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"SMITH AND JONES – A LUNAR LAUNCH FOR MARTHA JONES"

Series 3 of Doctor Who kicks off with Smith and Jones, a pacey, inventive, and often downright silly adventure that introduces Freema Agyeman’s Martha Jones in classic RTD fashion—a grounded family, a familiar modern setting, and then a sudden jump to the absolutely absurd. Like Rose and New Earth before it, the series opener is less about plot complexity and more about character establishment. And in that regard, this story delivers.

Martha’s introduction is instantly charming: a confident, capable medical student caught in the middle of family drama and professional duty. Freema Agyeman nails her first appearance, portraying Martha as clever, calm under pressure, and independent—an ideal foil to the now grieving, slightly manic Tenth Doctor. Her scientific background sets her apart from Rose, and the way the Doctor essentially tests her throughout the story ("you're clever, that means you’re useful") establishes her as a competent companion from the off.

There’s also a very Davies-esque efficiency in how the Doctor is reintroduced to the audience. New viewers get all the essentials—the two hearts, the blue police box, the Time Lord title—doled out naturally throughout the story without slowing the pace. The moment the Doctor first appears in the street, nonchalantly removes his tie, says “Like so, see?” and walks off is wonderfully mad, teasing both Martha and the audience with a mystery that only makes sense much later.

JUDOON ON THE MOON

The high-concept idea—an entire hospital yoinked to the Moon—is pure popcorn Doctor Who. The effects hold up reasonably well, with shots of the lunar surface and the stomping Judoon ships providing solid spectacle. The green screen shows through a bit, but the visual scope is ambitious for early Revival-era Who, and the design of the Judoon, with their heavy armour and rhino heads, remains one of the show’s more memorable creations.

The Judoon, introduced as a galactic police force-for-hire, are simultaneously menacing and amusing. Their logic-first approach to justice (“non-hu-man!”) and trademark guttural language ("Sko! Blo! Mo!") have cemented their place in the Who iconography, despite being hilariously bad at aiming. They’re like militarised, bureaucratic stormtroopers with space rhinos for heads.

BLOOD AND CHAOS

The plot is straightforward, but it hangs on Anne Reid’s delightfully evil Plasmavore, a killer alien hiding among humans by drinking blood with a straw—Doctor Who never quite loses its fondness for the silly macabre. Reid, a veteran of both Classic (The Curse of Fenric) and New Who, sinks her teeth into the role (literally) and sells the character’s deception and cruelty with relish.

Direction by Charles Palmer maintains a snappy rhythm, especially during the middle stretch where chaos reigns in the hospital halls. Judoon marching, patients panicking, and the Doctor frantically racing to solve the mystery—it's pure RTD-era bedlam. The extras do commendable work selling the panic.

However, that chaos comes with a downside. The plot does become something of a runaround halfway through, with Martha and the Doctor zipping from room to corridor, and the secondary threat of oxygen depletion is largely ignored until the final act. There's a ticking clock, but the script forgets to wind it.

KISSES, CLOWNING, AND CHARACTER

The biggest misstep is the Doctor’s kiss. Used here to transfer genetic data to Martha (sci-fi nonsense, but sure), it unintentionally kickstarts her unrequited crush subplot for the season. It’s a bit of a whiplash moment—he barely knows her, and there’s no chemistry yet to justify it beyond a plot device. Worse, it undermines the more organic development of Martha’s admiration for the Doctor across the episode.

That said, Tennant is firing on all cylinders. His post-Rose Doctor has a new edge—still bouncing with energy and quips, but there's an underlying grief that colours his performance, especially when he briefly mentions Rose. The scene where he pretends to be a dim human under interrogation is a fun highlight, as is his willingness to risk himself by allowing the Plasmavore to suck his blood, knowing it’ll expose her.

Less convincing is the "expel all radiation via silly dance" sequence. Tennant just about sells it, but it's one of those tonal wobbles that lands somewhere between goofy charm and embarrassing filler.

A SOLID LAUNCHPAD

Smith and Jones is a soft reboot that mostly succeeds. It introduces a new companion with flair, gives Tennant space to shift gears post-Rose, and peppers in just enough spectacle to be memorable. The Judoon are fun, the Plasmavore is gruesomely entertaining, and the Moon-bound hospital is a great setpiece, even if the story itself doesn’t do much beyond the introduction of new toys.

The emotional core is still there, and it’s in the small things—Martha’s decision to help rather than panic, the Doctor grieving through chaos, and a lovely final moment where she negotiates a trip in the TARDIS on her terms. That’s the real win.

📝THE BOTTOM LINE:

An entertaining and energetic opener that introduces Martha Jones with confidence and flair, Smith and Jones is a slightly wobbly but fun blend of sci-fi spectacle and character reintroduction. Not quite a classic, but a solid new start. 8/10