"Golliwog's Cakewalk" by Thomas Cookson 19/10/18
Philip Hinchcliffe's producership arguably oversaw the show's strongest run. An anomalously consistent high-water mark that pushed the show into more adult, mature territory. The era begins in earnest with The Ark in Space's foray into sci-fi body horror. It has some slow, stilted patches after an intriguing first episode. But mostly the serial stands the test of time, featuring Tom's best monologue, about humanity's indomitable nature, which defines this era's question of how survival becomes both achieved and earned.
Noah's arm and body being mutated by larvae is still today a very visceral, disturbing sight. The bubblewrap having hairs glued onto it make it feel organic. The translucent layering conveying something alive incubating underneath, digesting him. Kenton Moore brilliantly conveys Noah's alien hand syndrome with gripping conviction.
The Sontaran Experiment is an optional add-on to the previous, but also plays well as a standalone with Styre making an effectively slimy villain.
Genesis of the Daleks was and remains a masterpiece. Being my first exposure to the show, which scared me like nothing else on TV, it's an eternal reminder why I became a fan, and retains a special place in my heart. The Daleks become redefined here as indestructible creatures of Armageddon, perpetually terrorising our universe (yet paradoxically aren't mentioned again for five seasons, until Destiny explains why they went quiet).
The conclusion proved the Doctor wasn't always guaranteed to save the day, and for some unfortunates he couldn't, which made his victories all the more important. From hereon, there'd always be a tremendous tension to stories, having seen that the Doctor can lose sometimes. Arguably, had home video existed in 1975, new fans would've been buying all the past Dalek stories that Genesis effectively prequels.
Revenge of the Cybermen, however, has grown stale with age. The Moonbase's Cybermen were a terrifying, relentless, unstoppable force, whereby if you cut off one head, another immediately replaces it. Revenge unfortunately reduces them to rather dull, stock scavengers and begins a tendency for the colour era to treat them rather poorly. It's like Hinchcliffe's rejuvenation of the Daleks' onscreen menace required the price of completely diminishing the Cybermen.
Terror of the Zygons really should've been Season 12's finale. With a lovely musical score and ambience, well-milked suspense (the barn scene still remains terrifying), beautiful cinematography, and our leads being rarely better together, it's a charming, reassuring story, despite its rather reactionary climax.
I found Planet of Evil a bit too unpleasantly grisly. Nonetheless, the Zeta Minor jungle's a thing of unnerving, eerie beauty, reminiscent of Hartnell's era. We also glimpse the Doctor's cold, darker nature here, talking Sorenson into martyrdom and being prepared to make a deal with the devil in the abyss' depths.
Pyramids of Mars is a particularly solid story that hits its notes perfectly, with well-applied character moments and downright chilling sequences (Lawrence's death, the apocalyptic alternate 1980, Sutekh forcing the Doctor to his knees). Topped with a well-earned ending as Sutekh perishes, pleading for the Doctor's mercy.
The Android Invasion, after an atmospheric opener, and superb cliffhanger reveal of Sarah's android double, quickly becomes sloppy, pat, forgettable filler.
The Brain of Morbius is a classic production, bringing Karn's world and its ethereal Sisterhood vividly to life with silky elegance, climaxing superbly with Tom's unyielding face-off with the vicious Morbius.
The Seeds of Doom makes a satisfyingly cinematic season finale. Tom Baker's at his furious best. Sarah gets her strongest moment onscreen when standing up to Scorby. Complainers about the Doctor's violence here seemingly forget that Hartnell's Doctor could occasionally be a thug.
The Masque of Mandragora is an overlooked intelligent historical about 15th-century Italy's Renaissance, where youthful fresh perspectives and knowledge triumphed over the stifling old guard and religious dogma. Ironically, Doctor Who would soon suffer the wrath of similar evangelical reactionaries.
The Hand of Fear marks Sarah's departure, and the closest thing to a farewell to the UNIT era. Tom and Lis improvise their goodbye beautifully, avoiding being syrupy or sentimental, but it remains poignant and the final frame is oddly upbeat.
The Deadly Assassin pitches the Doctor against a more vicious incarnation of the Master. The scrolling introductory text forewarns Gallifrey's greatest, most terrible crisis, and it delivers on that. Part one's rather choppy, bursting at the seams with incident, but it crafts its jawdropping cliffhanger brilliantly, where it appears the Doctor's shot the president, leaving us wrongfooted and uncertain whether we can still trust our hero. From then on, we have to see what happens next.
It progresses into a compelling game of politics and survival. The cliffhangers are especially bloodcurdling, the acting blisteringly strong, and the subversive insights into media manipulation make it essential viewing. They took a risk on the Matrix sequences, which really conveyed the harmful and exhausting effects of this Matrix interface on the Doctor, making him seem trapped perpetually in this deadly landscape where the usually peace-loving hero must unleash his savage inner id. The imagery's strange and unnerving, making an unforgettable experience.
Despite Jon Blum's cultish preachings about the Doctor's unappreciated wonderfulness, seeing the Doctor take a beating here is actually quite satisfying. The Doctor can be insufferably self-righteous, and the show sometimes needs to depict realistic challenges and consequences to his brave boldness. Seeing him suffer occasionally makes his bravery matter and his victories too. Without that suffering, he feels unreal and becomes insufferable.
Holmes clearly enjoyed pushing the envelope here. Giving this a real sense of exhilaration. The Master loses all cosy familiarity, reverting to his original, vicious Terror of the Autons nature. Any lingering fondness between these former friends dies here. Suddenly, either seems capable of happily killing the other.
