Children of Time Awards

I had an e-mail that one of my stories, "1900" about the First Doctor, Steven, and Vicki, had been nominated for the Children of Time Awards. I wish I had known about this website sooner, as nominations for Round 3 are just about to close. I quickly laid all other work aside (which I shouldn't have done!) so I could nominate my favorite pieces from A Teaspoon and an Open Mind. I also self-nominated two of my stories, "Making It Stranger" for the cross over category, and "Once Is Never Enough," for Third Doctor stories. I will let you know when voting starts, but please, if you have time, go nominate some more stories in the First Doctor category--if there aren't enough nominated the nominees carry over to the next round (and when I looked there were 3 nominees).

Happy reading!

the bridges of madison county

Let’s get this straight. I don’t read the authors advertised in the back of this book: Maeve Binchy, Diana Gabaldon, Rosie Thomas. I was lent The Bridges of Madison County by my friend Nasim who said the book changed her life. She said she was at a crossroads in her life and the book taught her about “being able to love someone even if you’re not with them.” So I assume, from the trajectory of the book, that she chose responsibility over passion. Books like Tess of the D’Urbervilles and, more relevant to this discussion, Sister Carrie show that traditionally women who’ve gone from the straight and narrow have had tragic ends. Francesca Johnson doesn’t end tragically but in a way that makes the book all the more poignant. I’ll admit it to you: I really liked the book and it almost made me cry. If that makes me a sentimental sap then so be it.

I think a good argument could be made that the book is an adherent to a new school of Naturalism. I studied this short-lived genre in a fair bit of detail during two courses in my undergrad degree, so when I say that I at least hope I know what I’m talking about. Because the book is so short, the situation so mundane, it would require the tone of Naturalism—where every detail is reported (with general neutrality) in order to form a picture rather than add incidents to a narrative plot. Because BoMC is a romance, it can’t be purely Naturalistic as it dives headlong into describing tender and romantic acts between the protagonists in a clearly biased way. There isn’t a surplus of adjectives, but every object or observance is recorded.

Perhaps you have to be a in a certain mood to appreciate the book as well, for the description to cross over from the Naturalistic to the sensual. Francesca Johnson is reawakening from a deep sleep of comfort and quietness when Robert Kincaid shows her detail and sensuality of a life she has missed since she left Naples during the War. Her hand lay quietly upon him. She could feel the muscle running from his neck along his shoulder, just back of his collarbone. She was looking down on the thick gray hair, neatly parted. Saw how it drifted over his collar. Perhaps I would have found the book’s unrelenting sentimentality mawkish were my own personal circumstances at the moment not receptive. It’s hard to say. I did find the descriptions surprisingly bordering on the erotic, so much so that I began to wonder if it was a safe book to bring to work!

One last component of the book is its indictment for the Age of Technology (the book is set in 1965 and Robert Kincaid considers himself “the last cowboy”). “We’re giving up free range, getting organized, feathering our emotions. Efficiency and effectiveness and all those other pieces of intellectual artifice.” It’s also a searing condemnation of the simple ways of the farm folk of Iowa (or anywhere like Madison County, really), that it can snuff out the will to live for people like Francesca or force her to choose the responsibility to her husband and children rather than to one-in-a-lifetime love. Poets were not welcome here. The people of Madison County liked to say, compseating for their own self-imposed sense of cultural inferiority, ‘This is a good place to raise kids.’ And she always felt like responding, ‘But is it a good place to raise adults?’

Even though the book’s length and internal devices should make it unfilmable, one isn’t surprised to know of its being brought to the screen due to the frame story that sucks the reader in, kicking and screaming. Like Leroux, Waller is at pains to acquaint us with the veracity of the story, that he heard it from Francesca’s children who gave him her notebooks, some photographs and copies of National Geographic, in order that he could piece together the narrative. So just a few devices in this fashion give us a feeling of timelessness. For a work of such short length, Waller’s clearly worked everything out. Do I feel it has a calculated tug on the emotions, rather than genuine feeling? Possibly. But it worked, didn’t it?

robin hood vol.7 x 2

“I have simply chosen another battleground.”

I did watch episode 2, by the way, “Cause and Effect,” but I didn’t have my notebook with me so I didn’t write any notes. I’ll try to be a bit more brief and forthright about episodes 3 and 4. “Lost in Translation” was written by Ryan Craig and hinges on a fascinating idea, bringing the ideas of the Reformation and Henry VIII’s innovations of the Tudor era, into the 12th century. Craig has done his research, so at least there is a pretension to actual events that might have swirled around in people’s heads in the 1190s.

Though the Sheriff has just pawned Gisborne off on King John’s men, he’s still in deep trouble. “My advice is this: please him.” Nevertheless, as usual, the dastardly Sheriff isn’t taking this one sitting down—he’s found the Abbot of Kirklees’ “explosive little nugget hidden away” and will spend the episode exploiting it until the Abbot has done his bidding. This bidding is to excommunicate Robin & co. for having stolen from the Church (which they didn’t do). They are “deemed unclean and must be wiped away” as per the edicts of Celestine III (which means this could be set no later than 1198 since that Pope died that year). Naturally one points a finger at Allan, but this time he’s not responsible.

