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Join the DWP for their second (and much more considered) look at The Star Beast. Michele, Drew and Brent take the DWP RV for a spin!

We’ll be back after Wild Blue Yonder airs on Saturday. Hooray!

Enjoy the show.

  This title was released in October 2023. It will be exclusively available to buy from the Big Finish website until 31 December 2023, and on general sale after this date. Victorian England is home to the Great Detective, Madame Vastra, her resourceful spouse, Jenny Flint, and their loyal valet, Strax. Solving conundrums, fighting injustice and capturing criminals are all in a day’s work for the Gang - but the most dangerous threat is one that takes up residence undetected. There are trespassers in London, and they are coming to Paternoster Row… 1.1 The Ghost and the Potato Man by Barnaby Kay When a criminal gang pulls off a series of impossible heists, Inspector Cotton calls upon the talents of the Great Detective to crack the case. Tipped off by Ellie Higson, the Paternoster Gang uncover a link to a baffling music hall act. While Jenny and Vastra chase down leads in London’s dangerous underworld, Strax finds a career on the stage is beckoning… 1.2 Symmetry of Death by Dan Starkey Cases are mounting for the Paternoster Gang. Three mysteries call for immediate attention: a murder, a locked room conundrum, and some acts of random vandalism. But is there a connection? As Jenny goes undercover and Strax stakes out the suspects, Vastra finds an echo of the distant past which could be the key to the solution. 1.3 Till Death Us Do Part by Lisa McMullin Jenny has decided she wants a wedding - a real wedding with Vastra, before their family and friends. But the viewing of a dress leads to misunderstandings and confusions, becoming ever more serious. The owner of the dress claims to have been jilted years before by a man both familiar and unfamiliar... the Doctor! As tempers flare, alien forces are at work - and what’s more, there could be a trespasser in Paternoster Row.

Escape Room: Tournament of Champions, Totally Killer, Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, Doctor Who: The Daleks in Colour, An Adventure in Space and Time, Doctor Who: The Star Beast, Whoniverse Non-News, The Official Doctor Who Podcast, Return of the Revisit

We’re keeping it short and sweet this week and get right to it with our review of the first of three Doctor Who specials in celebration of the 60th Anniversary, The Star Beast featuring the return of Donna Noble.

Enjoy!

The post Episode 572 – 60th Anniversary Special Review – Part 1 – The Star Beast appeared first on Traveling the Vortex.

The Time of The Doctor/The Star Beast; Adam, Debbie and Kirby discuss the end of the Smith and the beginning Tennant era (2). We also have feedback and Doctor Who news.

In this episode of the Who's He? Podcast....

Review - The Star Beast

It's finally here!  Yes, Doctor Who is back with the first of the 60th Anniversary specials, The Star Beast.  So sit back as Paul and Phil get to grips with the return of David Tennant and Catherine Tate and a shiny new TARDIS interior. Oh and heavy breathing on the new theme tune.

And of course this being new Doctor Who, we also have the listeners views on this special in our feedback section.

You can find us on X and Facebook, you can subscribe to our show on Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, Amazon Podcasts, Google Podcasts plus many other podcatchers and don't forget to subscribe to our Youtube Channel.

#doctorwho #thestarbeast #whoniverse

In this episode of the Who's He? Podcast....

Review - The Star Beast

It's finally here!  Yes, Doctor Who is back with the first of the 60th Anniversary specials, The Star Beast.  So sit back as Paul and Phil get to grips with the return of David Tennant and Catherine Tate and a shiny new TARDIS interior. Oh and heavy breathing on the new theme tune.

And of course this being new Doctor Who, we also have the listeners views on this special in our feedback section.

You can find us on X and Facebook, you can subscribe to our show on Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, Amazon Podcasts, Google Podcasts plus many other podcatchers and don't forget to subscribe to our Youtube Channel.

#doctorwho #thestarbeast #whoniverse

Doctor Who is back, and so are Russell T Davies, The Doctor (the Fourteenth version, more or less), Donna, her family, new addition Rose Temple-Noble, and a suspiciously cute furbag sprung from the comic book pages known as The Star Beast! What did the Three Who Rule think of the inaugural episode of the RTD2 era, the differences between 10-Tennant and 14-Tennant, the resolution of the MetaCrisis, and everything else? Take a listen, and then dive deep into the Daleks In Colour, the Fifteenth Doctor meeting William Hartnell (sorta), a cavalcade of VAM, and all the other bibs and bobs that come with the 60th anniversary of our favourite show! Wait for it…Allons-y!

Links:

• Support Radio Free Skaro on Patreon
• The Star Beast
• The Star Beast BBC One overnights 5.08M
• New Doctor Who title sequence
• Doctor Who Unleashed – “The Star Beast”
• The Star Beast: Behind the Scenes
• Doctor Who 60th Anniversary trailer, narrated by Paul McGann
• The Official Doctor Who Podcast on The Star Beast
• In-Vision commentaries return on BBC iPlayer
• Next Time Trailer: Wild Blue Yonder
• The Giggle going out at 6:30pm Dec 9 on BBC One
• Cardiff Bay water projection show celebrating the 60th
• Totally Doctor Who now on iPlayer
• “The Daleks in Colour” review
• Ncuti Gatwa appears at the end of An Adventure in Space and Time
• An Adventure in Space and Time edited to remove An Unearthly Child content
• David Tennant reads a CBeebies Bedtime Story
• Report: Sea Devils 5-part spinoff series The War Between The Land and the Sea to film this spring
• Ncuti Gatwa appearing on The Graham Norton Show on December 15
• Radio Times Doctor Who 60th Anniversary photo shoot
• BF Master! Planet Doom due Feb 2024
• Dominic Glynn’s Doctor Who: The Survival Remixes now available

Os Especiais de 60 anos de Doctor Who finalmente chegaram!

David Tennant e Catherine Tate estão juntos novamente em Doctor Who! Mas agora, ele é o 14º Doutor, e Donna é mãe de Rose, uma menina incrível, interpretada por Yasmin Finney de Heartstopper!

Neste primeiro especial, a dupla enfrenta o Meep, o maior 171 da galáxia! O que se esconde por trás desses olhinhos? Tem também a volta da UNIT com a conselheira científica Shirley Anne, vivida por Ruth Madeley.

Ação, aventura, uma nova abertura, nova chave de fenda sônica e nova Tardis! Davies voltou com tudo! Dá o play e vem com a gente nesse review!

In the very first "Sirens Sound Off", Philip and Dwayne give their first impressions of the brand new Doctor Who off the telly, The Star Beast.

They also talk about the recent Children in Need skit, Destination Skaro, Russel T. Davies controvertial comments about the changing of Davros and The Daleks in Colour.

For more information on the podcast, visit https://sirensofaudio.com

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I noticed on listening this morning that I'd somehow truncated the opening sketch from episode 83, which would be less of a problem if it was my usual hackery, but since it was contributed by our guest, Simon Guerrier, I thought I should give you the chance to hear it in all its glory. It wasn't much of a cut, but at least it has a proper beginning now.

Richard

Happy Doctor Who Day, everybody! Except this episode is not narrated by Paul McGann.

My first guest this week is a great one, Mr. Paul Hayes (@the_questmaster), covering his new non-fiction volume Pull to Open, available from Ten Acre Films, publisher of so much excellent Doctor Who and other BBC-related volumes.

You can find Paul's blog here.

So soon after discussing the making of Doctor Who's very first serial, I'm then joined by longtime friends of the show Jan Fennick, and Jim Sangster (@Monster_Maker), as we discuss The Star Beast, the newest DW episode, released on the 60th anniversary plus two days.

If you enjoyed this episode, please follow, subscribe, and rate us!

Doctor Who Literature is a member of the Direction Point Doctor Who podcast network.

Please e-mail the pod at DrWhoLiterature@gmail.com.

You can catch all past episodes at https://anchor.fm/doctorwholit.

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  TDP 1226: #DoctorWho Starbeast review  

Doctor Who has returned, which means our Hot Takes series has returned, too.

In today's episode, THE STAR BEAST. 

We've just seen it; what are our initial, raw, unvarnished thoughts?

Tune in, drop out, and contact us anytime, hello@theDWshow.net

 

Ross and Melvin are back to talk about the 14th Doctor's first adventure, The Star Beast. A tale adapted from the comic book story by John Wagner, Pat Mills, and Dave Gibbons, featuring The Meep. This is the third version of this story to be chatted about on GMW. This time add Donna, Rose Noble, Syliva, and Shaun.  RTD and his team deliver in this first outing. Oh and Ross is so happy Rachel Talalay is back in the director's chair.

 

Melvin's podcast plug for the week.

Man-Thing Minute - A podcast about the adventures of Marvel Comics' charater The Man-Thing

https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/manthingminute

 

#DoctorWho #DoctorWho60 #14thDoctor #DonnaNoble #TARDIS #TheMeep #DWM

If you think because she is dead, I am weak, then you understand very little. If you were any part of killing her, and you’re not afraid, then you understand nothing at all. So, for your own sake, understand this. I am the Doctor. I’m coming to find you, and I will never, ever stop.

This week, Rob Valentine drops by to spend four-and-a-half billion years admiring how clever Steven Moffat, Peter Capaldi, Rachel Talalay and Murray Gold are. It’s Heaven Sent.

Notes and links

Here is the full text of the Brothers Grimm fairytale The Shepherd Boy. It’s very short.

Rob feels that this episode echoes another tale about digging an escape tunnel: The Shawshank Redemption. Here’s Morgan Freeman’s character red, talking about Tim Robbins’s Andy: “I remember thinking it would take a man six hundred years to tunnel through the wall with it. Old Andy did it in less than twenty.”

In Viktor E Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning (1959), he argues that the primary human drive isn’t pleasure or sex or the avoidance of suffering; instead, he says that we are motivated by a desire for meaning.

