The Story & the Engine: A Richly Resonant Masterpiece

Every now and then, Doctor Who delivers something so different, so imaginative, that it takes my breath away. The Story & the Engine is just such a story. Unapologetically bold, emotionally rich, and conceptually dazzling, this episode is a striking testament to the creative power of the show at its best. Inua Ellams has given us something rare: a story that is both deeply personal and thematically universal. Moreover, it is, unquestionably, Doctor Who to its very core.

Experimental Brilliance, Rooted in Tradition

This episode is genuinely unlike anything else. Whilst it's tempting to search for comparisons, the truth is there’s nothing quite like it in the show’s long and storied history. It belongs to that select pantheon of experimental stories (e.g. The Edge of Destruction, The Mind Robber, Father’s Day, Turn Left, Listen, Heaven Sent et al.) that challenge format and expectation, and yet feel utterly at home in the Whoniverse.
It makes few, if any, concessions to casual viewers — and I adore it all the more for that. This is not an entry point. It’s a gift to long-time fans who crave boundary-pushing narrative wrapped in deeply thematic storytelling. It is a story to be savoured (like a rich feast), not casually consumed (like a cheap burger).

Emotional Tension Over Frantic Action and Jump Scares

This story is a perfect example of a very different kind of tension — one that trades jump scares and adrenaline for slow-burn emotional unease. At no point does The Story & the Engine aim for the “edge of your seat” suspense of episodes like The Well or 2005’s Dalek. It doesn’t need to. Instead, it cultivates a powerful and lingering emotional tension rooted in uncertainty, betrayal, and shifting boundaries. The initial inscrutability of the Barber — his motivations, his tone, his ambiguous authority — generates a creeping sense of unease. There’s an unsettling ‘offness’ to his presence, a violation, a trusted space becomes subtly unsafe because he is there. It is now his ‘establishment’. The barbershop, once a refuge, becomes compromised. The tension arises not from monsters in the shadows, but from the betrayal of trust and collapse of emotional boundaries.

This contrast is what makes the episode so powerful. It shares some DNA with Lux in its conceptual strangeness, but carves its own path. One moment in particular — when the Doctor is forced into the Barber’s chair against his will, protesting, “I’ve changed my mind” — hits with startling emotional force. It’s not the more familiar dramatics of being captured by monsters or soldiers in the employ of a megalomaniac. It's the mundanity of the barbershop (and its importance as social hub and safe space), and the everyday nature of the people involved, that makes it feel so much more violating. For me, it echoed the scene in Midnight, when the other passengers attempt to expel the Doctor. There’s a discomfort here that is quietly unsettling.

A Story of Safe Spaces, Betrayal, and Belonging

At the heart of The Story & the Engine lies something deeply resonant: the concept of the safe space, and the pain of its betrayal. The Doctor's connection to Omo’s Palace begins with its role as a haven — a place of respite rooted in community, culture, and a sense of kinship. His joy at being welcomed is palpable. And the betrayal of that trust — the realisation that he was seen as a solution rather than a friend — is devastating.

Ncuti Gatwa’s performance here is pitch-perfect. His pain is not just narrative; it’s desperately human (magnified through the lens of a Time Lord who has lived untold lives and years). The depth of his sense of betrayal, the hurt in his eyes — it lands with such weight because Ellams writes it with nuance, and Gatwa plays it with aching truth.

The episode tackles race and identity, yes, but it transcends them, exploring broader themes of isolation, acceptance, and community. It’s a story that speaks to anyone who’s ever felt disconnected from those around them, anyone who thinks they’ve found acceptance, only to have that joy snatched away to be left bereft and feeling like an outcast once more.

The Barber: A Villain Like No Other

Ariyon Bakare’s portrayal of the Barber is nothing short of extraordinary. The moment he names himself, cutting his own hair in defiance, is electric — layered with fury, vulnerability, pride, and centuries of pain. The performance is searing in its intensity, but never one-note. This is not a villain in the traditional sense, but a deeply wounded soul.

