Yet again, Line of Duty drops us unceremoniously in the deep end from the off, with more acts of finger-severing crime and in-house bullying. By the end of the first scene, I was starting to understand that Compston’s casting as Arnott was not merely to keep the moustachioed spectacle perverts of hipsterville happy; his ability to look like a pathetic, crushed weasel is second to none- pretty helpful for garnering sympathy for your dobbing-in activities.

Just as we’re about to choke on a gristly lump of testosterone, what with all the male ego bashing and chest puffing, Jackie Laverty coolly wafts in like the ghost of a Solero wearing lippy, to discuss her considerable crimes. Batted down by DCI Gates in every way possible, McKee responds with some blooming good acting and melts into a puddle of ice cream and despondency on the police station floor.

Mr Butterfield returns to the police station once more- in what has to be the most boring sub plot ever created, not to mention making Mr Butterfield with most unlucky man in London, surely, or harbouring a strange crush on DC Kate Fleming.

But Mr Butterfield aside, the plot really gets going in this episode: we are dragged through the emotional mill with regards to DCI Gates’ moral inconsistencies- swinging wildly from love to hate as he plays the family man, the philanderer, the paragon of duty, then succumbs to his wayward desires once more, all in the space of an hour. This is emotional manipulation at it’s very best, and the kind of three dimensional characterisation that the Americans usually so much better than us (see Breaking Bad, The Sopranos…). The moral ambiguity of the protagonist makes for seriously gripping television, and Lennie James’ performance beautifully conveys the character’s many dichotomies: swagger, vulnerability, egocentricity and guilt are found in spades.

Jackie Laverty’s story is bought to an abrupt yet thrilling end- and if you’re not squealing at the TV in the last 10 minutes, you have probably recently undergone a frontal lobotomy- my condolences. Although I’m still utterly disturbed by Gina McKee being sexual in any context- no, I don’t want to imagine what you did to him unless it was cook him spag bol and pat his head- she perfectly demonstrates ‘Psycho Girlfriend 101’, with incessant calls, a bit of cold-blooded murder, and a posh English accent to boot (a MUST if you’re going to be a decent villain).  I suppose they don’t warn you about stalker ex girlfriend no-no’s in Homes and Gardens… she doesn’t strike me as a Cosmopolitan-problem-pages kinda gal- pity, in hindsight.

But we’re not only dealing with affairs of the heart in this episode, oh no. Line of Duty even wades in on political territory, combating the woes of white collar crime- a shrewd plot decision given the current economic climate: with every Jimmy, Phillip and Barclays tax dodging, it’s a story line that feels perfectly in tune with our surroundings. Hats off once more to the writers for some stunning criminal juxtaposition as we swing from upper-class fraud, to little boys on the estate pinching trainers off dead corpses- there’s something for every criminal in this episode.

Line of Duty has seriously shifted up a gear- I’ll definitely take the blood, tears and fingers over filing, frowning and paper clips. McKee and James outshine the endlessly-hyped Compston and McClure, who take a surprising back seat both in ability and plot, but I’m certainly not complaining… Vive la macabre.

Charlotte Skeoch

While Steve is settling into his new goody-two-shoes role, we’re being acquainted with the villain of the story: DCI Tony Gates (Lennie James). Tony is sneaking about, covering up the murderous tracks of his morally wayward lover, Jacqui Laverty (Gina McKee), who has got pissed and done some naughty things behind a wheel (Teacher! Teacher! Corruption! Dob dob dob!). McKee and James have all the sexual chemistry of two eunuchs on Songs of Praise, and frankly watching them kiss- and later, worse, administer oral sex- is like watching the Archbishop of Canterbury getting it on with KD Lang.

Line of Duty thoughtfully gives us a plethora of reasons to spit bile and wish bad intent in Tony’s direction, namely, he has a nice, insipid wife who does the washing for him (Aw!), he has two little twin girls who play jazz piano badly for him (Aw! Ow! My ears… Aw again!), what a general bastard this Tony character is, eh? Somehow my feelings about him have been manipulated to the ‘Mugabe’ end of the hatred scale in one hour; well done, BBC.