And finally, after the closing credits, Simon offers us a pick of the week courtesy of his husband, Brian. It’s Helen O’Hara’s Women vs Hollywood: The Rise and Fall of Women in Film (2021), which talks about the way that female film directors like Rachel Talalay are punished more harshly for their failures than men are.

Follow us

Nathan is on X as @nathanbottomley, Simon is @simonmoore72, James is @ohjamessellwood, and Rob is @MrRobValentine. The Flight Through Entirety theme was arranged by Cameron Lam. You can follow the podcast on X at @FTEpodcast.

We’re also on Facebook, Mastodon, and Bluesky, and you can check out our website at flightthroughentirety.com. Please consider rating or reviewing us on Apple Podcasts, or we’ll go to heroically embarrassing lengths just to tell you how much we love you.

And more

Did you all enjoy The Star Beast? Of course you did. But if you want to know what we thought, check out our new Doctor Who flashcast, The Second Great and Bountiful Human Empire. Like Jodie into Terror before it, The Second Great and Bountiful Human Empire will be released a day or two after each new episode of Doctor Who and will contain our ill-considered and half-baked initial reactions to the episode. Keep an eye out on the new podcast website or on our social media accounts for details.

Our second newest podcast is Startling Barbara Bain, our Space: 1999 commentary podcast, whose second episode was released yesterday. In that episode, we talked over the show’s second episode (sort of) Force of Life, featuring a young Ian McShane who frankensteins his way around the Moonbase freezing people and causing a great deal of fancy camerawork.

Maximum Power is continuing its journey through Series C of Blakes 7. This week, Servalan gets her end away with one of the help in The Harvest of Kairos.

And finally, there’s our Star Trek commentary podcast, Untitled Star Trek Project, featuring Nathan and friend-of-the-podcast Joe Ford. No new episode last week, instead they recovered from watching perhaps the worst episode of the entire Star Trek franchise, the Star Trek: Voyager episode Threshold.

Its BACK! Join James, Ian and Phil for their instant reaction to the first of three special episodes of Doctor Who, starting with The Star Beast! Meep!

Make sure you let us know what you thought of the episode – feedback@thedoctorwhopodcast.com, on X or join our Facebook Group!

The more rational half of the DWP team will be back mid-week, with a more considered review of the episode.

Enjoy the show!

What I wouldn’t have given for the Meep to give an order to “reticulate the splines.” (Oh, yeah: I loved this one.)

This week the first of three 60th anniversary specials with Doctor Who: The Star Beast, an action packed romp of an episode.

 

You may wish to contribute to the show’s running costs, it’s Patreon is here https://www.patreon.com/tdrury

or buy me a coffee here https://ko-fi.com/timdrury

 

The show is also on Facebook please join the group for exclusive behind the scenes insights and of course also discuss and feedback on the show https://www.facebook.com/groups/187162411486307/

 

If you want to send me comments or feedback you can email them to tdrury2003@yahoo.co.uk

or contact me on twitter where I'm @tdrury or send me a friend request and your comments to facebook where I'm Tim Drury and look like this http://www.flickr.com/photos/tdrury/3711029536/in/set-72157621161239599/ in case you were wondering.

There was a lot of stuff that went on in the world of Doctor Who pre-60th anniversary that we really needed to discuss, however we’re again short one fucker as Chris has family obligations for Thanksgiving weekend.  On the eve of Doctor Who’s return to television, JB and Sean unpack the “Disney-fication” of “Tales of the Tardis”, the controversy of the “Children In Need” skit, the colorization and re-edit of “The Daleks”, and Tom Baker’s “mildly contemptuous” attitude toward his fellow Doctors.  

Seven Percent Solution VIII

• Doctor Who: Prognosis Negative proudly presents the Seven Percent Solution, the preeminent Sherlock Holmes commentary podcast covering all 14 of the Basil Rathbone films, featuring Josh, Eric, and Sean.

 

• Listen in as they discuss the sixth of twelve films produced by Universal Pictures, starring Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce. 

 

WARNING:

• This discussion contains miscellaneous SPOILERS pertaining to the film(s) discussed and more! If you are 100% spoilerphobic to films not yet seen, do not complain to us.
• The commentary is littered with EXPLICIT terms, concepts, and as always expect strokes of innuendo throughout.

LINKS:

• Find your Trio of Hosts on their other Podcast Ventures.
• The 1001 Movies Podcast: https://1001moviespodcast.libsyn.com/
• Mostly Harmless Cutaway: guidetothewhoverse.libsyn.com
• The Cabot Cove Confab Podcast: https://thecabotcoveconfab.libsyn.com/
• The Best Picture Podcast: The Best Picture Podcast | Libsyn Directory
• Romulans Bearing Gifts: Romulans Bearing Gifts: The Star Trek Podcast | Libsyn Directory
• The Novice Elitists Film Podcast: https://thenoviceelitists.podbean.com/

DISCLAIMER:

• This episode was recorded on June 4th, 2023. 
• COMING SOON: SPS #9 The Pearl of Death

 

Watson, the Needle!

 

Sean @@tardistavern Josh @whomeJZ Eric @BullittWHO

Prognosis Negative @ProgNeg Email: guidetothewhoverse ~at~ gmail ~dot~com Website: prognosisnegative.libsyn.com Tumblr: progneg.tumblr.com  Facebook: facebook.com/ProgNeg

Produced by C. Holmquist

Summary:

Adam J Purcell, Andy Simpkins, Jean Riddler, Keith Dunn and Steven Clare review Doctor Who: Once and Future: The Union (Big Finish) and the Whoniverse content on BBC Sounds and the iPlayer, find some general news, and a variety of other stuff, specifically:

• 00:00 – Intro and theme tune.
• 00:55 — Welcome!
• 02:06 – News:
• 02:15 — Doctor Who: Whoniverse gives aural pleasure.
• 04:39 — Dune: Part two coming sooner but still later.
• 05:10 — Star Trek: Strange New Worlds back in production.
• 05:36 — The Sandman: Gaiman’s dead boys get streamed.
• 07:29 — Karen Gillan: Reuniting with Moffat.
• 09:16 — Star Trek: TOS three footer found?
• 11:55 — Doctor Who: RTD2 wants to bring colour to the world.
• 16:36 — Doctor Who: Classic Who comes to US and Canada via Tubi.
• 17:33 — Star Wars: Making of the Holiday Special documentary.
• 20:03 — Fake Crumbly: On the mend.
• 20:35 — Gremlins: The Secrets of Mogwai now on BBC iPlayer.
• 21:13 – Doctor Who: Once and Future: The Union (Big Finish).
• 37:56 – Doctor Who: The Whoniverse on BBC Sounds and the iPlayer.
• 60:12 – Emails and listener feedback.
• 62:24 – Christmas Card Appeal.
• 62:40 – Farewell for this podcast!
• 63:21 — End theme, disclaimer, copyright, etc.

Vital Links:

• Staggering Stories.
• BBC: Doctor Who.
• Wikipedia: Dune (2021 film).
• Star Trek.
• Wikipedia: The Sandman (Vertigo).
• Wikipedia: Karen Gillan.
• Tubi.
• Star Wars.
• Wikipedia: Gremlins.
• Big Finish: Doctor Who: Once and Future: The Union.
• BBC iPlayer: The Whoniverse.
• BBC iPlayer: Doctor Who.
• Facebook: Staggering Stories Group.

On the brand new Trap One Podcast Jason (@jangomac72), Denise (@CupOfTea69), Lawrence and Mark (@QuarkMcMalus) discuss Destination: Skaro, this years Children in Need minisode.

Happy Doctor Who Day!

To celebrate (or not, as the case may be) we are joined by the Creative Director of Big Finish, Nicholas Briggs, to talk about his 50th anniversary adventure, The Light at the End.

Additionally, Nick will be jumping down the rabbit hole with us to discuss our favourite episodes to revisit during the anniversary period.

Original theme composed by Joe Kraemer | ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠http://www.joekraemer.com/about/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Email: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠sirensofaudio@gmail.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Website: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.sirensofaudio.com/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Audio Feedback: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/sirensofaudio

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Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/audiosirens/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.facebook.com/audiosirens⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

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Clips and music are copyright BBC and Big Finish and are used for review purposes only. No infringement is intended.

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In this episode of the Who's He? Podcast....

Happy 60th Anniversary Doctor Who

It's Doctor Who's 60th Anniversary and so to celebrate this momentous occasion, Phil takes a walk down memory lane and chats about his relationship with Doctor Who. How he found his Doctor, why he fell out of love with the show in the 1980's and how he returned to the show once again and never looked back.

Yes, this one is a video also released on our Youtube channel.

You can find us on Twitter and Facebook and you can subscribe to our show on Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, Amazon Podcasts, Google Podcasts plus many other podcatchers and don't forget to subscribe to our Youtube Channel.

#doctorwho #doctorwhoday #60thAnniversary

In this episode of the Who's He? Podcast....

Happy 60th Anniversary Doctor Who

It's Doctor Who's 60th Anniversary and so to celebrate this momentous occasion, Phil takes a walk down memory lane and chats about his relationship with Doctor Who. How he found his Doctor, why he fell out of love with the show in the 1980's and how he returned to the show once again and never looked back.

Yes, this one is a video also released on our Youtube channel.

You can find us on Twitter and Facebook and you can subscribe to our show on Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, Amazon Podcasts, Google Podcasts plus many other podcatchers and don't forget to subscribe to our Youtube Channel.

#doctorwho #doctorwhoday #60thAnniversary

Not All Old Wizards Are Gits, The Flash, Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part One, Rick and Morty, The Fall of the House of Usher, Invincible, Doctor Who: Fires of Pompei, Doctor Who Children in Need Special 2023, Doctor Who: The Daleks in Colour, Doctor Who: The Missing Episodes, Even More Updates About the Whoniverse, Hammer House of Horror, London, The Show Will Go On Forever

Series 4, Episode 31 of Doctor Who: The Memory Cheats! It's the finale! And the episode we will be reviewing today is...

