The Ice Warriors | Sophisticated Idiots

The Ice Warriors
1967

The Ice Warriors review: An Ice Warrior terrorises Victoria

or The Ice Warriorssssssss

or Careless Whisper

It’s biologically impossssible not to love Patrick Troughtonnnn. Even if you’ve been frozzzzen in icccce for thoussssandssss of yearssss, your heart remainssss warm for Doctor Two. (Enough of that? Yessss)

The second season of the “funny, scruffy looking chap” is obliterated by the Beeb’s faultless method of slashing the videotape budget, which makes his occasional appearances in actual footage all the more special. He’s an absolute delight every time he’s anywhere near the screen.

The dotty uncle shtick he’s been saddled with thanks to the Classic Series’ multi-Doctor stories is a Travesty of Troughton. Paddy plays Doc 2 as an uber-likeable and multi-faceted character, with a heavy slice of alien coming through. He’s an eccentric but stupefyingly intelligent dude who displays real warmth and energy – and is utterly devoted to his companions.

This Wintry Tale opens with some imperialistic Brits asking for trouble by exploring glaciers under the orders of a bossy computer-obsessed wonk. And duly encounter trouble. Fear not, guys, Pat T and his beloved Jamie – plus Victoria, whom we’ll come onto later – are clambering from the TARDIS which has landed on its side (Christ knows why). Cue whimsy aplenty, hastily followed by the obligatory ‘Scot wearing a kilt during inclement weather’ eye-roll and then our heroes / kidnap fodder are trudging through the snow to a rolling English country pile.

We haven’t seen Victoria’s intro episode but her breezily declaring “it’s just like my home” when they arrive at the sprawling mansion suggests she’s not exactly rivalling Ace on the Richter Scale of streetwise companions. Of course, in the 60s it was law that the BBC exclusively featured the upper classes under Regulation 2.4: Give the plebs something to aspire to while addling their brains with this new household tech.

Beyond being obliviously ruddy posh, Victoria’s role over the next six episodes is to scream a lot and plead for her life. Which, to be fair, she does very well.

We’ve no idea how old the companions are supposed to be but it caught us off guard when Jamie started getting horny. The Highlander plucked 200 years out of his time goes full Carry On when encountering the female scientists who are rocking some kickass plastic bodysuits. In case we were in any doubt which decade this was filmed in.

Speaking of perverts, while the Ice Warriors’ hissing fits with their reptilian origins, the whispering is decidedly sex-line creepy. But that’s not the main challenge with their vocals. Any director should regard it as a fail if the audience has to rely on subtitles to comprehend the dialogue. This comms crisis is far from unique to this story, though. This era is riddled with inaudible villainy, from the Cybermen to the Dominators. Maybe the audience’s collective hearing was better 60 years ago. Or the LSD use was so widespread no-one gave a crap what was being said.

The Ice Warriors’ speech pattern also moves at a painfully glacial pace (geddit?). The following exchange lasts a full minute:

“Caaaaves.”

“Caaaaves?”

All this is a real shame because the lizardy lads are genuinely frightening. Not only are they bloody massive, they’re merciless and – wait for it – effective killers. Their forearm-mounted ray guns are pretty cool and give the zapped actors a lovely opportunity to showcase their best blood-curdling screams. The Ice Warriors strike the kind of fear into you that the Daleks used to. Before they became slapstick.

We’re especially fond of the porky one that dies in the cave collapse when chasing Victoria. His aimless lumbering triggers definite Barney vibes, plunging Gen Z into trauma when he’s squished. Equally, it’s touching that even in death he continues to hold on to Victoria with his Lego mitt. He’s her lobster.

Of course, like every right-minded Doctor Who – nay, television – fan, we endure Piers Morgan levels of rage over the names of these baddies. They’re nicknamed Ice Warriors, based on how they were preserved, by one of the explorers as a convenient shorthand – but you can practically hear the quote marks when he delivers the line: it’s a holding name, waiting for the big reveal later on. But it never comes. In a six-parter you’d think they could have found 20 seconds spare to name the species. They bother giving names to the individual warriors – but their species remains anonymous? So, incredulously, the name Ice Warriors sticks.

It’s like calling Jurassic Park dinosaurs Amber Reptiles, or the Cybermen from two stories earlier Tomb Robots.

As the plot is identical to every other serial in this season, the setting needs to carry much of the drama – and does so in spades. The early snowscape looks like a grotto left over from Christmas, complete with a couple of sad pines in the background, but on the whole the wintry wonderland sets are awesome. Mrs Sophisticated Idiot saw one of the episodes and didn’t immediately leave the room, commenting that the sets were more convincing than the ones audiences were treated to in the 80s. And who are we to argue with that?

The warnings over the overreliance on tech are laid on thick but the theme is beautifully apt – and remains painfully relevant today. Again, Troughton is perfect in his perpetual mental arm wrestling with the computer: “We’re fully computerised,” a 60s stereotype boasts at one point. “Never mind,” he deadpans.

In fact, the dialogue is a veritable verbal virtuosity throughout, much of it aimed at the aforementioned wonk of the piece: Clent. The writers are early adopters of Innuendo Bingo with whizzbangers including “A Clentian ring to it” and “You’ve got to wave your splendid ioniser about”.

Clent starts out as a *yawn* 2D stiff-ass Establishment figure (he’d love the Pertwee years) but surprises us all by developing into a fascinating character. The personality clash subplot between him and Cleggy / Wallace (depending on your age) is well handled, with a satisfying resolution that carries emotional weight. This is human drama done properly, folks.

But for all the many strengths on display, this gig well and truly belongs to the mighty Patrick Troughton. At Sophisticated Idiots we founded the We ❤️Hartnell campaign but even we have to reluctantly admit that Troughts is an improvement in every respect. He’s sheer dynamite and it’s unfathomable that his portrayal of this time-travelling alien could be bettered.

Coincidentally, at this time, a certain fledging actor by the name of Thomas Baker is making his uncredited film debut in a TV adaptation. In which story, we hear you ask eagerly?

The Winter’s Tale. But of course.