trusts itself enough to not rely on monsters and aliens and big bangs. This is Doctor Who that allows the companions to carry the show for an episode or two. This is Doctor Who.

This is a well-rounded Doctor Who. Strong script, strong characters, strong actors, strong production values. This is a Doctor Who that everyone involved believed in. No doubts; no undermining office politics; no backstage drama. At least none that are evident in the finished product.

As the story opens the TARDIS and crew are stranded on a snowy mountaintop. Ian and Barbara speculate that perhaps they are on Earth—the Alps or Andes maybe. Ian and Barbara are not joy riders or thrill seekers or groupies. Ian and Barbara are run-of-the-mill school teachers who happened to get whisked up into the Doctor’s world and all they want is to go home. It is therefore particularly poignant when Susan suggests the Himalayas and Ian ponders this thought: “The Roof of the World. I wonder. If only.”

It turns out that is exactly where they are; unfortunately they are several hundred years off the mark; they are in the year 1289. Ah, the historical. These are the storylines that get abandoned down the road; but here in the early days of Doctor Who the strength of the show is such that a seven part historical can grab and hold the audience.

The strength of the show is also such that it can revel in vulnerabilities. The vulnerability of the companions, the vulnerability of the Doctor, and the vulnerability of the TARDIS. The unreliability of the TARDIS is a major plot point in the early stages of Doctor Who. In Marco Polo the TARDIS has completely failed. (“Everything’s gone to pot.”) A burned out circuit means the loss of light, heat, and water, and our quartet is stranded. Luckily for our heroes they are found on that lonely mountaintop by none other than Marco Polo.

The broken down TARDIS is very much front and center in Marco Polo. Polo confiscates the craft and Tegana covets it. I love Tegana’s description: “It just stands there like a warlord’s tomb on one end.” Tegana secretly plots to sabotage the caravan, steal the TARDIS, and kill Marco Polo, all with the eye to aiding the Khan Noghai against Kublai Khan. Polo desires the TARDIS in order to present the flying caravan to Kublai Khan in hopes that he will be so grateful that he will allow Marco to return home. To this end he takes the TARDIS key and prevents the Doctor from entering, thus forcing the group to follow along on Polo’s long journey.

This slow path is a trek of several months, perhaps the longest single period of time covered in a Doctor Who serial, but it is neither leisurely nor tedious, and the voiceover narration by Polo and the tracing of their route on the map helps to speed the action along.

The length of the trip and the lack of an obvious threat makes Marco Polo a multi-layered tale allowing for rich character development. The warlord Tegana is the main antagonist, however he remains undercover. As Polo observes, “Does the lamb conceal the wolf, or the wolf the lamb?” Ian and Barbara both suspect Tegana’s motives, but Polo cannot take these strangers’ words as proof. Working mostly in the dark, the intrepid companions still manage to thwart most of Tegana’s devious schemes, although they are unable to unmask him. It is a fascinating dance acted out from the snows of the Himalayas through the desert landscapes of the Gobi; all the while nature poses its own unique dangers.

Marco Polo himself could be considered an adversary since he has commandeered the TARDIS. It is a complex relationship, however, with Polo and our travelers forming a warm bond despite their rivalry for possession of the TARDIS. Each can understand the others’ need, and there is sympathy mixed with suspicion in all their dealings.

Meanwhile Susan has found a friend in Ping-Cho, the young girl being escorted by Polo to meet her aged and unknown husband-to-be. Ping-Cho proves invaluable in gaining access to the TARDIS, but it is in the quiet moments that she shines. That is something that I find lacking in the more recent fare — the quiet moments that add such depth to the show.

One of those quiet moments belongs to Susan. She and Ping-Cho are discussing their respective homes, and much like Ian’s wistful contemplation to begin our serial, Susan pauses to reflect on her own distant world. “It’s as far away as a night star,” she says. Similarly, in discussing the loss of the TARDIS with Barbara, Susan remarks, “We should be up there; another time, another galaxy.” And then: “One day we’ll know all the mysteries of the skies, and we’ll stop our wandering.” Some pensive and melancholy moods that are allowed to breathe.

The strength of the show lies in these vulnerabilities, in these subtleties, in these reflections; and it all rests on the frail shoulders of William Hartnell. Polo describes the Doctor as “both difficult and bad-tempered,” and Susan says of him, “Grandfather’s being rude and sulking by himself.” I agree, the First Doctor can be a grumpy curmudgeon, but delightfully and amusingly so; and just when you think you have him pegged, he breaks out into fits of gleeful laughter even when things seem their bleakest.

Barbara gets him. “Well, you know him better than I do,” she tells Susan, “but I’d have said he was just feeling defenseless.” Barbara has always struck me as the most perceptive of the group. “He has a wonderful machine,” she continues, putting things in perspective, “capable of all sorts of miracles, and it’s taken away from him by a man he calls a primitive.” And then she concludes, “Oh, he’s like a rubber ball. He’ll come bouncing out of there soon full of ideas.”

That is the Doctor, the First and Original Doctor. He is not perfect. He is not superhuman. He is not godlike. He has his weaknesses and is capable of feeling helpless. But he always bounces back. He also always bears up with remarkable poise. It is a long and difficult journey to the Khan’s court, and the Doctor suffers much. However it is the pampered and privileged Khan who complains bitterly of old age. “It must be borne with dignity, sir,” the Doctor advises.

As I write this, rumors abound that these lost episodes have been found and are being restored. This timeworn tale has aged with dignity, and despite adversity is bouncing back with renewed vigor.

I send this out into the Doctor’s time swirl, Gary, wondering if you now know all the mysteries of the skies . . .

