Doctor Who series 5 episodes 4-6

The second installment of Tom Steward‘s review series. Read the first part here and his series overview here!

The Time of Angels

This two-parter was instantly hailed as a classic Dr. Who story by fans and TV critics. I didn’t care for it much. It was clearly technically brilliant. Powerful location shooting bucked the trend for increasingly alienating CGI in the past few years, and the cinematography was remarkable, especially in the cave sequences which were lit perfectly for maximum eerieness.

Moffat’s breathless pacing provided a thrilling pre-credits teaser but continued unabated into the episode stunting the growth of the characters, especially the Doctor and Amy. It forced the actors into maintaining the pace of the action rather than refining their performances. The re-introduction of mystery scientist River Song (Alex Kingston) seemed lamely underwritten, as the actress struggled to maintain a coherent tone. Even Matt looked nervous.

The main problem was the mishandling of the Weeping Angels, first seen in Moffat’s acclaimed Blink in 2008. The mythology of these monsters had been re-jigged so that they no longer sent people back through time and were now capable of coming to life through images. This jettisoned that which made them genuinely dread-inducing in the first place for the sake of a few gaspworthy set pieces.

And while I like the notion of the Doctor as a man of action (martial arts master Pertwee is my favourite) the episode tried to oversell the idea to the viewer. This resulted in an embarrassingly babbled rabble-rousing monologue in the closing moments, completely undermining the silent mystique of the action hero.

Flesh and Stone

Contrary to popular opinion, as I usually am with Dr. Who, I much preferred the second part of this story. Unlike the opener, which leapt around aimlessly for much of its running time, this concluding episode was intense and exciting throughout. Like The Beast Below, the episode was saved by an extraordinary horror moment: a scene where viewers finally witness the Angels move. It played brilliantly on deep-seated anxieties – like inanimate objects coming to life – and made fine use of the inherently sinister art of mime. This really pushed the boundaries of horror in a way promised but never achieved by The Time of Angels.

I was also pleased that the show used this episode to put to bed (quite literally) the annoying sexual tension between the Doctor and his female companions, introduced by the flawed 1996 movie and institutionalised since Davies took over as producer. While still acknowledging the viewers who, since 2005, tuned into the show as a soap opera, the show finally distanced itself from the romantic undertones of the central double act.

Reducing romance to base comedy and innuendo (‘Amy Pond, I need to sort you out’), Flesh and Stone demonstrated clearly to the viewer that consummation was no longer a possibility in the show’s fictional world. Elsewhere, Moffat’s overly busy plotting reared its head again, unsuccessfully trying to merge a one-off story with an increasingly self-important season arc. The real victims of this were the Angels, surely fascinating enough monsters on their own.

Vampires of Venice

I have nothing but good things to say about this episode. This was simply the best Dr. Who story since the melancholy Survival in 1989, the last serial starring Sylvester McCoy before the 15-year hiatus.

Being Human creator Toby Whithouse’s handling of some fairly clichéd series conventions (gothic horror monsters that turn out to be aliens) was pitch-perfect; wittily crafted, dramatically sturdy, and the perfect mixture of flamboyance and restraint. Whithouse has an amazing talent for intermingling the macabre and the comic. Nowhere better can this be seen than the pre-credits teaser which passed seamlessly from sixteenth century Venice to a stag night in modern day rural England.

The stripper

The emotional impact of the episode, whether in the relationship between Amy and fiancée Rory or the tragic backstory of the ‘fish from space’, was always poignant and sincere. But the expert use of the 45-minute format is what really impressed me. Impeccably paced and minimally written, this episode didn’t lack or condense story and content, as with so many of the others in this season, and across the last five years.

Tonally, Vampires of Venice was flawless. Storylines about genocide and racial exile were given due seriousness whilst the wackier elements, such as swordplay and magic ‘on/off’ switches, were suitably ludicrous. The imminent threat and danger in this episode were underlined by some nicely understated yet charismatic villain performances and unseen budget-saving monsters. Charmingly, the most vicious of the aquatic aliens was signified indirectly by bubbles effervescing on the Venice canals.

