Tag Archives: season 15

Isolation, introspection and The Invasion of Time (1978)

invasion of time

Doctor Who is gonna fix it, Doctor Who will put it right
As he moves across the galaxy at twice the speed of light!
Back into the future, the TARDIS travels time
With his beautiful assistant and his trusty mate K9!

The Ballad of Doctor Who (AKA Doctor Who is gonna fix it). Written by S. Watson, D. Ovenden and R. Young. Performed by Bullamakanka

I write this from a hotel room in Alice Springs. For those of you outside Australia, Alice Springs is smack bang in the centre of the country. It’s about as far from everything as you can get, nothing but desert for hundreds of kilometres. It’s a funny old place –  beautiful in some ways, deeply troubling in others. But despite its contradictions, one thing you can say about it for sure, is that it’s remote.

What, you must be thinking, does this have to do with The Invasion of Time? Well, only that being in Alice Springs has reminded me that watching classic Doctor Who was something done all throughout Australia, including in its most isolated pockets. When I grew up watching Doctor Who in the 70s and 80s, I watched it on ABC TV. It was one of two channels we had when growing up (how ridiculous that must seem to today’s kids) but out here in Alice, there would only have been one, the ABC. Luckily, that’s the one which showed Doctor Who.

The Invasion of Time was a landmark story in ABC TV’s regular repeat runs of Doctor Who. It marked the end of a set of familiar stories repeated often, from Robot to this one. So as a viewer, I noted whenever The Invasion of Time lobbed around. It marked the end of the current run of Doctor Who.  To be replaced by… who cares? Something boring. And the start of the wait until the series was shown again. Probably starting with Robot.

For many other, more casual viewers, The Invasion of Time would be quintessential Doctor Who. It has Tom Baker, being funny and eccentric and putting things right. With his beautiful assistant and his trusty mate K9. It has aliens made of tinfoil and the Doctor shoots the bad guy with a big space gun. For many viewers in Australia of a certain age, this is what Doctor Who is. And any doubt that watching Doctor Who could be a distinctly Australian experience was put to bed by Australian bush band Bullamakanka, singing about the shared experience of watching the show.

Well I was sittin’ in front of the TV set, there were nothin’ much else to do
Then along comes this amazing co’, they called him Doctor Who
It was half-past-six on the ABC, just before the news
No ads to interrupt me, on an interspatial cruise

Half past six on the ABC, before the news, no ads to interrupt me… that describes the viewing experience pretty well. Sittin’ in front of the TV set, nothin’ much else to do. That’s certainly how it felt out in regional NSW where I grew up. Which is nowhere near as remote as Alice, where there was surely even less to do, and at an average temperature of stinking hot, next to no motivation to do it.

I’ve been thinking about the Australian experience of watching Doctor Who for a while now, but Alice has made me think about watching Doctor Who in isolation. I bet there are tales like this from all over the world – fans who found Doctor Who while living in remote corners of Asia, Europe and America, for whom the show was a regular dive into fantastic adventure. I bet there are people from Alice Springs who became fans. And I bet there are people in cities who found Doctor Who to be a respite from isolation of other kinds: bullying, loneliness or family dislocation.

It’s an experience now lost, because people who love Doctor Who today – the old series, the new series or both – are linked by the internet. Want to talk/argue/rant about the latest episode? You’ll find thousands of people on Facebook, Twitter and Gallifrey Base who want to join you. You could do it from Alice Springs or from any other far-flung corner of the earth with wifi. You can do it instantly and easily. It was not always like this. For many, watching in isolation was the norm.

It’s not that Doctor Who is special in this regard. All television – all media really – has the power to relieve isolation and to forge connections with people. But for me, I am often bemused by how different the modern experience of watching Doctor Who is to how I watched it growing up.

For a start, nearly all of the show is available at the flick of a cursor. That alone is mindblowing enough. Then there’s that it’s a mainstream phenomenon; not an odd, niche filler of a program, beloved of dorks and loners, but a palpable TV hit. All this plus the instant global community of Whoheads one can join with only a login, a password and a few thousand opinions.

Watched from this perspective, The Invasion of Time is just another story among many. One where all six episodes can be devoured at once, your enjoyment of it supplemented by special features, partwork magazines and online reviews. But watched from Alice Springs or a rural town in Canada or a village in New Zealand or wherever it is, I think it was something else altogether.