Sylvester McCoy

Dear Gary—

What better way to end the year than to bid a fond farewell to the last of the classic era Doctors, Sylvester McCoy. In my original rankings I placed McCoy a dismal ninth stating that the creativity of the show was dying. I have to revise that statement, although I retain McCoy in the ninth spot. Upon re-watch of the Seventh Doctor serials I see that creativity was not the problem. There were plenty of clever concepts during this time; however there was a lack of development and follow through and these ideas were never done justice, perhaps due to a lack of time and money.

Sylvester McCoy’s Doctor also suffers a similar fate as Doctors Five and Six. Doctor’s One through Four have a definite presence as the Doctor that is missing in Five through Seven, and what I come up with is that the actors— Peter Davison, Colin Baker, and Sylvester McCoy—were  not given the freedom to be the Doctor. At least my impression is that each of these actors had an idea of the Doctor’s character foisted upon them, whether or not that characterization was clearly outlined or fully defined. I haven’t given full consideration to this, Gary, and am merely speculating at the moment; but I wonder if the germ of this didn’t start with the notion that, because Tom Baker had been the Doctor so successfully and for so long, Peter Davison’s Doctor had to be consciously and distinctly different. From that point on, it seems, the powers that be saddled the actor playing the part with pre-conceived but not necessarily well thought out notions on how to play the Doctor rather than trusting the actor to simply take the part and run.

One of the more tangible aspects to this theory is in the costuming. One through Four each has a distinct wardrobe it is true, however it feels natural to the Doctor and the actors always seem comfortable in it. Starting with Five, however, the Doctor’s attire becomes too tailored and self-aware, epitomized by the question marks. Sylvester McCoy, at least, does appear at home in his hobo-like clothes, but the sweater vest is highly questionable.

In his first few outings Sylvester McCoy is more relaxed in his interpretation of the Doctor. At times this comes across as a little too much clown and not enough hero, but when he is able to successfully blend the two elements he is spot on. These first stories might not be the best scripts, but they are some of my favorite McCoys because of this. Time and the Rani, for example, is more or less dreadful, and Sylvester McCoy doesn’t settle into the role straight off, but once he calms down a bit and begins to show the wheels spinning beneath the comic exterior he becomes the Doctor for me.

Starting with Remembrance of the Daleks, one of the better scripts of the McCoy years, an image of the Doctor becomes evident as someone darker, more mysterious, and almost godlike. This could work but it is an ambitious undertaking and needs full commitment and clarity. Unfortunately, for me at any rate, it doesn’t work. When the show makes the concerted effort to depict the Doctor in this way, he comes off as irresponsible, devious, and at times heartless.

Under this persona the Doctor is more in control of his adventures; he is not merely a wanderer who happens upon events; he masterminds events. But it is under this persona that he leaves dangerous artifacts behind or launches them out into the universe and then forgets about them or doesn’t decide to collect them until it is almost too late (case in point: Remembrance of the Daleks and Silver Nemesis). Then he concocts elaborate schemes to defeat his mortal enemies (resulting in the destruction of the Dalek home planet Skaro and of the Cyberman fleet), and incidentally jeopardizes other people, other planets, and other races in the process.

This is the persona that the Time Lords were afraid of and put on trial, and for good reason. They just acted one generation too early.

And it is under this persona that the Doctor manipulates his companion. It has been a long time since the Doctor has had a friendly relationship, and in Ace the Doctor has finally found a true buddy. There is an ease and affection between the two that is refreshing. But then he secretly pulls the strings to lead her into situations she would rather avoid. He forces her to face her fear of clowns in The Greatest Show in the Galaxy; he brings her to the haunted house of her nightmares in Ghost Light; and he confronts her with her despised mother in The Curse of Fenric. He does all of this without forewarning her. These are not the acts of a friend or even a trusted teacher; these are the acts of a sadistic taskmaster. It is hard to reconcile the outward rapport they share with these furtive machinations.

There is no payoff for this persona. Perhaps given another season it would have come to fruition. But there never was another season. Not for McCoy. Not for this production team. The Doctor needs to be fully trusted. The audience should not have to wait to discover the meaning behind the mask, especially for more than one season, and especially if there is some doubt that there will be another season.

It is a credit to Sylvester McCoy that even given this dubious guise he retains the core elements of the Doctor. In the Curse of Fenric Ace accuses the Doctor of holding on to the facts. “You always know,” she says. “You just can’t be bothered to tell anyone. It’s like it’s some kind of game, and only you know the rules.” Like Ace, I get angry with the Doctor and with the show for concealing intentions. But like Ace, I quickly let go the anger and forgive and forget. The Doctor is still the Doctor, and all we can do is put our faith in him.

For the most part I enjoy McCoy’s Doctor; and I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Paradise Towers. However in hindsight, Gary, I think it was probably for the best that Doctor Who was given a rest when it was. Who knows where another season of McCoy might have led, but given the behind the scenes climate at the time, it very well could have put a permanent closure to the show that might never have been overcome.

I send this out to you, dear Gary, with the closing of the old year and with a hopeful look towards the new . . .

Survival

Dear Gary—

Ace: “Home.”

Doctor: “Home?”

Ace: “The TARDIS.”

Doctor: “Yes, the TARDIS.”

For me, Gary, Survival is all about home; more so than the titular concept.

“You bring me back to the boredom capitol of the universe,” Ace complains, even though it was her request to return to her hometown of Perivale. Her interest, however, only goes so far as to discover what her old mates are up to. She has no desire to relieve the desperate fears of her monster of a mother, despite having just left the baby Audrey in The Curse of Fenric with the words “I’ll always love you.” Guess she hasn’t done as much growing up as we were led to believe.