I think Tuck has been a very strong addition to this season. He is perceptive and passionate. “The people fear and love the Church in equal measure.” Because the Abbot was “one of the finest scholars of his generation,” for him to turn on Robin guarantees that “there is something more precious than truth” involved. Now, with all this fairly intellectual talk, was it really necessary for Tuck to climb up to confront the Abbot through a privy hole?

Kate is the villager who was introduced last episode as a dose of much-needed estrogen. In this episode she wishes to trust Robin & co. but her mother says “they’re heretics now . . . we’ll hang. We have to protect ourselves now.” Tuck escapes only to confront the Abbot again, finding out that the precious secret is a translation of the Bible into English that has been the Abbot’s life’s work. It’s an ambitious project for both him and the series, a fascinating what-if? into history. Nevertheless, the Abbot allows Tuck to be captured, and the Sheriff has torture in mind. “You start off, I’ll harmonize,” quips Tuck. The Sheriff isn’t pleased with the hired help, though: “You are more useless than Gisborne.” Burn.

Much has taken a shine to Kate (in fact everybody’s got a thing for her except Little John) but is rebuffed. “Nothing will ever happen between us.” (What happened to the servant-girl in Bonchurch? I thought she was waiting for Much?) Robin is impressed about the Abbot’s plan to translate the Bible (well, he would be; he’s read the Koran so he said in series 1). Little John thinks it’s “blasphemy!” Allan wonders “is that allowed?”

The Sheriff has decided, in order to get popular support and root out Robin once and for all, he will give them a relic that is tangible. The Abbot finds his plan “heinous.” “I know—poetic irony, isn’t it?” Waves of Ladyhawke in all but music flit through the Sheriff’s presentation of “the hand of St Luke” to the Nottingham congregation, while the Abbot lets this lie fly and therefore condemns Robin & co. to burning at the stake.
As ever, the episode is made up completely of escapes, recaptures, plotted deaths and tortures that don’t happen. But that is the nature of the game. Kate proves her true mettle by trying to help Robin & co. escape (her best shot is handing Robin an arrowhead while she shouts a bit too dramatically, “heretics, devils, I trusted you!”, but I suppose there’s some irony in that). Finally the Abbot comes clean, declaring the Sheriff what we all know him to be—“the spawn of Satan!!”

“Sins of the Father” by Holly Philips feels somewhat authentic in its production values, but storywise it feels a bit ho-hum. What I do like about Kate is that while Marian got to be model for some alternate universe’s version of what medieval women wore, Kate’s outfits are more toned down, less cumbersome, and fit the historical precedent (basically, though her makeup is certainly not medieval!). She takes center stage yet again as some marauding mongrel named Rufus goes to Locksley Village and grabs Kate because she dares to stand up to him. It’s all a bit Edith in “The Time Meddler” for Kate—“I won’t make you suffer for disrespecting me,” Rufus says with an evil, lecherous glint in his eye. “You will make me smile.” The Sheriff at least appreciates Rufus; “you make Gisborne look all warm and snuggly.” When Kate is asked to dance for Rufus’ entertainment, I felt sure he was going to whip out some red-hot slippers à la 10th Kingdom. But in fact he had plain old lechery on his mind. I liked Kate’s response, though. “Dancing is pretty basic.”

Rufus decided to tear down Kate’s mother’s entire pottery shop, kiln and all, so this is why Much concludes “I think Locksley’s on fire.” Robin, interestingly, asks, “Where’s Gisborne?” Tracing Rufus, the gang burst in just as Kate’s about to stab him in the ribs when he tries something on her. “I was doing fine on my own!” Rufus expounds his world view: “Charity is pointless. I don’t get kicked around.” They escape with Kate, nevertheless. She has to then leave her home in order that her family doesn’t suffer retaliation (like we couldn’t see that coming). “Thank you all for ruining everything.” Allan’s legendary nonchalance complements Kate’s bristly sarcasm. “I’m wounded.” “She thinks I’m legendary,” says Much. It’s interesting that John bonds best with the two young women characters we’ve had on the show. Is he a father figure? “You’re not on your own, Kate.”

The Sheriff is considering sending men to Northumberland for money. Rufus is happy to do this for him, having a hidden agenda of his own. A spectacular fight is followed by Kate and Allan getting kidnapped by Rufus (and son, whose name is Edmund) and held in the butcher shop that once belonged to Rufus’ father. “Damn, damn, damn!” Kate explodes. “You’re not exactly easy on the eyes,” says Allan, somehow channelling 1940s screwball comedy. Capturing Edmund, Tuck tries to make the medieval man think for himself instead of being his father’s pawn. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t loyalty to one’s parents be considered one of the highest of virtues? “Honor thy mother and father”—yes? “He’s always tried to bully you.” Interesting that Tuck calls Rufus “violent and manipulative” when Tuck is those things, too, just not at the same time.