Visit our website at http://www.thememorycheats.com

Follow us on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/thememorycheats

Like us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheMemoryCheats

On the one hundred and thirteenth edition of Reality Bomb we're celebrating the 60th anniversary of Doctor Who with a special episode that asks one simple but important question: "What is an essential element of Doctor Who?"

Over the next two episodes, we'll have the perspectives of 20 fans on this question, some new, some from the past, as they talk about the diverse elements that makes Doctor Who the amazing program that it is. In the first part, we have:

• Essential #1: Possibility with Lisa Gledhill
• Essential #2: The TARDIS with Max Kashevsky
• Essential #3: Storylines with Sanjay Lago
• Essential #4: Hope (part one) with Priya Deonarain
• Essential #5: Adventure with Pauline Serizel
• Essential #6: Cliffhangers with Tom Dickinson
• Essential #7: Silliness with Martin Belam
• Essential #8: Tom Baker with Bill Evenson
• Essential #9: Timelessness with Alex Kennard
• Essential #10: Companions with Kim Rogers

Surprise Number 2 of the day! You are MOST Welcome. 🙂

Join Brent and Drew as they review this year’s Children in Need Doctor short, featuring David Tennant as the 14th Doctor.

That really is it for today! Jump on board the campervan once again shortly after the Star Beast airs on BBC1 this coming Saturday!

Enjoy the show.

Happy #Doctorwho Day! Watchalong An Unearthly Child

It's the 23rd of November, 2023 and Doctor Who is 60!

Rather than drop this episode on the weekend - which would be its normal monthly slot - we've brought it forward a few days to celebrate the anniversary. Plus, we'll be putting out a hot take episode this weekend anyway, when we take a look at the first of three 60th anniversary specials - THE STAR BEAST.

In today's episode we have a quick discussion about three of the bigger issues leading into the anniversary, including the retconning of Davros, a colourised version of The Daleks, and the Tales of the TARDIS series of releases.

But then it's onto Doctor Who itself. Why did we get into it? How did we fall into fandom? What happened during the Wilderness Years? What about the show's return? And what does the future hold? Along the way we also read, and play, comments from our listeners, who also tell us their own stories about the show.

We hope you enjoy the stories herein. Happy birthday to Who!

Tune in, drop out, and contact us anytime, hello@theDWshow.net

It’s Doctor Who Day! Happy 60th Anniversary! Just before we get ready for The Star Beast, Drew, Michele and James bring you a special edition of The Doctor Who Podcast. Dig out your VHS, DVD, digital copy of An Unearthly Child, press play when the Campervan does and enjoy the episode with us!

Enjoy the show!

As our guest, we've got author Simon Guerrier and this time we're looking at two stories that introduce new companions - 1st Doctor story The Rescue from Season 2, and the 11th Doctor's debut in The Eleventh Hour from Series 5. This episode consists of the second half of that conversation, primarily featuring The Eleventh Hour.

Please like or share our podcast with people who will enjoy it, so we can build our listener base high for happiness. You can rate us directly on Apple Podcasts or Podchaser.com

Simon has written a fantastic book about Doctor Who's first Story Editor entitled "David Whitaker in an Exciting Adventure with Television" which you'll want to order and the good news is that we have the link: https://tenacrefilms.bigcartel.com/product/david-whitaker-in-an-exciting-adventure-with-television

Giles' book A History of the Universe in 21 Stars: (and 3 Imposters) can be found in all good bookshops and also here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/History-Universe-21-Stars-Imposters/dp/1787394654/

Head over to https://www.bigfinish.com/, where we all love Paul's stories.

Richard has another podcast with new co-host Nicola, called "If It's Hurting, It's not Working" and it's a fun and informative look at work - why we work, how we work, and what makes a great job. Go to https://ifhurtnotwork.podbean.com/ and https://ifhurtnot.work for more.

Our cover art was designed for us by Bea Garrido. She's a really talented artist, who you can find on Twitter using @BeaGarrido00, where, among other artworks, you can see some remarkable paintings of characters from Doctor Who.

The week leading up the the 60th anniversary is upon us, and we have lots to cover in this episode of the podcast.

First, we take a look at ‘Talking Doctor Who’, featuring David Tennant as he presents various clips and rarely-seen interviews from the series’ past.

Then, we review the last two parts of the ongoing comic, ‘Liberation of the Daleks‘ in Doctor Who Magazine. Find out what we thought of the story’s conclusion.

Plus, we break down the BBC Children in Need 2023 Doctor Who minisode that has garnered lots of discussions and controversy among fandom.

And, finally, we talk about the updated special effects in the recently released 40th Anniversary Edition of ‘The Five Doctors.’

Plus news and rumors discussions as well.

Enjoy!

The post Episode 571 – Not Letting the Grown-Ups Have a Go appeared first on Traveling the Vortex.

Our discussion of set design continues with a conversation about the designs overseen by Edward Thomas, who was Production Designer for most of Series 1 through Series 5 of Doctor Who. How television was made changed in significant ways since the McCoy Doctor and Ace left our screens. With the debut of 'new Who', an executive level position, the art department head, oversaw the appearance of all physical elements in the programme. When things accidently clicked in the classic era was when television magic was made. Now the overall vision of how the episode would look would be centrally controlled by one man, Edward Thomas, so design in 21st century Who should always click, right? We talk about this change and what each of us see as his five best designed stories. Opening music is "Sycorax Encounter" and closing music is "Pandorica", both composed by Murray Gold. We recorded this episode on 5 November 2023.