Ace doesn’t find what she’s after in Perivale. Her mates are gone; married, moved on, or vanished. The only one left behind is a lackluster Ange. “Either you were dead or you’d gone to Birmingham,” Ange tells Ace of her presumed fate. “We were the only life there ever was around here,” Ace says of her missing friends. The depressed and dingy town no longer has anything to offer her.

The planet of the Cheetahs, on the other hand, entices. Whisked off into that world by Karra, Ace finds herself feeling more at home. “I feel like I belong here,” she tells the Doctor. “I can smell things as clear as pictures,” she continues as the spell of the place begins to take hold.

Ace discovers her missing mates here; however they do not extend the same sense of belonging as they once did. Bickering and barely managing to survive, the small group hardly welcomes her with open arms. Karra, on the other hand, lures Ace to the thrill of the hunt. “Smell the blood on the wind,” she cries. “Hear the blood in your ears. Run; run beyond the horizon and catch your hunger.”

Possessed by the blood lust, Ace turns to the Doctor for guidance. “It’s all right, Ace,” the Doctor tells her, “we’re going home.” Infected as she is, Ace has the power to teleport home (and she doesn’t even have to click her heels three times). Ace returns the group to Earth, to Perivale, next to the TARDIS. Of the three, it is the TARDIS that has the greatest pull. “What are we hanging about for,” Ace asks; she is ready to leave Earth and Perivale behind.

However the Doctor can’t leave just yet. The Doctor has unfinished business with the Master.

Like Ace, the Master is being influenced by the Cheetah planet. However the Master no longer has a place he can call his home. He needs Midge to transport him to Earth.

The idea of the Cheetah people is a good one. Essentially they are fun loving, as the Master explains, but when hungry they turn to the hunt. “You kill people; you eat people,” Ace says to Karra. “When I’m hungry I hunt,” Karra concedes. “When I hunt, I eat.” It is simple; it is survival.

This theme of survival is best exemplified by the Cheetah people, although much is made of Sergeant Paterson and his macho posturing. But Paterson only talks in platitudes; he doesn’t teach anything and I don’t even think he understands what he says. As the Doctor points out: “Survival of the fittest; rather a glib generalization.” About the only lesson his self-defense class learns is to kick someone when they are down. When put to the test, Paterson falls apart; he obviously is not one of the fittest.

The Cheetah people, on the other hand, are more poetic in their interpretation of survival, even though it is a stripped down, basal animal instinct; and both Ace and the Master find it hard to resist. Interesting that Paterson, for all of his ‘survival of the fittest’ talk, never succumbs to this primal nature of the planet. In fact when Ace returns him to Perivale he blocks all memory of the place from his mind, chalking it up to a stress-induced blackout.

Midge, however, turns himself over completely. His confrontational character combined with a weak mind is ideal for the conversion. Midge doesn’t even remember his own name. “You are all animal now,” the Master gloats over him, boasting of his own stronger will that can hold out against the contaminating spirit. This animalistic Master is a much more menacing villain than he has ever been.

The Master and Ace both have the mental capacity to keep the planet’s influence under some control. It takes the Doctor, however, to overcome it. “If we fight like animals,” he yells, “we’ll die like animals.” It is ultimately a bit simplistic. While the Master has decided to give in to the brutal power and use it to advantage—“If I am to become an animal, then like an animal I will destroy you, Doctor; I will hunt you, trap you, and destroy you”—the Doctor merely gives up the fight and all is saved. “If we fight like animals, we’ll die like animals;” and conversely I suppose, If we don’t fight, we live. In any case, it works. The Doctor is transported off of the dying planet back to Earth and the TARDIS—home.

It is a neat little story, but lacking. I could state the obvious—the Cheetah people are too cute and cuddly to be a threat. Then there is the fact that Paterson is too one dimensional; a little depth would have made his ‘survival of the fittest’ mantra more meaningful. Midge and his boy gang are a bit of a laugh. And what is up with that big bang of dueling motorcycles? It’s not just the effect that falls short, but the intent. Why would the Doctor get on the bike to begin with; what happened to the Doctors cry of “if we fight like animals, we’ll die like animals?” No, he ignores this sage advice and risks his own life, not to mention he kills Midge in the process. Somehow the Doctor is miraculously saved from this mighty crash by a strategically placed sofa in the middle of the field.

The end, too, is abrupt and light on explanations. The planet is being destroyed around the Doctor and the Master as they wrestle. According to the Doctor: “This planet’s alive; the animals are part of the planet; when they fight each other, they trigger explosions; they hasten the planet’s destruction.” One has to wonder how or why the Cheetah people, a people who hunt and kill and fight, ended up on such a planet to begin with. But it is an interesting phenomenon that could have been explored more fully and to greater effect. As it is, it is just a matter of convenience for some dramatic alien-planet-being-destroyed shots as the Doctor and the Master tussle. Somehow the Cheetah people suddenly vanish, but the Doctor’s “They’ve been taken back to the wilderness” doesn’t quite satisfy.

Overall an interesting serial that could have been so much more.

More time, more budget—who knows? Alas, dear Gary, time ran out on the good Doctor, at least for quite some time. It is fitting that this last story of the era concerned home and that it establishes the TARDIS as exactly that. The TARDIS, after all, is what makes Doctor Who Doctor Who.

And so I close, Gary, with the Doctor’s parting words:

“There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea’s asleep, and the rivers dream. People made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there’s danger, somewhere there’s injustice, and somewhere else the tea’s getting cold. Come on, Ace, we’ve got work to do.”

Here’s hoping, Gary, that your tea is not getting cold.

The Curse of Fenric

Dear Gary—

“They say evil was once buried here.” It’s a good premise for a Doctor Who serial, and The Curse of Fenric has many of the elements to be a first class story. I wish I could like it. It wants me to like it; it tries really hard. I think that is the trouble. It takes itself too seriously.

