Film-lovers should check out this reference-crammed Who adventure...

Everywhere we look, it seems like we're constantly told what films we should love. Visit a bookshop, and there will be at least half a dozen brick-sized tomes purporting to be the definitive guide of the Quintessential Films That You Should See In Your Next 50 Lifetimes. Not only that, but TV channels are also getting in on the act by listing the Top 100 Films Of All Time, during which the likes of Paul Ross or Nikki from Big Brother 7 chat inanely about the first time that they saw The Phantom Menace or some other movie “classic”.

Why bother with all that though? Both lists would take a good few hours to wade through, so instead, how's about tracking down a copy of season 24 closer, Dragonfire?

Yes, really. Dragonfire has so many visual and textual references to past classic films that you half expect Barry Norman to have penned the story. A concise list of examples includes Citizen Kane (um, Kane); Raiders Of The Lost Ark (Kane's death); The Wizard Of Oz (Kane's death again); Star Wars (The bar full of aliens); Nosferatu (The name of the ship); Alien (The ANT hunt) and even The Rocky Horror Picture Show (Patricia Quinn). And that's just for starters – a lot of the characters' names are oblique references to both famous film characters and film critics (Belazs, Kracauer and Bazin) – all in all, Dragonfire is a movie buff's paradise.

As for Dragonfire itself, it's another odd mix of styles and genres. The problem with season 24 stories is that they never quite know which audience to pitch to. Dragonfire is a classic example of this, since one minute we're presented with deep and meaningful sub-textual analyses, the next, we get The Doctor gurning while hanging off his umbrella over a deep, icy ravine. Dragonfire is frequently being pulled in two directions – a dark, mildly gothic monster story at one end of the spectrum and a cheap 'n' nasty pantomime at the other. It's like seeing Rick Astley and Mel and Kim hijack a Sisters Of Mercy gig.

It just about works, but there's so many annoying niggles that keep getting in the way of the good stuff. Getting the aforementioned cliffhanger out of the way first, for those of you who have never seen it, what basically happens is that The Doctor decides to climb over a high-up gantry several hundred feet above the ground. The Doctor then tries to get down by using his umbrella, only to realise that he's just about to fall to his death. Cue much gurning and face-pulling from McCoy before the end credits crash in.

See what they did there? It's a literal cliffhanger, geddit? The Doctor...hanging over an icy cliff...only supported by a question mark umbrella... Oh, never mind. Not only is the end of part one of Dragonfire the most literal, it's also the silliest. I guess the only reason why The Doctor chooses to do this is either because the cold has frozen his brain to an ice cube, or because he can't take any more of Mel's squealing noise. Either way, the cliffhanger's still rubbish.

Some fans have said that this is a sly nod to the audience about how The Doctor always ends up in such dangerous scrapes. Not only that, but there's also one or two other Who-ey references in Dragonfire, most notably to those who had bought a copy of The Unfolding Text book in the early 1980s. There's that odd sequence in which The Doctor distracts an intellectual guard by engaging in metaphysical prattle about subjects such as the “semiotic thickness of a performed text” - which guess what, had featured in one of John Tulloch's and Manuel Alvarado's detailed essays. Maybe The Doctor should have gone the whole hog and swapped notes with the guard over which Uncle Terrance novel adaptation was the best.

Sly tips of the hat are all well and good, but they don't exactly move the plot along do they? And Dragonfire is full of these annoying interludes – the worst example being the pointless sequences in which Mini Pops reject Stellar skips around with her teddy. Again, what's the point? If you want to talk about subtextual meanings, you could say that the bit where Stellar says “Good night Teddy” while laying her bear to rest pre-empts Kane's oncoming death – and guess what, Kane's played by a man called Edward... which can be shortened to Teddy!

No? No. Still, when they get round to the DVD release, no doubt the documentary makers will track down a 30-something Miranda Borman to tell everyone what the hell Stellar was all about.

If you manage to bear with the rather silly diversions, then there's rather dark forces at work in Dragonfire, all of which take place against the incongruous backdrop of an outer space shopping centre. Slavery, domination, suicide – there's even a rather seedy side to Kane in the way in which he selects young teens to “join him”. Belazs, for example, discusses her initiation with Kracauer at a very young age. “I was 16!” she hisses, lamenting her naivety at putting her whole future in Kane's chilly hands. Not only that, but Kane's recruits are also branded with the mark of his coin, meaning that they are his for life. “As for you, your debt to Kane, I don't think you'll be able to pay it off – ever,” says The Doctor sadly when confronting Belazs.

With that in mind, Kane just about nudges Gavrok out of the way to take the Doctor Who Bastard Of The Year award for 1987. That's down to several things – firstly, the way in which he goes about his business with ice-cool detachment. Whereas Gavrok was all grunting scowls and shouting, Kane rarely raises his voice above a quietly-spoken hiss – except for when he's barking orders at a motley crew of zombies to spread fear and terror throughout Iceworld. Now that's textbook villain tactics – to put your enemies off guard with a barely audible whisper, and worse still, Kane's responsible for so many deaths during his quest to get the Dragonfire. There's the great scene in which he calmly detonates the heavily populated Nosferatu, as if he's defrosting a chicken in his (far away) microwave oven – only to walk away from the monitor with a slightly smug grin.

