The Power of the Daleks

It is often said that the function of a companion is that of an identification figure for the audience – and never is that more true than in The Power of the Daleks.  With the introduction of Troughton as the Doctor, the audience should be confused and bewildered by what has happened.  It is all too easy nowadays to shrug nonchalantly at a regeneration.  But at the time, this was a complete game changer, never seen before.

From the opening scenes of Troughton in the TARDIS, he is muddled and unclear.  No explanation is given at any point for his strange behaviour, and his unexplained presence in the ship is confusing for the companions, Ben and Polly.  What is more, Troughton comes across as a dangerous addition – he speaks, at first, in hushed tones, grating and guttural.  He is unknowable, unsure even of himself, and constantly refers to himself in the third person, and Ben in particular feels unsafe in the presence of this unknown interloper.  He has invaded the sanctity of the TARDIS, and brandishes Saladin’s knife with glee, before picking up, instead, a recorder.  At no point can we be sure exactly what is happening – and this is a very brave decision.

After 3 and a bit seasons of watching Hartnell grow from an alien outsider into the lovable hero that he became, we are suddenly faced once more with Troughton’s equivalent of the Doctor from An Unearthly Child, mysterious and alien.  What is most interesting about Troughton’s portrayal throughout this serial, though, and also the most courageous decision on the part of the production team, is just how different from Hartnell he is.  Whilst Hartnell portrayed the character as aloof and noble, with the ability to have fun at times, Troughton instead focuses solely on the more comical elements, with only the occasional glimmer of the seriousness we typically associate with the role.  Troughton is to be the template for most Doctors to follow, laden heavily with comedic elements but an underlying menace and fury at times coming to the surface.  Here, though, it comes as a shock to the system.

Ultimately, The Power of the Daleks is a serial entirely about appearances and their very deceptiveness.  We are given a new Doctor, who doesn’t act like the Doctor.  That same Doctor assumes a false identity, becoming the Earth Examiner.  Meanwhile, we have Governors incapable of ruling, a doctor who is really a rebel, rebels who are actually being betrayed by those persuading them to rebel, and the Daleks pretending to be our “ser-vants”. 

The Daleks are wonderful here, though.  Usually I try to write my blog in chronological order, from the beginning of episode 1 through to the end of the serial.   If I were doing that now, I wouldn’t be mentioning the Daleks until about the 1000 word mark.  But that’s no longer important – I mentioned this as I reached the end of The Gunfighters, and we saw the end of the individual episode titles.  Sadly, The Power of the Daleks is the very first casualty of what we predicted – the removal of any tension in the grand reveal of the cliffhanger.  Here, as the Doctor and his companions finally make their way into the strange ship dredged from the mercury swamps, we know full well that it will contain a Dalek, since the title has signposted their presence from the outset.  Before we even saw this new Doctor and his strange ways, we knew the Daleks were coming.  What that does do, though, is presents us with the premature realisation that this story will be something special.  We have a new Doctor, and he’s facing up to his arch-nemeses, and so anticipation is high.

 

From the introduction of the new Doctor, we are wrong-footed, as Ben and Polly are – from the obscure repetition of choice phrases – “renewal!” – to the bizarre behaviour looking for the diary and the recorder, we can never be sure of this man.  As the companions follow him out of the TARDIS, they are still not safe; and neither are the audience.  It works, though – regardless, as we see him discover the body of the Earth Examiner in the swamps, and his joyful dancing across the pools of mercury, we root for him.  The emergence of strangers behind him terrifies us.  Even in a ridiculous hat, acting so unDoctorly, we root for him. 

In the camp, meanwhile, political intrigue is abound, and scientific curiosity is being explored; Whilst Bragen, Quinn and Hensell are battling it out so supremacy within the government of this rag-tag group of settlers, Lesterson and Janley are busy in the laboratories.  When the Doctor arrives, with Ben and Polly following, he is mistaken for the Examiner and granted full access to the area.  Lesterson is a fascinating character, putting the importance of his scientific explorations over the “pressure groups” and rebels within the society.  The supporting cast are all superb, but particular mention must go to Robert James as Lesterson, whose drive brings about the downfall of his society.  His gradual decline into madness as everything falls apart around him is wonderfully underplayed and is pitch-perfect.