But what of McClure, I hear you cry?! Well McClure is an office skivvy named Kate, and possibly the most dismally inert character in McClure’s repertoire. Plus, we’re so used to hearing her improv and ad lib, it is rather disconcerting to hear her speak actual lines, like she’s crawling when she can walk. Make them up, McClure! When the inevitable star-crossed lovers moment arrives between Kate and Steve I’m practically dragging my eyeballs down the screen in despair, praying that he’ll go all Alice Creed on her ass and she’ll start having visions of patriarchal rapists. Kate quickly gets promoted, thanks to sacking in every feminist ideal in the workplace- really would’ve been quicker to just flash your undercarriage, Kate dear. We are treated to a healthy dollop of gender imbalance issues, sexism in the workplace and testosterone-fuelled shenanigans, which is an interesting comment given that Line of Duty is set in modern day: if the police force really is filled with raging chauvinists buying halves at the pub for the women, putting poos on car seats, ogling boobs and making rubbish jokes with post-it notes, I really do not envy any policewoman. Whether their bar banter is purposefully soul-crushingly base or not, nobody should be laughing, on screen or otherwise, unless they’ve recently undergone a frontal lobotomy.

Episode one has a finale that’s twistier than a pig’s willy- Kate is in fact working undercover! Huzzah! Your crimes against Emily Pankhurst are all forgiven. Most bizarrely, however, is the last minute introduction of a drug-circle crime: when the team walk in on a dead man with his fingers cut off, I’d suddenly much rather be watching Gina McKee perform fellatio. Yet, on the whole the introductory idea that we’re left with of ‘big, sexy’ policing is an interesting concept, as we’re so used to TV policing being nothing but big and sexy. An intriguing opening, folks… but lay off the paper pushing in episode two? Please?

Charlie Skeoch

Enter Line of Duty, which, judging by its cast list is like The Bill set entirely in Shoreditch, smothered in jus d’Indie and sprinkled with desiccated hipster. Line of Duty’s poster girl Vicky McClure earned her stripes in Shane Meadows’ This Is England, a film so edgily, grittily cool, David Cameron probably wanted to hug it, or pinch its music. Add to the mix Martin Compston, who got his Indie badge for services to audacious violence in The Disappeaance of Alice Creed, and Red Road- plus he’s Scottish, which makes him a bit hardcore anyway- and we’re headed towards a cast that almost feels like it’s selling out to the man.

To be fair, Line of Duty is a lot less like the chargable offence that was The Bill, and a lot more like a spin off of Spooks, or even a modern day Life On Mars, which is a relief for everyone really- might even jolt some life into your Grandma. So, given that it’s on the telebox, pricked my interest, and showcases some good filmic talent, I decided it needed a weekly blog. As with most things, I decided this a bit late (see also: bad men, whole boxes of Celebrations and seeing Battleship), but better late than never I say, so whether you’re reliving the moment, catching up on what you’ve missed, or simply have nothing better to do because The Bill isn’t running anymore and you’ve already watched Jeremy Kyle and they weren’t even that amusingly chavvy… Read on, enjoy, and tell me all your Duty-related thoughts, I love ‘em. Click onwards and upwards for your first instalment…

Charlie Skeoch

The trailer doesn’t reveal a tremendous amount, but it does see a return for the Daleks after they were given a hiatus by Moffat for series 6.  There is currently no date set for the new series.

Written by Tony Basgallop, (Hotel Babylon) Inside Men is a drama that aims to tap into the population’s growing feeling of discontent towards the country’s economic instability. From the ominous opening monologue which firmly announces, “They tell you to be compliant”, to the stony faced clowns we see carrying out a cold, calculated robbery in an opening scene reminiscent to the one in Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight, Inside Men immediately raises moral dilemmas. It is a drama written with the current zeitgeist in mind. It is a drama written in a time of Occupy Britain, with protests over student fees and London riots still fresh in the memory. It is a drama wholly concerned with asking, what happens when even the most average, up-standing man is willing to break the law?

The series centres around three employees at a security depot who are presented with an opportunity to make out with more money than their meagre salaries would ever allow. £150 million to be precise. The unlikely trio are led by John, played by the excellent Steven Mackintosh (Luther, The Jury), a mild mannered manager of the cash counting house who stumbles across depot security guard Chris’ (Ashley Walters) and forklift driver Marcus’ (Warren Brown) plan to take money from their clients and ease their relative woes. From there, the planning and repercussions of the cash robbery unfold simultaneously, as action cleverly shifts back and forth along a nine month timeline which gives the programme a good pace.

