Doctor Who - The Barbara Benedetti Years (1984 - 1988)

 (Given the title of this piece, it would be fitting, probably, to picture us beginning with a title sequence consisting of a cube - each facet of which contains an image of Barbara Benedetti - rendered in loving early 1990s Quantel; all the while Keff McCulloch's 'Latin version' of the theme batters your brain with it's sick Calypso beats)

We all remember when BBC TV's titular Time Lord regenerated into the form of a blonde-haired woman, right?  No, not Jodie Whittaker.  Before that.  Before Cybermen.  Before Iceworld.  Back, back to your beginnings!  Sorry, I managed to segue from Fenric into Morbius there.  I think I really must have an undiagnosed villain complex.  That explains so much...  Anyway, where were we?  Ah, yes.  There really was a female incarnation of the Doctor before Jodie Whittaker.  Not Jo Martin (though, both canonically and chronologically [chronologically in-fiction, that is, but I'm being Doylist here rather than Watsonian just for a change] that would be a right answer) - I'm talkin' 'bout Barbara Benedetti.  "Who?" you might ask.

"The Doctor - that's Who!" being my tiresomely predictable retort.  I can't help myself, it's an illness, probably.

In these days of part of Doctor Who fandom losing its shit (what, really?  That never happens!) over the upcoming brave new era of the show being produced with a distribution deal in place with - and input from - Disney+, the attendant angst over thoughts of the show being 'Americanised' and 'going Hollywood' have emerged to give me serious mid-Nineties flashbacks.  When the 1996 TV movie (which I still like to think is titled 'Starring Paul McGann', since that's the first caption appear onscreen after Doctor Who during the title sequence) was a thing that was happening, there were extremely similar 'concerns'.  Would the integral Britishness of the show be lost now that we were adventuring in a suspiciously Vancouver-looking San Francisco instead of a quarry in Gerrards Cross or a Victorian museum village in Shropshire?  Would the Doctor be stepping out of a Coke machine TARDIS with a cute furry robotic companion into a story that was unrecognisable, like some kind of X-Files meets Voyager meets Airwolf mash-up in a crack lounge?  What would a North American made Doctor Who be like?  Well, let's take a look, shall we?  Like the foundations of the series itself, let me take you on an educational (in true Reithian BBC style) and perhaps (?) entertaining adventure back trough space and time to a far and distant destination...

Early 1980s Seattle.

Independent outfit Seattle International Films, headed up by Anglophile Ryan K. Johnson, were already a going concern that had made 16 mm short films such as the one-minute parody Escape From Seattle (with lead character 'Slug Plissken' - can you tell what it is yet?) and were in the midst of what would become the 20 minute epic set in a men's toilet cubicle (?) Kill Roy when Johnson became a fan of Who through the PBS runs of the Tom Baker stories in 1983.  Discovering that the 1984 World Science Fiction Convention (WorldCon) was to have a film contest judged by a panel including Gary Kurtz of Star Wars fame (is he still of Star Wars fame these days, or has everyone forgotten who he is in these days of just slagging off Kathleen Kennedy as the Antichrist?), he made the decision to dive into the Whoniverse with an episode of his own, shot in sunny (ha!) Seattle.

The result of his toils was The Wrath of Eukor (written by Ryan K. Johnson, script edited by Cheryl Read [credited writer], Linda Bushyager and Deb Walsh, directed by Ryan K. Johnson, 1984).  Our adventures begin with a glimpse of the Seattle International Films logo over a nice vista of the city with the Space Needle prominently visible, before we are taken to a dark street with the caption 'London, 1911' explaining the need for all the fog machine-generated swirls of mist: we are in the American idea of an Edwardian pea souper.  We hear a voice singing the lyrics to the 19th century song 'Benny Havens, Oh' as a chirpy Cockernee chimney sweep emerges.  This jaunty singer and whistler is Carl Evans (played by Randy Rogel, who has gone on to have quite the writing career in the field of animation, with credits on Batman: the Animated Series, Animaniacs, and The Legend of Tarzan).

Carl stops as he hears a woman's voice in the darkness.  "Too soon... must get back... three times in as many years... it's too much."  He notices blood on the pavement and follows to trail to the newly-regenerated Doctor (Benedetti), dressed in the Sixth Doctor's outfit and obviously in a state of confusion - possibly at the fact that this is chronologically only the second ever pre-titles sequence in Doctor Who: three years after 'Castrovalva' and predating 'Time and the Rani', both of which were also regeneration sequences.  Carl offers assistance to this strange lady, who seems surprised to see her reflection in a shop window ("The DNA matrix must have failed!  The nose is an improvement.") and wants to get back to her 'ship' but - as he points out - is heading in the opposite direction to the harbour.  When they arrive at what Carl recognises to be "just an old police call box", despite the MacKenzie-Trench box design not coming in for another 18 years (foreshadowing of a Susan and Nyssa style incipient telepathy on Carl's part?  No.  To be fair, police boxes were around before 1911, just not this particular kind, so let's be charitable and put it down to Carl being able to read the signage [though I'm not sure of the literacy levels among early 20th century chimney sweeps] and being familiar enough with the concept) he asks the eccentric stranger worriedly "Did they just let you out?"