The cliffhanger of the first episode is wonderfully tense, as the Doctor leads Ben and Polly into the space ship, and with a flourish introduces the companions to his nemeses – “Come in and meet the Daleks”.  What I love most about this serial is the way in which it takes for granted the power of the Daleks, if you’ll excuse their pun, and the Doctor’s very real fear of them.  The appearance of a clawed mutant scuttling across the floor sounds wonderful, and Anneke Wills’ linking narration on the audio seems palpable.  Ben’s response in episode 2 that “The real Doctor was always going on about Daleks” is brilliant too – I can just imagine Hartnell gloating over his defeat of them in the past, bragging to his companions that he destroyed, time and time again, the most feared creatures in the universe.

As the Examiner, the Doctor is granted full access and he uses it to perform his first really Doctorly speech – demanding that the Daleks be broken up or melted down, and suddenly pausing over this wonderful phrases – “Up or down, I don’t care which”.  The Daleks are powerless throughout much of the opening sequence, but the Doctor realises that a third Dalek casing is missing, and demands that Lesterson stops his experiments.   Of course, Lesterson is too fascinated by the results to pay attention to such a demand, and the scenes in which, with Janley, his assistant, they test the Dalek responses and study its casing are terribly unnerving; they have no idea of the dangers, and as they point out the “short, stubby arm”, wondering what purpose the gun stalk could have, we eagerly wait for the inevitable...  but it doesn’t come, not right away, and that’s what makes The Power of the Daleks such a spectacularly effective serial.  The paranoia of the Daleks is inherent in all of us at home – we’ve seen what they are capable of – yet here they are impotent, passive slaves, grating the phrases to do with servitude with an effective and affected weariness.  It is telling, in fact, that the only person murdered by the Daleks in the first few episodes is also the only person that suspects them of not being as subservient as they appear to be.  The death is swiftly ignored, though, by Janley and Lesterson as Janley covers it up, driven as she is by her desire to arm the rebels.

The very idea of the subservience of the Daleks is one which we have since seen revisited in the new reboot – Victory of the Daleks does almost exactly the same thing, but rather than an alien planet with a colony of humans, in that story is placed the action during the second world war.  Here, though, it is rather more effective – we as an audience, and Ben and Polly as companions, are now almost certain that this funny little man in his funny little hat is our Doctor; and to consolidate it, the scenes between him and the Daleks show that he is.  No-one else could fully appreciate the very danger of having the Daleks within the compound, and the Dalek’s recognition of the Doctor, despite his regenerated appearance, confirms it utterly, whilst also unnerving the audience further.  The shot of Troughton seen through the eye-stalk of the Dalek at the cliffhanger for episode 2 is terrifying, as it closes in on him, only to offer its services.

The Doctor’s order for the Dalek to immobilise itself in episode 3 is equally unnerving – the fact that it does not do so quickly shows that it is clearly not as subservient as it claims, and the very speed at which it reboots itself as he leaves makes the audience uncomfortable – this Dalek is cunning, it is watching, waiting for the right time.  3 episodes in, and the Daleks are still holding their cards close to their chest, and the audience is unclear when their time to strike will be; since serials range in length from 2 to 12 episodes, nothing is certain.

The political intrigue elements continue with the arming of the rebels with the Dalek gun stalks;  by disarming the Daleks, we imagine that they will all be safe, but instead the story turns the point on its head – the weapons of the Daleks are still usable, but this time by humans, with a thirst for power, rather than the Daleks themselves.  What is interesting is that there are few redeemable humans in this serial.  They come across as conceited, selfish, power-mad, and all the more dangerous for it.  By the time the Daleks return to their old ways, which is surely inevitable, we don’t care anymore; each and every one of them deserves to die.  They have it coming to them, but again, it is simply a question of when.  Throughout episode 4, in fact, this becomes even more prevalent a concept; as the rebels plot their political coup d’etat, they are served drinks by demeaned Daleks with trays instead of weapons.  They are blind to the clear danger amongst them, as they are so blinded by their desperation to succeed.