Indeed, Inside Men has a lot going for it and rarely is there a lull in proceedings, which is no mean feat considering the hour-long runtime of each episode. Episodes open and end with high tension as Mackintosh narrates a foreboding monologue over proceedings, adding a sense of urgency. Performances from the main cast, in particular Mackintosh and Walters, are strong, with each actor portraying a believable transformation, as the characters become more entangled in their crime. Relative back stories are generally well-rounded too, making us care about the outcome of our robbers.

Still, there is something about the drama that just doesn’t add up. For all its accomplished acting, its tried and tested plot with an everyman twist, its interesting play on time, there is still a nagging question that persists after watching an admittedly addictive hour-long episode of Inside Men: “Why?” Why would three distinctly average men risk serious jail time so readily? Basgallop has described his creation as, “a study in what it takes for a modern man to step up, assert himself, and have the courage to take something by force”. Still, it is the motivations of these average men to “step-up” in the first instance that doesn’t fit.

Would an every day, run of the mill man with a job, a family and no real criminal background really risk it all for one big pay day? Tenuous allusions to Marcus’ dodgy past and Chris’ gangster father suggest even Basgallop himself wondered if the viewer needed more of a reason to believe his average man’s decision to become a bank robber than simply “because we can”.

Supporters of the show, of which I’m sure there will be many, will be quick to defend the men’s motives for turning criminal, with smart remarks like “ I’d risk it all for a chance at 150 million,” coming thick and fast. But when it comes down to it, would they really give it all up for some cash?

Maybe I’m being naive. The things we do for money…

Inside Men begins on BBC One, 9pm on 2nd February. 

Luke Ryan

For those of you unfamiliar with one of the most-read novels of our time (shame on you! But at least your lackadaisical brain can ingest it on telly in your PJs now…) Birdsong is the mournful tale of Stephan Wraysford (Eddie Redmayne), and his ill-fated affair with the tantalisingly complex French beauty Isabelle Azaire (Clemence Poesy) in idyllic pre-war Amiens. Spliced between these hazy sun-drenched scenes of sex and scandal is the rather less tranquil account of Wraysford’s struggle through the Somme; a filthy, desperate, and doomed toil punctuated by lessons in morality and touching camaraderie. Morgan wisely decides to eliminate Faulks’ third string of narrative, which although a pleasure to read, would have been an unnecessary addition, and pushed the run time from trying to impossible. But all in all, it’s a maelstrom of emotional manipulation, a story that will tug every tendon of your helpless heart, and the BBC have done it wonderful justice.

Previous attempts to dramatise Faulk’s well-loved tale have met a disappointing end: Trevor Nunn’s stage adaptation had an embarrassingly short run in the West End before being hauled from the stage completely, and whispers of a film adaptation never amounted to much, so Philip Martin’s brave decision to take the directorial helm will, if successful, be the only survivor of Birdsong’s dramatic follies. The two-part series has been shot in Hungary to save production costs, but the surroundings are every bit as charmingly bucolic as you would imagine: draped in tendrils of willow and swathed in pastoral greenery, the Azaire’s grandiose abode is the perfect contraposition to the ravages of the Somme. But although trench life in Birdsong has a mucky exterior, there was a certain romance about it that reeked of the BBC’s clean-cut adaptation of Pride and Prejudice: a little too beautiful to be accurate. It would have been nice to see these two storylines interweaved with more creativity however- when two such highly contrasting stories are knitted together with real skill, the poignancy and stark opposition of each edit can be disturbingly arresting, and I feel this production missed a golden opportunity to hammer home Wraysford’s gritty departure from upper-class comfort.

Redmayne is a joy to watch: his face conveys boyish vulnerability, while his gravelly voice demands respect- a wryly clever piece of casting, especially considering his up-and-coming status in the wake of award-touted My Week With Marilyn. Not to mention the sight of Redmayne in a polished brogue and linen suit at the foot of a transcendently beautiful lake is enough to send any woman’s heart in to a flap of epic proportions. Coupled with the hauntingly beautiful, and technically brilliant Poesy (of In Bruges and Harry Potter fame) the stunning sexual tension throughout the initial scenes is tighter than a bungee rope attached to John Prescott. With excellent cameos from Thomas Turgoose and Joseph Mawle, the cast are close to flawless.