“Beneath this harsh surface is just more harsh surface,” announces the Sheriff on finding ALL his henchmen gone. Rufus, meanwhile, in the butcher’s shop is clearly into S/M as he chains Allan and Kate unnecessarily from the ceiling and its about to commence the torture/execution when Robin & co. burst in with the news. “He allowed his father to die for a crime he committed.” Oopsies. Rufus has been pursuing revenge on the Sheriff when he should really be dealing with the crimes of his own conscience, ie “the sins of the father.” Much more entertaining is when the Sheriff shouts, out of habit we assume, “get after them!” and is punched in the face by Robin.

Rufus dies, Edmund goes off into the sunset we hope a better man, and Kate thinks, “Yeah, if you guys wanted me around . . .” “Kate, I want you to stay,” says Robin. So stay she does, igniting passion wherever she goes.

Gisborne back next week, hallelujah.

batman: nine lives

Batman: Nine Lives

Another superb Batman comic to restore my faith in the genre. This is an Elseworlds production which, as it says,
In Elseworlds, heroes are taken from their usual settings
and put into strange times and places—some that have existed,
and others that can’t, couldn’t, or shouldn’t exist.
The result is stories that make characters who are as familiar
as yesterday seem as fresh as tomorrow.
Nine Lives is wonderfully styled by Michael Lark. It not only brings Batman back to its roots in the ‘40s as a sort of hardboiled detective story from the point of view of the “pretty boy” private eye Grayson. It doesn’t shirk from making huge leaps from the source material. The idea that Selina Kyle is sleeping with the Robin character, Bruce Wayne, the Penguin, the Riddler character, and even the Joker simultaneously boggles and might shock pedants. Bruce Wayne is a bit seedy (though Batman’s morality isn’t questioned), Mister Freeze is the Penguin’s bodyguard, Harvey Dent is a corrupt lawyer (never allowed to be the White Knight), and because it’s Elseworlds, beloved characters can be killed off (and are). Because the story is told from the point of view of Grayson the detective, there are some moments for reflection. “That night, I began to appreciate Wayne’s misanthropy. To him everyone was an enemy of one kind or another.”

But really, my review can’t convey the style of the art and the cleverness of Dean Motter’s writing. Read it; love it.

robin hood and stuff vol. 7x1

After a madcap attempt to catch up with series 1 and 2, I am back to Robin Hood in real time. Series 3 will be Jonas Armstrong’s last, and speculation abounds as to how the show will continue without its hero. My money is still on the concept that Guy of Gisborne will somehow switch sides and take over the mantle (a spin on the Robin of Sherwood idea where Jason Connery replaced Michael Praed) but that could just be wishful thinking.

This first episode is almost paint-by-numbers. There are the patriotic speeches, torture, escape, recapture, execution, running around Sherwood Forest, etc. What it’s missing is highly significant: Djaq, Will, and Marian. Because of this, a ton of rapid-fire exposition is required almost as soon as we hit the ground running. (I vaguely wondered in the interval how Robin et al—not to mention the Sheriff and Gisborne—were going to get back from the Holy Land—such a loveably ludicrous storyline! Fan fic once again rushes forward in my brain to fill the gap, as Robin & co. have “just arrived” after having “travelled for months.”)

While no one seems to have come back from the Holy Land with a tan, Robin has gained a middle-aged haircut and Kevin Costner’s costume. He is filled with vengeful rage that neither John, Much (“you leech, you’re pathetic”) nor Allan (“once a traitor, always a traitor”) can restrain. “I don’t need you anymore! Robin Hood is dead!” The Armstrong Robin has always been cocky, righteous, self-absorbed but he was always the one cautioning shell-shocked Crusaders toward moderation. On the warpath for Gisborne’s blood without Marian’s conscience and caution to hold him back. Damn, I miss Marian already.

I wondered why Gisborne was spending his first scene taking a daytime nap, but all becomes clear later. Guy has just come from a Renaissance Faire and, in contrast to Robin’s haircut, his hair is really long. The new look is marginally more historically accurate (just as I wrote a fan fic about how he gained his pleather coat, I shall have to write one about where it went). Despite the fact he later seems very happy to die, Guy picks a novel approach to halting Robin’s sure intent to kill by hoisting a little girl over his shoulder and threatening to drop her off a cliff (!). The dramatic crux of this story has always been the love triangle—both men wanted the same thing, and neither get the girl. So they are essentially still at loggerheads. “You forced me to kill her—she should have been mine!” “She was my wife!” The little girl is saved but Guy throws Robin off the cliff (and the subtext careens out of control as the male/male touchy feely aspect of this show defies belief).

“I reckon he’s gone for good,” says Allan matter-of-factly. Guy seems to believe utterly in his triumph, and as usual it’s Much who suffers the most. “We’ve got to think about the living now.” So Allan and John are off to rescue Much. Even the Sheriff appears a bit subdued in this episode, going through the motions (he’s lost his best sparring partners, Edward and Marian). Prince John (o.s.) is going to be “passing on the hurt” after the Sheriff’s ignominious bungling of Richard’s assassination. If the Sheriff doesn’t shape up, “he’ll be obliged to let you go” (one of several present-day references that elicit a chuckle).

