WHO REVIEW: 2013-1: The Bells of Saint John

There’s a lot resting on this episode. Not only does it have to provide an exciting intro to this latest run of episodes (I’m avoiding the Series 7-b/Series 8/Season 33 argument for the moment), it has to kick of the anniversary year’s programming, and reintroduce Clara as a bona fide companion, finally moving the programme on from its three year obsession with Amy Pond.

Matt Smith carries the bulk of this episode on his shoulders (somewhat broader than before, I think – has he been working out?) but it’s Jenna-Louise Coleman who has to make the best impression. Most characters get just one introduction, but Clara has had three, and each time Coleman has managed to bring something new to the table. The contemporary version of Clara is subtly different from her predecessors, a little younger, not quite as sassy and somewhat more vulnerable. It’s easy to see how she could grow into the supremely capable Oswin or the sharply witty Governess versions of the character, but here we meet a little earlier in her lifetime. She’s nonetheless recognisable as a version of the same character; flirty, adventurous and intelligent, just not quite so self-assured just yet.

With Smith on top form as a Doctor driven to the point of obsession by Clara’s mystery, the new leads make a tremendously charismatic duo. There’s an easy chemistry between them, perhaps more convincingly so than with Karen Gillan as Amy. In spite of Coleman actually being a little older than Gillan, she gives the impression of being younger, and this lends the Doctor’s protectiveness a paternal element. Which does make the flirting and ‘snogging booth’ comments a bit weird. No wonder he freaks out when she mentions it.

Of course, all this would be lost without a decent story to showcase it. Fortunately, The Bells of Saint John is the best opening episode since Smith’s debut in The Eleventh Hour three years ago. Pre-broadcast hype boasted the episode would have an urban vibe, and while that’s true to an extent, Moffat never forgets to bring the threat home to the viewer. For the first half, the episode is distinctly suburban, focussing on Clara’s own exposure to the danger in her comfortable home-from-home. Having an unknowable threat invade ones home is a classic tactic, for good reason; houses are supposed to be safe, and having something dangerous simply stride in like the walls aren’t there is unnerving.

For the first time in years, Doctor Who provides a genuinely unsettling and insightful look at the future. It’s undeniable that we live in a “wi-fi soup” as the Doctor calls it. With the never-ending march of technology seemingly continuing to pick up pace, it’s not difficult to imagine that there will come a time when human minds can be uploaded and personalities hacked. That the threat to mankind is based in the corporate world of the City is no accident; we are indeed as cattle to the consumer industry. There’s a little social commentary here on our ongoing need for the newest app and our near-permanent connectivity in modern life.

However, rather than a Steve Jobs type masterminding the affair for the sake of profit, we have a return appearance from the Great Intelligence. Although it is only one episode since it arrived back in the Doctor’s world, it has been three months, and I wonder how many casual viewers will immediately make the connection between the shadowy figure on the screen and the talking snowglobe of The Snowmen. While I guessed that the Intelligence might be behind all this, it was a stab in the dark; I wasn’t really expecting it to return, sporting the features of Richard E. Grant. Will the Intelligence be a new Big Bad for this current run, and how does this tie in to the mystery of Clara?

Grant’s appearance as the baddie-in-chief is little more than a cameo; it’s Celia Imrie who gets the meaty villain role. A classy thesp who was long overdue for a Who role, Imrie is perfect as the amoral but brittle Kislet. Her final scene, her mind reduced to that of the child, is beautifully played. A chilling reversal of fortune for a powerful character revealed as just another victim of the Intelligence.

The Spoonheads are reasonably effective. They’re not a classic addition to the swelling ranks of monsters, but then, they’re clearly not supposed to be. The walking base stations are there to fulfil plot functions with a little style and panache. The visual effects for them are perfectly pitched, not too showy, just enough to give some flare to what might otherwise be a slightly nebulous threat. The ranks of panicking faces behind screens in Kislet’s control room is also very effective; not unlike the similar threat of the Wire in 2006’s The Idiot’s Lantern, but more effectively pitched.