Doctor Who series 5 episodes 1-3

Tom Steward continues his look back at this year’s series! Read his overview here.

The Eleventh Hour

This deliberately lightweight introduction to the new series smoothed the transition from the madcap farce of the Davies era. It’s been traditional in Dr. Who for the first episode under a new producer and actor to be a tribute to the departing crew and cast. For example, the debut of fourth Doctor Tom Baker and producer Philip Hinchcliffe – Robot – was a serial set in the familiar world of UNIT, paying tribute to the Pertwee and Letts Earth-bound era of hard action.

For the majority of this episode, Smith’s Doctor was dressed in Tennant’s clothes, his performance still couched in the floaty-eyed wonder of his predecessor. Rather than doing an impression, though, Smith was thoughtful and surprising where Tennant was grating and increasingly predictable.

Successful Who premieres also make significant breaks and their intentions clear straight off. The Eleventh Hour‘s comedy was predominantly verbal not visual. The settings were mundane and classically British (a quiet rural hamlet), and the Doctor came out not entirely sympathetically. As sharp a contrast as Tom Baker failing to karate-chop a brick Pertwee-style in the final scene of Robot!

The Beast Below

Although the challenges of a second episode (maintaining pace and performances) were ably met by Moffat and his brilliant actors, this episode exposed some of the new series’ weaknesses. The shift to Davies-like sentimentality in the latter stages tried too hard to pigeonhole the relationship between the Doctor and Amy as romantic before it had time to develop. This was a shame as the early part of the episode defined the dynamic more plausibly as one of teacher and student.

Moffat’s script was plot-heavy and reduced potentially fascinating characters, in particular Terrence Hardiman (The Demon Headmaster) as a shadowy government official, to mere exposition devices. The episode’s heart-stopping momentum made some plot elements (cryptic rhymes, unknown threats) almost incomprehensible.

However, Moffat’s horror credentials were shown off by one of the most terrifying introductions to a TV programme I can remember. The sequence, involving schoolchildren, subterranean elevators and the ventriloquist dummy-like Smilers, was a buffet of scares. Playing on basic but potent fears (dummies coming to life, slow-turning heads), it was nuts-and-bolts British horror par excellence. I haven’t been this chilled by the series since 1989′s Ghost Light, the underrated Sylvester McCoy’s disquieting and intangible haunted house chamber drama.

Effortlessly dopey and likeable, like his oft-cited favourite Patrick Troughton, Smith also displayed a genuinely awful temper, recalling the more abrasive William Hartnell. It was a magnificent performance, reviving the ambiguity and uneasiness lacking in his predecessor.

Victory of the Daleks

There was great fan animosity towards this episode, as there usually is to more historically-oriented serials. Criticism focused on the re-design of the Doctor’s most popular and established adversaries, the Daleks, as distended New Minis available in all pupil-burning colours.

I was equally nonplussed by the makeover, although it certainly reflects how the Daleks have been pop art design icons since the height of ‘Dalekmania’ in the mid-1960s. It’s a shame that this episode was so easily dismissed, as it’s a ripping yarn reminiscent of post-war comic strips like Eagle’s Dan Dare, with a very British sense of the mundane (the Daleks carrying box files and serving tea).

The writing was sharp, witty and minimalistic, with a historical rigour now sadly all too infrequent in the series. Ian McNiece’s Winston Churchill and the sub-plot of a pilot and servicewoman whose love is torn apart by war have also been subject to criticism. For my money, the portrayal of Churchill as essentially an underworld boss of dubious morality was bold and revisionist, avoiding the jingoistic hagiography usually associated with the historical figure. The restrained and de-personalised treatment of the romantic couple was totally appropriate to a story set during the collective effort of wartime.

It was also an episode that acknowledged the history of the series, with affectionate reprises of Troughton-era Dalek serials, reflections on how the Daleks used to look, how they used to be filmed and even how they found an afterlife as toys.