That naming scene is a pivotal moment — and such a masterclass in narrative tension. He seems momentarily larger than life, almost mythic, as he carves out a false identity with self-importance and anger — and then, in a beautifully executed turn, the Doctor and Belinda laugh. It’s not cruel. It’s cutting through the illusion. They see the lie. The tension punctures. From that point on, the Barber is still dangerous, but he’s no longer unknowable. He’s (rightly) diminished. His myth starts to unravel, and Abena begins her rise in narrative and emotional importance.

What makes the Barber so compelling is not just the power with which he begins, but the humanity with which he ends. His redemption — and it is a redemption — is one of the most emotionally satisfying narrative beats in the entire episode. It’s not a dramatic reversal or sudden absolution; it’s a gradual, earned realisation. He comes to see the truth in what Belinda tells Abena:

“Hurt people hurt people. Your father hurt you. The difference between good and evil is what we do with that pain.”

It’s a line that echoes throughout the Barber’s arc. He is not evil by nature, but someone who has caused harm in response to the pain and marginalisation he feels he has endured. His actions are those of a person trying to reclaim power in a world that stripped it from him, to simply be credited for what he has done — but in doing so, he risks becoming what he most despises.

The Doctor sees this clearly, warning him that through his actions, the Barber is becoming the very thing he sought to fight against. Crucially, the Barber listens (where ranting megalomaniacs would not). He hears it. In that moment of reflection and emotional reckoning, he begins to step back from the edge.

That recognition — that self-awareness — is the turning point. It’s what makes his redemption not just possible, but earned. Indeed, Bakare sells it perfectly, with a performance that moves from stormy fury to quiet, haunted self-realisation. It’s subtle, and it's devastatingly effective.

The Barber is one of Doctor Who’s most complex antagonists: a force of narrative and myth, yes, but also a man grappling with pain, pride, and the possibility of change. That makes his story not just powerful, but profoundly human.

The Barbershop as Mythic and Cultural Nexus

What struck me most personally is how the barbershop was treated as a sacred narrative space — not just a physical location but a site of cultural and emotional memory. Having worked in sub-Saharan Africa, I’ve experienced firsthand the beauty of communal storytelling: sitting around campfires with local rangers, sharing tales, laughter, and wisdom. Though the barbershop is a very different setting, the storytelling spirit is the same. The connection I felt watching this episode was deeply nostalgic, evoking memories of generosity, acceptance, and the power of shared stories. This is Doctor Who at its most human (and humane).

Though a key motivation for the Doctor’s initial love and patronage of Omo’s Palace is rooted in racial identity and discrimination, the episode succeeds in transcending any single issue. It becomes a universal exploration of the need for safe spaces and the consequences of their violation — whether on the basis of race, gender, neurodiversity, queerness, or any form of marginalisation. The emotional and intellectual core of the story speaks to the universal need for belonging.

The Steampunk-esque Tribal Spider Story Engine: A Conceptual Delight

Now let’s talk about THAT spider.

Some may dismiss it as inconsequential, but I found it delightful — both conceptually and biologically. The spider as a storytelling engine, traversing a cosmic tangle-web of ideas and imagination, felt so right. Its morphology, delightfully consistent with real-world spider taxa that weave tangle webs, added a layer of naturalistic joy. And it was so wonderfully Doctor Who — steampunk, strange, and mythic. In my book? Best spider the show has ever done. How else would you traverse a conceptual web of narrative, memory, and imagination than in a story-powered, mechanical, culturally resonant steampunk arachnid? I LOVED IT.

Final Thoughts

I’ve loved the Fifteenth Doctor’s era from the start, but The Story & the Engine feels like something special — an artistic high point, and a deeply personal favourite. It’s bold, strange, beautiful, and unapologetically itself.

I have one final thing to say.

Inua Ellams, thank you. Truly. The gods of storytelling smile upon us.