It’s high time Birdsong got the dramatic recognition it deserves, and a TV slot is the ideal medium: the two 90 minute episodes give plenty of time for in depth exploration of a story that needs time and attention. It is wonderful to see Faulks’ dual storylines in such a visceral comparison, which- although wonderfully described in the novel- provides a whole new level of stark understanding. If you can see past the chintz, the china and the perfectly daubed-on dirt, Birdsong is a highly commendable drama… just make sure the tissue box/a shoulder partial to snot is in close proximity.

Birdsong is on BBC ONE at 9pm on 22nd January. 

Charlotte Skeoch

Matt Smith

As mentioned above, this seems an unlikely choice given Yates’ desire to take the series in a new direction, but Matt Smith has brought a depth to the character that we’ve not seen before.  His physical performance is peerless and the 28 year-old plays an ancient Time Lord convincingly without ever losing any of his childlike charm.  What further removes Smith from the front-runners is the fact that his tenure as the Doctor will most likely have come to an end by the time the movie is released.  With one more series to go, it looks like the 11^th Doctor will have long since regenerated by the time the DW film hits our screens.

Hugh Laurie

According to some reports, Hugh Laurie is the favorite for the role.  His recent global superstardom would make him an attractive proposition for the studios, and he certainly has the gravitas and upper middle-class demeanor of the original, older Doctors.  One downside could be that he lacks the more quixotic element of the Doctor’s personality, but you only have to think back to his work on the Blackadder series to be reminded that he’s not all acid tongue, snarls  and limps.

Stephen Fry

Hugh Laurie seems to be getting all the attention, but what about his old double-act partner, Stephen Fry.  Fry possesses the avuncular nature of William Hartnell; the eccentricity of Tom Baker; and David Tennant’s gift of gab.  The infrequency of his acting roles may make it hard to imagine him taking the part, but if it is the earlier style of Doctor the producers are after, they could do a lot worse.

Johnny Depp

It is perhaps unsurprising that Johnny Depp is a name that is being thrown about, as he is pretty much in the hat for any highly anticipated role, but it’s his attraction to the British oddball suggests that it is not a completely wild stab in the dark.  The one problem that most will have is accepting an American Doctor.  Although Depp has mastered the British tongue in many different forms over the years, the Doctor, like James Bond, is so quintessentially British that the die-hards would never accept it, irrespective of the fact that the Doctor is from an entirely different galaxy.

Michael Sheen 

Despite having appeared in the last series of Doctor Who, the Welsh actor would be a great choice to play the Gallifreyan time traveler.  Sheen is an excellent comic and physical actor and would bring the same dramatic depth to the character that has become a staple of the show since Christopher Eccelstone arrived in 2005.  His ability to fully inhabit a character would be wonderful to watch in the case of the Doctor, as there is so much source material for him to draw on.

James McAvoy

Another popular choice; James McAvoy would continue the trend of a younger, more swarve Doctor, and his previous work with director David Yates on State of Play would suggest that he could be a genuine contender.  It is easy to imagine the X-Men star in the Baker-esque coat and scarf, pontificating incomprehensibly technological jargon, and he certainly has enough of a Hollywood reputation to attract the ever growing American audience that the producers will have their eye own.

The film sees Louis travel to Oklahoma, to visit a man with a collection of over 150 tigers; a woman who breeds chimpanzees; and various owners of exotic, and potentially lethal animals.  As usual, Louis uses his trademark avuncular charm and faux-naivety to shed some light on these eccentric private zookeepers and the bizarre “scamtuaries” that now house more tigers than there are in the wild in the whole of Asia.  As with this year’s excellent documentary Project Nim, we are introduced to the “parents” of two majestic chimpanzees that have reached an age at which they have become too unpredictable and powerful to leave the confines of their cramped cages for the rest of their lives, a sentence that heartbreakingly fails to register with the owners.  Things also take a unsettling turn when a park manager reveals the lengths he’d be prepared to go to if his tiger sanctuary were to fall victim to the strain put on it by animal rights activists.

