Death in Blackpool
by Alan Barnes

I'm a great fan of the Eighth Doctor. I liked the TV Movie. I liked the comic strips. I even liked Zagreus. There, I've said it.

To be honest, my love of Eightie is almost exclusively down to Big Finish's handling of the character (well, let's face it, it wasn't going to be the TVM, was it?) and Paul McGann's performance therein. McGann has for me – speaking as a butch, big-bottomed hetero forty-something man – one of the sexiest voices in audio, and the writing from Big Finish's stable has allowed him to establish the Eighth Doc as a suave and charming, dynamic and enthused, selfish and selfless man. The First Doctor with better legs, basically.

And Death in Blackpool, the Christmas Special that opens (but also appears long before the rest of) the fourth series of the Eighth Doctor's adventures, is every bit the iconic McGann story. Dramatic, funny, pacy, exciting... and a little bit flawed.

First of all, the stuff that works: it's a cracking yarn, to begin with, ostensibly about a rogue Zygon trying to take over Lucie Miller's body. In fact, it's deeper than that, with the Zynog (yes, Zynog) storyline, on the surface the whole point of the piece, turning out to be little more than subtext to a greater love story. Lucie's love for the Doctor and his for her, Pat's love for Lucie, Hagoth's love for Pat. If it were not so well written, it might very well be nauseating.

All the performances are good, with Helen Lederer as Pat a bit of a tour de force. Paul McGann, as ever, very cleverly underplays the Doctor, maintaining his charm throughout periods of petulance and selfishness. But it's Sheridan Smith as Lucie who stars in this piece – more later.

There are also a swathe of smashing gags, including the best use of James Blunt in a humorous context this side of rhyming slang.

On to the stuff that didn't work so well. Father Christmas, to my mind, needn't be there. His role in the narrative is little more than exposition getting other characters from A to B: “Doctor! Pat! Lucie's been XXXX by a YYYY! Come quick!” That sort of thing. If the character were not there, the Doc and Pat could have easily heard of XXXX and gone to YYYY in other ways. Father Christmas also has a little bit of a “is he/isn't he” sub plot going on that is, frankly, pointless. If you think about it, there's really only one satisfying answer to the “is he/isn't he” question when it comes to Father Christmas, and Death in Blackpool plumps – probably rightly – for the other one.

In some places, also, it descends a little too far into silliness. Zynog! I ask you! What race in the galaxy would swap two letters of its own five-letter name, to create a new name for a new species that gets spawned from it? Okay, the Kaleds. I give you that. But Zynog just sounds silly, that's my point.

Lastly, and more importantly, there is a question around Lucie that I need to spoiler-tag (select and roll over to see). This is Lucie's final story, and when the Tardis leaves she's abandoned in 2008, several months if not a year before her earlier self actually went for the job in London that originally found her allied with the Doctor. Apart from the scene in which she realises this, and narrowly avoids meeting her younger self, this is hardly touched upon. I'm left asking, what is she going to do for the next year, effectively with someone else's identity? I don't really mind what the answer is, but the lack of an answer leaves me dangling a bit.

Don't get me wrong, Death in Blackpool is very, very good. A fitting end to the Auntie Pat trilogy, and a fantastic farewell to Lucie, with one of the most heart-rending final speeches from Ms Miller/Ms Smith that I've ever heard on Who. Forget Rose and her toy-boy, weep not for tragic Donna: this is the separation that hurts most. Because Lucie has to leave, and it's down to the Doctor's failings. A bittersweet love story.

Overall, Death in Blackpool is absolutely stonking. Well written by Alan Barnes, well acted throughout, and a joy to listen to. I listened to it twice – I never do that. Ever. And both times, I loved it. That must say something good.

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