Fortunately the showrunners have thought a good deal about who and what should fill the gaps left over from last season and come up with Friar Tuck (at last). He’s molded like a Brother Cadfael, a wily old fox with fighting ability and Crusader experience, a deep belief in justice for the poor of England, and passion to do whatever it takes. He sees Robin not only as a figurehead but a bringer of real social change and an illustration of the Gospel. The show’s depiction of Christianity has been dubious at best, so a good character with genuine belief (right at home with the Shepherd Book) is a genius touch.

Tuck also seems to have a strange power over the tormented Gisborne that I don’t quite get. “Lost something, my friend?” he asks, turning up out of nowhere. “WHAT?!” screams Gisborne. Marian’s death has certainly not left him any more humane, telling his soldiers to “rip [the gold] from their filthy mouths.” What kind of fabulous dentistry do the peasants of Locksley have?! It’s Richard Armitage shouty-acting at its best. Tuck uses this as example to Robin of why he is still needed, why he should put his petty need for vengeance to one side and continued to fight injustice. “Their backs [are] broken, their hope shattered.” “I’ve got nothing else to give.” It is Tuck’s prerogative to prevent Robin from killing.

Poor Much suffers torture and execution; John has a “talent for stating the obvious,” while Allan’s “blaggin’” skills are primarily useless. Guy is still trying to get some beauty sleep. He’s an insomniac extraordinaire, lashed into fever “demons.” “How can I find peace?” Why he trusts Tuck I don’t know—his last experience with the faux Abbess should have taught him a little more caution. Knowing Robin will risk his life to rescue his friends, Tuck isn’t above some top-level manipulation to achieving his ends (with the help of some advanced astronomy courtesy of Ladyhawke). “God’s gift from the stars.”

I’m glad to see that the people’s adulation of Robin extends to giant fire hazards in the middle of Sherwood Forest and voodoo dolls. :-P At least Robin has the humility to say, “I don’t deserve it.” I don’t know any medieval folklore traditions that would have it that good God-fearing folk became stars when they die, as Robin alleges his father said; perhaps his father was watching Last of the Mohicans when he gave this adage to his son.

As Much, John, and Allan are about to be killed by firing squad (catapult-sized arrows) Tuck intervenes with a firecracker and some hocus pocus. If the Doctor won’t save you, Robin surely will. The Sheriff shrieks “You incompetent fool!” at Guy who has obviously not killed Robin by throwing him over a cliff. Robin seems prepared to do vengeance, with a knife against Guy’s throat. “Do it, end it!” “You want this?” “I live in hell.” “Then stay there!” He escapes with a slash on his cheek and the certainty to appear on our screens next week. (I confess I spend most of Robin Hood waiting for scenes in which Guy shows up.)

“You pathetic, misery-ridden mess,” the Sheriff taunts Guy. “I’ve discovered that I don’t like you,” he replies. The Sheriff is pleased that he’s developed some “spine,” and as usual they go on to plot and plunder. Robin is back to his cheerful self and Tuck is in the gang that now numbers 5 again. Next week we’re gaining another female gang member. Give me more Sir Guy, I say!

more of the same

I’m afraid that I must have finished off all the good Batman comics last year. Other than Hush Part II I don’t know that I’ve come across any really good ones in 2009 so far. Andy Diggle and Whilce’s Portacio’s Batman: Rules of Engagement brings us back some time early in Batman’s career. Gordon is still a Captain, and for some reason they want to bring Lex Luthor into the mix. I couldn’t care less, frankly. Whilce’s style is distinctive and suited to computer-generated coloring (though his black-and-white drawings are powerful, muscly, full of shadows) yet his Bruce Wayne seems as far from dishy as you can get. Yes, it’s just a bit ho-hum, in my opinion.

Again, kudos to Matt Wagner for drawing and writing Batman and the Monster Men, set in the same time frame (roughly) as the above story, and what Batman and the Mad Monk was preceded by. Unfortunately, Wagner can’t seem to draw beautiful women, which is a shame since Julie Madison is such an important part of Monster Men. From the point of view I knew nothing about Dr. Hugo Strange the comic was useful in solidifying my education on that character. The carnage is reminiscent of Beowulf & Grendel, appropriate since Wagner is responsible for a comic called Grendel. In the world of this comic, the Red Hood has just vanished into the vat of chemicals, allowing Gordon to comment, “Is this a joke?” “I’m no joker,” Batman deadpans.

Is it time to seek out comics other than Batman?

the green death

22-03-09
“The Green Death”
The Doctor: You wrote a very good paper for your age.
Professor Clifford Jones: A promising youngster, eh?
The Doctor: No, I mean for the age you live in.

