However, the Planet of Fire remix appears to be receiving something of a kicking, even being dissed in the Official Magazine. Well, having now consumed said product with my own eyeballs, I think that’s a tad unfair.
Yes, they’ve certainly taken the “it’s called ‘Planet of Fire’” thing a bit literally, with great gouts of CG billowing up from every rocky orifice, but the thing we should be looking at here is...
Is it entertaining? And it is. Oh, it very is. I have to admit it’s been a while since I’ve perused the whole uncutdown four-episodic glory of this story. My default opinion upon settling down to watch was that this was a good second class story. It’s a mere prelude to the Caves of Androzani. Peter Grimwade, bless his intense soul, simply had too many shopping-list ingredients to include (you know the items to which I refer, Who fans). The foreign location is somewhat diluted by having Lanzorote and the Lanzorote-planet in the same story. (Never mind the Croatia shoot, JNT would have handled this better in the late McCoy era, when his production skills had reached Churchill-like proportions of genius).
And yet, I loved it. Cut down and all, it retains its soul. By which of course I mean Peri in her hot pink bikini (is she really going out with him?)
It’s Kamelion’s swansong, but, although I normally shy away from superstition like a freshly frightened horse, I’m not prepared to talk about Kamelion.
Instead I’d like to say that watching this Special Edition I felt like I was in the story. Not me personally, I’m no dusty native of Sarn, but I could relate to the random band interloped upon by Davison’s as ever splendid Doctor.
Even more so than in The Krotons (sorry), I could see a bunch of people whose entire way of life, whose entire culture, is suddenly upended by this ridiculous new arrival. He’s dressed in tailored cricket whites, and they know that he’s right. He’s right about the volcanic mechanics left by the Trions. He’s right that the Master isn’t to be trusted. He’s right that their religion is a heap of nonsense built on decayed memories of an event long past...
Ah, yes. Religion. Always a fun debate in Doctor Who World. Most fans, I suspect, would side with the Doctor in flying a big – if slightly toned down – Richard Dawkins Flag. But there are those, I know from my perusal of the DWM letters column, who are both Whovian and Christian. (Some of them aren’t even American!)
And that’s fair enough, it would be a betrayal of the indefinable ethos of the programme to exclude anyone. Plus I’ve met some nice Christians in my time. But I have to admit I personally, like Peter Grimwade (possibly), only have a soul in a strictly metaphorical sense. And thus I’m glad to see this story kick some religious butt. No doubt there are Christian exegeses of this tale, and I’m sure as soon as I post this my attention will be drawn to them. Good. I like hearing different viewpoints and I’m looking for future material.
That semi-serious stuff out of the way, I would now like to turn to my totally favourite thing about this watching of the Planet of Fire Special Edition.
It’s pathetic of me, but I’ve never really noticed it before. I grew up in the Tom generation, and much as I loved Ainley’s Master at the points of original broadcast, I was infected with that old sore; it’s not as good as it used to be:
Well, sure, Anthony Ainley’s got a stick-on beard plastered to his mush, and we respect and thank him for that, but – he’s hardly Roger Delgado is he?
No, he’s not Delgado. He’s not John Simm either. And Simm wasn’t Delgado and Delgado wasn’t Simm. It’s not about that. I realise. Thirty years later.
As in many areas, the RTD/Moff era has taught me to stop worrying and love the Master. Boy, is Ainley’s version insane. You thought John Simm banging an oil drum was bonkers? I barely dared gaze into this guy’s eyes, lest I too succumbed to that ever-tempting voice that squeaks ‘Destroy!’ in the back of one’s mind like Johnny Rotten’s T-shirt fresh out of the wash.
Oh, the perfect beauty of the lines Ainley is given and the beautifully perfect delivery he gives them! Kamelion-formed, he hauls Peri into his TARDIS, metallic fist clasped around her wrist. “It’s just like the Doctor’s,” she opines. Our Master’s reply?
“Yes. But Infinitely Superior. (BEAT) As am I.”He deserves a statuette, if not a plaque, for that.
And then, discovered miniaturised in his Control Shoebox, he faces the Doctor’s accurate supposition that this is all a result of mucking about with the TCE. An explanation is required.
“I was building a newer and more deadly version!”
For which we must applaud the old Psycho. Had he bumped into van Gogh, he would have contrived to turn the depressed artist *into* a sunflower. And then cackled at length.
So, Lord Anthony Of Ainley, I salute you. And I salute Peter Davison, Nicola Bryant, Mark Strickson, and indeed Peter Wyngarde, who gives a relatively subtle, and rather lovely, performance. I salute JNT, and Peter Grimwade, and director Fiona Cumming.
(What a weird line-up. Fifth Doctor, Turlough, Kamelion, Peri. Like something Big Finish would try to sell you a box-set of.)
And, yes, I salute those behind the flames, the producers of the Special Edition. Even if they do persist in sticking themselves in the end credits.
(All images are of course © the BBC. As indeed is Doctor Who in general.)
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