The ending of episode 3 is yet another brilliant cliffhanger, as the Daleks close in on Lesterson, chanting “we will get our power” ad infinitum.  Of course, Lesterson reasserts his ‘control’ in the opening of episode 4, but the seed of doubt is planted – he begins to question the motives of the creatures, and finally starts to see how dangerous they could perhaps be.  This turning point in James’ characterisation is wonderfully handled – vocally, there is only the slightest nuance of fear in his delivery, but it sells the idea completely.  The disgust with which James delivers the line “More important than human life?!” upon hearing that Rezno was murdered by a Dalek is smashing – again, he is slowly coming to terms with the fact that he has been blinded by his own desire to succeed, and that scientific progress is no excuse for ignoring the sanctity of human life.  It is this realisation, though, which makes his death in episode 6 all the more shocking – but more on that later.

The concept of the multiplying Daleks is wonderful, and verging on comedic – whilst we can’t see the visual, the surprise in the Doctor’s voice implies that there was almost a double-take upon seeing the 3 Daleks in the corridor, after leaving one in the office.  I also love the idea that the colonists are so self-obsessed and ignorant that they have failed to notice the increase in numbers; again, to the settlers, these Daleks are simply obedient servants and waiters, nothing to pay a great deal of attention to. 

The scenes in the rebel meeting are all rather spurious; the manner in which the Doctor decodes the ‘simple anagram’ is rather silly, but it does allow our heroes the chance to infiltrate the second plotline, one which until now they have been merely skirting.  Throughout the story, they have been distracted by the Daleks, and whilst the Daleks have done nothing, Bragen and his rebels have actually been achieving a fair amount, via the gradual overthrowing of the current governor during his absence.

The cliffhanger to episode 4 is probably the most terrifying yet; as Lesterson hides in the shadows, watching the production line of Daleks, Wills’ descriptions are truly bloodcurdling.  The mysterious bubbling liquid, the green blobs being probed with metal spikes and electrocuted, before being dropped into the casings all sounds horrifying.  The image is so horrifying, in fact, that it drives Lesterson mad.  Utterly, stark-raving bonkers.  And James is outstanding here; again, we can’t see this, and only have the audio to go from with a few stills and the occasional snippet, but here we can almost feel the insanity radiating from him, all eye-rolling and with spittle running down his chin.  The way in which Janley uses Lesterson, denying his claims and pointing out that he is clearly mad, is brilliant; he’s driven mad by what he helped to create, yet that very madness is what prevents anyone from listening to him or taking him seriously.

With the Doctor imprisoned, the story begins to speed up at a rate of knots; his warnings are ignored after being accused of killing the real Examiner.  He has uncovered who the real spy is, and is unable to prevent them from taking over the colony with their group of rebels.  Meanwhile, Bragen has taken over control, using a Dalek weapon to exterminate Governor Hensell, and the remorse in his voice is smashing – he sounds genuinely appalled by what he has done, bringing just a touch of humanity to the role.  The reproduction of the Daleks is simply dismissed, as they point out that this way they are “twice as useful.”  Episode 5 is simply wonderful – jumping from set piece to set piece, with the Doctor using his cunning to escape from his prison cell by emulating the sound of the sonic key on the rim of a glass of water.  These days, in the reboot of the series, it is all too easy for the Doctor, between the psychic paper (one of the laziest yet most overused tools at the Doctor’s disposal) and the sonic screwdriver.  Here, though, it is by sheer brain power that the Doctor and Quinn are able to make good their escape.

The final scenes of episode 5 set up the show-stopping final episode, as the Daleks finally drop their pleasantries, and the rallying cries of “Exterminate!” come from every corner of the colony.  The final episode is, for the most part, based around the epic battle sequences, which sound magnificent.  The sound effects are fantastic, as is the sparing use of incidental music, and some of the stills and snippets we have show a grand sense of scale.  There is an unnerving moment when, to evade extermination, the Doctor and Quinn hide themselves under a pile of corpses.  It is grim, and gritty, and all the better for it. 