"No.  I escaped.  I barely got out.  Not alive, though."  I really want to know the circumstances of the Sixth Doctor's death in this particular time track; it certainly seems a damn sight more dramatic than banging his head on an exercise bike due to tumultuous buffeting.

They then enter the TARDIS together, Carl helping her through the doors to the swelling sound of  Paddy Kingsland's regeneration reprise theme from 'Castrovalva'.  I'm already pretty sure I love this.  We then crash into my childhood version of the opening titles and music - namely the Sid Sutton starfield (I'm glad I don't type with a lisp) accompanied by the Peter Howell rendition of the legendary Ron Grainer theme; the infinite universe opening up before us to the oo-ee-oos of a Jupiter 4 (my favourite Sharon Van Etten song, incidentally).  As we proceed past the new Doctor's face forming from the stars, the neon logo and the story title and writer's credit as standard - so far, so very 1980 to 1984 Doctor Who - we arrive in a leafy forest in Washington state, where Vince Wallace (Tom Lance), a reporter from the Seattle Times is attempting to get a story on a group of Vietnam war veterans (you don't get this sort of The Deer Hunter-cum-Born on the Fourth of July stuff from Eric Saward, do you?) who are holed up in the woods and living a life separate from the rest of humanity.  The group's leader, Grant (Jim Dean) and his shades-bedecked henchman Tate (Michael Smith) are quite keen on sending Wallace packing with knife-wielded death threats, whilst their cohort Harris (Keven McCauley) seems quite jumpy and nervous, claiming to sense some sort of malevolent presence all around them.

As this is occurring, the TARDIS arrives with its (her) customary vworp vworp wheezing groaning sound.  The Doctor - who has changed out of Colin Baker's Technicolor dreamcoat into a new outfit of  a vaguely military-looking beige getup replete with epaulettes - attempts to convince Carl that they have most certainly moved in time and space and are no longer in London Taaahhn: "Well, the foliage is greener", she says whilst examining the local flora, but thankfully not feeling the need to eat and of the soil.  Carl expresses the belief that 'old Mr Wells' would give a pretty penny to see the wonders of TARDIS travel, to which the Doctor replies that she "did show H.G. the TARDIS once - he said it would never work", canonising 'Timelash' before it was even broadcast.  Wibbly wobbly... No.  Stop that.  It's silly.

Wallace emerges from the trees and tries to warn the time travelers off before the 'Nam dudes find them and become unfriendly to strangers in finest rural pub tradition, but the Doctor remains jauntily defiant and prescribes a brisk walk through the undergrowth to the synth strains of Peter Howell's score for 'The Leisure Hive'.  When Vince panics and runs off, he drops a metallic object that the Doctor quickly studies and finds maddeningly familiar but can't recall from where ("The body's fit, but the mind isn't"); dashing after him the Doctor and Carl find him lying dead and are surrounded by the army dudes who want to know why they "greased" him.  The Doctor swiftly establishes her authority, tapping Grant some blows with her umbrella and deducing that Wallace was killed by a massive electrical shock and that whatever did it is out there in the forest and might strike again.

While this is going on, we cut to another member of the Vietnam vets, Francis (George Catalano), fishing in the river.  Hearing a noise, he gets up and calls out to his comrades, only for something unseen to rush towards him from the underbrush in an Evil Dead-style P.O.V. shot.  Tate splits off from the group to have a scout around, and comes across a clearing in which stand some strange alien obelisks of such a shape and design that one expects a culturally appropriating William Shatner to emerge from one shouting "KIROK!"  He too is soon pursued and killed by the free-floating Evil Force, and the rest of the group - now down to just Grant and the jittery Harris, led by the Doctor and Carl - follow in his footsteps to the obelisks.  Harris can feel an intense energy in the air, but Grant puts it down to the presence of the power plant nearby.  The Doctor recognises the writing on the obelisks as Darnian, and informs us that the inhabitants of the planet Darnia were beings of conscious energy who at one time made it to Earth and imprisoned one of their own here.  As she is imparting this information, Carl feels compelled to hold the metal object dropped by Vince against the block where it is revealed to be a key, opening the Darnian prison and releasing the otherworldy convict ensconced within.

This act of foolishness leads to Harris [? I think.  Frankly, the whisky was kicking in by this point] immediate possession as the unleashed being - Eukor - gets all up inside him and wears him like a glove (to quote the Spirit of Jazz from The Mighty Boosh)

When Eukor arrives at the power station: they can hear it through the wires, they can hear it through the lines

The Barbara Benedetti Doctor returns in Visions of Utomu (written by Ryan K. Johnson with input from Linda Bushyager, directed by Ryan K. Johnson, 1986), Pentagon West: A Doctor in the House (written by Ryan K. Johnson, directed by Howard Carson, 1987), and Broken Doors (written by T. Brian Wagner, directed by Steve Hauge [not a typo, rhymes with "howdy"],1988) - which I will doubtless get round to covering in the future.  Or was it the past...?