There are some brilliantly funny moments along the way; Louis being groomed by a particularly affectionate baboon is an image that will send you into the new week chuckling, and the usually brave presenter’s reaction to getting up close and personal with a Siberian tiger is hilarious albeit completely understandable.  Theroux is a preternaturally likable screen presence, and his latest documentary shows (as if we needed reminding) that whether it’s chewing the fat with serial killers, deriding rhino hunters, or being seduced by Christine Hamilton, Louis Theroux’s unique brand of filmmaking remains essential viewing.

Louis Theroux: America’s Most Dangerous Pets is on BBC TWO Sunday, 21:00

In last year’s The Lodger, Roberts found the perfect comic balance for Matt Smith’s 11th Doctor, and the episode helped define the playful side of his portrayal that we have seen more of this year as Smith has grown into the role. Having worked on comedies like The Fast Show and Swiss Toni, his script is deftly crafted, creating a perfect balance of comic interplay, scary Cybermen and a genuinely heartwarming character arc as blokey Craig struggles to come to terms with fatherhood and take on his responsibilities. James Cordon is as likable as he was the first time round, proving again that despite being one of the most annoyingly overbearing people on television, there is an excellent actor underneath the chat shows and panel games. His performance is well judged, and his double act with the Doctor is both natural and hilarious. Their being mistaken for a same sex couple may be an obvious gag, but the cocktail of affection and bickering is a joy to watch, with the best line coming from a sulking Craig- “Don’t have a go at me just ‘cos I don’t know the names.” Naming Craig’s baby Stormageddon (which means “fallen silence” in Greek. Make of that what you will), and the Doctor’s previously undisclosed method for silencing those with underdeveloped brains were amongst the highlights of a richly comic script, but the episode never felt over written, encompassing enough heart and threat to meet the criteria of classic Doctor Who.

We didn’t have to wait long for the inevitable return of Mr. and Mrs. Pond, but it was more heartbreaking than you could have imagined. The poster campaign was a masterstroke and must have had Gareth Roberts leaping round the writing room when he thought of it, and naming Amy’s perfume Petrichor was just showing off. The Doctor’s inability to interfere was reminiscent of Donna Noble’s exit, and equally effective, and his internal confliction surrounding his self-imposed solitude overlapped nicely from the previous episode. It was great to have the Cybermen back, especially with the overdue return of the Cybermats, a sort of metal fish that dates back to their first appearance in Tomb of The Cybermen. The updated version is considerably more threatening than the originals however, which looked like the product of a utility room romance between a dust buster and a mop.

Closing time was well paced, funny, chilling, moving, and even the sentimental ending is knowingly played down. Roberts writes perfectly for Matt Smith’s doctor and he delivered one of his best performances yet. The monologue with Stormy in the star swept bedroom was nothing short of beautiful and his physical performance is a joy to behold. The epilogue sets up next week’s finale with restless anticipation as Stephen Moffat’s intricately woven plot comes full circle. One thing is for sure though- Moffat’s dénouement has a tough act to follow.

Next week- Winston Churchill, Silurians, Daleks, The Silence, Impossible Astronauts and the Death of The Doctor…

Written by This is England ‘86’s Jack Thorne, The Fades tells the story of Paul, a young man who is struggling to come to terms with his parents’ recent divorce, his repellent twin sister and an embarrassing case of bed-wetting. Things start to take a more otherworldly turn when he starts having apocalyptic dreams, and it’s not long before he starts to notice the fades, spirits of the dead trapped on earth and desperately trying to ‘ascend’. The premise might not sound overly original, with youth-oriented, supernatural shows like Being Human on our screens in the UK and True Blood and  The Walking Dead proving very popular in the US, but from its first episode, The Fades seems like a different animal.

It has taken a few years for the tempest resulting from Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross’s ill-judged practical joke to calm, with BBC controllers and show runners having been petrified of transmitting anything that could possibly upset the Daily Mail, but The Fades is a sign that that particular storm may have passed. What is instantly noticeable about The Fades is that it is distinctly adult, and so it should be. Part of the problem with BBC drama over the last few years, is that it can’t compete with the likes of HBO and Channel 4 when it comes to post-watershed content. It is impossible to create mature, gritty drama with adult themes whilst still pandering to those who will pick up the phone to complain as soon as they hear the work ‘fuck’. Not that the Fades is any way obscene, it is simply representative of the way that young people talk, and also has some much-welcomed gore (this week we are treated to some improvised eye surgery, for example).