It was a weeknightly treat, an interspatial cruise. And something of a special event, too. The Doctor’s transformation into to roaring, bellicose tyrant was unsettling. The return of the Sontarans was a rare rematch with an old enemy. A tour through the labyrinthine TARDIS interior, which for some reason never looked, through a child’s eyes, so much like a shabby old hospital. The mythos of Gallifrey explored. The Vardans… well, they always looked rubbish, but you can’t have everything.

It was a lifeline, this show, to people watching all over the world. In a way which it isn’t as much anymore – or at least not in the same way. Which is good, right? We wouldn’t trade away the show’s newfound popularity and the technology that links us to fans all over the world.

But watching the show now is a completely different experience for those who used to watch in isolation. Sitting in front of the TV set, with nothing much else to do.

LINK TO The Unicorn and the Wasp: because Christopher Benjamin is in Unicorn etc, both feature cast members of The Talons of Weng-Chiang.

NEXT TIME: It’s always been you, Craig. Please finalise your purchases and head to the checkouts, it’s Closing Time.


Class, crankiness and Horror of Fang Rock (1977)


There is much about British television from the 1970s which is concerned with class. It’s in The Good Life, where the greenies move next door to the toffs. It’s in George & Mildred, where the toffs move next door to the oiks. It’s in Fawlty Towers, where the toffs go on holiday with the great un-poshed in Torquay. And it’s the very basis of Upstairs Downstairs where they all live together under the same roof. It’s the stuff that happens, be it funny or tragic, when the haves and the have nots are forced to mix, which seemed to fascinate TV makers of the time.

Doctor Who, being the kind of far out space fare that it is, generally bucks this trend. Until Horror of Fang Rock, when a boat full of the upper class crashes into an island of the working class.

It’s the turn of the last century. Fang Rock is home to nothing but a lighthouse, and to no one but three men and some chatty seals. The three men Ben (Ralph Watson), Reuben (Colin Douglas) and Vince (John Abbott) are briny, hard working types, plain speaking in various regional accents. Ben doesn’t get out of the first episode alive; he’s quickly done for by the monster of the week. But the other two are on hand when a particularly flimsy looking yacht disintegrates on a model stage at Pebble Mill.

Rescued from the doomed vessel are MP Skinsale (Alan Rowe), lordly Lord Palmerdale (Sean Caffrey) and his secretary Adelaide (Annette Woollett). They have few redeeming features. They arrive in the lighthouse in Part Two, soaking wet and full of complaints. As soon as he arrives, Palmerdale’s barking orders and demanding brandy. He’s a scoundrel through and through; desperate to get to London so he can make good on some shady deal. It was he, it turns out, who caused the boat to crash, as he was insisting it go faster in terrible weather. So says boatman, Harker (the very theatrically named Rio Fanning), the one member of the working class brought to Fang Rock by the ship, and it infuriates him so much he briefly tries to throttle Palmerdale. Class warfare in front of our eyes.

Palmerdale’s also at odds with Skinsale, a kindly, older gentleman who seems like he might be the toffs’ one sympathetic voice. But then he goes and spoils it all by doing something stupid like wrecking the telegraph machine. This might seem an unreasonably reckless thing to do, when you’re in a lighthouse under siege by a murderous snotball, but he’s locked in a subplot with Palmerdale and is very keen to stop the little moneygrubber getting a message to London. The corrupting power of money is an underlying theme in this story. Palmerdale’s the epitome of it (he even tries to bribe our two working class heroes Vince and Harker) and when he dies, it’s the diamonds kept in his body belt that Skinsale dies scrabbling to collect.

It’s tempting to conclude that it’s greed that leads all the characters on Fang Rock to their doom, but the alien blob in question, the electrifying Rutan, cares nothing for social class or human foibles. It sets out to kill all the humans on the island and that’s what it does, be they sympathetic or not. “Everybody dies, Leela! Just this once… everybody dies!’ we can imagine the Doctor (Tom Baker) saying and given the foul mood he’s in, I wouldn’t put it past him adding one of those enormous grins of his. Just to emphasise that although that Rutan might think it’s the scariest alien on the rock, it’s got nothing on the ol’ teeth and curls.


Yes, Tom is cranky. He’s been dragged away from his favourite drinking holes around Television Centre to Birmingham. No-one’s listened to him when he’s requested that his new companion be a talking cabbage and so he’s stuck with scene stealing Leela (played with fortitude by Louise Jameson). He’s being directed by Paddy Russell, who’s taking none of his nonsense. The comfort of a few dozen pints and a cohort drinking companions to raconteur at seems as distant as Fang Rock is from Brighton Beach.

