The Reign of Terror | Sophisticated Idiots

The Reign of Terror
1964

The Reign of Terror review: The First Doctor, played by William Hartnell, dressed in French finery

or I Can’t Speak French (so I’ll let the funky music do the talking)

or Sacre Bleugh

Some smart-arse once wrote, “Sadly, the powers-that-be pensioned off historical stories almost as quickly as their leading man, in favour of battling monsters each week. And who says TV dumbs down for its audience?”

Having sat through the 2hr 30min history lecture that is The Reign of Terror, suddenly we’re yearning for papier mache villains and some Fisher Price ray guns.

Tellingly, at one point in this six-part - six Bonaparte? - monster, a character actually turns to the restless audience and scolds, “You must try and cultivate patience, my friend.”

While The Aztecs was a tour de force, not just of the historical sub-genre but of succinct and efficient storytelling, this Season 1 finale relies heavily on viewers having something of an understanding of the French Revolution.

Which we don’t.

It also requires the audience to give something of a merde about that period in history.

Which we don’t.

What our limited understanding does provide us, however, is the knowledge that the French Revolution was almost certainly not conducted exclusively in the English tongue.

Still, if this narrative cheat avoids us being subjected to six episodes of subtitled translations then that suits us. In your face, Duolingo.

We’re not complete numbskulls when it comes to admiring Doctor Who as an educational show. The Reign of Terror does give an interesting insight into history, if you care for such things.

Helpfully, it also shows us that Frenchmen are all drunkards or horned-up playboys (Léon can’t stop drooling when he meets Babs). Oh, and that every single one of them is a treacherous swine, of course.

But the lessons this serial teaches us about the show’s legacy are far more important than the gen-up on Gallic history.

The first of these is that these companions really are the original and the best*.

Because they’re the archetype, there’s a risk of taking for granted how brilliant Ian and Barbara are (yep, we’re excluding Susan from this little Original TARDIS Crew Love-in. Because, y’know).

It’s only when that greatness stops (courtesy in this case of Peter Purves turning up) that we realise how blessed we were. You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, as Confucius/Joni Mitchell taught us.

Here, Babs and Ian come into their own.

The Doctor is in full crotchety mode at the start, ballsing up their return home and trying to evict them from the TARDIS without fanfare, but Ian (AKA the most chipper guy in the world – though only after recovering from coughing his way through his early lines) goes full charm offensive to wrap the grouchy sod round his finger.

Then simply smiles and goes with the flow when Doc 1 – having apparently learnt precisely zilch from their Skaro experience – insists on dragging them off for a good old, risk-free explore.

Honestly, the science teacher has the patience of a saint.

Meanwhile, Barbara has to contend with babysitting an OTT Susan again, being repeatedly imprisoned and fending off the advances of Loverman Léon.

Somehow she also finds time to cement her role as the show’s Strong Moral Compass, though her casual giggling at (finally) realising they can’t alter history comes too late for that poor Aztec whose sacrifice she spoiled.

The second lesson from The Reign of Terror is that Hartnell is delectable.

He’s absent for large swathes of the story (all the main cast seem to take hols at some point in this one) but Hartnell shines when he’s given space.

Here he’s separated from the rest of the crew (FYI his overacting in the fire is magnifique) and then goes all Straight Story, spending an entire episode sauntering across French countryside, in so doing inspiring Colin’s aimless meandering through the first half of Revelation.

But when he’s not cooped up with his granddaughter and the two interlopers occupying his TARDIS (we’d be irritable in his shoes too), the playful, mischievous version of the First Doctor on display is beguiling.

It’s a portrayal that’s all too readily overlooked as fans rush to heap praise on his showier successors, but Hartnell is setting the template for all who will follow.

Hartnell’s clearly living his best life as he gets to bask in showing off the Doctor’s superior intellect.

He spends most of the running time outwitting characters and/or smart-talking them into bending to his will – and only occasionally has to resort to cracking their skulls. It’s fine though: as any medic will attest, coshing a guy over the head with a shovel merely cradles him into a gentle sleep to enjoy some sweet dreams.

Perhaps the most delicious moments of Hartnell here are when he takes umbrage at being called skinny or when the tailor likens his clothes to a fancy dress outfit. His scowling is now framed in our downstairs loo.

We’re bemused, though, by him repeatedly insisting it’ll take too long to explain how he escaped the fire, when five words – “that boy dragged me out” – is all it would take.

But on the flip side, the eagerness with which the TARDIS crew all play dress-up in this story is wonderful.

As for the plot, we have to concede defeat and offer our necks to Madame Guillotine. We can’t keep track of all the characters, the treachery and the endless, endless dialogue.

But it doesn’t really matter: Napoleon ends up as the Gallic Gagnant (spoilers…) and our heroes are reunited with their home clothes before heading on to Season 2.

And no doubt wondering how much longer this curious little sci-fi show will last.

*We reserve the right to contradict ourselves when Sarah Jane rocks up