The opening episode was packed full of pop culture references, with nods to Wes Craven’s Nightmare On Elm Street and the graphic novels of Alan Moore suggesting that it’s writers are informed and not simply writing a teen horror series due to the current zeitgeist. Thorne’s script is not only refreshingly intelligent, but also very funny; his black humor helping to add depth to our central character and his best mate Mac, played by Psychoville’s Daniel Kaluuya. We also have a supporting role for Tom Ellis, taking a step away from the hugely successful sit-com Miranda as a narcissistic schoolteacher whose life is about to take a nasty turn. In the central role is ex-child actor and Coronation Street alumnus Iain De Caestecker, who finds the shyness and confused alienation of the adolescent Paul impressively.  Lily Loveless also does a wonderful job as Anna, Paul’s spiky twin sister that seems to be annoyed by his very existence, providing some good laughs along the way.

In an episode that races through a considerable amount of exposition, there is a lot of potential in the opener, and it looks as if BBC Three have finally got an intelligent drama with some substance and depth on their hands.

The Fades is on BBC Three on Wednesday 21st September at 9pm.

Tonight’s episode sees a newly reinstated Harry Pearce forced to deal with some skeletons in his rather roomy closet, as the UK starts making plans for The Special Relationship 2.0, by “getting into bed with Russia”, partly due to America’s heavy handed attitude to the middle-east.  Joining the cast is an abrasive IT whizz named Calum Reed, (whom those familiar with Spooks’ MO will recognize as the diversion in the inevitable hunt for this series’ new mole) and a new section chief, the divertingly attractive Erin Watts, successor of the now tarmac-splattered Lucas North.  Watts is played by True Blood’s Lara Pulver, who despite being an accomplished actress, seemed a little out of step with the show’s style at first, but with obligatory mole duties having been past to her, and a potentially interesting relationship with Max Brown’s Dimitri waiting in the wings, the character could well be a key player in the show’s conclusion.  Peter Firth’s performance as Sir Harry was unsurprisingly as solid as ever, and the introduction of  some perfectly cast, dodgy characters from his past suggest that personalities will clash spectacularly over the coming weeks.

The show’s personality remains relatively unchanged since its arrival as the British answer to 24 in 2002.  It still possesses the same cavalier attitude towards conventional character arcs and plot devices; the same unrelenting pacing; ludicrously advanced technology; up-to-the-minute pop culture references (the death of Bin Ladin this week) and a disregard for realism.  None of these things are a criticism, Spooks remains what it always was- an unashamedly entertaining 60 minute prime-time romp about spies, that has always been a safe bet in terms of ratings for the BBC.

One of the most enjoyable things about getting stuck into a new series of Spooks, is that by the time the next episode comes round, there have been so many plot developments, character introductions and twists that the “previously on…” section has always provoked comments in our house like “Oh, I forgot he killed her”, “so are they shagging now?” and “who the hell was that guy!?!” Episode one was great fun, and provided lots to be getting on with, including an illegitimate child, another sneaky American, the continuation of Harry and Ruth’s will-they-won’t-they? relationship and the latest person to infiltrate MI5, so it looks like normal service is resumed.

Much has been made of the Beeb’s decision to put Spooks up against ITV’s hugely popular Downton Abbey, but with Digiboxes and iPlayers, Spooks shouldn’t suffer too much.  It’s perhaps a good time to wrap the series up as the formula has become a familiar one and, although it has a new, more orchestral score, the show’s dynamic multi-screen visuals and wooshing .com titles have become dated to the point of being laughable, but one things is certain, judging by it’s opening episode, it’s still as much fun as it always was!

Toby Whithouse’s The God Complex saw our central trio materialize inside an eerily Kubrickian hotel, consisting of a network of winding corridors with rooms that house their guests’ most acute fears.  The main threat however, came from a minotaur who, in a nice DW twist, feeds on peoples’ fundamental faith, causing Amy to question her unfaltering confidence in The Doctor’s ability to save her.  Rory’s relationship with the Doctor changed for ever during the climax of last week’s outing, and the final scene felt like a turning point, but still their departure was an unexpected epilogue.  However, fans of the Ponds needn’t fret too much, as Karen Gillan divulged that she was returning for the 7^th series at Comic-Con earlier this year.