  The Haunter of the Dark By H. P. Lovecraft (Dedicated to Robert Bloch) I have seen the dark universe yawning Where the black planets roll without aim— Where they roll in their horror unheeded, Without knowledge or lustre or name. —Nemesis. Cautious investigators will hesitate to challenge the common belief that Robert Blake was killed by lightning, or by some profound nervous shock derived from an electrical discharge. It is true that the window he faced was unbroken, but Nature has shewn herself capable of many freakish performances. The expression on his face may easily have arisen from some obscure muscular source unrelated to anything he saw, while the entries in his diary are clearly the result of a fantastic imagination aroused by certain local superstitions and by certain old matters he had uncovered. As for the anomalous conditions at the deserted church on Federal Hill—the shrewd analyst is not slow in attributing them to some charlatanry, conscious or unconscious, with at least some of which Blake was secretly connected. For after all, the victim was a writer and painter wholly devoted to the field of myth, dream, terror, and superstition, and avid in his quest for scenes and effects of a bizarre, spectral sort. His earlier stay in the city—a visit to a strange old man as deeply given to occult and forbidden lore as he—had ended amidst death and flame, and it must have been some morbid instinct which drew him back from his home in Milwaukee. He may have known of the old stories despite his statements to the contrary in the diary, and his death may have nipped in the bud some stupendous hoax destined to have a literary reflection. Among those, however, who have examined and correlated all this evidence, there remain several who cling to less rational and commonplace theories. They are inclined to take much of Blake’s diary at its face value, and point significantly to certain facts such as the undoubted genuineness of the old church record, the verified existence of the disliked and unorthodox Starry Wisdom sect prior to 1877, the recorded disappearance of an inquisitive reporter named Edwin M. Lillibridge in 1893, and—above all—the look of monstrous, transfiguring fear on the face of the young writer when he died. It was one of these believers who, moved to fanatical extremes, threw into the bay the curiously angled stone and its strangely adorned metal box found in the old church steeple—the black windowless steeple, and not the tower where Blake’s diary said those things originally were. Though widely censured both officially and unofficially, this man—a reputable physician with a taste for odd folklore—averred that he had rid the earth of something too dangerous to rest upon it. Between these two schools of opinion the reader must judge for himself. The papers have given the tangible details from a sceptical angle, leaving for others the drawing of the picture as Robert Blake saw it—or thought he saw it—or pretended to see it. Now, studying the diary closely, dispassionately, and at leisure, let us summarise the dark chain of events from the expressed point of view of their chief actor. Young Blake returned to Providence in the winter of 1934–5, taking the upper floor of a venerable dwelling in a grassy court off College Street—on the crest of the great eastward hill near the Brown University campus and behind the marble John Hay Library. It was a cosy and fascinating place, in a little garden oasis of village-like antiquity where huge, friendly cats sunned themselves atop a convenient shed. The square Georgian house had a monitor roof, classic doorway with fan carving, small-paned windows, and all the other earmarks of early nineteenth-century workmanship. Inside were six-panelled doors, wide floor-boards, a curving colonial staircase, white Adam-period mantels, and a rear set of rooms three steps below the general level. Blake’s study, a large southwest chamber, overlooked the front garden on one side, while its west windows—before one of which he had his desk—faced off from the brow of the hill and commanded a splendid view of the lower town’s outspread roofs and of the mystical sunsets that flamed behind them. On the far horizon were the open countryside’s purple slopes. Against these, some two miles away, rose the spectral hump of Federal Hill, bristling with huddled roofs and steeples whose remote outlines wavered mysteriously, taking fantastic forms as the smoke of the city swirled up and enmeshed them. Blake had a curious sense that he was looking upon some unknown, ethereal world which might or might not vanish in dream if ever he tried to seek it out and enter it in person. Having sent home for most of his books, Blake bought some antique furniture suitable to his quarters and settled down to write and paint—living alone, and attending to the simple housework himself. His studio was in a north attic room, where the panes of the monitor roof furnished admirable lighting. During that first winter he produced five of his best-known short stories—“The Burrower Beneath”, “The Stairs in the Crypt”, “Shaggai”, “In the Vale of Pnath”, and “The Feaster from the Stars”—and painted seven canvases; studies of nameless, unhuman monsters, and profoundly alien, non-terrestrial landscapes. At sunset he would often sit at his desk and gaze dreamily off at the outspread west—the dark towers of Memorial Hall just below, the Georgian court-house belfry, the lofty pinnacles of the downtown section, and that shimmering, spire-crowned mound in the distance whose unknown streets and labyrinthine gables so potently provoked his fancy. From his few local acquaintances he learned that the far-off slope was a vast Italian quarter, though most of the houses were remnants of older Yankee and Irish days. Now and then he would train his field-glasses on that spectral, unreachable world beyond the curling smoke; picking out individual roofs and chimneys and steeples, and speculating upon the bizarre and curious mysteries they might house. Even with optical aid Federal Hill seemed somehow alien, half fabulous, and linked to the unreal, intangible marvels of Blake’s own tales and pictures. The feeling would persist long after the hill had faded into the violet, lamp-starred twilight, and the court-house floodlights and the red Industrial Trust beacon had blazed up to make the night grotesque. Of all the distant objects on Federal Hill, a certain huge, dark church most fascinated Blake. It stood out with especial distinctness at certain hours of the day, and at sunset the great tower and tapering steeple loomed blackly against the flaming sky. It seemed to rest on especially high ground; for the grimy facade, and the obliquely seen north side with sloping roof and the tops of great pointed windows, rose boldly above the tangle of surrounding ridgepoles and chimney-pots. Peculiarly grim and austere, it appeared to be built of stone, stained and weathered with the smoke and storms of a century and more. The style, so far as the glass could shew, was that earliest experimental form of Gothic revival which preceded the stately Upjohn period and held over some of the outlines and proportions of the Georgian age. Perhaps it was reared around 1810 or 1815. As months passed, Blake watched the far-off, forbidding structure with an oddly mounting interest. Since the vast windows were never lighted, he knew that it must be vacant. The longer he watched, the more his imagination worked, till at length he began to fancy curious things. He believed that a vague, singular aura of desolation hovered over the place, so that even the pigeons and swallows shunned its smoky eaves. Around other towers and belfries his glass would reveal great flocks of birds, but here they never rested. At least, that is what he thought and set down in his diary. He pointed the place out to several friends, but none of them had even been on Federal Hill or possessed the faintest notion of what the church was or had been. In the spring a deep restlessness gripped Blake. He had begun his long-planned novel—based on a supposed survival of the witch-cult in Maine—but was strangely unable to make progress with it. More and more he would sit at his westward window and gaze at the distant hill and the black, frowning steeple shunned by the birds. When the delicate leaves came out on the garden boughs the world was filled with a new beauty, but Blake’s restlessness was merely increased. It was then that he first thought of crossing the city and climbing bodily up that fabulous slope into the smoke-wreathed world of dream. Late in April, just before the aeon-shadowed Walpurgis time, Blake made his first trip into the unknown. Plodding through the endless downtown streets and the bleak, decayed squares beyond, he came finally upon the ascending avenue of century-worn steps, sagging Doric porches, and blear-paned cupolas which he felt must lead up to the long-known, unreachable world beyond the mists. There were dingy blue-and-white street signs which meant nothing to him, and presently he noted the strange, dark faces of the drifting crowds, and the foreign signs over curious shops in brown, decade-weathered buildings. Nowhere could he find any of the objects he had seen from afar; so that once more he half fancied that the Federal Hill of that distant view was a dream-world never to be trod by living human feet. Now and then a battered church facade or crumbling spire came in sight, but never the blackened pile that he sought. When he asked a shopkeeper about a great stone church the man smiled and shook his head, though he spoke English freely. As Blake climbed higher, the region seemed stranger and stranger, with bewildering mazes of brooding brown alleys leading eternally off to the south. He crossed two or three broad avenues, and once thought he glimpsed a familiar tower. Again he asked a merchant about the massive church of stone, and this time he could have sworn that the plea of ignorance was feigned. The dark man’s face had a look of fear which he tried to hide, and Blake saw him make a curious sign with his right hand. Then suddenly a black spire stood out against the cloudy sky on his left, above the tiers of brown roofs lining the tangled southerly alleys. Blake knew at once what it was, and plunged toward it through the squalid, unpaved lanes that climbed from the avenue. Twice he lost his way, but he somehow dared not ask any of the patriarchs or housewives who sat on their doorsteps, or any of the children who shouted and played in the mud of the shadowy lanes. At last he saw the tower plain against the southwest, and a huge stone bulk rose darkly at the end of an alley. Presently he stood in a windswept open square, quaintly cobblestoned, with a high bank wall on the farther side. This was the end of his quest; for upon the wide, iron-railed, weed-grown plateau which the wall supported—a separate, lesser world raised fully six feet above the surrounding streets—there stood a grim, titan bulk whose identity, despite Blake’s new perspective, was beyond dispute. The vacant church was in a state of great decrepitude. Some of the high stone buttresses had fallen, and several delicate finials lay half lost among the brown, neglected weeds and grasses. The sooty Gothic windows were largely unbroken, though many of the stone mullions were missing. Blake wondered how the obscurely painted panes could have survived so well, in view of the known habits of small boys the world over. The massive doors were intact and tightly closed. Around the top of the bank wall, fully enclosing the grounds, was a rusty iron fence whose gate—at the head of a flight of steps from the square—was visibly padlocked. The path from the gate to the building was completely overgrown. Desolation and decay hung like a pall above the place, and in the birdless eaves and black, ivyless walls Blake felt a touch of the dimly sinister beyond his power to define. There were very few people in the square, but Blake saw a policeman at the northerly end and approached him with questions about the church. He was a great wholesome Irishman, and it seemed odd that he would do little more than make the sign of the cross and mutter that people never spoke of that building. When Blake pressed him he said very hurriedly that the Italian priests warned everybody against it, vowing that a monstrous evil had once dwelt there and left its mark. He himself had heard dark whispers of it from his father, who recalled certain sounds and rumours from his boyhood. There had been a bad sect there in the ould days—an outlaw sect that called up awful things from some unknown gulf of night. It had taken a good priest to exorcise what had come, though there did be those who said that merely the light could do it. If Father O’Malley were alive there would be many the thing he could tell. But now there was nothing to do but let it alone. It hurt nobody now, and those that owned it were dead or far away. They had run away like rats after the threatening talk in ’77, when people began to mind the way folks vanished now and then in the neighbourhood. Some day the city would step in and take the property for lack of heirs, but little good would come of anybody’s touching it. Better it be left alone for the years to topple, lest things be stirred that ought to rest forever in their black abyss. After the policeman had gone Blake stood staring at the sullen steepled pile. It excited him to find that the structure seemed as sinister to others as to him, and