The realisation of the colonists that they no longer have any control over the Daleks is wonderful, and Bragen’s calls for his men to return to the centre of the colony is bleak and darkly humorous; his calls are sent through empty halls, as almost all of the men have died, fighting the intruders.

Lesterson is the best thing about this episode though, if not the whole serial;  his decline into madness is racing now, as he sits back and sighs “you have to admire them!  They’re the new species!”  His faith in humanity has now utterly dissipated, and in his current psychological state, it is all he can do but fall to his knees and praise the Daleks.  His Dalek impersonation is blackly comical, as he puts on the infamous grating voice to hear him utter “I am your ser-vant!” before being neutralised in a flash.  He is certain, or at least as certain as a lunatic can be, that they will not kill him, because he helped to create them – he brought them back from their hibernation and gave them “life”.  It is a tragic end to someone who was, frankly, wonderful, albeit naive.

Of course, throughout the story the Doctor has warned that this would all happen.  And no-one listened to him, so most of them are dead; but again, this helps to solidify Troughton’s Doctor.  He knew.  We can trust him...  except we can’t, because although he saves the day, even he doesn’t know how he did it.  He messes around with some wiring, and is ecstatic that it stops the Daleks dead, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what he did to save the day.  Gone are the assured actions of the First Doctor.  This Second Doctor is a liability.  Whilst he may be funny, and silly, he is the Doctor; he fights evil, and he wins.  But reminiscent of The Daleks’ Master Plan, he doesn’t do it without casualties.  The camera panning across the fallen men and women reminds us of this, and his uncertainty about what he actually did is troubling.  Bragen’s death at the hands of a human shocks us – it should have been a Dalek that did it.  We weren’t expecting such a callous execution, although of course he deserved it.  It’s all so shocking, so final.  And then the Doctor and his companions leave, with Vulcan a warzone, with the inexperienced Quinn forced to rise to the challenge of bringing Vulcan back.  As they leave, the group examines a fallen Dalek, before dematerialising...  and we see that the Dalek was, in fact, examining them.

The Hartnell Years

William Hartnell is the Doctor. Whilst he may not have been the longest running, and he certainly isn’t the most popular in most polls held, he originated the role, bringing his own irascibility and grumpiness, but also his lovability and charm. His wit and sardonic humour radiate from him endlessly, and even in the direst of situations, his “hmm”s and tuts warm my heart.

Of course, he is renowned for his ‘Billy fluffs’ –invariably at least once an episode, Hartnell can stumble on a line. These are often cited by some as a reason for disliking his portrayal. That said, for a man of his age and in his condition, we can only sit and sigh in awe at the durability of him. Rehearsing almost every week of the year, on a dreadfully tight budget and schedule, Hartnell and his crew managed admirably. Considering his disease, he actually fared surprisingly well – there are bit-part players who fluff as often, despite only having the script for two-four weeks. In the 1960s, as we know, only one take was often allowed – due to time constraints, the show was filmed ‘as live’, and retakes were only allowed for the most catastrophic of reasons. As such, he endured being dropped on camera cranes, being hit in the face, and any number of terrible things – yet throughout everything, he managed to hide most of this, behind his genius characterisation of the Doctor as a doddery old man.

He is unfairly criticised as being too inactive – all of the ‘heavy lifting’ was left to his (admittedly more than) capable companions, Ian, Steven and Ben. Certainly, we don’t see him prat-falling around like McCoy and Baker, or energetically throwing himself around like Davison, or moving with a nimble, child-like glee like Troughton, or even karate-chopping henchmen like Pertwee. But that doesn’t make him any less the Doctor.

We must remember, though, that he is the First. He is the archetype of the character, the originator of many of the character’s attributes which we still see today. Without Hartnell (and the Daleks, admittedly) the series may never have run for three years, let alone 49. He took the essence of a character created by writers and made it his own. He actively changed scripts if he thought them inappropriate for the children watching.

