The Chase | Sophisticated Idiots

In a classic story so portmanteau in style, is there a better way to summarise it than via the timeless tactic of mnemonics?

We thought we’d ask our Peter Purves-shaped Alabaman: “Sure if it don’t beat all,” he chirrups.

In which case, let’s go. “Hot diggety!”

T H E C H A S E

T is for The Beatles

Pop culture-tastic folks! The fusing of two 60s leviathans is super smashing great.

This pointless but fun little segment in The Chase (missing from iPlayer, mind) does, however, remind us what a monumental deal Doctor Who was at this time. The Daleks were, of course, a bona fide national institution in 1965, and this story – the Daleks’ third in 18 months – was essentially a teaser trailer for their big screen debut, airing just a few weeks before Cushing’s first film cash-in hit a cinema near you.

When we’re so frequently dealing with the barrel-scraping of the 80s, it’s easy to forget that in its heyday this show was GODDAM HUGE to the extent that it would be yielding snarky review websites 60 years later. Not as huge as The Beatles, admittedly, but sufficiently hefty that Macca and co weren’t averse to being associated with it.

It makes us yearn for Beatles making cameos in later serials. Ringo as the DJ in Revelation, anyone? And George was simply born to play the blind mystic in Kinda.

H is for Hartnell

Always thoroughly watchable, and very often for the right reasons, The Chase gives Billy H the chance to show his range.

He goes through the whole gamut: fight scenes (more on this later), blindfolding a young woman too scared to abseil and biting his tongue when irritated by Alabaman Purves, not to mention wrestling with the emotions of reluctantly letting Ian and Barbara go. He must loathe the Daleks – every time they rock up, he loses companions. Mind you, sometimes it’s Tegan.

In terms of the show’s longevity, this story is pivotal. The departure of Ian and Babs means the audience's focus is no longer on two normal teachers encountering this crazy character and his strange machine. After this, the Doctor is forced to carry the show.

Yet in the most obvious statement since the Empire State tour guide tells his group it’s quicker to jump than to ride the elevator, William Superb Hartnell succeeds gloriously in stewarding the newbies of Vicki and Steven – not to mention the show as a whole - through some belting stories. Starting with one of his very best the next time out.

E is for Edmund Warwick, playing the Robot Doctor

A bonkers sub-plot worthy of Austin Powers, in which a fella who looks nothing like William Hartnell plays a robo-version of the Doctor, leading to the actual Doctor engaging in some Women in Love-infused grappling with his doppelganger.

The tension is nicely built when Vicki – inexplicably left behind when the main trio flee the Hammer Horror animatronics house – stows away on the Dalek ship and spies them preparing RoboDoc (inspiration for Peter Davison’s later performance, perhaps?).

What probably amounts to no more than six or seven minutes total of screentime, is a great example of a show brimming with so many ideas that it could never imagine a day when the creative juices would stop flowing, so crammed them all in, giving the audience an unparalleled rollicking good time in the process. Much like The Beatles effortlessly producing hit after hit.

C is for The Mary Celeste

Like it or not, The Chase is best remembered as the one with the dodgy Frankenstein and Dracula bit. But the most effective – not to mention affecting – scenes are those on the Mary Celeste.

There’s a real sense of dread as the team creep around the creaking ship, which evokes a horror film far more than the Hammer characters this serial is known for.

Although there’s something of a missed opportunity when there’s no all-out pirate battle (the thought of a Dalek walking the plank is delightful), this section is wonderfully perplexing, deeply gruesome (a mum leaping to her death with babe in arms is classic family teatime telly) and, to be honest, a little odd - until the final camera pan delivers that reveal.

H is for HiFi

This story signals the arrival of Steven, accompanied by his adorable toy panda that has been his Wilson in his own Castaway experience on Mechanus.

The astronaut’s been trapped on this metallic planet for two years but hasn’t had the balls to shimmy off the roof until the old goat rocks up with his daredevil crew of teachers and a meek administrator.

Still, Steven - with the charm of Ian and the cockiness of Ace - could take us on a fun ride.

A is for And then there was one

History is made as the Doctor is the last original cast member standing. Companions Mk II – in the form of Vicki and Steven - will take it from here, showing the series can survive by replacing some of its core cast.

An interesting development. Surely it couldn’t work for the main actor too?

S is for Serial style

The anthology approach – used to such great effect in The Keys of Marinus and later in the almost-entirely-lost-so-therefore-doesn’t-count Daleks’ Master Plan – is a favourite at Sophisticated Idiots HQ.

The formula zips us from a Redneck atop the Empire State to a Hammer Horror fun palace, from a 19th century ship at sea to a futuristic shootout between warring robots. Oh, and let’s also lob in man-eating foliage, RoboDoc and a ticking clock to escape the exploding base.

When we’re Prime Minister, it’ll be written into law that anthology Doctor Whos come round every season. Just you wait.

E is for Enjoying Ian and Barbara’s homecoming London montage

Our duo’s tourist dash around the capital, ala Joey when Friends hits London, is surely the most happy-making moment in the programme’s history. Certainly until the sonic screwdriver is obliterated. Or Fifi is crushed to death.

Insanely, no-one seems to care that the teachers are returned two years out of their time.

It’s dismissed with a ‘close enough’ shrug-off, but we yearn for a mini-episode showing the pair explaining themselves to grieving loved ones and being bawled out by their furious headteacher.

And most likely being arrested for the murder-kidnap of the schoolgirl they followed home to a junkyard one night two years earlier.

Still, we’re spared this level of melodrama for a proper knees-up that gives these two titans of the show the send-off they bally-well deserve. It’s the kind of celebratory farewell that will be bestowed upon all departing companions from now on, especially the likes of Sarah Jane, Liz Shaw (note: always named in full) and Dodo.

Goodbye to “the old fusspots” Ian and Barbara. And – even though the Doctor is too grouchy to say it – thank you.

PS: These classic scenes can't go without suitable fanfare...