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Ah yes, Phantasmagoria—the sophomore outing of Big Finish’s grand Doctor Who experiment, where the Fifth Doctor and Turlough land smack in the middle of 1702 London and immediately get tangled in a spectral stew of highwaymen, séance-obsessed occultists, and posh gentlemen vanishing into walls that literally weep blood. Yes. Weep. Blood. Because subtlety is for cowards.
On paper, this should be gothic gold: ghost stories, creepy clubs, and sinister aristocrats with suspiciously theatrical names. Sir Nikolas Valentine, for example, whose entire vibe screams “final boss of a haunted casino.” But instead of delivering creeping dread, Phantasmagoria kind of flops around like a ghost in a wind tunnel—dramatic, overdone, and mostly just loud.
Mark Gatiss pens this one, and you can absolutely tell. Every scene has the air of a League of Gentlemen sketch where no one remembered to include a punchline. There’s a highwayman (spoiler: it’s the maid), alien villains disguised as foppish gamblers, and a Diabola Club that seems to be run on equal parts menace and melodrama. As for the mystery? It’s less “slow burn intrigue” and more “awkward dinner party where no one knows who’s hosting.”
The pacing? Glacial. The first act is stuffed with so many characters it feels like the audio drama equivalent of trying to squeeze the entire cast of Bridgerton into a phone booth. The Doctor is doing his best, Peter Davison delivering lines like the seasoned pro he is. Turlough, meanwhile, could be replaced by a decorative plant and the story wouldn’t notice. He’s there, I guess. Somewhere.
By the time the aliens show up—and let’s be honest, of course it’s aliens—you’ve probably guessed every single twist, especially if you’ve ever seen Doctor Who before or encountered a story where “the supernatural” turns out to be space nonsense. Valentine is, predictably, an alien war criminal using human souls to juice up his spaceship, and the heroic highwayman is, also predictably, an alien hunting him. It’s all very Scooby-Doo but with more cravats and less charm.
That said, production-wise, things have improved since The Sirens of Time. The sound design doesn’t actively assault your ears this time, and the music is decent—dramatic without sounding like it was lifted from a public domain MIDI library. The performances are spirited, sometimes a little too much so, teetering into camp at multiple points. Which might actually be a plus, depending on your fondness for over-acted villain monologues and baroque nonsense.
Final Verdict:
Phantasmagoria is what happens when a ghost story collides headfirst with a sci-fi cliché generator and nobody steps in to say “maybe tone it down a bit.” It’s more coherent than Big Finish’s debut, but that’s not saying much. There’s a lot of mood, a lot of wigs, and absolutely zero reason to care about anything that happens. It’s not unlistenable, but it’s not exactly good either.
Rating: 2.5 out of 5 cravat-wearing space criminals