What Hartnell does is encapsulate all that later Doctor’s embody in one go – he is loveable and miserable, grouchy and snappy, funny and clownish, abrupt and deceitful, all at once. His stories helped in that each script allowed him to bring a new trait to the fore – from the antihero liar of The Daleks to the lovable pragmatist and historical hero of The Aztecs, from moral peace-keeper in The Sensorites to the heroic old man who battles adversity in the face of illness in The Tenth Planet, he managed to create the template which is still being used to this very day. Many unfairly ignore Hartnell, and claim that it was Patrick Troughton who created the role as we now know it, and whilst Troughton is far and away my favourite Doctor, he simply took Hartnell’s lead. 

The joker of The Romans and The Myth Makers is the ball that Troughton, Tom Baker and early Sylvester McCoy picked up and ran with. The stoic pragmatist and heroic action man of The Dalek Invasion of Earth and The Tenth Planet is the template upon which Jon Pertwee, Peter Davison, David Tennant and Matt Smith modelled themselves on. The unapproachable and aggressive Doctor of An Unearthly Child and The Daleks seems to be the template for Colin Baker’s interpretation – admittedly one which should have gone full circle to encapsulate all of his traits rather than just those irascible ones. The darker and more dangerous characteristics of Hartnell’s Doctor are the template upon which later McCoy, Christopher Eccleston and later Smith will utilise.

Of course, the series itself had no consistency as such to speak of, so it is unsurprising that there seemed to be little or no consistency to the character or the stories he was involved in. And that is also the crux of what makes Hartnell so great – put him in any era, on any planet and against any foe, and he thrives regardless. In the face of any adversity, he steps forward, a new trait comes out, and he faces the challenge admirably. As each new brush came in, carving a new way with the accompanying production team, the style changed. Whilst later Doctor’s eras are renowned for Base Under Siege style drama, or the earth-bound UNIT tales, before settling back into a hotch-potch method like in Hartnell’s time, the earliest incarnation thrives on the unknowability of what is around every bend– from historicals to sci-fi, Earth-under-threat to stories of warring factions on desolate planets, there is rarely anything similar. From the quiet, self-contained stories like Marco Polo to the epic sprawling battles of The Daleks’ Master Plan, you could never settle down knowing what was coming.

Some of these adventures work – indeed, most do. Some were wild experiments which are ambitious but sadly fall short for me due to the budgetary limitations. Whilst The Daleks’ Master Plan works wonderfully despite its epic scale, the same cannot be said for earlier attempts at this level of ambition such as The Keys of Marinus and The Chase, where multiple sets were demanded for short filming periods, resulting in shoddy-looking set pieces on shoddy-looking scenery. Likewise, ambitious projects like The Web Planet suffer, although that is principally down to the rather formulaic plot underpinning the extremely avant-garde production idea. Again, weak costuming and set design also mean that some of these projects suffer.

 

During his tenure, there was a wide variety of companions, too – again, since there was no tried and tested formula for them, they vary hugely in effectiveness. Whilst Ian, Barbara and Steven are particularly well-rounded, with a variety of idiosyncratic characteristics, others, such as Susan and Dodo sadly end up hitting wide of the mark. The characters themselves were too unreliable, varying wildly from alien school girl to shrieking hindrance in the case of Susan, and from idiotic and pointless white noise to engaging and mature young woman in the case of Dodo. From story to story, these characters were given no solid framework, and each writer took on the role as the script demanded, whether for better or worse. Always present is the boy’s own hero, perfectly embodied by Steven and Ian, and hinted at in Ben’s brief stint with this incarnation. With Hartnell’s health questionable at the best of times, this style of assistant was always needed – someone willing to roll their sleeves up and get physical. The young counterpart to Hartnell’s Doctor should have been perfectly embodied in Susan, a granddaughter of the same heritage with the same character quirks. Sadly, many of the ‘alien’ ideas were lost, and only serials like The Sensorites allow us to fully appreciate how wonderful her character could have been. Her replacement Vicki worked wonderfully, but in turn she was replaced by Dodo, whose very stupidity was so poorly sketched out that she was almost unbearable.

