Full disclosure: Pertwee’s era was the one we braved last. Going into this televisual marathon torture binge, the Third Doctor’s years were those we knew least about, beyond the basics that Worzel Gummidge is exiled on Earth for cost-cutting reasons, where he’s cooped up with UNIT and with the Master being a constant tosser.

​

The premise held all the allure of a parish council meeting.

​

Sadly, now that we’re getting to know this era, it’s proving our fears well-founded. The Establishment-heavy first season of John Pert-three rarely rises above the excitement of a Town Hall debate, with the Doctor, the Brigadier, Liz Shaw and Sergeant Benton a veritable Quango Quartet.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

Inferno, though, came recommended. And we can see why. From the limited evidence we have at this point (at the time of writing, we’ve watched nine Jons), it’s better than your average Pertwee story, albeit without being a thrill (drill?)-fest. After only three stories, the Doctor being consigned to the suburbs is already getting tiresome – for the producers too, who wanted their season finale to lift the boredom.

​

And the tactic they’ve plumped for to rise above the hubbub of local democracy tedium? Pack it full of SHOUTING.

​

Everyone’s at it, for seven hefty episodes. Five minutes shy of three hours spent in the company of a sweaty drilling expert screaming at a mad scientist, who in turn screams at his oddly subservient minions. Meanwhile the Doctor barks at the Brigadier and the Brigadier hollers at anyone who comes near him.

 

Then the drilling starts up, alarms go off and some werewolves begin howling. All this is underpinned by the word “penetration” being yelled with the frequency of an X-rated flick.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

There’s also a distinct lack of music throughout because, according to genuine production notes, the composer, unable to compete with all the noise, gave up and buggered off to the pub.

​

Thankfully, amid this cacophony, we are treated to the occasional moment of Zen. These include the lengthy scenes of Jonboy climbing ladders and cavorting on raised walkways. And the nice ministry man (AKA The Calmest Man in the World) being resolutely unflappable throughout. Even in the face of an actual werewolf bounding towards him.

​

Which brings us onto the most common criticism of this serial. Yes, the werewolf design is misjudged, striking as much fear into the viewer as Gizmo on his little trike, but we can forgive these cash-strapped stories the occasional plummet into Poundland territory, especially now that they don’t have the hiding place of black and white.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

 

 

 

What’s trickier to forgive is the shonky premise on display here.

 

In the early stages of infection, these men-zombies display nothing more than a green hue with hairy cuffs and are all the scarier for it. They loiter in isolation – mainly on those raised walkways, hoping they won’t bump into a Time Lord seeking respite from the hubbub below – and are genuinely intimidating with their 28 Days Later-esque jerky movements and crazed expressions. Why, then, the producers decided to evolve them into cute TeenWolf is anyone’s guess. Our bet is on the costume designer trying to get their money’s worth from their rentals from the kids’ Halloween party.

​

An immediately striking aspect of Inferno is the title card. We’ve seen a few examples of directors trying something a bit different with these (ala The War Machines) and these ones really stand out, with the stock footage of exploding lava getting each episode off to a fist-pumping, ‘right, here we go’ kind of dramatic start. In truth these idents are more exciting than what follows.

​

The titles also serve as an awkward reminder that this story is little more than a rehash of The Dominators from the previous season, which was similarly obsessed with drilling and closed with lava flowing toward our heroes. Here, however, it feels fresh, which is thanks solely to the parallel universe gimmick.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

It is of course simply an imaginative way of re-using the same sets to keep costs down but it’s a pretty neat concept and gives the main cast a chance to ham it up as they sign off for the season.

 

The Brigadier, in particular, dials it up to 11. Shorn of the moustache and made evil by a disfigurement (of course), he really goes for it. It’s painful for the viewer to watch but Nicholas Courtney seems to be enjoying himself, so who are we to spoil his end-of-term fun (the high point of the Evil Brig’s time is the insanely PG torture scene of the Doctor, during which if you freeze-frame at certain points you can see Mary Whitehouse tutting).

 

By the time we cheer on Sutton finally beating Bad Brig to a pulp in the Worst Choreographed Fight Scene in the Series™, our ears are ringing so badly anyway we no longer have to endure hearing him woodenly barking his repetitive instructions.

​

As you may have guessed, we're not huge fans of the Brigadier (or the Master for that matter. Boy, the Pertwee years are going to be a slog).

 

He lacks any sort of character arc, just operating as a slab of granite giving orders and showing no emotion. It’s all very one-note and not very interesting. He’s often overshadowed by his foil, Sergeant Benton, and Benton’s death in the parallel universe is the one genuinely chilling moment in this sprawling story.

​

It’s almost as heartrending as the treatment of the female scientist, Dr Petra Dunn, who ploughs on despite being the victim of workplace bullying at every turn. At one point she’s rewiring a machine in an attempt to save the world from armageddon and the misogynist Sutton chooses this moment, where the stress levels are already rather lofty, to scold her for not being quick enough. He’s peckish and needs her to cook his dinner.

​

The producers’ treatment of Liz isn’t much better. This is the swansong for the Doctor’s (quote unquote) main companion but she’s dispatched without fanfare, which would sadly become a recurring fault of the series.

 

Okay, she may have been no more than an extra scientist staring into a microscope and the series didn’t have room to occupy both main leads with this purpose, but she and the Doctor built a decent rapport and Liz made sufficient impact to deserve more than being discarded between this season and the next.

​​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

Overall, this season finale is a broadly successful attempt at going out with a bang, given that Pertwee is clearly still finding his feet – the Doctor’s characterisation is volatile throughout – and the production team are still adjusting to the new technicolour world.

​

In many ways this is a story that’s trapped between eras. Inferno feels like it was written for Troughton’s Doctor and in fact being shot in black and white would have given it more heft.

 

It’s stuffed full of padding, dragging four episodes of content over seven long episodes (a problem with this season, which sorely needed five shorter stories).

 

Yet all this considered, we don’t want to be unfair: just because it’s filmed in colour shouldn’t fool us into thinking the creative team have found their collective voice for the 70s yet. They will certainly get there – creating some stone-cold classic hits as a result – and Inferno is an important, incredibly loud, jamming session as part of this pursuit.​

 

 

 

 

• Comment on this review, if you can be bothered, here

​

• More reviews

​