The effects are excellent throughout, in fact, combined with some top-notch direction and photography that makes watching the show in HD worthwhile at last. Not only does this series have the verve to open in a mediaeval monastery that has nothing to do with the main body of the storyline, it makes the entire sequence look gorgeous. Then, once we’re in the midst of the main story, it throws in a staggering near-crash sequence on a plane. In most series and, indeed, a blockbuster movie, this would be the central action sequence. In Doctor Who, it’s just one incident on the way, followed up by a quick jaunt on a bike to a good sit down in a café.

Title Tattle: I laughed out loud when they revealed what “the Bells of Saint John” meant. Very clever, if an odd choice of title for the episode. Has a nice ring to it though (sorry).

The Doctor’s New Clothes: The purplish look suits Matt Smith well. The tweedy frock coat and bow-tie have a hint of the Troughton look but with a more refined Pertwee aesthetic. Very retro. The Doctor’s prior outfit (I’m sorry, I will stop that) is a monk’s habit, which strangely suits him equally well. Although, apparently, monks aren’t cool. Personally, I’ve met some very cool monks.

Hanky-Panky in the TARDIS: Jenna-Louise Coleman is beautiful as ever, Matt Smith is particularly dashing in this episode, and I’ve long had a bit of a crush on Celia Imrie. Clara is a flirt, but nowhere near as much as her other two incarnations.

Links and foreshadowings: The Intelligence ratchets up a fourth appearance; honestly, nothing since 1967 and then it makes two appearances in a matter of months.

This isn't the first time we've seen the Doctor on a motorbike - he's done so in three previous incarnations. (Three in The Daemons, Seven in  Delta and the Bannermen and Eight in the TV Movie, fact fans.)

The book Summer Falls is written by one Amelia Williams, almost certainly our friend Amy. The significance is of chapter eleven – if there is any – remains to be see. Equally intriguing is that Clara was given her ‘helpline’ number by a woman at a shop. Could this be Amy? River? Or even Rose, now that we know she is returning for the 50^th anniversary special?

And did anyone else briefly expect the Meddling Monk to turn up based on the 1207 sequence?

Best Line: “It’s 1207!”

“I’ve got half-past three.”

Oh, the old ones are the best…

WHO BOOK-QUEST #3: Last of the Gaderene by Mark Gatiss

Mark Gatiss works primarily in nostalgia. His Lucifer Box trilogy pastiches adventure stories from the Edwardian era, the roaring twenties, and the Bondian fifties; his debut novel, the Doctor Who New Adventure Nightshade was a meditation on nostalgia and a Quatermass pastiche to boot. His Doctor Who episodes are among the most straightforwardly evocative of the show’s past, and include a Dickensian yarn and a story set around the coronation and the beginnings of television. He has presented series on the evolution of horror cinema and has had a Victorian laboratory built in his house. Mr Gatiss likes to live in the past.

With Last of the Gaderene, Gatiss’s last Who work until the series’ return to television in 2005, he takes this to its logical limit. The 2000 BBC novel is a clear attempt to reproduce his favourite era of Doctor Who in prose. Last of the Gaderene was chosen by BBC Books to represent the third Doctor in their new celebratory set of reprints, and it’s easy to see why. This is the purest example of Pertwee era Who you can find in print. In fact, it’s so Pertwee it’s even more Pertwee than the series was on telly.

So, no, Last of the Gaderene is not an attempt to do something new and interesting with Doctor Who, but Gatiss has never really been interested in that in his own work. Even his New Adventures had the air of someone trying to get a show back to its roots, away from the direction it had careened into in its later years. This is the ultimate nostalgia piece for anyone who grew up with Pertwee as the Doctor. This is a flaw as much as a benefit, of course. Seventies nostalgia just isn’t going to work that well on someone who was born in 1984. Admittedly, it is entirely possible to have nostalgic feelings for something that one never directly experienced; we are saturated in the past, and it can often feel that we were present for events that occurred before our birth.

This exposes another flaw in this approach, however. Gatiss presents this novel not merely as an evocation of Pertwee’s era on television, but also as a reproduction of the Doctor Who novelisations that he grew up with. I love the Target novelisations, but by the time I began reading them they were collectors’ pieces, not the everyday face of Doctor Who between TV seasons. The reason, of course, was that by then the series was readily available on video and was being repeated on UKTV Gold. Now, of course, the entire Pertwee canon is available on DVD and more readily available than ever. There’s not really any need for a book to recreate this era of the show, any more than there was in 2000.