Scrape this villainous surface though, and you find a man who's not driven by killing just for the hell of it, but by very human qualities such as revenge and loss. He has a statue of his dead lover Xana specially made, so he can remember her forever (maybe not a good idea to make it out of ice, though). His main mission is to return to Proamnon, his home planet, to wreak revenge on the world that kept him a prisoner – ironically, though, he's too late, since Proamnon was destroyed long ago, meaning that all of Kane's bitter hatred was all for nothing. And in a very human moment, he decides to end his life by standing in scorching rays, which melt him to a gooey pile of clothes. There's pathos for you.

"The close-up of Kane's screaming, melting head is one of those great 'behind the sofa' moments"

A memorable villain then, not just because of Edward Peel's excellent performance (Peel's probably better known for playing that furious bloke who chucks money around in the streets from those old Direct Line adverts), but also because of his memorably horrible demise. You can tell right from the off that because Kane can only function in icy temperatures that he'll be somehow killed by heat – but the close-up of his screaming, melting head is one of those great 'behind the sofa' moments. It's a brilliant effect, and gold stars go to Susan Moore and Stephen Mansfield for producing such a realistic sequence. Again, when the DVD comes out, maybe they'll include the entire shot when we get to see his screaming skull, since the episode was originally trimmed for being too gory.

Actually, the rest of the acting's not too bad – Patricia Quinn makes the most of her role as the determined but doomed Belazs, Grange Hill's Stuart Organ does a good job as the rather wimpy Bazin (who's had the bad luck to be partnered with the rather butch McLuhan, who spends her time barking at the quaking scamp), while Tony Osoba soldiers dutifully on with the end of a bog brush tucked underneath his nose. The only weak link is the guy playing the cafe owner Anderson, a man who takes bored monotony to previously uncharted levels – look at the scene when he's shot: he reacts with all the emotion of a paper plate.

"Langford-phobes, rejoice – this is the story where Mel slings her hook"

Dragonfire's also known for various hellos, hello agains and goodbyes. Glitz the comedy rogue, we already know – Tony Selby turns in another fun performance, although poor old Glitz is resigned to a lifetime with Mel for company. Yes, Langford-phobes, rejoice – this is the story where Mel slings her hook and shacks up with the savvy con merchant, a marriage made in hell if ever there was one. Imagine the rows, the screaming, even worse, the kids...

It's a pity that the production team hadn't really given Mel more to do apart from scream, so it's little wonder that she rarely features in the upper echelons of companions. There is that rather sweet leaving scene in which The Doctor mournfully says goodbye to his flame-haired friend – it's a moment where the loneliness of The Doctor is hammered home. Living his days like crazy paving means that he can never have long lasting friendships – that's the price you pay for living such a long time. And even if Mel doesn't really deserve such a good send-off, Bonnie's acting is pretty good here – although Sylvester steals the scene with what was apparently one of his audition pieces.

At least The Doctor has a new friend to join him on his travels. Step forward, feisty teenage rebel, Ace – or Hace as The Doctor often inexplicably calls her. Love her or loathe her, Ace certainly makes a memorable impact in her first story. The problem is, I'm not sure whether it's the right sort of impression to be making, since Ace seems to spend the story shouting “Bilgebag” a lot and sulking. Take it from me, no streetwise teenager in 1987 went about shouting such crass inanities as “Bilgebag!” or “Naff!” or “Mega!” at the tops of their voices – and if they were, their heads were destined for the smelly toilets after school. Ace's dialogue seems to have been written by a dad who idly flicked through his daughter's latest dog-eared copy of Smash Hits for about 30 seconds. The result is an overcooked cliché, who's oddly initially unlikeable - and that's not the sort of new companion we want.

"Sophie Aldred manages to overcome the limitations of her poor dialogue to deliver highly infectious, likeable performances"

Fortunately, Ace will settle down in further adventures, and better still, she'll become part of one of the great Doctor/Companion teams in the show's history. It also helps that Sophie Aldred manages to overcome the limitations of her poor dialogue to deliver highly infectious, likeable performances – Aldred also gels very well with McCoy. It's always telling that when the actors get on well and strike a rapport, that this results in a successful Doctor/Companion team. Think of the Second Doctor and Jamie, the Third Doctor and Jo, or the Fourth and Sarah Jane. Finally, a great Doctor/Companion team after the ups and downs of the 1980s.

Dragonfire is overall, an enjoyable romp. It can be taken at whatever level you want, whether dark musings on loyalty and betrayal are your thing, or whether you want a good old-fashioned monster treasure hunt. The visuals are generally interesting, even if the studio limitations are a bit obvious. Chris Clough's direction is again fast-paced, and manages to pack a lot of action into the ANT hunt sequences and the revelatory climax. The model shots are superb, not just of Kane's melting head, but of Iceworld and the Nosferatu ship, and there's some large-scale sets to marvel over, including Kane's domain and the cafe. OK, so, it's brightly lit, but then the story takes place in a galactic shopping centre – you don't really want to buy your food in dark shadows. Oh, and also Dominic Glynnn's incidental music is a big improvement on Keff McCulloch's aural fiascos.

Both Dragonfire and season 24 have been full of ups and downs, but the one thing to emerge from all this confusion is a new confidence. After the shambolic mid-80s, Doctor Who was slowly getting its act together again and starting to deliver original, well-told stories that didn't rely on the past or excess violence. The programme's days may have been numbered, but judging from Dragonfire and subsequent stories, Doctor Who wasn't going to go quietly.

John Bensalhia limbered up for this mammoth task with a full four-series review of Blake's 7, and writes professionally and recreationally all over the web. Check out his portfolio of work at Wordprofectors.

Check out John's previous Doctor Who review, Delta And The Bannermen

See also:

The golden rule of cultural references in film and TV

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