The monster revealed in the final reel of "Love and Monsters" (or in the pages of several crass publications such as The Daily Star or heat magazine months ahead of broadcast), the Abzorbaloff, was designed by a nine-year old child. What exactly was everyone else's excuse for this childish piece of claptrap?

"Love and Monsters" has been hailed by apologists as an endearing slice-of-life, but its' central themes (the chaos The Doctor attracts, and how ordinary people deal with the repercussions of his actions) are well-trodden paths covered in better episodes in better ways. By now, we get the damn message.

The lack of screentime for The Doctor and Rose was unavoidable due to the series' tight schedule, and could have been dealt with if there had been a strong lead character (a personal preference, if a little fannish, would have been an epilogue to "Rise of the Cybermen" largely focusing on Mickey on the alternate Earth). Instead, we get a comedy nerd in the shape of Elton Pope and the rest of the utterly feckless LINDA. There was a bit of 'subtext' on show - those tracking The Doctor were, like Clive in last series' "Rose", parodies of Who fans themselves. It's ironic, really, that their quiet life as The Doctor fades from their lives their interest is disrupted by a podgy, preachy braggard obsessed with his own ego, who saps their lives and leaves them wishing it had never come back. And we get Jackie bloody Tyler.

A large amount of time is devoted to showing us a) Jackie's a dirty old slapper who's alsmost certainly a regular in the pages of Forty Plus and b) Camille Codhuri really, really should jack this acting lark in and maybe see if she can get into Forty Plus herself. We knew both of these things anyway. Codhuri's repeated lack of acting ability means her sadness is unconvincing, and feels tacky and orchestrated.

The whole thing just seems cheap and low on ideas. Having Elton as a narrator doesn't really work - his voiceovers are too self-consciously those of a fictional character imititating realism (Elton acts like he's doing a voice over for a television episode, dropping broad ominous hints as to the future fate of LINDA - intentional, maybe; endearing, no), the web-cam format too polished to provide the necessary intimacy and sympathy. Danny Zeff's direction is abysmal throughout, failing to rise above the limitations of the script.

Peter Kay is bearable early on when masquerading as Victor Kennedy, if a little too faux-actory and flowery, but then decides to wheel out his usual comedy (i.e. the jokes depend entirely on finding a Northern accent really rather amusing) when he assumes the form of Abzorbaloff. This sucks out any lingering thoughts of drama, without actually managing to be funny. Of course, we get schoolboy innuendo thrown in as well - Bliss just happens to be absorbed into Abzorbaloff's arse (LOL), while one of the few redeeming points, Elton's sweet relationship with Ursula, is cheapened by a graituitous reference to them still having a sex life when she's been turned into a face on a paving stone. The idea that Elton could basically use the woman he loves as a talking fleshlight, and that she would get any real pleasure from this, is crass and boorish. We have bad comedy aplenty too, from The Doctor and Rose capering around after the Hoix monster, and the wince-inducing launderette scene.

LINDA are such a stupid bunch they fail to gain any sympathy. Bliss, Mr. Skinner and Bridget are basically faceless, while that none of them question Victor's poor explanations for their dwindling number is wildly implausible. Tossing crumbs of background detail in our direction is wasted endeavour when the characters are so flat and uninteresting. Shirley Henderson manages a second-rate Julia Sawalha impression, while Simon Greenall, Moya Brady and Kathryn Drysdale are given nothing to work with.

The artificial emotional tweak of Elton's repressed memory fails to pack any punch coming from such a frivolous, self-satisfied script, and seems included either as a leaden attempt at juxtaposing drama with humour (one that fails as this has neither), or to pre-empt any accusations of the episode being light-weight. Too much of the script feels like (not for the first time) a pre-packaged attempt to wind fans of the show up, while smugly deriding their concerns. It's a whole episode basically devoted to Davies showing that his version of Doctor Who is better than anyone else's, without ever bothereing to explain why, instead chosing to second-guess critics. Abysmal.

Review written: 15/07/2006