Shada | Sophisticated Idiots

Are you standing comfortably? Then we’ll begin.

You know that disproportionate sense of joy you feel when you find a fiver in an old pair of jeans?

No sooner had we sparked up a post-Talons cigar in celebration at having finally treated our eyeballs to every Classic Who story that survives, than we absent-mindedly hit Play on this one.

And boy, were we in for a shock.

Everyone knows Shada is incomplete thanks to the unions. There are yet-to-be-discovered Amazon tribespeople rolling their eyes at the suggestion this is breaking news.

It’s less universally acknowledged how much of Shada actually exists.

We’d always assumed they’d only managed a few scenes before the grand walkout that ruined the show’s final six-parter.

But in great news for those of you who take pleasure from Sophisticated Idiots’ To Do list becoming engorged, Shada just about meets our standard that 50% of a story must exist for us to review it.

Whodathoughtit? That’ll teach us for dismissing it as a “non-entity” in our Nimon review. A faux pas we partially blame on the Beeb falsely advertising every episode on iPlayer as “animated”.

However, the existence of so much filmed footage isn’t the most significant aspect of our Shada epiphany. What’s most striking is that barely anyone mentions what an absolute stunner of a story it is.

Or perhaps we should say, Shada is an infinite concert of the mind.

Forget the forgotten fiver, the Season 17 farewell is like discovering a winning Lotto ticket.

The Cambridge scenes are simply beautiful. They give off those same romantic travelogue vibes that made us feel so fuzzy about City of Death.

And while a staycation in Cambridge will never live up to a European city break, Shada certainly gives a more appealing impression of Oxbridge life than Saltburn.

The cynic in us wonders if Shada was part-funded by Cambridge University, so saccharine-sweet is its propaganda-ising of Cambridge life. It gave the PR chaps at Concorde a brilliant idea.

But we must confess to being seduced by the gentle Cambridge vibes.

The punting is, of course, delicious, but everything about these scenes is a joy – from the porter to the Professor’s chaotic study, and from the acapella group to the cycling.

Though they probably should’ve checked the guy playing Chris could ride a bike at least half-competently before casting him.

Plus, of course, there’s the adorable Professor Chronotis – aka Salyavin – who oozes charisma. He’s surely one of the best realised supporting characters, and the most interesting Time Lord who’s not the Doctor.

Which is not to cast aspersions on the Doc’s travelling Time Tot turned Time Lady, of course, who is always marvellous, especially in her second incarnation.

But let’s be honest, her personality is generally overshadowed by the sheer wonder of her wardrobe.

This is the sixth story we’ve reviewed featuring Lalla Ward, so it’s well overdue for us to devote considerable column inches (that’s a thing online, right?) to her most splendid outfits.

Before you ask, yes, we're as qualified to judge women's fashion as we are low-budget sci-fi from 20 years before we were born:

So the most stylish of congratulations are due to Lalla and Shada. A Fashion Award is being polished for you as we speak. And Vogue are on the phone.

Visual elegance aside, Shada is absolutely dripping with Douglas Adams-isms. We don’t just mean the adorable kookiness of Ship and its oh-so-topical rogue AI foreshadowing either (computers are, as Tom’ll tell us in Robot, nothing more than, ahem, sophisticated idiots).

There’s a strong case for this story having the best dialogue of any serial (we’re pretty sure we can hear Time and the Rani groan at being usurped…).

Disagree? Start using these sparklers in polite conversation and bask in the reaction:

Just the odd two or seven
Did you just see what I didn’t see?
Such style, such flair, such panache
Two lumps, no sugar

The witty beats throughout Shada are sublime – and land just on the right side of being playful rather than annoying. Take note, Nimon.

Now, at the risk of exciting those of you playing Sophisticated Idiots bingo (the board game will hit the shops for Christmas), Tom Baker is nothing short of perfection here. Again.

The man’s a magician and makes the role look effortless. Despite having a monotonous reading voice, mind.

But of course, we all know that his largely lacklustre successors who’ll lead us through the 80s will demonstrate just how awesome Tom is. He leaves in a season’s time, so let’s enjoy the genius while it lasts.

In fact, we’ll forgive 2017’s production team the indulgent tacked-on coda with an aged Tom gurning at the camera. Because it makes the world a happier place.

However, Shada isn’t all smooth punting, and some aspects leave us wobbling into the River Cam.

It’s a shame they re-used the lumbering monster costumes from Nightmare of Eden (and they thought we wouldn’t notice if they lathered them in mud flaps).

In fact, props to K9 who spends the best part of an entire episode blasting one of the blighters in its sensitive place.

Also, we’ve watched this story twice and don’t understand why the Professor, once he’s been outed as Salyavin, survives the second sphere mind-meld. He’s just suddenly back in his TARDIS office, prattling on about tea.

Presumably we blinked and missed an explanation, but it’s a casualty of the hectic crescendo to this story, with characters dashing between TARDIS (normal), TARDIS (Cambridge) and Ship.

Oh, plus the occasional time vortex tunnel which reminds us of those motorway services with a bridge over the road, designed for the express purpose of giving motorists below the finger.

But these are minor lumps in the otherwise sumptuous tea – an analogy worth extending for a story that’s beautifully calming, rather gentle and so overwhelmingly English you can practically taste Saint George.

Shada’s two main conceits – of an all-powerful Gallifreyen book and the mind-leeching spheres – are ideas for the ages.

So we recommend you pop this story on, send one of your rocky pals off to make a cuppa and we can sit down and chew on a macaroon.

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