Still, Gatiss is a great writer. One of my favourites, in fact. He may not be notable for experimentation or literary merit, but he writes bloody good adventure tales in clear, enjoyable prose. Gaderene is less well written than some of his work, but then it is clearly trying to reproduce the classic Target style, which is more-or-less the style of Terrence Dicks. That is to say, straightforward, breathless and pacy with the occasional moment that makes you stop and think: ooh, nice. Right down to the chapter titles, which include the obligatory ‘Escape to Danger’ (still being used by authors even now – I’m thinking of you here, Mr Wolverson) and the supremely puntastic ‘A Fate Worse Than Death,’ which made me give a little cheer out loud.

The plot is as straightforward as the prose, concerning a Body Snatcher-styled invasion force – the eponymous Gaderene – that have entered a small village and begun to take over the inhabitants, as a spearhead to a worldwide infiltration. The use of Legion International, a military-industrial airline, gives the story something of a Quatermass­-feel, which in turn makes it feel very Who season seven in places. Otherwise, this is pure Pertwee, from the claustrophobic village, the characterful locals, the UNIT presence, the Brigadier up against petty bureaucrats, the token visit to an alien world and, of course, the revelation that the Master is behind all of it. Gatiss is great at character work, and all his incidental cast are well-realised. Alec Whistler, late of the RAF, is a delight to read, a proper officer and a gentleman who would have made a perfectly good hero in his own right if he wasn’t required to be overshadowed by the Doctor. The Brigadier, Jo, the Master and the Doctor himself are all perfectly recreated. You can hear Courtney, Manning, Delgado and Pertwee speak every line.

There are a few nods to ongoing character development which fit with the novel’s placement at the end of season ten. Jo is realising that soon she will have to leave the Doctor and the Time Lord is himself spending more and more time away from Earth, albeit with the realisation that he has come to think of the planet as his home. A specific placement isn’t really the point, of course; this is the Pertwee era writ large. The Doctor even gets to fly a Spitfire, and wouldn’t that have looked amazing on telly? Well, no, they’d have used some really shonky CSO, wouldn’t they? Still, it would have been great in the Target novelisation…

REVIEW: Foyle's War 8-1: The Eternity Ring

Foyle’s War returns for an eighth series, almost eleven years since its debut. The last run aired three years ago, at which point the creators of the series had already run out of war. After three stories set in WWII’s aftermath, series seven ended with Foyle heading for the United States. He returns to Britain after a year or so away, to the London of 1946, characterised by rationing, bomb damage and the slow return of demobbed soldiers from overseas.

The series could very easily have ended with the war, or have been content to tread water in a perpetual nineteen forty-something. Gratifyingly, creator  Anthony Horowitz has avoided such temptations and moved the series forward, first with the immediate aftermath of the War in the previous season, and now with a more distinct change of direction. Having spent many years protecting Hastings from wartime criminals, Foyle is persuaded to remain in London working for MI5 in the chillier climate of the burgeoning Cold War.

While such a shift was necessary to give the series new life, the fundamentals that made earlier instalments so successful have not been forgotten. Foyle remains the committed policeman he always was, and Michael Kitchen’s exemplary performance remains a masterclass in taciturn understatement. Foyle’s uneasiness in his role at MI5, due to a mix of respect at their work and contempt at their methods, takes him out of his comfort zone and gives Kitchen plenty to underplay. Ellie Haddington is almost as good as Foyle’s amoral equal, his superior Hilda Pierce, and the remaining players in the game of Intelligence are, on both sides of the board, on top form throughout.

Foyle’s War wouldn’t be the same without Sam, of course, and she is dragged into this new world of spies and cover-ups by her employment by a leading atomic physicist. It is her connection to him that is used as the excuse to bring Foyle into MI5, with his connection to Sam, here accused of supplying data to enemy agents, as a reason to bring him in on the investigation. Satisfyingly, Foyle’s dogged police nature isn’t overlooked or amended by this new role; in fact, it is the very reason he is considered valuable by the Intelligence service, which requires some good, old-fashioned police work.