By viewing The Curse of Fenric in the serious vein it is intended, I end up poking holes in its pretense.

“Why is everyone round here so interested in Vikings?” My question exactly. There is nothing overwhelmingly Nordic about the story. The stage is set beautifully with a ghostly carving of a sunken ship’s dragon head lurking beneath the waters, some old runes that need deciphering, talk of a Viking curse, and Nordic names on some gravestones. But then we are not treated to anyone remotely like a Norseman. Instead we have a cast of British and Russian soldiers who apparently share a lineage with those long ago seafarers but bear no resemblance. And rather than taking place in the land of the North the action plays out along the Yorkshire coast. To complete this mishmash, we have a stolen Oriental vase, a World War II setting, a replica of the German naval cipher room in Berlin, and vampires—or rather Haemovores—a future link in the evolutionary chain of Homo sapiens. The set up of Viking mythology is wasted.

The runes are the biggest waste. Much is made of these ancient writings. Much time and effort is expended on translating them. There is even a giant ULTIMA supercomputer devoted to their deciphering (never mind that there is a war going on and that there are military communiqués that probably could use decoding) along with the expert Dr. Judson. “The ULTIMA machine can break the most sophisticated Nazi ciphers; some ninth century scribbling shouldn’t be much of a problem.” Except that the ninth century scribbling that everyone is so interested in has already been translated long ago by Reverend Wainwright’s grandfather, and they don’t reveal anything that most everybody doesn’t already know or could guess. “We hope to return to the North Way, carrying home the Oriental treasures from the Silk Lands in the east, but the dark curse follows our dragon ship.” Just a retelling of the ancient lore; no new secrets divulged; simply some exposition for the viewing audience.

I also have to wonder about those British and Russian soldiers. They are on the same side in their war against the Germans, yet as the story begins the Russians are sneaking in to the British naval base to steal the ULTIMA machine. They slaughter a bunch of soldiers on the beach in the process, and are ready to murder two innocent East End evacuees as they frolic in the water.  But by the end of the serial these battling allies are working together, their slain friends forgotten.

The Russians are surreptitiously aided in their raid by Commander Millington. Millington is so fixated on fighting Germans that his office is modeled after the German naval cipher room complete with Hitler portrait. As the Doctor explains, “He’s just trying to think the way the Germans think.” The Russian are fighting this same war with him, yet he engineers their abduction of the sabotaged ULTIMA machine that will eventually decimate the Kremlin. He is thinking ahead to when the war is over and the Russians will potentially be enemies. But then shouldn’t he wait in his destructive plans until, oh, I don’t know, after the war? His failsafe is that the poison won’t be released until a particular word (love) is decoded, and he therefore thinks the timing of the detonation can be controlled; but who is to say that this word won’t be incidentally decoded before that time?

OK, this is not really Millington’s idea; he is merely a pawn—a Wolf of Fenric. This brings me to Fenric. Now Fenric is supposed to be a pretty smart guy, and powerful too I would imagine because even entrapped he has the ability to influence minds and transport people through time and space. Yet he seems content to stay in his prison for centuries while he maneuvers and manipulates his Wolves in some elaborate scheme rather than simply having one of them find and crack open his flask. And he has had centuries to ponder on this supposedly insoluble chess game with the Doctor and still can’t figure it out, yet Ace can come up with the solution out of the blue. I can’t imagine why this mighty being is flummoxed by a game of chess to begin with. I wonder if a game of tic tac toe would suffice. And when Fenric does finally solve it (with the aid of Ace), I don’t know what all the fuss was about. What, the chess board bursts into flame? That’s it? That was its intended fate by order of Commander Millington anyway, so what’s the big deal? There are no great lightning bolts of destruction; no earthquakes; no tidal waves; not even gale force winds. Nothing but a burning chess board.

A freed Fenric doesn’t seem much different than a trapped Fenric. He has a body ("Evil needs a body.")—first Dr. Judson and then Sorin when Judson’s body proves too weak to undergo even the mental agonies of a tricky chess move—but he does little more than influence the minds around him, which is what he was doing while kicking back in his bottle. If he really wanted to be effective in a body, he should have taken over that of the Ancient One.

The Ancient One is a remarkably effective Doctor Who monster in the mixed bag of Haemovores that are roaming the naval base at the command of Fenric. I’m not sure how long these vampire creatures have been lurking under the water off the coast in varying states of conversion and decay. They have apparently been luring unsuspecting souls, enough so that Maiden’s Point has quite the reputation amongst the locals, but not enough to have spawned any kind of investigation into mysterious deaths or disappearances. I suppose their presence is just some devilish fun on the part of Fenric and are conveniently on hand to cause chaos on the base to divert the Doctor and the soldiers from Fenric’s machinations.

The two ‘maidens’ Jean and Phyllis are unnecessary distractions. They become chummy with Ace in record speed, but then Ace has been forming instant attachments all over the place in this serial. They are snide and unlikeable as human evacuees boarding with the caricatured Miss Hardaker, and too much time is spent on them. Why the initial dip, other than to showcase Ace’s fears and her loyalty to the Doctor? The stage is set for Phyllis’ and Jean’s conversion at that point, but then it is put on hold and we have to sit through yet another journey to Maiden’s Point with this deadly duo. Vampire Jean and Phyllis are sufficiently creepy in small doses, but again we have too much of them and their attack on Hardaker is gratuitous. Their usefulness comes in putting a human face on the Haemovores, I just wish this could have been done more economically. And of course the payoff is their confrontation with the Reverend Wainwright.

Reverend Wainwright is an element that is right. His halting recitation of Corinthians 13 is simple and real. Wainwright is the very picture of the earnest young man of the cloth who has become disillusioned by the war and is struggling with his faith.