he wondered what grain of truth might lie behind the old tales the bluecoat had repeated. Probably they were mere legends evoked by the evil look of the place, but even so, they were like a strange coming to life of one of his own stories. The afternoon sun came out from behind dispersing clouds, but seemed unable to light up the stained, sooty walls of the old temple that towered on its high plateau. It was odd that the green of spring had not touched the brown, withered growths in the raised, iron-fenced yard. Blake found himself edging nearer the raised area and examining the bank wall and rusted fence for possible avenues of ingress. There was a terrible lure about the blackened fane which was not to be resisted. The fence had no opening near the steps, but around on the north side were some missing bars. He could go up the steps and walk around on the narrow coping outside the fence till he came to the gap. If the people feared the place so wildly, he would encounter no interference. He was on the embankment and almost inside the fence before anyone noticed him. Then, looking down, he saw the few people in the square edging away and making the same sign with their right hands that the shopkeeper in the avenue had made. Several windows were slammed down, and a fat woman darted into the street and pulled some small children inside a rickety, unpainted house. The gap in the fence was very easy to pass through, and before long Blake found himself wading amidst the rotting, tangled growths of the deserted yard. Here and there the worn stump of a headstone told him that there had once been burials in this field; but that, he saw, must have been very long ago. The sheer bulk of the church was oppressive now that he was close to it, but he conquered his mood and approached to try the three great doors in the facade. All were securely locked, so he began a circuit of the Cyclopean building in quest of some minor and more penetrable opening. Even then he could not be sure that he wished to enter that haunt of desertion and shadow, yet the pull of its strangeness dragged him on automatically. A yawning and unprotected cellar window in the rear furnished the needed aperture. Peering in, Blake saw a subterrene gulf of cobwebs and dust faintly litten by the western sun’s filtered rays. Debris, old barrels, and ruined boxes and furniture of numerous sorts met his eye, though over everything lay a shroud of dust which softened all sharp outlines. The rusted remains of a hot-air furnace shewed that the building had been used and kept in shape as late as mid-Victorian times. Acting almost without conscious initiative, Blake crawled through the window and let himself down to the dust-carpeted and debris-strown concrete floor. The vaulted cellar was a vast one, without partitions; and in a corner far to the right, amid dense shadows, he saw a black archway evidently leading upstairs. He felt a peculiar sense of oppression at being actually within the great spectral building, but kept it in check as he cautiously scouted about—finding a still-intact barrel amid the dust, and rolling it over to the open window to provide for his exit. Then, bracing himself, he crossed the wide, cobweb-festooned space toward the arch. Half choked with the omnipresent dust, and covered with ghostly gossamer fibres, he reached and began to climb the worn stone steps which rose into the darkness. He had no light, but groped carefully with his hands. After a sharp turn he felt a closed door ahead, and a little fumbling revealed its ancient latch. It opened inward, and beyond it he saw a dimly illumined corridor lined with worm-eaten panelling. Once on the ground floor, Blake began exploring in a rapid fashion. All the inner doors were unlocked, so that he freely passed from room to room. The colossal nave was an almost eldritch place with its drifts and mountains of dust over box pews, altar, hourglass pulpit, and sounding-board, and its titanic ropes of cobweb stretching among the pointed arches of the gallery and entwining the clustered Gothic columns. Over all this hushed desolation played a hideous leaden light as the declining afternoon sun sent its rays through the strange, half-blackened panes of the great apsidal windows. The paintings on those windows were so obscured by soot that Blake could scarcely decipher what they had represented, but from the little he could make out he did not like them. The designs were largely conventional, and his knowledge of obscure symbolism told him much concerning some of the ancient patterns. The few saints depicted bore expressions distinctly open to criticism, while one of the windows seemed to shew merely a dark space with spirals of curious luminosity scattered about in it. Turning away from the windows, Blake noticed that the cobwebbed cross above the altar was not of the ordinary kind, but resembled the primordial ankh or crux ansata of shadowy Egypt. In a rear vestry room beside the apse Blake found a rotting desk and ceiling-high shelves of mildewed, disintegrating books. Here for the first time he received a positive shock of objective horror, for the titles of those books told him much. They were the black, forbidden things which most sane people have never even heard of, or have heard of only in furtive, timorous whispers; the banned and dreaded repositories of equivocal secrets and immemorial formulae which have trickled down the stream of time from the days of man’s youth, and the dim, fabulous days before man was. He had himself read many of them—a Latin version of the abhorred Necronomicon, the sinister Liber Ivonis, the infamous Cultes des Goules of Comte d’Erlette, the Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt, and old Ludvig Prinn’s hellish De Vermis Mysteriis. But there were others he had known merely by reputation or not at all—the Pnakotic Manuscripts, the Book of Dzyan, and a crumbling volume in wholly unidentifiable characters yet with certain symbols and diagrams shudderingly recognisable to the occult student. Clearly, the lingering local rumours had not lied. This place had once been the seat of an evil older than mankind and wider than the known universe. In the ruined desk was a small leather-bound record-book filled with entries in some odd cryptographic medium. The manuscript writing consisted of the common traditional symbols used today in astronomy and anciently in alchemy, astrology, and other dubious arts—the devices of the sun, moon, planets, aspects, and zodiacal signs—here massed in solid pages of text, with divisions and paragraphings suggesting that each symbol answered to some alphabetical letter. In the hope of later solving the cryptogram, Blake bore off this volume in his coat pocket. Many of the great tomes on the shelves fascinated him unutterably, and he felt tempted to borrow them at some later time. He wondered how they could have remained undisturbed so long. Was he the first to conquer the clutching, pervasive fear which had for nearly sixty years protected this deserted place from visitors? Having now thoroughly explored the ground floor, Blake ploughed again through the dust of the spectral nave to the front vestibule, where he had seen a door and staircase presumably leading up to the blackened tower and steeple—objects so long familiar to him at a distance. The ascent was a choking experience, for dust lay thick, while the spiders had done their worst in this constricted place. The staircase was a spiral with high, narrow wooden treads, and now and then Blake passed a clouded window looking dizzily out over the city. Though he had seen no ropes below, he expected to find a bell or peal of bells in the tower whose narrow, louver-boarded lancet windows his field-glass had studied so often. Here he was doomed to disappointment; for when he attained the top of the stairs he found the tower chamber vacant of chimes, and clearly devoted to vastly different purposes. The room, about fifteen feet square, was faintly lighted by four lancet windows, one on each side, which were glazed within their screening of decayed louver-boards. These had been further fitted with tight, opaque screens, but the latter were now largely rotted away. In the centre of the dust-laden floor rose a curiously angled stone pillar some four feet in height and two in average diameter, covered on each side with bizarre, crudely incised, and wholly unrecognisable hieroglyphs. On this pillar rested a metal box of peculiarly asymmetrical form; its hinged lid thrown back, and its interior holding what looked beneath the decade-deep dust to be an egg-shaped or irregularly spherical object some four inches through. Around the pillar in a rough circle were seven high-backed Gothic chairs still largely intact, while behind them, ranging along the dark-panelled walls, were seven colossal images of crumbling, black-painted plaster, resembling more than anything else the cryptic carven megaliths of mysterious Easter Island. In one corner of the cobwebbed chamber a ladder was built into the wall, leading up to the closed trap-door of the windowless steeple above. As Blake grew accustomed to the feeble light he noticed odd bas-reliefs on the strange open box of yellowish metal. Approaching, he tried to clear the dust away with his hands and handkerchief, and saw that the figurings were of a monstrous and utterly alien kind; depicting entities which, though seemingly alive, resembled no known life-form ever evolved on this planet. The four-inch seeming sphere turned out to be a nearly black, red-striated polyhedron with many irregular flat surfaces; either a very remarkable crystal of some sort, or an artificial object of carved and highly polished mineral matter. It did not touch the bottom of the box, but was held suspended by means of a metal band around its centre, with seven queerly designed supports extending horizontally to angles of the box’s inner wall near the top. This stone, once exposed, exerted upon Blake an almost alarming fascination. He could scarcely tear his eyes from it, and as he looked at its glistening surfaces he almost fancied it was transparent, with half-formed worlds of wonder within. Into his mind floated pictures of alien orbs with great stone towers, and other orbs with titan mountains and no mark of life, and still remoter spaces where only a stirring in vague blacknesses told of the presence of consciousness and will. When he did look away, it was to notice a somewhat singular mound of dust in the far corner near the ladder to the steeple. Just why it took his attention he could not tell, but something in its contours carried a message to his unconscious mind. Ploughing toward it, and brushing aside the hanging cobwebs as he went, he began to discern something grim about it. Hand and handkerchief soon revealed the truth, and Blake gasped with a baffling mixture of emotions. It was a human skeleton, and it must have been there for a very long time. The clothing was in shreds, but some buttons and fragments of cloth bespoke a man’s grey suit. There were other bits of evidence—shoes, metal clasps, huge buttons for round cuffs, a stickpin of bygone pattern, a reporter’s badge with the name of the old Providence Telegram, and a crumbling leather pocketbook. Blake examined the latter with care, finding within it several bills of antiquated issue, a celluloid advertising calendar for 1893, some cards with the name “Edwin M. Lillibridge”, and a paper covered with pencilled memoranda. This paper held much of a puzzling nature, and Blake read it carefully at the dim westward window. Its disjointed text included such phrases as the following: “Prof. Enoch Bowen home from Egypt May 1844—buys old Free-Will Church in July—his archaeological work & studies in occult well known.” “Dr. Drowne of 4th Baptist warns against Starry Wisdom in sermon Dec. 29, 1844.” “Congregation 97 by end of ’45.” “1846—3 disappearances—first mention of Shining Trapezohedron.” “7 disappearances 1848—stories of blood sacrifice begin.” “Investigation 1853 comes to nothing—stories of sounds.” “Fr. O’Malley tells of devil-worship with box found in great Egyptian ruins—says they call up something that can’t exist in light. Flees a little light, and banished by strong light. Then has to be summoned again. Probably got this from deathbed confession of Francis X. Feeney, who had joined Starry Wisdom in ’49. These people say the Shining Trapezohedron shews them heaven & other worlds, & that the Haunter of the Dark tells them secrets in some way.” “Story of Orrin B. Eddy 1857. They call it up by gazing at the crystal, & have a secret language of their own.” “200 or more in cong. 1863, exclusive of men at front.” “Irish boys mob church in 1869 after Patrick Regan’s disappearance.” “Veiled article in J. March 14, ’72, but people don’t talk about it.” “6 disappearances 1876—secret committee calls on Mayor Doyle.” “Action promised Feb. 1877—church closes in April.” “Gang—Federal Hill Boys—threaten Dr. —— and vestrymen in May.” “181 persons leave city before end of ’77—mention no names.” “Ghost stories begin around 1880—try to ascertain truth of report that no human being has entered church since 1877.” “Ask Lanigan for photograph of place taken 1851.” . . . Restoring the paper to the pocketbook and placing the latter in his coat, Blake turned to look down at the skeleton in the dust. The implications of the notes were clear, and there could be no doubt but that this man had come to the deserted edifice forty-two years before in quest