The rarest of companions, though, is Barbara, and it is a role that we will never see again – morally speaking, she is the Doctor’s equal, if not better. She sets him right, and helps to maintain a sense of balance. Jacqueline Hill’s performance in The Aztecs is why it is still one of the greatest Doctor-lite stories, and her ownership of her role in history, and her personal growth throughout, makes her one of my favourite companions ever.

We also have the ‘not-quite’ companions – characters like Katarina, Sara Kingdom and Bret Vyon who briefly travel with the Doctor – and again, it is testimony to Hartnell’s characterisation that at least two of these were shown to mature and grow thanks to his company. Katarina, sadly, was something of a wasted opportunity – but given that the part was originally intended for Vicki, that is unsurprising.

So all in all, with Hartnell we can see greatness – he is not one-dimensional, ever, and provides gravitas and mystery to the role, despite us finding more out about him through his character growth than we ever will with any other incarnation. He grows from his miserly first appearance, through his experiences with his companions, into a loveable, unknowable rogue, able as he is to flit between personas at the drop of a hat. Speaking of hats – on with Troughton...!

The Tenth Planet

Before I start this blog, I’d like to apologise in advance – I had written 6 pages of wonderful rhetoric, filled with insightful points of interest and fascinating observations... but then my computer deleted it.  As such, I’ve had to rewrite the entire thing, and as such it will be nowhere near as effective – I watched the serial more than a week and a half ago, and have since listened to the next two serials, as well as the series finale of the reboot, so my memory is a little hazy, and my notes make little sense.  So, sorry.

And so we come to the end.  Season 4, serial 2, sees us bid a heartfelt farewell to the Doctor – Hartnell’s moving on, and Troughton’s taking over the reins.  But what a way to bow out – the introduction of the Cybermen!  The first ever regeneration! (Although of course we don’t know that that is what it is just yet.)  But after a long and dedicated service to the character, Hartnell’s swansong is both wonderful and a tragic shame.

The Tenth Planet is regarded by many as the holy grail of Doctor Who, and episode 4 is the most eagerly-sought episode to be returned to the archives.  It is a fantastic serial for any number of reasons, and from the opening of episode 1, we can tell that this is something special;  the unique opening sequence lets us know that this is something special, as computer scrawl fills the screen, gradually transforming into the episode titles.  The sequences in Snow Base are equally impressive, and help to create a global sense of scale for the proceedings; as with The War Machines with its use of news broadcasters and American journalists, we are thrown into a world filled with people of every culture, albeit a number of them are racial stereotypes – from the Italian opera-chanting lothario with the sexy girl posters to the bullish brute of a General, barking orders in his brisk American accent – and we can genuinely believe that there is a danger for the whole planet, not just a suburb of London, as becomes the norm once Pertwee takes over.  Again, the use of stock footage here helps to create a sense of scale, making it all the more believable.   In a time of space exploration, the shots of rockets must have seemed magnificent. 

The arrival of the TARDIS is lovely too – the barren tundra is wonderfully realised, and the materialistion is faultless.  The costumes, too, are noteworthy of praise, as Ben, Polly and the doctor step out into a landscape as alien as any we’ve seen.  Set in the not-too-distant future of 1986, it allows the action to be carried by the performances, rather than being distracted by space-age costumes.  All of the characters are dressed in such a way that we can tell where we are, both physically and in a chronological sense.

Considering this is Hartnell’s swansong, and that he has gradually been removed from serials as a focal point, he is on top-form here again as always; his incredulous reaction to Cutler’s constant “pop”-calling is magnificently delivered.  In fact, all of the performances are top-notch, as though the crew are aware that they are making history here.  Craze, as Ben, is his typical self, heroic, disgruntled yet respectable.  Wills, as Polly, is clearly loving being the only female on show, and plays her part with a girlish glee which warms even the coldest heart. 