Faith, as it turns out, is the only weapon that works against the Haemovores. That is a nice twist on the vampire legend and works to great effect in The Curse of Fenric. Thus Wainwright with his failing faith is ultimately defeated whereas Sorin can walk away from the blood lusting mob with his belief in the Revolution intact. The Doctor uses the names of former companions as his defense, but I don’t know about that, Gary. Love, yes, but faith? I don’t know that faith is the correct word. This is perhaps where the two become confused, and I wish more had been made of this. Faith and love are the two themes of The Curse of Fenric, but it is faith that is put at the forefront; love is left for the subtext. “And the greatest of these is . . .”

It is in Ace that the two, faith and love, are most effectively represented. “I believe in you, Professor,” Ace exclaims as things come to a head. The Doctor must brutally break Ace’s faith in him. “She’s an emotional cripple,” he says. “I wouldn’t waste my time on her unless I had to use her somehow.” Devastated, Ace drops to her knees. “I had to save you from Fenric’s evil curse,” the Doctor explains afterwards. It is powerful stuff, except I can’t figure out why Ace’s psychic barrier was preventing the Ancient One from attacking Fenric. Is faith that powerful that a Haemovore can’t even walk past a devout person to get to his intended target? Apparently.

Ace is the linchpin of this story; it is her coming of age tale. In addition to the belief she places in the Doctor, she displays superhuman mental powers, falls in love, seduces a soldier, and confronts her mother hate.

I never considered the sixteen year old juvenile delinquent Ace a genius, yet she not only outthinks the great intelligence known as Fenric, but she also discerns the true meaning of the latest rune when the expert, Dr Judson, cannot. How has Ace obtained all of this mental ability? She is supposedly one of the Wolves of Fenric; is Fenric therefore providing her with the knowledge? But then, why doesn’t he know it himself? Why does he need Ace to begin with? Why choose her; why transport her into the Doctor’s world; why manipulate her future? Is it merely to get the Doctor to cross his path, and if so there surely is a more direct route to that end; or is it to provide the answers he seeks to free himself, and if so, doesn’t he already have that knowledge, or does he somehow anticipate Ace will have the knowledge, or . . . ?

Too many imponderables; if this were a chess game I’d be trapped in an Oriental jug by now. Maybe I should get Ace to explain it to me.

But then, she’s busy falling in love with Sorin. Not busy exactly. She only sees this guy on the fly a couple of times. I guess it is the old standby love at first sight. Perhaps it was the “How about a little Cossack blood, eh?” line that swayed her.

Seriously, though, she spends more time with the guy she is trying to seduce; if you can call it a seduction. I marvel at the lack of discipline for this young soldier to walk away from his guard duty to tag along after a teenager. She doesn’t even wink or sashay; she simply stands at the door and then walks away; he trails along behind her as though entranced. That’s the only explanation I can come up with; he must be one of Fenric’s many Wolves and is mesmerized; either that or he wants to keep his eye on this young woman who appears to be deranged. “Sometimes I move so fast, I don’t exist anymore.” It’s some intriguing dialogue by Ace, but not exactly a classic pick-up line.

Finally we have Ace’s mother, Audrey. Ace falls in love with baby Audrey at first sight, much like she does with Sorin. But now, really—Ace of the superhuman mental ability to outsmart Fenric at a game of chess and to beat the mathematical expert Judson to the rune solution can’t figure out that a man and woman with the same names (first and last) as her grandfather and grandmother and who have a baby with the same name as her mother are actually her family—now, really?

But what really bothers me about this thread of the story is Ace’s hatred. Her mother must be a truly vile person to rate such unconditional loathing. Ace loves the baby but cannot reconcile this to the mother that she knows. “Love and hate, frightening feelings, especially when they’re trapped, struggling beneath the surface,” the Doctor tells Ace. A quick dip in the water and: “I’m not scared now.” All very touching and symbolic, but I don’t know that she has resolved her conflicting emotions. Has all the abuse she must have suffered at the hands of her brutal mother been washed away? In order to take this seriously I have to assume that Audrey is a devilishly wicked woman (perhaps the touch of Fenric?) and that Ace’s abhorrence is not simply teenage rebellion. But then I need more to the story than just a meeting with the innocent babe and a cleansing dive into deep waters.

The Curse of Fenric wants to dive into deep waters; it wants to mine rich story lines; it takes itself seriously but hasn’t the time or budget to do it justice. I want to dive into those waters and explore the themes of love and faith.

Ace chastises the Doctor: "You always know; you just can't be bothered to tell anyone. It's like it's some kind of game and only you know the rules." The Doctor is the manipulating mastermind, and this telling scene lays bare Ace's flagging faith more than the Doctor having to artificially shatter her illusions. This darker side to the Doctor could have been dealt with on a much deeper level if properly exploited.

Ultimately, Gary, I think the biggest handicap of The Curse of Fenric is Fenric. I wish he could be tossed out and instead make this a tale of the Haemovores with a bigger concentration on Ace’s actual relationship with her mother rather than a vague ‘I hate my mother’ attitude that is never expanded. That would be a story that could richly mine the themes of faith and love.

And the greatest of these, dear Gary . . .

Ghost Light

Dear Gary—

What the heck? Ghost Light is a nightmare gone mad. Even after viewing it several times and watching the DVD extras and listening to the commentary I still have trouble making sense of it all. But that is OK because it actually is a nightmare. This is a fantasy straight out of Ace’s head, and it does make sense in that dreamlike context.

If any Doctor Who serial needs to be viewed sideways, this is it.

Ghost Light, as Scrooge would say apropos of the season, is a bit of undigested beef, or perhaps a fragment of an underdone potato. Ace and the Doctor are sharing a nightmare; a nightmare called Ghost Light.