Still, out of this funk comes something brilliant – a proto Capaldi. The popular image of the fourth doctor may be of a jolly, jokey fellow, but he’s nowhere to be seen on Fang Rock. If he smiles at all, it’s only to counterpoint some appalling turn of events. “Gentlemen, I’ve got news for you,” he announces at one point. “This lighthouse is under attack and by morning we might all be dead. Anyone interested?” he beams.

Of course, he looks at none of his fellow actors, but here it seems less like the by-product a Baker tanty and more a deliberate ploy to make every interaction more awkward and unsettling. As the death count mounts, he barely displays any interest, let alone remorse for the lives being snuffed out. He’s as remote and as unfeeling as a lighthouse, save for the chilling realisation that he voices at the end of Part Three, when he tells Leela that he locked the creature they’re fighting inside, not out.

This is the beginning of Season 15. Skip forward to the end of that season, to The Invasion of Time, and we see a very different fourth Doctor – one that gives jokey asides to camera, balances pot plants on his head and takes tips from the ministry of silly walks. The brooding loner of Fang Rock has been banished. Somewhere along the line, Tom decides to start having fun. But then by that stage, he’s back at Television Centre. Holding court. King Tom.

Horror of Fang Rock is highly regarded these days but it wasn’t always. In fact, it used to be the marker stone between good Doctor Who and bad; it was the point where it all went wrong. I remember a very stern letter to Doctor Who Magazine back in the eighties, where some people declared “we are of the opinion of that the show has declined in quality from Horror of Fang Rock onwards”. Or something like that. I’m not about to rummage through my stacks of DWM to find the exact quote.

I think what they meant was that this was the point where everyone started having too much fun (and as I said about The Androids of Tara, that’s a dangerous thing). If that’s right, then their aim was off a little bit. They should have gone for the other end of the season not this one.  This one’s pitch black. A vicious alien killer, a grumpy alien doctor and human greed everywhere you look. Fang Rock’s impressive in many ways, but no-one ever accused it of being fun.

LINK to The Ark in Space: Both are Toms, and both have aliens infiltrating a group of isolated humans, killing them and adopting their form.

NEXT TIME: I thought you were dead. Either you were dead, or you’d gone to Birmingham. (Tom would know how this feels). It’s a fight for Survival.

Costumes, stereotypes and Image of the Fendahl (1977)

image fendahl

“I like your new dress” says the Doctor to Leela, early on in Image of the Fendahl. He’s stretching the definition of ‘dress’ to a new extreme. Dress? It’s a beige leather leotard, isn’t it? The Doctor has been travelling with Leela for about a year now so you’d think he’d have noticed. Up until now, Leela’s just had the one ‘dress’, another leather swimsuit affair, but in a dark brown. She was in that one when the Doctor met her on her home planet. Which begs the question, where has this new one come from? Did she make it between adventures? Or, worryingly, is there a wardrobe full of leatherware somewhere in the TARDIS?

Unexpectedly, (or perhaps completely expectedly, given that last exchange) I found myself thinking about costuming while watching Image of the Fendahl. And despite Leela’s costume, it’s actually lab coats which are to blame. The story concerns four scientists: Adam Colby (posh English paleontologist), Thea Ransome (posh English chronologist), Dr Fendelman (German? South American? Electronics expert, but also, um, archaeologist maybe?) and Max Stael (No idea, though perhaps his surname is Belgian and no idea, although he can conduct a post mortem).

Anyway, we know they’re scientists because they’re all wearing lab coats. And they wear them throughout, whether they are working in labs or not. Their commitment to the lab coat as a fashion statement for all times and places is unstinting. The latter three wear them to their deaths, and Colby is still wearing his as he scampers away from the story’s conclusion.

The lab coat love is a bit funny, but it’s an aspect of TV grammar. Costumes are shorthand communication with the audience. You can see that fellow’s in a lab coat, so I don’t have to keep telling you he’s a scientist. It saves time. In the same way, we know that Mrs Tyler’s tied to ‘the old ways’ because she’s wearing well worn clothes. And we know Jack’s from the country because he’s wearing a pork pie hat. That and his mummerset accent.

The characters in Image are well defined and well performed, but that doesn’t stop them being broad brush stereotypes. And that’s not a bad thing, that’s a function of a fast moving show like Doctor Who. Like a handy lab coat, a stereotype saves you time and helps you push along the plot.