It might be precipitous of me to say this, but “The Green Death” may be my favorite Pertwee story (at least of those I’ve seen). As usual, it was a bit on the long side, but not the point where I was bored with it. The last few episodes could have gone through a rewrite to make them as brisk and interesting as the first few, but the other elements of the story far outweigh that. It’s Jo’s best story by far (that I’ve seen); she actually has a character, an element of humanity, instead of being a caricature in a mini-skirt. Unlike Leela’s swanning off with Andred, the way she falls in love with Dr. Clifford Jones is believable and even sweet. The Brigadier has some good lines and though he has his UNIT moments of shooting at things, he seems more vital than in many of these stories from the Pertwee era. Unlike the tacked-on feeling of the monsters in “Inferno”—which share some elements with this story—the general gist of this is well-crafted and plotted. The ecological message is distinct, vivid, and treated with respect and humanity. It’s a real shame we didn’t have more stories like this one; even the mad computer was entertaining. And I have to admit I found the Doctor’s farewell to Jo at least or more affecting than when he says goodbye to Sarah Jane a few years later.

We start off well with an aerial view that’s not stock footage; what a concept. It’s Llanfairfach Colliery, which is closed. I know it’s a little early in the decade to start thinking about mining closures, but it’s still a sign of the times. It’s always amusing when the setting of the story is actually a quarry or similar. We switch from studio to location, but like many of the more effective Pertwee stories, a lot of location filming is used. What I really like about this story is that it starts out in such a way that—aside from a few scenes of miners struck down by the plague of green phosphorescence—you wouldn’t know it was Doctor Who. The Doctor doesn’t even show up for quite awhile. It begins at the closed down mine, where Stevens emerges from behind the barrier. “They want to know what’s going to happen. We all do.” Stevens gives the out-of-work Welsh miners promises of “wealth in our time” while a hapless miner going down the shaft tries to compete with the best efforts of the special effects. They tried. Quick to challenge Stevens’ assertions is a group of intellectuals standing off to the side. “Coal is a dying industry—petrol is the future.” “More muck, more devastation!” The leader is identified as “Professor Jones, he’s a troublemaker.” Jones is worried about progress “at the expense of your land.” “You can afford to live the way you want to,” reply the angry miners. I do love the fact that Robert Sloman is giving both sides of the argument. I can’t remember hearing such worldly-wise, intelligent conversation on relevant issues in a Pertwee story.

I keep waiting for the TARDIS to materialize, but when we switch back to UNIT HQ, I remember that it’s Pertwee and we’re stuck on Earth (though not for much longer). We switch to Jo, in unusually modest clothes, eating an apple. (Great fodder for my “Food in Doctor Who” article idea, as is most of the serial.) The Doctor is tinkering as he can now use the TARDIS, “now that the Time Lords have forgiven you.” What I thought was a wonderfully offhand comment turns out to be of importance later, but I didn’t feel like it was forced into the dialogue: “There’s precious little protein in an apple, Jo.” While the Doctor is absorbed (no doubt) in thoughts of getting hither and thither in the TARDIS, Jo is incensed about the Global Chemicals take over—“don’t they realize the devastation this will cause?” I don’t know if Jo has been established in earlier episodes as an environmental activist, but I totally believe it—Katy Manning gets a chance to act and goes with it! Besides, she has heard of Dr. Jones before—possibly there’s an element of hero worship in it, though by events later in the story it’s clear she’s not seen his picture before. :-)

The Doctor wants Jo to go with him to Metebelis III. “I’m not going to Metebelis III.” Jo’s passion is admirable, but my heart just sinks at the sad way Pertwee says, “Why?” The Brigadier then has an assignment for Jo and the Doctor. “This is your cup of tea, Doctor: this fellow’s bright green and dead.” The Brig expects both Jo and the Doctor to “do your duty.” Not realizing that the assignment and her passionate wish coincide, Jo pleads the cause of helping Dr. Jones in Llanfairfach (of all the English characters, she’s the only one who pronounces it right). The Brig is more old-fashioned: “sounds like cheap petrol and lots of it—what the world needs.” Jo pleads—the Brig calls it “a very pretty metaphor.”

The Doctor doesn’t want to go on assignment either—there’s a surprising element of this Pertwee in Nine later on, the petulance and selfishness. “I’m going to Metebelis III.” “I could order you to go.” “I wouldn’t advise you to try.” “ . . . Yes.” I love the next exchange. It’s up there with the one from “Ghost Light” between Ace and Seven, and so exciting because it’s so unexpected (for me): “Metebelis III, Jo? Or where else would you like to go? You choose for yourself.” “But I've only got ten minutes.” “Jo, you've got all the time in the world... and all the space. I'm offering them to you.” “But Doctor, don't you understand? I've got to go. This Professor Jones, he's fighting for everything that’s important. Well, everything that you've fought for. In a funny way, he reminds me of a sort of... younger you.” “I don’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted. It’s all right, Jo. I understand.” I love that Jo is given the chance to shine, both as an equal to the Doctor and given a genuine interest in bettering her world, also that the Doctor feels affection and respect for her. But it’s also quite sad. The way the Doctor makes seductive his offer is copied, to an extent, at the end of “World War III.” This is fabulous stuff. It’s ruined by the patronizing, “The fledgling flies the coop,” but oh well.