Perhaps the best performances, though, come from the astronauts, Williams and Shultz, on board the Zeus 4 shuttle, played by Earl Cameron and Alan White respectively.  Whilst the scenes in the cockpit of the ship have a great potential to be hokey and boring, occurring as they do in one small, claustrophobic space with no dynamic camera work, instead they become riveting, and their performances gradually become more panic-laden as they realise that the ship is slowly slipping from their control.  Each movement becomes a chore, and it is a true pleasure to watch.

The incidental music is superb, too – released on CD back in 2000, it creates a genuinely palpable threat as the chords become heavier and tenser, and accompany the visuals magically.  The final scenes of the first episode, as Mondas is revealed, are superb – again, the excellent model work helps to sell the realism (although the planet is spinning far too quickly upon its axis!) and as Hartnell warns of the impending “visitors” from this identical planet, we get to see them approach through the snow, with twanging chords and frantic pulsing sounds on the score.  The appearance of the Cybermen is fantastic, and is one of the best cliffhangers we’ve seen yet – the slow march is something we’ll see again in The Wheel in Space and The Moonbase, but for now it is original and fresh.  The scene in which one of the Cybermen swiftly deal with a scientist with a blow to the back of the head is horrifically violent, particularly as the camera feels like it has lingered on the shot just a moment too long before cutting away.  Also wonderful is the final scene, as the camera shows a close-up of the human hands of the Cyberman, impervious to cold and utterly without feeling, as it shifts the corpses uncaringly aside.

 

As with The War Machines before it, the use of news reporters in episode 2 helps to create a sense of scale, as the world wonders what on earth the new planet could mean.  The sequences in Wigner’s office at Geneva also help to sell this idea, as they desperately try to deal with the situation.  The presence of multi-national characters in non-speaking parts furthers this idea. 

In fact, much of the direction is wonderful – the scenes of the Cybermen’s arrival are spectacular, and the framing of them with snow on the camera lens is smashing.  Likewise, the use of the panning shot across the snow base as Barclay gives his speech is wonderful, showing each of the actors with nuanced characteristics, paranoia and fear etched onto their faces.

The Cybermen themselves are quite magnificent – whilst they are nowhere near as polished looking – pun intended – as they appear in Revenge of the Cybermen, and certainly nothing like as chilling as in the newer series with The Age of Steel, here, they are unnerving because they look so temporary.  Rather than perfect robots, identical and lacking any identity, instead the aliens look like they have been assembled from spare parts and junk.  The cloth faces are horrifically devoid of all human characteristics, and they tower over the crew of the polar base, chinks in their armour and all.  The speech patterns are the most horrifying thing about them, though; the actors performing the Cybermen open their mouths at random intervals whilst the voices, provided by the ever-reliable Roy Skelton and Peter Hawkins, are played in.  The modulation of the voices is terrifying – “You call them E-e-emotions” – as emphasis is put on the wrong part of the sentence, inflections fluctuating.  With the appearance of the creatures, mouth open and vacant eyes staring, it creates an horrific image of alien-ness.  Physically, the Cybermen are intimidating too, and not just because of their height.  Their sheer brute strength is displayed in a show of power when one Cyberman takes a gun and bends it as though it were made of rubber.

The claustrophobia of the shuttle scenes is swiftly cut short, as Zeus Four explodes – and the lack of emotion of the Cybermen makes it all the more horrifying, as they simply shrug it off as inevitable.  Their understanding of human emotions is terrifying, as they simply consider them to be a “weakness.”  Emotional power is quickly resumed, however, when the bullish Cutler discovers that his own son is now on a suicide mission, sent by his superiors on a pointless crusade.  His inner turmoil leads to him making a number of irrational choices, and allowing Ben to become the moral centre of the story as he tries to defuse the situation, and the Z-Bomb intended to be fired.