As in many a dream, one can discern a broad framework based on some semblance of real life. In this case, Ace and the Doctor must have recently been discussing Darwin, and combined with their space/time travels as well as Ace’s memories, they have concocted this adventure. A survey team consisting of three members—Light, Survey, and Control—is on Earth to conduct a study of all life. Their ship has landed in the cellar of Gabriel Chase; a house from Ace’s checkered childhood.

However, any resemblance to reality from this point is merely coincidental. Like the specimens found in Gabriel Chase cabinets, just when you think you have the story securely pinned down it comes to life in a fluttering chaos.

There is no design to the evolutionary chain transpiring in Gabriel Chase. There is neither rhyme nor reason; there is no order; there is no method to the madness. Light is not enlightening; Control is not controlled. What evolves within the walls of this Victorian mansion is a pandemonium of horror.

“This isn’t a haunted house, is it Professor?” Ace might well ask the question. A playroom that doubles as a laboratory complete with dead things floating in jars; glassy eyed servants gliding out of sliding panels in the wall as night approaches; and the day shift making a bolt for the exit with the warning “Heaven help anyone who’s still here after dark.” It’s a wonder that pouring rain and lightening don’t accompany this opening atmosphere.

“I told you I’ve got this thing about haunted houses.” It’s not surprising that Ace has been reminiscing about past fears, seeing as the Doctor has recently forced her to confront her dread of clowns. This latest anxiety resulting from her experience at the age of thirteen now lends the mood for this shared fantasy of terror.   

“The house is like a morgue; everything dead.” Hand in hand with haunted houses, we have this new imagery. Stuffed animals on the walls; bugs and insects pinned down in cabinet drawers; lifeless organisms pickled in jars; and the inhabitants of the house aren’t any livelier—walking about as though in a trance, hibernating during the day in cubby holes and under sheets, and with husks of shed selves littered about.

“That’s the way to the zoo. That’s the way to the zoo. The monkey house is nearly full but there’s room enough for you.” Haunted house. Morgue. Add menagerie to the list. Josiah/Survey has collected a houseful of oddities.

Chief amongst these is Nimrod, the Neanderthal manservant. (I still remember how Carrie laughed and laughed when she discovered a Nimrod Spencer in our family tree; but she shouldn’t have been surprised given the outlandish names of some of our nearest and dearest on that side.  Fittingly, Gary, when I did a search of Nimrod Spencer I discovered on Ancestry.com that we have our own missing link—Grandpa Spencer is non-existent according to that website. Instead there is a phantom child with no known facts and with a misspelled variation of another child who also is misspelled. Perhaps we don’t exist; or we exist in some Doctor Who alternate dream reality.)

Then there is Inspector Mackenzie who has been stored away in the bottom drawer of the specimen cabinet for two years (“beetles and bluebottles”). Revived by the Doctor, he barely skips a beat and carries on with his investigation into the disappearance of Mr. Pritchard. (Why no one has bothered to investigate his own disappearance these past two years . . . well, as in any good dream, it’s no use asking questions; people just pop up and do inexplicable things that seem to make perfect sense but upon reflection are completely illogical.)

The latest subject entered into the Gabriel Chase collection is the newly transformed Reverend Matthews—“Homo Victorianus Ineptus.” The most bizarre of this trio of curiosities. I haven’t quite figured out why he was invited to dinner in the first place; why he accepted; why he stayed; and how exactly he was converted into Monkey Man; but again there you go, Gary—dreams and such.

“This place is like a madhouse.” Yet another description of Gabriel Chase. A madhouse complete with a straight-jacketed inmate. Redvers Fenn-Cooper looked into the light and went mad. How the light got into his snuff box; what his snuff box has to do with anything; how he happened to be at Gabriel Chase; why he thinks he is still in the jungle . . . there I go again; it’s only a dream after all.

This haunted house/morgue/zoo/madhouse is the stage upon which the Doctor and Ace have set and upon which Light, Survey, and Control act out their play.

 Light had sent Survey out into the world; Survey liked what he saw and decided to stay. So he locked up Light and now he not only wants to stay, he wants to reign supreme. He wants to become the highest order of being on the planet Earth, and to his mind that would be the ruler of the UK. How assassinating the Queen will achieve that end I’m not sure, but then I’m not sure that Survey has a clear grasp of anything that he does.

Survey, or I should say Josiah as that is the name he has adopted for himself,  is so fixated on his plan that he is now stagnating in the house while he evolves. He has stopped going out to survey and instead spends his days in hibernation and his evenings enjoying the fascinating company of his adopted niece, the eerie Gwendoline, while being waited on by entranced maids headed by the lady of the house turned housekeeper, Mrs. Pritchard (Gwendoline’s mother).

Control, meantime, is sick of having to stay home all day with nothing to do. She wants to go out and explore, to experience, to change. Josiah/Survey has his hands full when Control breaks loose, not to mention contending with a house full of chastising reverends drowsing in the playroom, explorers roaming the halls looking for their lost selves, and resuscitated constabulary munching their way through their line of questioning. Not only that, but now Light has been released into the house and the Doctor and Ace are digging too deeply into the secrets of Gabriel Chase.

What better time to hold a dinner party? (“Don’t have the soup.”)

It’s a whirlwind of madness served up in a house of horrors.

“Only the madmen may see the path clearly through the tangled forest.” The Doctor’s lateral thinking does him justice in this dreamscape. None of the fantastic twists and turns surprise him as he calmly deals with each improbable occurrence. Except for Control. When she makes a bolt out the window the Doctor exclaims, “Oh, things are getting out of control. Even I can’t play this many games at once.” However, Control isn’t gone for long. “Ran away into big empty nothing,” she says upon her return. Control can’t escape the nightmare any more than the rest.