The God Complex was penned by long term DW writer Toby Whithouse, who has previously written episodes like The School Reunion and last year’s Vampires in Venice, and his latest episode felt very much like old school Doctor Who.  It’s been a while since we’ve had a non-CG monster on the show, but the space minotaur unfortunately never really provided the threat that was necessary to drive the plot, the main shocks coming from the creepy clown, hysterical ventriloquist dummies and our old friends,The Weeping Angels.  The rooms containing peoples’ worst nightmares was a great idea but seemed a little like a missed opportunity; we never got to find out The Doctor’s phobias (although it was teasingly alluded to) and what happened to “whatever holds the image of an angel becomes itself an angel”?

Amongst the guest stars is a barely recognisable David Walliams as Gibbis; a member of an alien raced famed for it’s cowardice.  It has become somewhat of a tradition to cast popular comedians in Doctor Who, with previous parts for Simon Pegg, James Cordon, Peter Kay and Catherine Tate, and Walliams put in a good performance.  He was given some of the best lines in an episode whose gag rate was a bit hit and miss (the quip about “lining the streets of his home planet with trees to ensure invading forces could march in the shade” was a particularly shiny diamond in the rough.)  Matt Smith delivered the goods as usual with a script that had a noticeably Tennantesque feel to it, and Gillan and Darvill continue to grow into their respective roles.

The idea that one’s faith can be potentially deadly, provided an interestingly adult subtext without becoming overwhelming or didactic, and our dying monster’s deathbed monologue was typically grandiose (despite the fact that you could see the twist coming from a mile off).  It was also stylishly directed by Nick Hurran, whose use of Dutch camera angles and Hitchcock zooms gave the episode an impressive, cinematic quality, but the episode will be most memorable for its ending.  If this is the end of miss pond, I shall miss her, but I would be very surprised not to see her turn up out of the blue in Moffat’s season finale The Wedding Of River Song in a couple of weeks time.

Next week: The return of James Cordon and the Cybermen!

This week’s episode is the closest we’ve come to the “Doctor-Lite” shows of the RTD era since 10 became 11, with a virus that only affects two-hearted races prohibiting the Doctor from entering the fray and giving writer Tom MacRae an opportunity to further explore the relationship between the two companions.  There have been times over the last two series at which Amy’s unfaltering affection towards her lovably devoted, but somewhat nerdy husband has been difficult to understand.  At times this was an intentional plot device and at others it became a tad problematic, but The Girl Who Waited puts any doubts about their love for each other to bed.  MacRae’s script gifted Karen Gillan the opportunity to show her acting muscle, and she repaid him it by turning in her best performance on DW so far.  Both Gillan and Arthur Darvill have really grown into their roles in this series, and both get an opportunity to shine in this week’s outing.  According to show runner Steven Moffat, the original plan was to cast an older actress for the role, but Gillan insisted on playing it with prosthetics; a decision that really paid off as she finds the subtle distinctions between the young and older Amy perfectly.  In tweaking her vocal intonation and modifying her trademark girlish saunter, she does a great job of creating a believable and recognizable Amy well into her fifties.  She really sells older Amy’s resentment at being abandoned by The Doctor one too many times, as well as showing us glimpses of the innocence she has lost, as her love for her husband starts to dilute her bitterness.  The robot Rory is also a great touch.

With the exception of a stunning scene set in an astonishingly beautiful country garden with a DW twist, the episode is a relatively low-buget affair by Doctor Who’s standards, and the focus is very much on our central couple.  The love story builds through much robot-bashing and lens flare towards the biggest emotional climax of series 6, as The Doctor leaves Rory with another characteristically impossible decision to make. The resulting tear-jerking exchange through the doors of the TARDIS is wonderfully played, and Murray Gold’s score soars to ensure there’s not a dry eye in the living room.  All in all, in an episode that looked in danger of being a mid-season filler, Tom MacRae’s emotionally charged screenplay and a pair of career performances made The Girl Who Waited the most enjoyable of the second half of the season, showing that you don’t necessarily need big special effects, or even The Doctor to pack the biggest punches.

Next week: a Minotaur, a clown, David Walliams and some really dodgy wallpaper.

Jack Pelling