Episode 3 is my biggest bugbear though – not only is it the last moving images of Hartnell we’ll see, he doesn’t even appear in it!  As his health rapidly deteriorated, he called into the office to inform the crew that he was unfit to film episode 3, leading to swift rewrites.  What is incredible is that the previous serial, and the opening story of season 4, The Smugglers, had been filmed as the last block of season 3.  Hartnell had voluntarily come in to film The Tenth Planet, despite his ailing health, to provide closure for his portrayal of the character and to help usher in Patrick Troughton’s Doctor.  And really, he gets a raw deal of the whole thing.  After months of relegation, this serial should have been his grand exit, his outstanding swansong.  Whilst his illness was untimely but unavoidable, even when he is on screen, he is vastly underused. 

However, Hartnell’s loss was Craze’s gain, and Ben becomes the key player in this episode, crawling through ventilation systems and saving the day.  After the Doctor collapses, he is ushered into the bedroom and placed under the covers, unseen for the rest of the serial.  Ben talks to him endlessly, muttering in fact to himself about the situation, and again it is a testimony to the power of Hartnell’s Doctor – even when unconscious, he is there to provide guidance to the companions.  The camera work in the air-duct system is wonderfully handled, creating claustrophobic setting and a genuine sense of danger.  The incidental music is also wonderful, all strings and drums, rattling away as the tension is ramped higher and higher.  Ben is able to get to the control room with the Z-Bomb, but is swiftly dealt with by Cutler and his men, and we are left unsure whether his sabotage has been successful as the countdown flickers across our screens.

Of course, the rocket fails to launch, and Ben has saved the day.  Cutler’s threat is horrifying, as he tells Ben that he’s doomed for interfering with the launch, and of the Doctor, warns “he’s gonna get worse.”  The fourth episode sees both the Doctor and the Cybermen return to the foreground after their absence for the most part of episode 3.  Sadly though, as mentioned earlier, this episode is missing, save for a few poor-quality recordings made by fans who clearly knew that this was going to be something special.  In these brief clips, though, we can see just how magnificent Hartnell still was – in the face of his illness, he still stands tall against the Cybermen, with the power and disgust we have come to know and love of this incarnation.

The biggest threat to the Doctor and his companions, though, seems to come in the form of Cutler, whose emotional state threatens his sanity, and his desperation is what drives him to such acts; Robert Beatty is magnificent in these scenes, as he fluctuates from his boorish self to an emotionally-wrought man fuelled by paternal concern.  It is this very desperation which ultimately leads to his death – blinded by his concern for his son, he fails to fully appreciate the danger within the base.

Polly is swiftly taken hostage by the Cybermen, ensuring that Ben and the Doctor do as they are told, and the Doctor’s final comment to her as she leaves – “Don’t forget your coat!” – reminds us of his grandfatherly ways.  The Doctor quickly realises the Cybermen’s plan, though, and as such is also taken hostage – again, removing him from the main thrust of the action to sit in a chair, where “this old body of mine is wearing a bit thin”.  Again, this foreshadows his final bow, once more removing him from the crux of the action and instead allowing Ben to take centre stage and, ultimately, to save the day.  It is Ben who realises that, despite their brute strength and metal exterior, the Cybermen are impervious to radioactivity, and so the survivors use the radioactive rods to fell the remaining invasion force as Mondas burns itself up and melts, taking all of the Cybermen with it.  Snowcap is able to resume radio contact with Terry Cutler in space, and the Doctor and Polly are saved from the Cybermen’s ship.

 

The final scenes are unnerving, though – after all we’ve seen of the Doctor over the last 3 and a half seasons, he returns to his original form, crabby and unapproachable, and as he makes his way back into the TARDIS, we are left believing, just for a moment, that he intends to leave Ben and Polly in the South Pole.  They manage to enter, though, and we witness a transformation, as the creased, white-haired old man suddenly transforms in an explosion of white light into a small, spritely looking fellow.  The effects are pretty flawless, and no explanation is given – after the Doctor’s collapse and his weakness in the chair, we are given no reasoning (although it can be presumed it was to do with Mondas, and there had originally been an explanation in the first script) for the change.  Hartnell’s last speech before this transformation is in retort to Ben’s statement – “It’s all over?  That’s what you said – but it isn’t all over!” – and how right he is.  The adventures don’t stop with a change of image.  The Doctor lives on…