In nineteenth-century Germany, the Doctor and Lucie come face to face with the legendary Beast of Orlok.
1 Comment
Styre
on May 9, 2016 at 3:00 AM
THE BEAST OF ORLOK
The Hinchcliffe/Holmes era of Doctor Who fascinates me, mostly because it’s so good: there’s an unquestionable house “style” to their stories, but most reach classic status because of unexpected depth. Survival, lust, passion, fear — they’re all there in season 14 and beyond, and it amazes me that stories based entirely on horror clichés can have so much else going on. Which brings me to “The Beast of Orlok,” an obvious effort by Barnaby Edwards to ape one of Doctor Who’s “golden ages” — but despite an evocative story in the grand Gothic tradition of the Hinchcliffe era, it forgets in its eagerness to actually be about anything.
Don’t get me wrong: there’s a lot to like here, and it’s a fine way to pass a couple of hours, especially on a gloomy day. The early nineteenth-century German setting is intensely claustrophobic: the town of Orlok feels cut off from the world, surrounded by forest and unknowable dangers. All the classic elements are there: terrified townsfolk, gruesome, motiveless murders, and the Doctor and companion thrown into the mix and instantly suspected of the crimes. And yes, after spending most of the story telling a traditional horror tale, Edwards introduces the science fiction twist, bringing the villain’s plan into sharp focus. I usually mention the production at the end of the review, but I’ll mention it here instead: Andy Hardwick’s sound, coupled with Edwards’s direction of his own script, are beyond reproach, lending a creepy vibe to the story that doesn’t relent until the credits roll.
But despite the great reviews that this story has received, I’m struggling to find much to say about it. There are hints of interesting details: the eternal war of the Ratzera system, based upon constant betrayal, or the relationship between Hans, Greta, and the Golem, all spun from the same cloth but raised much differently. I’d be digging well past the script if I tried to say too much more, and so I find myself struggling to continue, and indeed struggling to give an appropriate final score. Instead, I’ll praise the cast, even more so than usual: aside from Paul McGann and Sheridan Smith, whose greatness is almost unquestionable at this point, there’s also Miriam Margolyes, known to me from Blackadder and The Age of Innocence, and giving a fantastic performance as Frau Tod. Peter Guinness makes a great villain, while Samuel Barnett adds humor and strength as Hans.
Ultimately, “Orlok” has me stumped. I enjoyed listening — never felt bored, never looked for a distraction — and felt gripped throughout. Yet after the play was completed, I felt totally uninspired: not a single scene stuck in my mind, not a single moment inspired me to write. How, then, to conclude? How do I rate something that was, in many ways, the ultimate display of style over substance — a loving, well-made tribute to an earlier era without an original thought in its head?
THE BEAST OF ORLOK
The Hinchcliffe/Holmes era of Doctor Who fascinates me, mostly because it’s so good: there’s an unquestionable house “style” to their stories, but most reach classic status because of unexpected depth. Survival, lust, passion, fear — they’re all there in season 14 and beyond, and it amazes me that stories based entirely on horror clichés can have so much else going on. Which brings me to “The Beast of Orlok,” an obvious effort by Barnaby Edwards to ape one of Doctor Who’s “golden ages” — but despite an evocative story in the grand Gothic tradition of the Hinchcliffe era, it forgets in its eagerness to actually be about anything.
Don’t get me wrong: there’s a lot to like here, and it’s a fine way to pass a couple of hours, especially on a gloomy day. The early nineteenth-century German setting is intensely claustrophobic: the town of Orlok feels cut off from the world, surrounded by forest and unknowable dangers. All the classic elements are there: terrified townsfolk, gruesome, motiveless murders, and the Doctor and companion thrown into the mix and instantly suspected of the crimes. And yes, after spending most of the story telling a traditional horror tale, Edwards introduces the science fiction twist, bringing the villain’s plan into sharp focus. I usually mention the production at the end of the review, but I’ll mention it here instead: Andy Hardwick’s sound, coupled with Edwards’s direction of his own script, are beyond reproach, lending a creepy vibe to the story that doesn’t relent until the credits roll.
But despite the great reviews that this story has received, I’m struggling to find much to say about it. There are hints of interesting details: the eternal war of the Ratzera system, based upon constant betrayal, or the relationship between Hans, Greta, and the Golem, all spun from the same cloth but raised much differently. I’d be digging well past the script if I tried to say too much more, and so I find myself struggling to continue, and indeed struggling to give an appropriate final score. Instead, I’ll praise the cast, even more so than usual: aside from Paul McGann and Sheridan Smith, whose greatness is almost unquestionable at this point, there’s also Miriam Margolyes, known to me from Blackadder and The Age of Innocence, and giving a fantastic performance as Frau Tod. Peter Guinness makes a great villain, while Samuel Barnett adds humor and strength as Hans.
Ultimately, “Orlok” has me stumped. I enjoyed listening — never felt bored, never looked for a distraction — and felt gripped throughout. Yet after the play was completed, I felt totally uninspired: not a single scene stuck in my mind, not a single moment inspired me to write. How, then, to conclude? How do I rate something that was, in many ways, the ultimate display of style over substance — a loving, well-made tribute to an earlier era without an original thought in its head?
Simple answer: I enjoyed it, and so will you.
8/10