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Imagine writing a Doctor Who script after watching a Southern Gothic soap opera, swallowing a thesaurus, and forgetting what show you’re writing for. Welcome to Minuet in Hell, where the Devil might be in the details—but the real horror is the pacing.
So here’s the pitch: we’re in Malebolgia, the 51st state of America because of course we are, where people in powdered wigs scream about demons, and a televangelist named Gideon Crane thinks he’s the Doctor. Except, oops—so does the actual Doctor, who’s locked in an asylum with no memory, jabbering exposition to anyone within five feet. Meanwhile, Charlie is also lobotomised-lite, wandering around delivering diary entries like she’s auditioning for an off-brand Jane Austen reboot.
Oh, and demons. There’s a satanic cult pulling strings behind the scenes, led by the governor (because democracy is dead, clearly), and they’re doing Hell-themed psychological experimentation. Because if your horror cliché bingo card didn’t already have mental asylum, satanic ritual, and evil evangelist, don’t worry—they remembered all three. Badly.
Let’s not forget Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, who gets hauled in for fan service, contributes almost nothing, then disappears into the noise. Seriously, this is like inviting the Brig to dinner and seating him at the kids’ table, then forgetting to serve dessert. Unforgivable.
The Doctor spends a good 60% of this story either:
– Being gaslit by Southern-accented goons
– Arguing with another guy pretending to be the Doctor
– Moaning in confusion about his lost identity
And let’s be clear, Paul McGann does his damnedest. He tries to wring nobility and drama from a plot that’s crumbling like a wet cardboard mansion. But every time he gains traction, someone yells “MY LORD, THE BEAST AWAKENS!” and the whole thing nosedives into carnival nonsense again.
Eventually, we get to the plot twist: the demons aren’t demons—they’re aliens called the Hellfire Club or the Beelzeblobs or something equally subtle—and their influence has been corrupting people’s minds through psychic whatchamajigs. There’s a weapon, there’s a countdown, there’s some convoluted finale where Gideon (fake Doctor guy) sacrifices himself in the most melodramatic way possible. Then… the story just stops. Like an off-switch. No denouement, no satisfying payoff. Just “you’ve been listening to Big Finish” and a slow crawl of disappointment.
What’s tragic is that the concept could work—Doctor Who has done religious hysteria, identity loss, and psychological horror brilliantly before (The Mind of Evil, The Deadly Assassin, Midnight). But this? This is like reheating all those leftovers in a broken microwave and wondering why it tastes like regret.
Final Verdict:
Overacted, overwritten, and overlong. It mistakes loudness for tension and gothic theatrics for drama. And worst of all, it sidelines McGann and Charlie when they were just starting to shine.
0.5 out of 5 lobotomised neurons