An Oxbridge college hiding a renegade Time Lord. An invisible time ship and a TARDIS disguised as a study. A space station in the distant future attacked by unearthly, glowing soldiers, intent on finding the person who will bind the whole lot together. Gallifreyan folklore and time paradoxes, comedy college porters and policemen.
It sounds like perfect Doctor Who, an interweaving of British eccentricity and high concept sci-fi on an epic scale; but then Shada was released on VHS in 1992 and everybody realised that the parts possibly didn’t add up to all that much - at least, the parts they managed to film.
Of course, there have been exhaustive attempts to recreate the story since then in various media - in print, on audio, using animation - and the first of them, it turns out, is this: The Dimension Riders. Daniel Blythe swaps out a fictional Cambridge college for a fictional Oxford college, Tom Baker’s ebullient season 17 Doctor for Sylvester McCoy’s scheming New Adventures incarnation, but essentially all the elements are there. He even puts his villain in a wide-brimmed floppy hat.
To be fair to Blythe, he’s not coy about hiding his source of inspiration, peppering the story with references to The Worshipful and Ancient Law Of Gallifrey et al, in a way that rather fails to explain the backstory but probably made fans happy at the time. Even so, it's a bold move to make such an explicit connection just a year after Shada's first official release, given that people were bound to draw comparisons and find this iteration rather less involving and considerably less witty. The Oxford scenes are kind of fun and have some of the charm that the New Adventures range has mostly lacked at this point, but they obviously can’t compete with Douglas Adams dialogue so it all feels like a lacklustre retread of the same idea (one gets the impression that this is written by an Oxford graduate eager to write his university into the canon). As for the stuff in space, it’s populated by macho cliches with near-identical names and near-identical angst, barking orders and threats at each other before turning out to be rough diamonds willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and therefore utterly unmemorable (after a while I gave up trying to keep track of which one lost his brother in some kind of accident or which one was in charge or which ones were girls and which were boys). There’s a lot of building tension and waiting around in prison cells, followed by plenty of shooty bangy stuff with whizzy monsters, and honestly I can’t say whether it’s genuinely difficult to follow or I had just zoned out by that point.
On the plus side, by splitting the Doctor, Bernice and Ace across three different times and locations, the story does afford them each a role that plays to their strengths - Bernice enjoying collegiate hospitality, the Doctor being chatty and clever, Ace running around being macho - and there is something about the construction of the narrative, which doesn’t draw these threads together until the conclusion, that is actually as forward-looking as it is beholden to the past. It’s the sort of trick Steven Moffat repeatedly played, pulling together apparently disparate plot threads with a clever twist; unfortunately the twist, such as it is, can been seen a mile off, and any opportunity for a clever climax is sacrificed for a leap into surrealism and a tired retreat of the ending to The Curse of Fenric. Once again, Blythe makes the reference explicit, but that’s not enough to excuse it when, fundamentally, it doesn’t make sense to end the story with a chess game and Ace having trust issues.
I’m a huge fan of the Cartmel era, I love his giving the Doctor control of the stories again and I think season 26 gives Ace one of the most interesting emotional journeys any character has experience in Doctor Who (including later eras in which ‘emotional journeys’ were much more the series’ bread and butter). But it didn’t half become a millstone around the neck of this range: it’s absurd to think that anyone would be fooled into thinking the Doctor wasn't in control all along, and yet apparently Ace is still being surprised by it, full of teenage rage when he appears to hand the TARDIS over to his enemy, even though she is now in her twenties, has spent years battling Daleks, can hold her own amongst the aforementioned macho grunts and has watched the Doctor save the day again and again. If she finds trust so difficult after all that, why on earth is she travelling with him?! For that matter, why on earth does he still tolerate her presence when she is clearly such a liability? It was a Doctor Who Magazine review of the Big Finish audio Colditz that compared Ace to Twin Peaks’ Nadine Hurley, a grown woman who thinks she is a teenager, the only embarrassing difference being that Ace wasn’t supposed to be played for laughs. On the basis of this material, we shouldn’t be laying any of the blame on Sophie Aldred - grown-woman-playing-a-teenager-Ace is every bit as embarrassing in print as in performance.
There are plenty more meaningful looks and unresolved tensions between the Doctor and his companions to suggest that we’re going on a journey with this tedious atmosphere of mistrust, further highlighting the chasm between the Doctor Who the story tries to evoke and the point this series has reached; somewhere along the line, the seventh Doctor’s tendency towards manipulation has been subsumed in a growing suggestion that he is neither trustworthy nor likeable. Bernice and Ace both depart in the TARDIS apparently unwillingly, compelled by some sadomasochistic urge to go through another angsty crisis of trust when more people die. Had everyone involved forgotten that these adventures are, on some level, meant to be fun?
Whatever the logic driving the overriding tone, it made me want to go scurrying to any of the other versions of Shada. Even the VHS one.