Oh, and incidentally, a very happy 60th Doctor Who anniversary to all of you at home!

Dr Hackenstein (Richard Clark, 1988)

 I couldn't quite decide which quote to open this with - it was a tie between "We don't care about live people - we only fool around with people who are dead!" and "He wants your body for his wife... he wants to bring her back to life!", the latter being from the rather extraordinary theme tune by Claude LeHanaff and the Hard Roaders.  I should like a band name like that.

Well, my 'Ten Days of Halloween' plan (to review a horror movie a day for the last ten days of October) got well and truly scuppered - as do most of my damn fine plans - by poxy real world concerns.  Never mind, though, I'm still going to do all of the films I had planned.  Maybe eked out over the run up to Christmas.  Hey, if the celebration of the birth of a man that millions genuinely believe dies and then rose from his tomb like Dracula and the Blind Dead isn't spooky, I don't know what is.  So - on and on, and on to the next one, as Dave Grohl so wisely sang.

Mary Shelley's tale of Frankenstein has gone through many cinematic permutations over the last century or so (113 years since the first silver screen version, if we're being pedantic [and I'm in that sort of mood, so I am]), from James Whale's legendary Boris Karloff-starring Universal classic through Gary Conway's 'teenage' monster to Toho's gigantic Baragon-battling kaiju version and many many others.  One variation on the Frankie theme that I was intrigued by as a youth was Dr Hackenstein, the VHS box for which I often saw on the video shop shelf but never saw.  I think I tried once, and when the store owner pointed out that I couldn't rent it because it was rated 18 and I was clearly under ten I angrily protested that I'd been getting 18 certificate films from his shop since I was six - which prompted a shushing that I shouldn't say that when there were other people in the shop and I was palmed off with a free lend of American Rabbit or somesuch.  Anyway, here we finally are.

Not really worth the 30-plus year wait is the short review.  But it was a laugh so we'll try like the good doctor himself to stitch a bit more flesh on the bones than that.

Helmed by first time director Richard Clark (and his only directing credit until the short Bookworms a decade later, which was his last), our story opens in 1909, at what the captions helpfully inform us was the 'dawn of modern science', where our eponymous antagonist/protagonist Dr Elliot Hackenstein (David Muir) is getting up to some very Herbert Westian shenanigans reviving a stitched together hairless rat.  To briefly address the Lovecraftian nightmarish elephantine beast from beyond the limits of fragile human understanding in the room: this film is obviously inspired by Stuart Gordon's masterful rendition of Reanimator of a few years earlier (seriously, why aren't I reviewing that instead?  Maybe in the new year I'll do a piece on the whole trilogy), but in timey-wimey (stop that at once! - Ed.) fashion is more similar to Bride of Reanimator which wouldn't emerge until two years later.

Skipping ahead to 1912, we meet the awful Trilling siblings Wendy (Dyanne DiRosario), Leslie (Catherine Davis Cox) and Alex (John Alexis) who with their likable cousin Melanie Victor (Stacey Travis, who two years later would go on to star in Richard Stanley's brilliant Hardware [no really, why aren't I reviewing that instead? (Because you actually like that film and would have to do more than make some crap jokes?)]) are drunkenly tooling around the country lanes in a sprightly vintage roadster (copyright Terrance Dicks, like so much of my standard phraseology) just like McCulloch, Carlson, Bastedo et al at the outset of 1975's The Ghoul.  Just like that party of passengers, vehicular bother leads to them seeking shelter in the nearest Old Dark House.

This is of course the rural residence of the hack-happy doctor, who welcomes in the trio of nubile young ladies - and the unfunny injured comedy stooge they're bearing - without mentioning the preserved head of his late wife (who he claims lost her life and the rest of her by falling into the sea during the maiden voyage of the Lusitania and getting minced in the ship's propeller, whereas she very much lost her head at her husband's hands) kept in cold storage in his upstairs laboratory with which he frequently has conversations like a cross between Baghead Jason from Friday the 13th Part II and Ed Gein (or Ezra Cobb from Alan Ormsby's Deranged, to continue the movie comparison).  Elliot is very soon eyeing up the young ladies - and who can blame him? - for parts to stitch together a new body for Sheila's bonce: he sets out to take Wendy's legs, Leslie's arms and has his eye on Melanie Victor's eyes.  I guess because Bette Davis' and Gary Gilmore's weren't available.

Whilst all off this is going on, we have comedy from Logan and Anne Ramsay (yes, she of The Goonies and Throw Momma From the Train fame, sadly in her final performance - the film being released posthumously and carrying a dedication to her [I'm sure she'd be thrilled]) as a comedy graverobbing / bodysnatching couple, similar to the characters played by Dennis Price and Joan Rice in Hammer's 1970 The Horror of Frankenstein, silent comedy-style slapstick with Hackenstein's deaf and mute maid (Cathy Cahn) and a shrill turn from Phyllis Diller as the Trillings' overbearing mother.  I mean, I say "comedy" but the quotation marks are appropriate.

All of it - basic plot, gore effects, humour - were done far better in Bride of Reanimator, frankly.  Still, at least I've finally seen it.  One more off the list.