of a newspaper sensation which no one else had been bold enough to attempt. Perhaps no one else had known of his plan—who could tell? But he had never returned to his paper. Had some bravely suppressed fear risen to overcome him and bring on sudden heart-failure? Blake stooped over the gleaming bones and noted their peculiar state. Some of them were badly scattered, and a few seemed oddly dissolved at the ends. Others were strangely yellowed, with vague suggestions of charring. This charring extended to some of the fragments of clothing. The skull was in a very peculiar state—stained yellow, and with a charred aperture in the top as if some powerful acid had eaten through the solid bone. What had happened to the skeleton during its four decades of silent entombment here Blake could not imagine. Before he realised it, he was looking at the stone again, and letting its curious influence call up a nebulous pageantry in his mind. He saw processions of robed, hooded figures whose outlines were not human, and looked on endless leagues of desert lined with carved, sky-reaching monoliths. He saw towers and walls in nighted depths under the sea, and vortices of space where wisps of black mist floated before thin shimmerings of cold purple haze. And beyond all else he glimpsed an infinite gulf of darkness, where solid and semi-solid forms were known only by their windy stirrings, and cloudy patterns of force seemed to superimpose order on chaos and hold forth a key to all the paradoxes and arcana of the worlds we know. Then all at once the spell was broken by an access of gnawing, indeterminate panic fear. Blake choked and turned away from the stone, conscious of some formless alien presence close to him and watching him with horrible intentness. He felt entangled with something—something which was not in the stone, but which had looked through it at him—something which would ceaselessly follow him with a cognition that was not physical sight. Plainly, the place was getting on his nerves—as well it might in view of his gruesome find. The light was waning, too, and since he had no illuminant with him he knew he would have to be leaving soon. It was then, in the gathering twilight, that he thought he saw a faint trace of luminosity in the crazily angled stone. He had tried to look away from it, but some obscure compulsion drew his eyes back. Was there a subtle phosphorescence of radio-activity about the thing? What was it that the dead man’s notes had said concerning a Shining Trapezohedron? What, anyway, was this abandoned lair of cosmic evil? What had been done here, and what might still be lurking in the bird-shunned shadows? It seemed now as if an elusive touch of foetor had arisen somewhere close by, though its source was not apparent. Blake seized the cover of the long-open box and snapped it down. It moved easily on its alien hinges, and closed completely over the unmistakably glowing stone. At the sharp click of that closing a soft stirring sound seemed to come from the steeple’s eternal blackness overhead, beyond the trap-door. Rats, without question—the only living things to reveal their presence in this accursed pile since he had entered it. And yet that stirring in the steeple frightened him horribly, so that he plunged almost wildly down the spiral stairs, across the ghoulish nave, into the vaulted basement, out amidst the gathering dusk of the deserted square, and down through the teeming, fear-haunted alleys and avenues of Federal Hill toward the sane central streets and the home-like brick sidewalks of the college district. During the days which followed, Blake told no one of his expedition. Instead, he read much in certain books, examined long years of newspaper files downtown, and worked feverishly at the cryptogram in that leather volume from the cobwebbed vestry room. The cipher, he soon saw, was no simple one; and after a long period of endeavour he felt sure that its language could not be English, Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, Italian, or German. Evidently he would have to draw upon the deepest wells of his strange erudition. Every evening the old impulse to gaze westward returned, and he saw the black steeple as of yore amongst the bristling roofs of a distant and half-fabulous world. But now it held a fresh note of terror for him. He knew the heritage of evil lore it masked, and with the knowledge his vision ran riot in queer new ways. The birds of spring were returning, and as he watched their sunset flights he fancied they avoided the gaunt, lone spire as never before. When a flock of them approached it, he thought, they would wheel and scatter in panic confusion—and he could guess at the wild twitterings which failed to reach him across the intervening miles. It was in June that Blake’s diary told of his victory over the cryptogram. The text was, he found, in the dark Aklo language used by certain cults of evil antiquity, and known to him in a halting way through previous researches. The diary is strangely reticent about what Blake deciphered, but he was patently awed and disconcerted by his results. There are references to a Haunter of the Dark awaked by gazing into the Shining Trapezohedron, and insane conjectures about the black gulfs of chaos from which it was called. The being is spoken of as holding all knowledge, and demanding monstrous sacrifices. Some of Blake’s entries shew fear lest the thing, which he seemed to regard as summoned, stalk abroad; though he adds that the street-lights form a bulwark which cannot be crossed. Of the Shining Trapezohedron he speaks often, calling it a window on all time and space, and tracing its history from the days it was fashioned on dark Yuggoth, before ever the Old Ones brought it to earth. It was treasured and placed in its curious box by the crinoid things of Antarctica, salvaged from their ruins by the serpent-men of Valusia, and peered at aeons later in Lemuria by the first human beings. It crossed strange lands and stranger seas, and sank with Atlantis before a Minoan fisher meshed it in his net and sold it to swarthy merchants from nighted Khem. The Pharaoh Nephren-Ka built around it a temple with a windowless crypt, and did that which caused his name to be stricken from all monuments and records. Then it slept in the ruins of that evil fane which the priests and the new Pharaoh destroyed, till the delver’s spade once more brought it forth to curse mankind. Early in July the newspapers oddly supplement Blake’s entries, though in so brief and casual a way that only the diary has called general attention to their contribution. It appears that a new fear had been growing on Federal Hill since a stranger had entered the dreaded church. The Italians whispered of unaccustomed stirrings and bumpings and scrapings in the dark windowless steeple, and called on their priests to banish an entity which haunted their dreams. Something, they said, was constantly watching at a door to see if it were dark enough to venture forth. Press items mentioned the long-standing local superstitions, but failed to shed much light on the earlier background of the horror. It was obvious that the young reporters of today are no antiquarians. In writing of these things in his diary, Blake expresses a curious kind of remorse, and talks of the duty of burying the Shining Trapezohedron and of banishing what he had evoked by letting daylight into the hideous jutting spire. At the same time, however, he displays the dangerous extent of his fascination, and admits a morbid longing—pervading even his dreams—to visit the accursed tower and gaze again into the cosmic secrets of the glowing stone. Then something in the Journal on the morning of July 17 threw the diarist into a veritable fever of horror. It was only a variant of the other half-humorous items about the Federal Hill restlessness, but to Blake it was somehow very terrible indeed. In the night a thunderstorm had put the city’s lighting-system out of commission for a full hour, and in that black interval the Italians had nearly gone mad with fright. Those living near the dreaded church had sworn that the thing in the steeple had taken advantage of the street-lamps’ absence and gone down into the body of the church, flopping and bumping around in a viscous, altogether dreadful way. Toward the last it had bumped up to the tower, where there were sounds of the shattering of glass. It could go wherever the darkness reached, but light would always send it fleeing. When the current blazed on again there had been a shocking commotion in the tower, for even the feeble light trickling through the grime-blackened, louver-boarded windows was too much for the thing. It had bumped and slithered up into its tenebrous steeple just in time—for a long dose of light would have sent it back into the abyss whence the crazy stranger had called it. During the dark hour praying crowds had clustered round the church in the rain with lighted candles and lamps somehow shielded with folded paper and umbrellas—a guard of light to save the city from the nightmare that stalks in darkness. Once, those nearest the church declared, the outer door had rattled hideously. But even this was not the worst. That evening in the Bulletin Blake read of what the reporters had found. Aroused at last to the whimsical news value of the scare, a pair of them had defied the frantic crowds of Italians and crawled into the church through the cellar window after trying the doors in vain. They found the dust of the vestibule and of the spectral nave ploughed up in a singular way, with bits of rotted cushions and satin pew-linings scattered curiously around. There was a bad odour everywhere, and here and there were bits of yellow stain and patches of what looked like charring. Opening the door to the tower, and pausing a moment at the suspicion of a scraping sound above, they found the narrow spiral stairs wiped roughly clean. In the tower itself a similarly half-swept condition existed. They spoke of the heptagonal stone pillar, the overturned Gothic chairs, and the bizarre plaster images; though strangely enough the metal box and the old mutilated skeleton were not mentioned. What disturbed Blake the most—except for the hints of stains and charring and bad odours—was the final detail that explained the crashing glass. Every one of the tower’s lancet windows was broken, and two of them had been darkened in a crude and hurried way by the stuffing of satin pew-linings and cushion-horsehair into the spaces between the slanting exterior louver-boards. More satin fragments and bunches of horsehair lay scattered around the newly swept floor, as if someone had been interrupted in the act of restoring the tower to the absolute blackness of its tightly curtained days. Yellowish stains and charred patches were found on the ladder to the windowless spire, but when a reporter climbed up, opened the horizontally sliding trap-door, and shot a feeble flashlight beam into the black and strangely foetid space, he saw nothing but darkness, and an heterogeneous litter of shapeless fragments near the aperture. The verdict, of course, was charlatanry. Somebody had played a joke on the superstitious hill-dwellers, or else some fanatic had striven to bolster up their fears for their own supposed good. Or perhaps some of the younger and more sophisticated dwellers had staged an elaborate hoax on the outside world. There was an amusing aftermath when the police sent an officer to verify the reports. Three men in succession found ways of evading the assignment, and the fourth went very reluctantly and returned very soon without adding to the account given by the reporters. From this point onward Blake’s diary shews a mounting tide of insidious horror and nervous apprehension. He upbraids himself for not doing something, and speculates wildly on the consequences of another electrical breakdown. It has been verified that on three occasions—during thunderstorms—he telephoned the electric light company in a frantic vein and asked that desperate precautions against a lapse of power be taken. Now and then his entries shew concern over the failure of the reporters to find the metal box and stone, and the strangely marred old skeleton, when they explored the shadowy tower room. He assumed that these things had been removed—whither, and by whom or what, he could only guess. But his worst fears concerned himself, and the kind of unholy rapport he felt to exist between his mind and that lurking horror in the distant steeple—that monstrous thing of night which his rashness had called out of the ultimate black spaces. He seemed to feel a constant tugging at his will, and callers of that period remember how he would sit abstractedly at his desk and stare out of the west window at that far-off, spire-bristling mound beyond the swirling smoke of the city. His entries dwell monotonously on certain terrible dreams, and of a strengthening of the unholy rapport in his sleep. There is mention of a night when he awaked to find himself fully dressed, outdoors, and headed automatically down College Hill toward the west. Again and again he dwells on the fact that the thing in the steeple knows where to find him. The week following July 30 is recalled as the time of Blake’s partial breakdown. He did not dress, and ordered all his food by telephone. Visitors remarked the cords he kept near his bed, and he said that sleep-walking had forced him to bind his ankles every night with knots which would probably hold or else waken him