Fendelman, for instance, is the ‘mad scientist’ type. Ultimately, he’s shown to not be the true bad guy, but he’s still a shifty piece of work. Hence the mustache. It is he who by use of a sonic time scan is hoping to produce the eponymous image, which we never actually get to see. He’s played by the highly entertaining Denis Lill, he who delivered some high camp in The Awakening. He has many great lines usually played to maximum capacity. But my favourite moment is when he says, “About ten years ago, when I was working on a…” Here the slightest pause and a sheepish wince “…missile guidance system”. Nicely played there.

Thea Ransome is the ‘sexy female scientist’ type. She’s brunette, because as actress Wanda Ventham explains in the story’s DVD documentary, female scientists aren’t allowed to be blonde. While the male scientists all refer to each other by surname as much as by first name, our female brainbox is always ‘Thea’, never ‘Ransome’. There is the inevitable hint of a romance between her and Colby, which adds an unfortunately sexist note to proceedings. Thea is eventually transformed into the Fendahl Core, when her lab coat disappears and is replaced by a grandiose gold lame ensemble, complete with eyes painted on her lids. With hair curling snakelike from her head and a stare with the power to transfix, she’s basically golden Medusa. And thus is transformed into another stereotype, the femme fatale.

Then there’s Adam Colby, not quite our hero (that’s Tom Baker, mid tenure and using his star power to tinker with the script), more wisecracking sidekick. He’s one of the good guys, so naturally he’s blonde haired and blue eyed. But he’s not lily white; he takes little convincing from Fendelman to delay reporting the death of the hiker. And under pressure he becomes a rude snob. “Don’t you threaten me, you swede-bashing cretin,” he snaps at Jack in Part Four, underlining the class division between the RP speaking scientists and the local rustics. But he’s funny and handsome (his shirt exposes a surprising amount of chest at one stage), so we know he’s one our side; Leela even gives him a peck on the cheek to underline the point.

He’s also part of Image’s two most disturbing moments, when down in the cellar, technology and occult superstition meet in unholy union. The first comes when Colby and Fendelmen have been tied up by bad egg Stael (he’s the ‘just nuts’ type). Colby is forced to watch when Stael shoots Fendelman in the head. It happens offscreen, but it’s still an arresting moment; you certainly wouldn’t get it in New Who. Colby, being the resilient specimen that he is, takes this gruesome event in his stride. Whereas surely it would leave any real person deeply traumatised. But this is Doctor Who, the plot rolls on and so do we.

The second nasty moment comes when Stael, transfixed by the Fendahl Core, asks the Doctor to bring him a gun, and thus assist his suicide. It’s ghastly. Whether or not the Doctor’s role in it bothers you (as it does me), it’s clearly unnecessary. Stael could have had the gun on his person, or reached it through a colossal mental effort. Having the Doctor bring him the gun means he plays an active part in Stael’s death, which sits uncomfortably the Doctor as we know him.

There’s a few other moments in Image where another look over by the script editor might have helped. There’s the infamous bit where someone inexplicably lets the Doctor out of a locked room, but we never find out who. But there’s also some obvious padding in Part Three when the Doctor and Leela go back to the TARDIS and travel to the solar system’s dead fifth planet to discover that it’s trapped in a time loop. “We’ve been on a wild goose chase,” says the Doctor, but at least it has helped fill up an episode. Then there’s a whole lot of guff about them being late returning to the Priory (and the plot), which is nonsense considering they’re in a time machine.

But the story’s most contrived moment comes when Leela takes a brief nap. It’s so she can dream about the Fendahl attacking her, but I think it’s never a great idea for one of your main characters go have a sleep in the middle of a supposedly thrilling adventure. In addition, there seems to have been no money for a bedroom set, so she sleeps in the floor of the console room. Really? That cold hard floor? Those bright white lights? Perhaps warriors of the Sevateem are trained to sleep anywhere. And make replacement clothes for themselves.

I said earlier that Image’s characters are played to type, and in lots of ways this is a typical Doctor Who story, at least pre 1996. It’s got a country manor, a big green monster, physical transformation and a long hidden alien influencing humanity. But it’s typical in some less positive ways too – the Van Danniken plot’s a bit dated, the pace is stop/start, some of the effects are dodgy, it’s a bit sexist, it’s a bit classist and – with its baddies being foreign and its goodies being English – it’s a bit racist. Really though what it is, is typical 70s Doctor Who.

LINK to The Girl Who Waited. In both, a character is keeping a disabled robot as a pet (Handbot Rory and K9).

NEXT TIME… You’re rubbish as a human! Long ago in an English autumn, it’s Human Nature/The Family of Blood.