There’s green, green everywhere in Barbara Kidd’s costume palette (fortunately the Doctor exchanges his ‘70s nightmare green frilly suit for a slightly more subdued (?) one with red trim). To my untrained ear, most of the Welsh characters in the story speak like Welsh people. Aside from the constant (and unrealistic) insertion of “boyo” all the time. No one has ever said that the entire time I’ve been in Wales. It could be an old-fashioned thing, but still . . . A Welsh milkman is happy to provide the Brig and Jo with directions to “the nut-hutch,” while the Doctor is jaunting off on his grouchy onesies to Metebelis III. The Brig drops Jo off at this hippie commune (funnily enough, at the hotel this week I had to give directions to guests on how to find the eco-village Lammas outside of Swansea) with the dubious, “Not sure about this, Miss Grant” (and Sarah said he was an old swinger!).

The interior of the nut-hutch reminds me of a youth hostel in Santa Fe, but that’s neither here nor there. Jo is suitably impressed by the “Room for Living” (we always called it a living room in my house, but here they seem to call it the lounge?). Without realizing it, Jo meets Professor Jones, played with hippie charm by Stewart Bevan. She’s clumsy around the scientist—“of all the silly young goats!”—which is believable. “You’ll contaminate my spores!” he says in all earnestness (double entendre?). “Stand still, my lover,” he advises her (very Welsh, that). He patronizes her further by saying, “You’re only a kid. Do you know anything about entomology?” Jones not only scares her but then admits, “I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.” Hang on, WHAT show are we watching? A genuine romance blooming without forced writing or bad acting? The kids may be bored but I’m seriously pleased. Jones announces to Jo his project of cultivating mushrooms (something returned to in The Art of Destruction): “the world’s gonna need something to eat instead of meat.”

The Brig and Stevens at Global aren’t getting on nearly as well. The Brig is convinced that the strange death of the miner “an event like that is the very reason UNIT was created.” Nicholas Courtney indulges in some eyebrow acting as Stevens explains that the better method of petrol use is almost clean, “if that isn’t conservation I don’t know what is.” Other than some unwieldy zooms the direction by Michael E Briant hasn’t distinguished itself til now, with some brilliant cuts between Jo and Jones’ conversation and the Brig and Stevens. “Tides, wind, rivers—alternative technology,” Jones tells Jo (funny how these are still things we struggle to implement into our lives more than 30 years later). “The Stevens process is clean,” Stevens insists. “Thousands of gallons of waste,” Jones insists. “Let’s go and have a look,” is Jo’s response, which is so companion. When Jones dismisses her, she huffs, “you’re being patronizing.” The Brig argues his way into interception, though no one can seem to get a hold of the Doctor (a mysterious voice reminds Stevens that “I think it imperative nobody goes into this mine”).

The Doctor has been running around on Metebelis III in the requisite ‘70s psychedelic sequence. I don’t know exactly what the purpose of him being attacked by all kinds of menaces is—I thought Metebelis III was supposed to be peaceful; I thought in “Planet of the Spiders” it was, other than the spiders of course. He escapes and gets to Llanfairfach as soon as possible, in Bessie of course. Jo goes on her own to the mine to investigate; the miners there tell her she can’t go in, “not without authority you can’t.” Dai Evans has gone down and is missing; Jo points out she’s trained in First Aid. A miner named Bert agrees to accompany her. The first cliffhanger is a bit of a bizarre one: Bert and Jo stuck in the cage lift as “the brake won’t work!” Bert takes opportunity of the situation to grope Jo; I mean, who wouldn’t? Trapped down in the mine shaft while the Brig and the Doctor race to get them out safely, Jo begins to show bravery not consistent with the screaming companion shown in earlier stories. Still, she’s only human: “Bert, do you mind going down first?” “All right, love.” The Doctor and the Brig rush off to find equipment for cutting the cable so they can get down to help. The Brig finds it very hard to believe that Global has none of the equipment; he’s right to be suspicious as Stevens, through the Boss, has been told to lie and frustrate the attempts to “investigate the mine.” Elgin, a Global employee, finds this duplicity a bit concerning: “hang about, old man.” “Disloyalty cannot be tolerated.”

The Doctor has figured out that this “was deliberate sabotage” when he gets to meet Professor Jones. They take to each other. The Brig goes to find some cutting equipment in Newport. The Doctor trespasses at Global and kicks butt with Venusian aikido. “I’m quite spry for my age.” The Doctor suits up to go down and help Jo and Bert (presaging Ten getting into spacesuits in “The Impossible Planet” and “42”). “They need my help now!”, but Dave the miner wants to help—“it’s my responsibility, isn’t it?” Jo is doing admirably, by the way. “Bert, how can light get down here?” While they conclude it can’t and connect the eerie green light with the smell of putrefaction, I’m reminded of a sage question Elijah Wood asked the lighting director in Lord of the Rings. He, too, wanted to know how light could get into a tower in Mordor and was told it was coming from the same place the music was coming from. Stupidly Bert touches some green slime. The Doctor and Dave get down the shaft and find Jo’s note. “The idiots—why wouldn’t they wait?” (Human nature.) Jo is the one to lead as Bert leans on her for support. Certain he is done for, he convinces Jo to go on alone for help. “But I can’t!” She discovers some giant maggots and goes ewww.