Naturally, we don’t believe for a moment that Sam has sold out to the Soviets, but her unwilling involvement in the plot gives Honeysuckle Weeks good material and threatens to drive a wedge between her character and Foyle. She has her own problems to deal with too, as her husband Adam (Daniel Weyman) is running for government and she herself is having problems conceiving, a burden she is shouldering alone. Longterm viewers will realise something is wrong as soon as Sam’s famously powerful appetite abandons her at lunch with Foyle.

A separate plot strand is provided by Frank Shaw, a former policeman now returning from armed service in the East. Shaw is well played by Joe Duttine, his storyline capturing the alienation and disenfranchisement felt by many ex-servicemen when arriving back in the country they had fought for, only to found there were no jobs available and that their families had adapted to life without them. Shaw’s wife now works full-time, something that must be terribly emasculating to a former breadwinner now unable to find work for himself, while his sixteen-year-old son works behind the bar at a club. Shaw’s descent from a proud soldier returning home to his attack on one of the club’s “nancy boy” patrons is sympathetically played. Horowitz uses the writer’s licence to use unlikely coincidences to untie these plot strands through Foyle, who both knows Shaw from before the war and now works for his victim. As an aside, Foyle’s stiff-upper-lipped disinterest at what grown men do in their private lives speaks volumes about his progressive thinking for the period, something the series has explored equally subtly in previous episodes.

Placing Foyle in the world of Cold War paranoia has great potential and should provide some interesting storylines. ‘The Eternity Ring’ begins this new phase of the series well, providing an enjoyably twisty-turny web of intrigue and double-cross without ever becoming overly complex. (Not that this is the universal view. There’s a hilarious review on IMDB in which someone who admits to being “not the most cerebral person” complains that they didn’t understand the plot. It was when they said, “as a writer myself” and proceeded to criticise Horowitz that I laughed. Really, if you try reading this piece you’ll see why it’s funny).  ‘The Eternity Ring’ is a fine start to the new series with some accessible Cold War drama. It ends with Sam once again at Foyle’s side (her appointment as his driver being his condition for working for Pierce permanently). I look forward to seeing where this new direction will take them both. I do hope we find out a little more about what Foyle got up to in the States that upset the FBI so much though. What price a one-off special set in America?

New Gerry Anderson website

A brand new, official website celebrating the late, great Gerry Anderson has just been unveiled. All the classics are there, as well as news on Anderson Entertainment's upcoming productions.

www.gerryanderson.co.uk

Personally, Captain Scarlet was always my favourite. I wish this site had gone up last month - I might have stood more of a chance in the Gerry Anderson round of the March Geekest Link. Never mind, we still won.

Recent Radio

I like radio. Not the endless barrage of drivel interspersed with mediocre high-charting music that fills up much of the BBC and local output, but the actual programmes, most of which are confined to Radio 4 and its baby brother, 4 Extra. Well written, well performed drama and comedy through the medium of sound, the sort of thing that was a mainstay of popular entertainment in the Good Old Days but is now a shadow of its former glorious self. When there are decent programmes on offer, they are frequently missed, since the BBC is mostly intent of pushing its televisual output. Even the Radio Times has little time for radio anymore.

One of the few items that has received a good deal of coverage lately is the new adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere. Dirk Maggs adapted this one, as he has previously adapted several prose works, including the later Hitchhikers books. Neverwhere is a bit different, of course, having started out as a six-part TV series. It was broadcast in 1996, so I was twelve, for once exactly the right age to catch something on its original broadcast. The TV version of Neverwhere isn’t popular, having been thoroughly eclipsed by Gaiman’s novelisation, but I adore it. A broadcast serial is how it was originally conceived (by Lenny Henry, no less), although I have read of stage versions, for which I imagine it is equally well-suited.