Even Mrs. Pritchard, awakened from her trance by the Doctor (why merely seeing a picture of herself with her daughter brings her to her senses when living with Gwendoline day after day does not . . .) remains trapped. Trapped in her memories of a happy past; haunted by the horrors of what her daughter has become, or perhaps what she always has been. Gwendoline has taken a little too much pleasure in sending people off to Java, her father included. They are both lost, Mrs. Pritchard concludes as the two are turned to stone by Light, who has been driven mad by a light of his own.

Things come to a fast and furious head in Gabriel Chase. Josiah/Survey is thwarted in his assassination attempt when Control burns the invitation to Buckingham Palace (his whole plan apparently hinged on that lone piece of paper). This causes quite a stir with Ace who inexplicably believes that tossing this tiny scrap into the fireplace will burn the whole house down, and she blurts out a confession of having done the same herself in her youth. The Doctor reads great significance into this fact for some reason, although I don’t see how Ace having burning down Gabriel Chase in 1983 has any impact on our Victorian story at hand (except that it is this fear which provided the spark that instigated this nightmare that is Ghost Light).

Light is defeated as well. The Doctor simply points out to him that his work will never be done. Light is confounded by the infinite variety of life on the planet and its constant state of flux. Light is so demented that even pointing out a change in his locale sends him over the edge. I don’t know who sent this survey team out to begin with, but they obviously didn’t choose their crew too wisely. In the end, Light extinguishes himself and his firestorm program magically redeploys its energy into the ship’s takeoff with its new crew of Control, Redvers, and Nimrod (Josiah/Survey having been subdued by Control).

Nothing can really be explained in Ghost Light. Like Survey’s cast off husks, Ghost Light is a muddled mutation of evolution. No wonder Light went insane; I don’t know what evolutionary chain Survey was following that led him from bipedal bugs to human being; anyone would go mad trying to sort that out.

As the credits roll the nightmare ends, and we are left trying to explain the nonsensical happenings in a logical world. It can’t be done. But viewed sideways and with a dash of the Doctor’s lateral thinking, it can be enjoyed.

Pleasant dreams, Gary . . .

Battlefield

Dear Gary—

I think I’ve finally cracked my code. I occasionally wonder why I enjoy some subpar Doctor Who serials more than others. I have decided that it is because while I can forgive the odd poorly constructed script and shoddy effects, I can’t get on board if there are no characters that I find interesting or worthwhile. Therefore, I can gladly re-watch almost any Doctor Who with the first, second, and fourth Doctor because I am fond of the Doctor himself as well as his companions. The same is true to a lesser extent with the third Doctor. With the fifth and sixth, however, I find for the most part that I need at least one guest actor I can relate to in order to overcome any glaring defects. So far the seventh Doctor is falling more into that latter category, although not to the same degree. Thus I like The Power of Kroll more than I do Kinda; The Invasion more than Attack of the Cybermen; and Silver Nemesis more than Dragonfire.

This is a longwinded way of saying that I like Battlefield despite the fact that more often than not I have trouble following it. Any Doctor Who serial that has Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart is a good Doctor Who serial, even if the Brig is confined to a helicopter for half the story. In addition, Battlefield has the stellar Jean Marsh as Morgaine as well as the delightful pairing of Brigadier Winifred Bambera and Ancelyn. To top it all off there is a wonderful monster in the Destroyer (even if poorly used) and some decent locations. All of this makes up for the fact that the story makes little sense.

My basic confusion: Who are these aliens? Where do they come from? Why are they here? What are they after? Why are they fighting each other? I don’t think they know the answer to half of these questions.

Knights straight out of the Arthurian legend have arrived in twentieth century Earth from what appears to be outer space since they initially come hurtling down in a blaze of glory, but then we are told that actually they have entered our world sideways in time from another dimension and have gateways they can travel through. Then there is also a dimensional traveling spacecraft parked at the bottom of Lake Vortigern, and who knows how long that thing has been rusting away down there with no one the wiser.

Mordred and his mother Morgaine bring a contingent of soldiers with them while King Arthur is represented by the lone Ancelyn. The first engagement between these battling knights is difficult to read. Dressed in full armor, visors down, we have no clue who is who, why they are fighting, or what the difference is between one side and the other, if indeed there is a difference; for all we know this is an AWOL soldier that is being chased down by the MPs.  Every subsequent battle scene is as confusing as the first, even when there is a clear definition between otherworldly knights and twentieth century military there is no semblance of rhyme or reason to any of the fights.

Nor is there a mad rush to retrieve Excalibur, which seems to be the reason for everyone being there. Once Excalibur is found, it doesn’t do much of anything. It’s only purpose seems to be to bring Arthur to life, and since Arthur has long since been turned to dust it doesn’t even do that. There are no other magical powers associated with it; the bearer of the sword doesn’t seem to have any undue advantage in combat. It’s not even hard to get one’s hands on, either. Ace pulls it out of the stone with no problem and from there it passes from person to person with barely a notice. Morgaine does use it to create her portal home, but it appears as though any sword would do in a pinch; and anyway, why does the Doctor want to stop her leaving? Let her and Mordred return to whence they came and be done with it. What does the Doctor think UNIT is going to do with the pair? It seems a much more dangerous proposition to keep them on twentieth century Earth than to allow them to slip back sideways through dimensions to their own world.

Into this mix we add one nuclear missile and a UNIT convoy, but what exactly is this UNIT convoy escorting a nuclear missile doing camping beside Lake Vortigern? They seem to be stuck, perhaps as a result of equipment failure due to Morgaine’s mystical powers or magical disturbances associated with the traveling knights, but what were they doing down there by the lake to begin with? Did Bambera decide to make a picnic of it at the historical landmark? There doesn’t even seem to be a road on which they traveled; they are simply parked there in the grass along the shore.