Frustratingly, later stories completely ignore this huge game changer. In The Five Doctors, Borusa seemingly forgets the Master almost destroyed Gallifrey. In hindsight, the Master probably should've died here in a blaze of glory. We see the chaos and destruction just one foe can unleash on Gallifrey, suggesting a full-scale invasion of Gallifrey would be far more exciting than The Invasion of Time sadly proved.
The Face of Evil follows a mid-season break during which the Doctor has many off-screen solo adventures. Here he learns his past good work had unforeseen malevolent consequences. Boucher's script introduces some experimental sci-fi with a psychological lean and challenges the viewer to keep up. New girl Leela's clearly a winner. Louise Jameson superbly commands the role, and Leela herself is immediately ahead of the Doctor. You can't help be charmed when she ultimately invites herself aboard.
The Robots of Death frequently tops DWM's story polls. It's not a big game changer like Genesis, nor does it have any big defining moments. But being among the earliest video releases, its lasting popularity is testament to how superbly it's withstood repeat viewings and remained entertaining. It has a razor-sharp, witty script, an effective blend of domesticity and grisly horror and an iconic design to its unnerving androids. Its environment gradually becomes increasingly claustrophobic, and it progressively feels like we are these characters, having to live in this unnerving world with its creepy robots. We've left the cosy Pertwee era behind.
The Talons of Weng-Chiang marks Hinchcliffe's very best production, full of endearing characters, knockout performances, sheer delightful moments, the most lavish production values, and plentiful chances for Tom Baker to shine. It encapsulates Holmes' love of Grand Guignol, gothic horror. It does seem to be missing something, with Hinchcliffe vetoing the Master's inclusion, forcing Holmes to contrive Magnus Greel in his place, complete with thin backstory. But it remains a triumph of plotting and characterisation, with some dynamic action sequences and a satisfying scope of setting rarely seen before. Jago and Litefoot could've easily become the show's new UNIT family.
Leela comes fully into her own here. It's a cruel irony that Hinchcliffe was forced out by 'moral' guardian Mary Whitehouse, ending his reign on a story where Leela bravely risks her life to save some street urchin she doesn't even know. It builds to a desperate, tense climax where we see Tom's Doctor at his urgent best, taking swift ruthless action after his final attempt to make Greel see reason fails. A perfect encapsulation of the Doctor's moral nature. Incidentally, that fans still gripe over the giant rat is beyond sad.
As for the racist undercurrents, there's a lot of 1970's cinema classics that expose some worryingly objectionable attitudes (Travis Bickle's racism, A Clockwork Orange's misogyny). Sometimes art gets imbued with someone's human prejudices, demons and jaded world-views. Which is why I try adopting a glass-half-full perspective. I appreciate the characteristics that elevate Li H'sen Chang above a demonic stereotype, humanizing him as honourable in his own way, which largely surfaces in his death scene. However, my Chinese flatmate at University found this story upsetting, feeling it gave a wrong impression of his people (he also found it too talky).
Hinchcliffe's era for me demonstrated great love of both gothic literature and theatrical arts. Crafting complex morality plays about the grandest, noblest archetypes against the most malignant. Delivering many punches to the gut and moments of monumental catharsis.
The era operated on harsh survival rules, where villains were nastier and death a respecter of no one. Even the noble, kindly Lawrence or Gharman could die, precisely because of their compassion. The Brain of Morbius marked the first time in years the show had slain a female character, which struck a particularly sore nerve. Resultantly, the danger and the stories felt more real.
The editing of horrific moments was especially unnerving, enhancing the volatile, manic nature of its villains and leaving viewers sometimes double-taking at what they'd seen. Like recording a nightmare or trauma.
In this dangerous climate, where even the most lily-white noble can die, we get a believable, reassuring sense of the Doctor always having the quick wits and spirit to survive, whilst maintaining enough of an enlightened moral centre to deserve to, and by extension how there's both beautiful and terrible reasons mankind has prevailed.
Hinchcliffe's is the half of Tom's era that really counts, and the last time we could rely on consistent quality from this show. I've come to realize that, Horror of Fang Rock and City of Death aside, the Williams era was more like being occasionally reminded of a beloved, once great show than actively experiencing one. We can only guess how Hinchcliffe's fourth season would've transpired. Apparently, he'd planned to introduce a new, more powerful, iconic enemy that'd supersede the Daleks. It's uncertain how successful this would've been, but he'd gotten it right thus far. In fact, he'd proven that, given the right producer, this antiquated show could still be made fresh anew for a whole new audience. The idea of the show as a sleeping giant stems from his time.
Watching 1977's Whose Doctor Who documentary reveals how popular Hinchcliffe's era was to a wide audience: boys, girls, parents, medical practitioners and intellectual theorists. In fact, Season 14's probably the closest thing we had to a 1970s Buffy. There was no hint the show was a laughable joke for nerds and sexist dinosaurs only. There was reverence for the makers' achievements rather than mockery for their blunders.
Perhaps had Doctor Who ended on Talons, it wouldn't have become some laughing stock to be apologetic about. Perhaps it'd have less of a 'sad' stigma if it never got to turn so embarrassingly fannish in the 80's. We'd had fourteen glorious years to gorge on, and a revival could've still followed without complication.
With so many ways the show could've gone after 1977 (i.e. potential sequels to Robots of Death or Terror of the Zygons), it's tragic that the show ultimately took the long, disastrous path it did. Doctor Who may have continued existing for decades after, but Hinchcliffe's era might be the last time it truly 'lived'.
Curtains close.