with the labour of untying. In his diary he told of the hideous experience which had brought the collapse. After retiring on the night of the 30th he had suddenly found himself groping about in an almost black space. All he could see were short, faint, horizontal streaks of bluish light, but he could smell an overpowering foetor and hear a curious jumble of soft, furtive sounds above him. Whenever he moved he stumbled over something, and at each noise there would come a sort of answering sound from above—a vague stirring, mixed with the cautious sliding of wood on wood. Once his groping hands encountered a pillar of stone with a vacant top, whilst later he found himself clutching the rungs of a ladder built into the wall, and fumbling his uncertain way upward toward some region of intenser stench where a hot, searing blast beat down against him. Before his eyes a kaleidoscopic range of phantasmal images played, all of them dissolving at intervals into the picture of a vast, unplumbed abyss of night wherein whirled suns and worlds of an even profounder blackness. He thought of the ancient legends of Ultimate Chaos, at whose centre sprawls the blind idiot god Azathoth, Lord of All Things, encircled by his flopping horde of mindless and amorphous dancers, and lulled by the thin monotonous piping of a daemoniac flute held in nameless paws. Then a sharp report from the outer world broke through his stupor and roused him to the unutterable horror of his position. What it was, he never knew—perhaps it was some belated peal from the fireworks heard all summer on Federal Hill as the dwellers hail their various patron saints, or the saints of their native villages in Italy. In any event he shrieked aloud, dropped frantically from the ladder, and stumbled blindly across the obstructed floor of the almost lightless chamber that encompassed him. He knew instantly where he was, and plunged recklessly down the narrow spiral staircase, tripping and bruising himself at every turn. There was a nightmare flight through a vast cobwebbed nave whose ghostly arches reached up to realms of leering shadow, a sightless scramble through a littered basement, a climb to regions of air and street-lights outside, and a mad racing down a spectral hill of gibbering gables, across a grim, silent city of tall black towers, and up the steep eastward precipice to his own ancient door. On regaining consciousness in the morning he found himself lying on his study floor fully dressed. Dirt and cobwebs covered him, and every inch of his body seemed sore and bruised. When he faced the mirror he saw that his hair was badly scorched, while a trace of strange, evil odour seemed to cling to his upper outer clothing. It was then that his nerves broke down. Thereafter, lounging exhaustedly about in a dressing-gown, he did little but stare from his west window, shiver at the threat of thunder, and make wild entries in his diary. The great storm broke just before midnight on August 8th. Lightning struck repeatedly in all parts of the city, and two remarkable fireballs were reported. The rain was torrential, while a constant fusillade of thunder brought sleeplessness to thousands. Blake was utterly frantic in his fear for the lighting system, and tried to telephone the company around 1 a.m., though by that time service had been temporarily cut off in the interest of safety. He recorded everything in his diary—the large, nervous, and often undecipherable hieroglyphs telling their own story of growing frenzy and despair, and of entries scrawled blindly in the dark. He had to keep the house dark in order to see out the window, and it appears that most of his time was spent at his desk, peering anxiously through the rain across the glistening miles of downtown roofs at the constellation of distant lights marking Federal Hill. Now and then he would fumblingly make an entry in his diary, so that detached phrases such as “The lights must not go”; “It knows where I am”; “I must destroy it”; and “It is calling to me, but perhaps it means no injury this time”; are found scattered down two of the pages. Then the lights went out all over the city. It happened at 2:12 a.m. according to power-house records, but Blake’s diary gives no indication of the time. The entry is merely, “Lights out—God help me.” On Federal Hill there were watchers as anxious as he, and rain-soaked knots of men paraded the square and alleys around the evil church with umbrella-shaded candles, electric flashlights, oil lanterns, crucifixes, and obscure charms of the many sorts common to southern Italy. They blessed each flash of lightning, and made cryptical signs of fear with their right hands when a turn in the storm caused the flashes to lessen and finally to cease altogether. A rising wind blew out most of the candles, so that the scene grew threateningly dark. Someone roused Father Merluzzo of Spirito Santo Church, and he hastened to the dismal square to pronounce whatever helpful syllables he could. Of the restless and curious sounds in the blackened tower, there could be no doubt whatever. For what happened at 2:35 we have the testimony of the priest, a young, intelligent, and well-educated person; of Patrolman William J. Monahan of the Central Station, an officer of the highest reliability who had paused at that part of his beat to inspect the crowd; and of most of the seventy-eight men who had gathered around the church’s high bank wall—especially those in the square where the eastward facade was visible. Of course there was nothing which can be proved as being outside the order of Nature. The possible causes of such an event are many. No one can speak with certainty of the obscure chemical processes arising in a vast, ancient, ill-aired, and long-deserted building of heterogeneous contents. Mephitic vapours—spontaneous combustion—pressure of gases born of long decay—any one of numberless phenomena might be responsible. And then, of course, the factor of conscious charlatanry can by no means be excluded. The thing was really quite simple in itself, and covered less than three minutes of actual time. Father Merluzzo, always a precise man, looked at his watch repeatedly. It started with a definite swelling of the dull fumbling sounds inside the black tower. There had for some time been a vague exhalation of strange, evil odours from the church, and this had now become emphatic and offensive. Then at last there was a sound of splintering wood, and a large, heavy object crashed down in the yard beneath the frowning easterly facade. The tower was invisible now that the candles would not burn, but as the object neared the ground the people knew that it was the smoke-grimed louver-boarding of that tower’s east window. Immediately afterward an utterly unbearable foetor welled forth from the unseen heights, choking and sickening the trembling watchers, and almost prostrating those in the square. At the same time the air trembled with a vibration as of flapping wings, and a sudden east-blowing wind more violent than any previous blast snatched off the hats and wrenched the dripping umbrellas of the crowd. Nothing definite could be seen in the candleless night, though some upward-looking spectators thought they glimpsed a great spreading blur of denser blackness against the inky sky—something like a formless cloud of smoke that shot with meteor-like speed toward the east. That was all. The watchers were half numbed with fright, awe, and discomfort, and scarcely knew what to do, or whether to do anything at all. Not knowing what had happened, they did not relax their vigil; and a moment later they sent up a prayer as a sharp flash of belated lightning, followed by an earsplitting crash of sound, rent the flooded heavens. Half an hour later the rain stopped, and in fifteen minutes more the street-lights sprang on again, sending the weary, bedraggled watchers relievedly back to their homes. The next day’s papers gave these matters minor mention in connexion with the general storm reports. It seems that the great lightning flash and deafening explosion which followed the Federal Hill occurrence were even more tremendous farther east, where a burst of the singular foetor was likewise noticed. The phenomenon was most marked over College Hill, where the crash awaked all the sleeping inhabitants and led to a bewildered round of speculations. Of those who were already awake only a few saw the anomalous blaze of light near the top of the hill, or noticed the inexplicable upward rush of air which almost stripped the leaves from the trees and blasted the plants in the gardens. It was agreed that the lone, sudden lightning-bolt must have struck somewhere in this neighbourhood, though no trace of its striking could afterward be found. A youth in the Tau Omega fraternity house thought he saw a grotesque and hideous mass of smoke in the air just as the preliminary flash burst, but his observation has not been verified. All of the few observers, however, agree as to the violent gust from the west and the flood of intolerable stench which preceded the belated stroke; whilst evidence concerning the momentary burned odour after the stroke is equally general. These points were discussed very carefully because of their probable connexion with the death of Robert Blake. Students in the Psi Delta house, whose upper rear windows looked into Blake’s study, noticed the blurred white face at the westward window on the morning of the 9th, and wondered what was wrong with the expression. When they saw the same face in the same position that evening, they felt worried, and watched for the lights to come up in his apartment. Later they rang the bell of the darkened flat, and finally had a policeman force the door. The rigid body sat bolt upright at the desk by the window, and when the intruders saw the glassy, bulging eyes, and the marks of stark, convulsive fright on the twisted features, they turned away in sickened dismay. Shortly afterward the coroner’s physician made an examination, and despite the unbroken window reported electrical shock, or nervous tension induced by electrical discharge, as the cause of death. The hideous expression he ignored altogether, deeming it a not improbable result of the profound shock as experienced by a person of such abnormal imagination and unbalanced emotions. He deduced these latter qualities from the books, paintings, and manuscripts found in the apartment, and from the blindly scrawled entries in the diary on the desk. Blake had prolonged his frenzied jottings to the last, and the broken-pointed pencil was found clutched in his spasmodically contracted right hand. The entries after the failure of the lights were highly disjointed, and legible only in part. From them certain investigators have drawn conclusions differing greatly from the materialistic official verdict, but such speculations have little chance for belief among the conservative. The case of these imaginative theorists has not been helped by the action of superstitious Dr. Dexter, who threw the curious box and angled stone—an object certainly self-luminous as seen in the black windowless steeple where it was found—into the deepest channel of Narragansett Bay. Excessive imagination and neurotic unbalance on Blake’s part, aggravated by knowledge of the evil bygone cult whose startling traces he had uncovered, form the dominant interpretation given those final frenzied jottings. These are the entries—or all that can be made of them. “Lights still out—must be five minutes now. Everything depends on lightning. Yaddith grant it will keep up! . . . Some influence seems beating through it. . . . Rain and thunder and wind deafen. . . . The thing is taking hold of my mind. . . . “Trouble with memory. I see things I never knew before. Other worlds and other galaxies . . . Dark . . . The lightning seems dark and the darkness seems light. . . . “It cannot be the real hill and church that I see in the pitch-darkness. Must be retinal impression left by flashes. Heaven grant the Italians are out with their candles if the lightning stops! “What am I afraid of? Is it not an avatar of Nyarlathotep, who in antique and shadowy Khem even took the form of man? I remember Yuggoth, and more distant Shaggai, and the ultimate void of the black planets. . . . “The long, winging flight through the void . . . cannot cross the universe of light . . . re-created by the thoughts caught in the Shining Trapezohedron . . . send it through the horrible abysses of radiance. . . . “My name is Blake—Robert Harrison Blake of 620 East Knapp Street, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. . . . I am on this planet. . . . “Azathoth have mercy!—the lightning no longer flashes—horrible—I can see everything with a monstrous sense that is not sight—light is dark and dark is light . . . those people on the hill . . . guard . . . candles and charms . . . their priests. . . . “Sense of distance gone—far is near and near is far. No light—no glass—see that steeple—that tower—window—can hear—Roderick Usher—am mad or going mad—the thing is stirring and fumbling in the tower—I am it and it is I—I want to get out . . . must get out and unify the forces. . . . It knows where I am. . . . “I am Robert Blake, but I see the tower in the dark. There is a monstrous odour . . . senses transfigured . . . boarding at that tower window cracking and giving way. . . . Iä . . . ngai . . . ygg. . . . “I see it—coming here—hell-wind—titan blur—black wings—Yog-Sothoth save me—the three-lobed burning eye. . . .”

