The nightmares that are kept in the dark.
Every Holmes needs a Moriarty, ever Scooby Doo needs an embittered janitor. The Doctor has the Master, a rival Time Lord who appears to be slightly more successful at Time Lording than his eccentric fellow Gallifreyan (fully working chameleon circuit on his TARDIS, for starters), apart from one problem: he’s mad. In fact, he’s mad and he’s bad, and most definitely dangerous to know.
Despite the many battles he has fought with the Doctor, there are still a few unanswered questions follow in his wake.
1: Who came first? The Master or the Doctor? And who needs the other more?
2: Unless a whole series of Time Lords called the Cake Shop Owner or the Blacksmith suddenly turn out to have existed all along, he and the Doctor are the two Gallifreyans who’ve picked job title names, and added the definitive article. Why?
3: Did the Doctor pick his healing name in opposition to the chaos and destruction caused by his former classmate? Or did the Master, on observing what a rogue Time Lord can get away with, choose to follow the Doctor and try to beat him, picking his name as a form of oneupmanship?
4: What does he actually hope to gain with all of his nefarious plans? He’s not really equipped to rule, being cruel and despotic and far, far too capricious to do anything other than turn countries, planets, galaxies upside down and then run off, giggling. In short, what does he hope to be the Master of? Despair? Or is he merely trying to spoil the Doctor’s day?
Answer these questions and more over on Anglophenia.
Anglophenia takes a look at the Autons:
Look at these fellas, sauntering down the street as if they haven’t got a care in the world. There’s broken glass under their feet, their right hands are hanging off as if sliced by a samurai sword, but do they care? They do not. They’re just four trendy guys going for a stroll, powered by sheer style. It’s like a scene from Help! or something.
Oh except they’re not, they’re aliens. They’re made from alien plastic and inhabited by an alien consciousness called the Nestene, and those hanging-off fingers conceal a gun, with which they intend to shoot you. Might be an idea to run, and don’t stop to look at the very reasonable prices on their lapels before you do.