The Doctor finds her, and they get trapped with the maggots. Jo goes ewww some more. The signs at this point aren’t bilingual, as we find out when an ambulance takes Bert away. “It’s obvious who’s responsible,” says Professor Jones. “Global Chemicals.” He is concerned about Jo being trapped in the mine shaft, but the Brig assures him, “She and the Doctor are able to take care of themselves. My concern is as deep as yours, probably more.” The Doctor and Jo escape through the oil pipeline without getting attacked by the somewhat sluggish maggots, picking up what they think are maggot eggs on the way (ewww). They smell “crude oil waste” and are nearly sent to their deaths by the brainwashed Stevens stooge James. Elgin again voices concern: “you’ll kill them!” For not killing them, James is set to “self-destruction” by Stevens and the mysterious voice.

Sadly the Doctor, Jo, and the Brig’s party with Jones and co at the nut-hutch is a bit dated, really embodying hippies in a way I would have said was exaggerated had the story not actually been filmed in 1972. The Brig is rather ridiculously appareled in a tux, Jo looks grown-up in a blue empire-waisted gown, and the Doctor wants “a bottle to take home” of elderflower wine. All the commune people are multi-talented and brilliant and want to change the world. Jones shares his passion for black pudding (not really, for visiting the Amazon to revolutionize world food stores). I’m shocked to see the Brig smoking, as Stevens is a little later! The mood is dampened when the news comes that Bert has died. Jones comforts Jo, quite physically as it happens (with a cuddle). “You shouldn’t feel ashamed of your grief. There’s never been anyone just like Bert.” “Thanks,” a sniffing Jo says. They are just about to kiss when they’re interrupted by the Brig and the Doctor. It’s so sweet! I’m sorry, maybe it’s cheesy, but it’s certainly a step up from the “romance” in “Inferno.” I really like Jo and Jones together! “I shouldn’t be too late if I were you,” the Doctor says, with a hint of caution (don’t know if he really thinks Jo should sleep with Jones having just met him!). “I got to Metebelis III,” the Doctor says proudly, displaying the sapphire crystal. “Great,” says Jo, clearly infatuated. “Good night, Jo, sleep well,” says Jones, heading off to bed himself. Damn, thinks Jo.

She then gets attacked by a jumping giant maggot—or nearly so, before an interfering crony from Global gets attacked in her stead. “At least we can analyze this slime,” says the Doctor, after the offending maggot gets away. The Brig has orders to blow up access to the mine; the Doctor wants to try a different approach. He can’t argue his way into Stevens seeing eye-to-eye. “Do you realize what my process can do for the economy of this company?” Mike Yates, undercover, arrives. The Doctor is infuriated that everyone is “under orders”—“is nobody capable of acting on their own?” Apparently not, as the mine access goes BOOM. “The point has become academic,” Steven snidely comments. “This is the worst day’s work the world has seen for many years,” the Doctor gravely, and angrily, notes. The voice interacting with Stevens has a sense of humor: “Don’t apologize, my little Superman.”

The Doctor huffs off; the cleaning lady sees something “horrible, it is!” “That is just shoving the problem underground,” the Doctor complains to the Brig. “The mine has been sealed,” therefore everyone should feel safe, thinks the Brig. As the maggots come to the surface, the Brig does what he does best. “I never thought I’d fire in anger at a dratted caterpillar . . .” Obviously weapons are useless; these ugly buggers are “armor plated.” It’s a “biological counterstrike.” Sadly, the maggots are obviously being pulled around on strings and though made to look a bit more terrifying by the addition of drashig-like fangs, are not the scariest monsters Doctor Who has ever come up with.

Warned out of Global, the Doctor infiltrates by disguising himself as a Milkman, and, oh, what a performance. “I’m his Da, I’ve been doing this milk round 53 years . . .” As Jones plays with his microscopes and test tubes, Jo is relegated to the role she’s so often filled—“keep me company . . . make some coffee.” In a move more outrageous than Patrick Troughton disguised as a gypsy in “The Underwater Menace,” Pertwee disguises himself as the cleaning lady. “I like your handbag,” comments Mike Yates. Oh dear. As in Satellite 5/The Gamestation, the Doctor seeks “whatever lives on the top floor.” Jo, eager to please, has gone off in search of a maggot sample for Jones; unfortunately for her, the RAF are about to strike the area. On the top floor of the Global building, the Doctor finally meets the BOSS: “I should have thought you would have guessed . . . I am the computer.”