Tree:

• Welcome to Mostly Harmless Cutaway One One Five featuring Josh, Chris and Eric. Join us as we dive into our thoughts on Series 8 Episode 10, In the Forest of the Night. Let the banter begin!
• This is a Lost MHC recorded in 2014. 

LINKS:

• @SciFiPartyLine: scifipartyline.com
• @ProgNeg: prognosisnegative.libsyn.com
• @StarTrekRBG: startrekrbg.libsyn.com
• Mostly Harmless Cutaway Patreon: patreon.com/MHC

WARNING:

• This discussion contains miscellaneous K-9 and Company, Torchwood, Sarah Jane Adventures, Sherlock, Class, new WHO, and/or classic SPOILERS pertaining to Doctor Who. If you are 100% spoilerphobic to new & classic episodes not yet seen, do NOT complain to us. This episode is MOSTLY HARMLESS & contains EXPLICIT ideas, and as always expect strokes of innuendo throughout.

 DISCLAIMER:

• This episode was recorded on Nov. 11th, 2014.

COMING SOON: MHC #118?

 

 

DON'T PANIC

 

Host/Producer: Eric @BullittWHO Prognosis Negative Movie Reviews Podcast Star Trek: Romulans Bearing Gifts Podcast

Co-host: Josh @whomeJZ

Co-hostess: Cat @fancyfembot Sci-Fi Party Line Podcast

Co-host: Sean @HomrigSean The Cabot Cove Confab: A Murder, She Wrote Podcast The Best Picture Podcast

Co-host/Producer: Caleb @CalebAlexader The Novice Elitists Film Podcast Bending the Elements: An Avatar Podcast

 

Mostly Harmless Cutaway @DoctorWhoMHC Email: Guidetothewhoverse ~at~ gmail ~dot~com Website: guidetothewhoverse.libsyn.com/site Patreon: patreon.com/MHC Tumblr: doctorwhomhc.tumblr.com  Facebook: facebook.com/DoctorWhoMHC 

Art: H.B. Lockwood @hayleyglyphs Eponymous opening by Emily K. @emilyooo MHCTheme created by E.A. Escamilla

You can’t expect David Tennant to not be David Tennant, but I really want the Fourteenth Doctor to be meaningfully different from the Tenth. I have my hopes, but the Fourteenth Doc comic in Doctor Who Magazine and even the Children in Need short didn’t offer any clues….

In our sketch this time, when author Simon Guerrier agrees to guest on Something Who, Richard spots the chance to make double the impact for the same money.

We're looking at two stories that introduce new companions - 1st Doctor story The Rescue from Season 2, and the 11th Doctor's debut in The Eleventh Hour from Series 5. This episode consists of the first half of that conversation, featuring The Rescue. Next time we'll move onto The Eleventh Hour.

Please like or share our podcast with people who will enjoy it, so we can build our listener base high for happiness. You can rate us directly on Apple Podcasts or Podchaser.com

Our guest, Simon Guerrier has written a fantastic book about Doctor Who's first Story Editor entitled "David Whitaker in an Exciting Adventure with Television" which you'll want to order and the good news is that we have the link: https://tenacrefilms.bigcartel.com/product/david-whitaker-in-an-exciting-adventure-with-television

Giles' book A History of the Universe in 21 Stars: (and 3 Imposters) can be found in all good bookshops and also here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/History-Universe-21-Stars-Imposters/dp/1787394654/

Head over to https://www.bigfinish.com/, where we all love Paul's stories.

Richard has another podcast with new co-host Nicola, called "If It's Hurting, It's not Working" and it's a fun and informative look at work - why we work, how we work, and what makes a great job. Go to https://ifhurtnotwork.podbean.com/ and https://ifhurtnot.work for more.

Our cover art was designed for us by Bea Garrido. She's a really talented artist, who you can find on Twitter using @BeaGarrido00, where, among other artworks, you can see some remarkable paintings of characters from Doctor Who.

The Day of The Doctor; Adam, Debbie, Kirby and Mary celebrate the 60th anniversary celebrations as our journey through the history of Doctor Who lands on the 50th anniversary episode. We also have feedback, some exclusive news about Fan TC Con 4, Doctor Who News and What We Watched This Week.

There’s only a week or less (depending on when you listen) for new Doctor Who but wait! There already IS new Who in the form of a Children In Need segment starring Doctor Who the Fourteenth, a Skaro marketing middle manager, a Mark III travel machine, and a new and somewhat controversial Davros! Plus we have a flood of celebratory radio and television programmes about Our Favorite Show on its 60th anniversary, Vworp Vworp and comic book news, Amazon Prime and Tubi showing Who 2.0 and Classic Who respectively AND an interview with Benjamin Cook, Rich Tipple and Kieran Highman on their sterling work colourizing “The Daleks”!

Links:

• Support Radio Free Skaro on Patreon
• Radio Free Skaro Livestreams
• BBC Children in Need Doctor Who segment
• Children in Need Doctor Who Unleashed
• New to Who guide from the Doctor Who YouTube channel
• Wild Blue Yonder will air at 6:30pm Dec 2 on BBC One
• Nicola Coughlan joins cast for Ncuti Gatwa’s Season 2
• Gatwa mentioned the First and Fifteenth Doctors share scenes
• BBC releases colourized images from The Daleks
• Colourized, omnibus version of The Daleks airing November 23 on BBC Four
• The Daleks coming to Blu-ray in North America on February 27
• Series 1-10 now available on Prime Video in Canada
• Classic Doctor Who now on Tubi
• The Philip Hinchcliffe Years – The DNA of Doctor Who launches Kickstarter
• Vworp Vworp issues 6 available now
• Fifteenth Doctor comic from Titan Comics coming for Free Comic Book Day 2024
• 60 years of Doctor Who: in search of classic Who locations
• Missing Doctor Who episodes audio on BBC Sounds
• Surviving Doctor Who – an A-Z with Toby Hadoke on BBC Radio 4 Extra
• Doctor Who: The Wilderness Years documentary coming to BBC Radio 4 on November 19
• Radio 2 Celebrates Doctor Who at 60 through December 3
• Murray Gold: Hitting The Right Notes special coming to BBC Radio Solent on November 23
• Doctor Who: The Welsh Connection on BBC Radio Wales on November 23
• Doctor Huw on BBC Radio Wales on November 23
• Doctor Who edition of Bargain Hunt to air November 23 on BBC One
• Doctor Who: 60 Years of Friends and Foes on BBC Radio 4 Nov 24, 9pm
• Doctor Who: The Bedtime Story on CBeebies on November 24
• Doctor Who: Secrets and Scandals on Channel 5 on November 25, 830pm
• Doctor Who Worlds of Wonder opens in Wellington NZ June 1, 2024
• Doctor Who event at Pulse and The Kings in Cardiff, Nov 25

Interview

• The Daleks in colour
• Benjamin Cook
• Rich Tipple
• Kieran Highman

In this episode of the Who's He? Podcast....

Doctor Who - The Anniversary Specials | The Day of The Doctor

We finish our look back at Doctor Who anniversary specials of years gone by with the 50th anniversary special, The Day of The Doctor.  Not only do Phil and Paul look back fondly at the 50th anniversary and the excitement and anticipation that went with it 10 years ago, they also decided to read the Target novelisation of this story.  With the television script and the novel being written by Steven Moffat, the lads were expecting something brilliant.

What you will listen to on this podcast may well divide opinion but Phil and Paul were both in complete agreement about the Target novel and the TV version.  But what is this alignment of opinion, which way does it go?  You know what's coming next..... listen to find out!

You can find us on Twitter and Facebook and you can subscribe to our show on Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, Amazon Podcasts, Google Podcasts plus many other podcatchers and don't forget to subscribe to our Youtube Channel.

#doctorwho #thedayofthedoctor

In this episode of the Who's He? Podcast....

Doctor Who - The Anniversary Specials | The Day of The Doctor

We finish our look back at Doctor Who anniversary specials of years gone by with the 50th anniversary special, The Day of The Doctor.  Not only do Phil and Paul look back fondly at the 50th anniversary and the excitement and anticipation that went with it 10 years ago, they also decided to read the Target novelisation of this story.  With the television script and the novel being written by Steven Moffat, the lads were expecting something brilliant.

What you will listen to on this podcast may well divide opinion but Phil and Paul were both in complete agreement about the Target novel and the TV version.  But what is this alignment of opinion, which way does it go?  You know what's coming next..... listen to find out!

You can find us on Twitter and Facebook and you can subscribe to our show on Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, Amazon Podcasts, Google Podcasts plus many other podcatchers and don't forget to subscribe to our Youtube Channel.

#doctorwho #thedayofthedoctor

 

Welcome to another thrilling episode of Geek Syndicate! Join Monts and Nuge in exploring the latest news and reviews from the depths of Geekdom's underworld.

In this episode:

News The guys discuss the launch of the "Whoniverse," before speculating on "What If" Season 2, and  "Madam Web" trailers

Week that Was

• Lupin 
• Blue Eyed Samurai
• Loki 
• Star Trek Strange New Worlds Season 2
• UFO
• Doctor Who: Once and Future
• Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow
• Asoka
• Star Trek Discovery
• Young Sherlock Holmes

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As we continue on with our monthlong celebration of Doctor Who's 60th anniversary, please give a warm welcome to Shaun Lyon (@shaunlyon), the Program Director and programming head at the annual Gallifrey One convention in Los Angeles each February. Shaun and I will be presenting our "60 for 60" lists -- our personal top 60 Who TV stories from the past 60 years.

A supercut of Kevin Stoney saying "Packer" in "The Invasion" does actually exist, not discovered in time for us to seek out permission to include the audio here, but please give a listen!

If you enjoyed this episode, please follow, subscribe, and rate us!

Doctor Who Literature is a member of the Direction Point Doctor Who podcast network.

Please e-mail the pod at DrWhoLiterature@gmail.com.

You can catch all past episodes at https://anchor.fm/doctorwholit.

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