As if this were not enough, we have a bunch of miscellaneous characters thrown at us for no good reason and who are carted off half way through. (And by the way since when can the Doctor hypnotize people into doing his will by sheer power of suggestion?) Not to mention a scabbard, which we are told is worth ten times the sword, but since Excalibur turns out to be worth next to nothing what does that make the scabbard? Turns out exactly that—nothing.

Finally we have the Destroyer, a perfectly marvelous Doctor Who monster who is extremely superfluous. Morgaine calls forth this frightening blue creature to aid in her cause, but she already has Mordred and the gang on top of her own considerable powers. The Destroyer seems a bit of overkill, especially since she is afraid of him herself and keeps him bound in silver chains, and especially since her cause of obtaining Excalibur seems easily accomplished with no outside help required.

This much ado about nothing backdrop provides the perfect setting for Bambera and Ancelyn who add a light romantic comedy element that is rarely seen in Doctor Who. “She vanquished me,” Ancelyn says with that boyish grin on his face that never seems to leave; Ancelyn is as much a lover as a fighter. Bambera is more a fighter, but Ancelyn eventually wins her heart.

However it is Morgaine and the Brigadier who are the real standouts in Battlefield.

“What is victory without honor?” Morgaine and the Brigadier are both soldiers of honor and they recognize each other as such.

Morgaine: “A warrior no less. How goes the day?”

Brigadier: “I’ve had better.”

Morgaine: “I am Morgaine the Sunkiller. Dominator of the thirteen worlds and Battle Queen of the S’Rax. What say you?

Brigadier: “I am Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Surrender now and we can avoid bloodshed.”

And then . . .

Brigadier: “Let me see if I’ve understood you correctly. You are holding a Remembrance ceremony for the dead of our World Wars, a ceasefire to remain in force for the duration of said ceremony, right?”

Morgaine: “Your words are strange, but that is the meaning, yes.”

Brigadier: “Right. What must I do?”

And finally . . .

Morgaine: “I wish you to know that I bear you no malice.”

Brigadier: “I understand.”

Morgaine: “But when we meet again, I shall kill you.”

They meet, discourse, and part in mutual respect. Equals.

It makes me long for those Third Doctor UNIT serials all over again. If only Morgaine had been around in those days. What a show it would have made.

Morgaine saves Battlefield, but she is wasted in Battlefield. Battlefield is a pitiful battlefield upon which to fight. The Doctor effectively points this out in his stirring anti-nuclear speech. "Not a war between armies nor a war between nations, but just death; death gone mad,” he argues; and he continues, “Is this honor? Is this war? Are these the weapons you would use? Tell me!”

“No,” is Morgaine’s resounding answer as she aborts the missile launch.

And then the Doctor truly crushes her. “Arthur, who burned like star fire,” is not only dead; he is “gone to dust.”

“Then I shall not even have that comfort,” Morgaine mourns.

There is no honor in this battle; there is no comfort. Battlefield is not the proper stage for these noble characters.

Which brings me to the Brigadier.

Battlefield was meant to be the death of the Brigadier. The stage was set; the groundwork was laid. The Brigadier, at home with Doris in his comfortable retirement: “Tell them I’ve decided to fade away.” But the name of the Doctor (“There are many secrets in names”) lures the Brig into one last adventure.

“You don’t need to go on playing soldier anymore,” Doris says as the Brig dons his uniform in preparation. “I’m not playing,” he responds.

“I just can’t let you out of my sight, can I Doctor?” One last Doctor for the Brigadier to meet. Recalling those past glory years the show reintroduces Bessie, taken out of mothballs, as well as referencing Liz Shaw. (Where is the Third Doctor when you need him? I had my problems with Doctor Number Three, but oh what I wouldn’t give . . .).

“Well, nothing ventured, Doctor,” the Brigadier says as he futilely pumps several rounds into the Destroyer and then gets blasted for his efforts (“That was uncalled for.”). That is the Brigadier, always game, always up for the venture.

The Destroyer is not done; the Doctor is not done; the Brigadier is not done. The Destroyer is poised to take on the world; the Doctor is poised to take on the Destroyer; the Brigadier is a match for them both: “Sorry Doctor, but I think I’m rather more expendable than you are.”

The Destroyer: “Ah, little man, what do you want of me?”

Brigadier: “Get off my world.”

This is the Brigadier’s shining moment. This is the Brigadier in all his glory. This is the Brigadier facing down Earth’s mortal enemy.

Destroyer: “Pitiful. Can this world do no better than you as their champion?”

Brigadier: “Probably. I do the best I can.”

This smacks of the Brigadier’s last stand. The Brigadier might be pitiful in the Destroyer’s eyes, but the best of the Brigadier is the best this world could ask for.

Doctor: “You stupid, stubborn, pig-headed numbskull. You were supposed to die in bed. I could have handled it, done your job.”

Brigadier: “Nonsense Doctor.”

Doctor: “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Brigadier: “Oh really, Doctor. You don’t think I’d be so stupid as to stay inside, do you?”

Doctor: “Well . . .”

Brigadier: “Really Doctor, have a little faith. Ace?”

Ace: “Yes Brigadier?”

Brigadier: “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. He’s all yours from now on. I’m going home to Doris.”

By all rights the Brigadier should be dead. The stage was beautifully set. It would have been a noble death. Morgaine and the Destroyer are two formidable foes worthy of the Brigadier. Battlefield, however, is not the worthy stage. The story of Battlefield did not do the Brigadier justice; it is for the Brigadier to do Battlefield justice and he does just that and comes out victorious to live another day.

If only our own scripts could be rewritten, Gary  . . .