We’re a few years away yet from Xoannon and even “Robot,” but the computer is certainly nuts. “Why should I want to talk to a machine?”—The Doctor, scornful. “The difficult thing is to stop you talking,” ripostes BOSS. He finds his designation “suitable.” Unlike just any other computer, he has been working with Stevens to program an “illogical” computer. The human “makes illogical guesses that turn out to be more logical than logic itself.” I really like all the aspects of this script coming together; I didn’t really see this computer thing coming. The Brig and the RAF blow up the maggots, or try to; Jo and Jones, who’s gone after her, barely escape with their lives, though Jones is struck down and phosphorescent-green-isized. As in “Remembrance of the Daleks” several years later, the Doctor confuses the machine: “I SHALL answer it!” BOSS screams of the riddle the Doctor has presented it with.

Stevens and BOSS attempt to condition the Doctor the way they’ve conditioned other Global employees. “I’m doing sums to keep from getting bored,” says the Doctor cheerfully. “I will not be angered!” snaps BOSS, quite irrationally. “I’m having a whale of a time,” replies the Doctor. Steven tries to sell the Doctor on the ideal rationale for BOSS; “freedom from freedom!” the Doctor derides. He’s thrown into a room with chains (how S&M, especially later when Mike Yates is chained up there). Jo next fixes a walkie-talkie (!) and tells the Brig, “I’m up on the slag heap with the Professor.” “Cliff, please wake up,” she pleads (somewhat irrationally, but hey, she’s had a tough day). The Doctor tries his own persuasion: “Imagine thousands of giant insects spreading their infection throughout the world.” The Brig is succinct: “I’d rather not.” The Doctor uses his blue Metebelis crystal to hypnotize and escape from a possessed Mike Yates, though in the process he hypnotizes the Brigadier. “Oh, good grief!”

Mike Yates goes back to Global pretending to still be possessed. “The Doctor . . . is dead.” Stevens has his suspicions; Jo is worried about Jones (naturally). “He means a lot to you? Then trust me, Jo.” The Doctor is working on a cure, and the Brigadier is hungry. “It seems a long time since breakfast.” He wants beef, dammit, but when kooky Nancy offers him (as Evan said) a precursor to Quorn, he can’t tell the difference. Sergeant Benton has found an opened chrysalis, confirming the Doctor’s worst fears: “it’s horribly possible.” Jones, before falling into a coma (and making odd, rather orgasmic-like heavy breathing noises), made the conclusion that serendipitously, the fungus on which he was experimenting kills the maggots (at least I think that was the explanation for serendipity). The Doctor and Benton race out in Bessie to kill the maggots off, which seems to work except a giant fly makes rather ineffectual attacks on them.

Nancy, assuring the Doctor she’s got a brain on her shoulders, finishes synthesizing the cure for Jones as the Doctor rushes off to prevent world take over by BOSS at, of all times, four o’clock. BOSS has gone delightfully insane. “Not even a little fanfare? You’re unkind, Stevens.” Jones responds to treatment and enjoys the sight of Jo at his bedside: “oh Jo . . . oh Jo.” The Doctor is able to wrest away BOSS’ control of Stevens. He has just enough time to evacuate the building (somehow) before Stevens, in one last act of heroism, causes BOSS to cross-circuit and explode.

To celebrate the eradication of the maggots, the destruction of Global Chemicals, and Jones’ recovery, there’s a little party. Jo is wearing something really strange, as is her wont. Jones announces his intention to marry the girl. “You will [say yes], of course?” That’s just on the edge of a rather unfair marriage proposal, but Jo seems so genuinely in love, it’s hard to begrudge this couple. (I’m sure someone must have written something about them further down the line. Did they stay married? More to the point, did they ever get married in the first place? Did they make it Cardiff, much less South America?) The Doctor rather embarrassedly gets out of the way. “Well, that’s marvelous,” says Mike Yates, with a mechanicalness that I suppose refers to the fact many people thought Jo and Yates were going to get together? To crown the achievement (not exactly a day of everybody lives, but still), the UN is giving the nut-hutch “unlimited financial help.” With something approaching world-weariness, the Brig takes Yates aside, “C’mon, Mike, let’s have a drink.”

In a quiet moment, the Doctor asks Jo if she asked her uncle in Geneva for a special favor. “It’s only the second time I’ve ever asked him for anything.” “Look where the first time got you,” says the Doctor, referring to her assignment with him in “Terror of the Autons.” This scene is so sweet, and yet rather full of amertume. “You don’t mind, do you?” “Save me a piece of wedding cake,” the Doctor says. In a moment much more affecting than the Tenth Doctor slipping off in the various adventures where he leaves his companions behind, the Doctor climbs into Bessie and rides off into the sunset. It’s sooooo sad.

I realize this review was in some places more a plot summary, but historically if that’s the case it means it’s a tightly crafted story and I was so invested in the action I found little to comment on, little to take me out of the constructed world. There were many elements of this I really liked, and few that I didn’t. Bravo.