The new radio version mainly pulled the media due to its superstellar cast, which includes James MacAvoy as the hero Richard, Natalie Dormer as Door and man-of-the-moment Benedict Cumberbatch as the Angel Islington. There’s more to it than big names, of course. There’s a reason big names become big. These are some of the best actors of their generation. While Cumberbatch’s presence will be the most celebrated – and I did enjoy how hammy he got in the final episode – it’s the leading duo that holds it together, with real chemistry on display. David Harewood is silkily smooth as the Marquis de Carabas, coming across as a little more dangerous than his televisual alter ego (played by Paterson Joseph), and we get the sheer joy of hearing Bernard Cribbens as Old Bailey and Christopher Lee as the Earl of Earl’s Court. If there is ever a sequel, please may we have David Warner as the Baron of Baron’s Court? Thank you kindly.

The joy of audio is its ability to create vivid worlds solely through the medium of sound. Neverwhere triumphs over its TV incarnation, forever looked down upon because of its limited budget and untreated video footage. On radio, the battle with the Beast of London is as powerful as it should be, rather than a slightly embarrassing mess. Equally well served by this format is Eric, a new adaptation of Terry Pratchett’s short novel of Discworld. Discworld adaptations for radio are common, but this one works particularly well. For a start, it’s actually funny, something that certain adaptations have somehow managed to miss. The difficulty, I guess, is in translating Pratchett’s humour, which comes across primarily from his prose style and turn of phrase, to a non-narrated format. Eric works it by focussing on the silliness of the situations. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone more suited to the role of Rincewind the Wizzard than Mark Heap, the unfairly overlooked actor of Spaced and Green Wing fame. The man is comedy on legs, and should any further TV adaptations of Rincewind stories be in the pipeline, I really, really hope they seek him out. The only issue I have with this adaptation is the terribly brief running time, with episodes only lasting thirteen minutes. Still, this does at least prevent them from getting stale.

Remaining on the fantasy-comedy route we come to Welcome to Our Village, Please Invade Carefully. I’m undecided on this one. I reviewed the pilot episode last year, and concluded that it had potential, but, after hearing two episodes (I missed the first and they’re only up for a week), I have yet to hear it reach that potential. This week’s episode was the better of the two, with some genuinely funny moments and a solid story idea. It’s not bad by any means; I just think that Eddie Robson can do a lot better than this. Village skirts on the edge of science fiction, with most of its jokes coming from the exploration of middle class England, and more could be made from the juxtaposition of this and the invading Geonin.

I suppose it’s only natural that I’d want more sci-fi in the show, as a sci-fi geek of some repute, but it still feels like Village is playing it too safe. Perhaps it should be taken off Radio 2 and given to a 4 Extra? Fewer people would tune in of course, but if it was left on iPlayer for more than a few days I’m sure it would garner a great many listeners after initial broadcast. A big shame is that my beloved Katherine Parkinson has not stayed on, Katrina now being played by Hattie Morahan. She’s perfectly fine, but Parkinson has is just a natural for comedy. Thankfully, Julian Rhind-Tutt is still on hand as Uljabaan, the alien leader, and Peter Davison is Katrina’s weary father Richard.

By far the most impressive programme I have listened to in some time is ‘The Startling Truths of Old World Sparrows,’ an instalment of Radio 3’s The Wire. The author and producer, Fiona Evans and Pauline Harris respectively, interviewed several elderly people and much of this is reproduced verbatim in a dramatic presentation concerning three pensioners dealing with a severe snowfall. The programme jumps from one person to the next as we explore the potential consequences of the snow on their lives, and we realise just how reliant they are on those who care for them. It’s a powerfully affecting look at the realities of old age in our country, and deserves praise for allowing elderly people to present their own concerns instead of having a younger writer explain them to us.

The most inspired decision is the casting. Rather than having three elderly actors portray the roles, the creators have chosen to cast children. All three of them are quite astonishingly fine actors, to the degree that there were several points at which I entirely forgot I was listening to children instead of fully-grown adults. Their names are Sydney Wade, Daniel Kerr and Ellis Hollins – ones to watch for in future, I feel. It’s an incredibly affecting and moving piece, with the vulnerability of the three protagonists really brought to the fore by their portrayal by children. It’s not something I would normally have listened to, and I did so on the recommendation of Paul Magrs. Truly exceptional.