Movement Point

Table for One: France ’44 (Victory Games) Review

April 17, 2026April 16, 2026 by Chris Baer

Wargaming boasts a few eternal chestnuts, conflicts and battles that publishers, designers, and, it must be said, gamers, just can’t get enough of: Waterloo, Gettysburg, Stalingrad, the Bulge, and, of course, D-Day. The evergreen popularity of these topics speaks to their role as hinges, moments when fates of empires and nations hang in the balance; one of wargaming’s attractions is the ability to revisit, in decidedly distanced form, the choices and challenges faced by the real-world combatants, to see how history might have unfolded differently or to understand why the cards played out as they did.

It’s a bold step, then, for Victory Games, that subsidiary of Avalon Hill comprised mostly of refugees from the lamented SPI, to have published France ’44, a game on the Allies’ drive to the Rhine in 1944 and 1945, that starts after D-Day and ends before V-E Day. No invasion, no desperate attempt to break out from the beachhead, no fear of being pushed back into the sea, no drive deep into Germany once the Westwall falls. By the time July 1944—when the game starts—rolled around, the end of the war was scripted but not yet written, with plenty of hard miles between the bocage of Normandy and the shores of the Rhine but the destination little in doubt, plenty to build a game around. Still, without that strong hook of D-Day to grab gamers, how does France ’44 hope to compete with the dozens of similar games on the market? By turning the basic “rules” of wargaming on their dusty heads.

Overview

France ’44: The Allied Crusade in Europe
Victory Games, 1986
Designed by Mark Herman

France ’44 arrives in a standard Avalon Hill/Victory Games slipcase box, irritatingly sized at 8 and 3/8″ wide and 11 and 1/2″ long, just a smidge too small for a sheet of Letter-sized paper. (I would love to hear the story of just why AH made their boxes in such non-standard dimensions, with the concomitant shrinking of all the maps and booklets that needed to fit into them.) The cover artwork, by Jim Talbot, evocatively (if improbably) depicts a Sherman blazing away on the move at multiple enemies at once, the commander firing the cupola-mounted machine gun as the main armament looses a round.

The contents are such that the 2″ tall box feels cavernous by contrast: one saddle-stapled, black-and-white printed twenty-page rulebook; one matte map, printed on thick paper, measuring 22″ by 32″; a single, die-cut, back printed countersheet with 130 1/2″ inch counters (essentially a half-countersheet by modern reckoning); two d6; and a plastic counter tray with clear snap-on lid that fits snugly in the bottom of the box. Notably, all player charts and tables fit on the map, so that there are no loose tables. Such an economical format suggests that this might have seen life as a magazine game in Strategy & Tactics had it been submitted to SPI rather than VG, but it was marketed at a price of US$15 at the time. Though, of course, a game’s true worth is measured by more than its weight in paper.

In 2020, Compass Games re-released France ’44 in a “Designer Signature Edition,” a moniker Compass gives to previously published games that are gussied up (and usually super-sized) for a new audience, featuring a mounted map, a mini-map for the congested Normandy area, two countersheets (adding mostly informational markers), various charts and tables, and custom dice for the revised combat system. This review focuses solely on the original 1986 Victory Games release.

Armor units in France ’44 are divisions while infantry units are corps, with HQ units representing Army HQs. The counters, by art director Ted Koller, hew broadly to Victory Games’ simple yet pleasing palette, Allied units in olive green and German units in a greyish-tan. Standard NATO symbology differentiates unit types, and the various nationalities on the Allied side (American, British, French, Canadian, and Polish) are denoted by the color-fill on the unit symbol. Units receive historical Order of Battle denotations, but other than the British 79th Armored Division, which receives bonuses in certain combat situations thanks to its “Funnies,” the designations are for flavor and initial setup only. (Thankfully, VG does not apply differential colors or rules for the laughably “elite” German units that so many wargames insist on calling out as somehow worthy of special attention.)

The counters in my copy show very tight registration with no instances of color bleed or off-printing, and they round nicely with my handy dandy counter corner rounder. The cuts are not uniformly deep, requiring some extra X-Acto work here and there to remove them cleanly from the counter sheet and each other. The dreaded Avalon Hill/Victory Games side nibs—those attachment points to the countersheet that fall on the side of the counter rather than the corners—do make an appearance here, as in another VG game from 1986, James Bond 007 Assault!. Unlike corner nibs, which are easily removed, side nibs defy simple remediation and just look tacky. The side nibs are not consistent, nor indeed do they even appear with any degree of regularity or discernible pattern. One can but nod sagely, acknowledging that the ways of the Monarch-Avalon Printing Company will remain forever inscrutable…

Doctor Who Project: The Curse of Fenric

April 2, 2026 by Chris Baer

Behold, the end of the war.

For all the historical periods Doctor Who has mined over the course of a quarter century, the series waits until the bitter end to visit the 1940s, World War II in particular, in Ian Briggs’ “The Curse of Fenric” (Story Production Code 7M). Given the number of period dramas (and comedies) the BBC has set in that era, it’s rather surprising that this specific setting lies dormant for so long—the costume closet from Dad’s Army is available to plunder the whole time, after all. Perhaps the relative seriousness of the topic, and the still somewhat fresh memories of the conflict, keep the series at bay, especially in an era of increasing international sales for Doctor Who, and it’s telling that Briggs’ story hews away from the strictly historical to present instead a tale of ancient horror with a distinctly Nordic twist.

The Seventh Doctor and Ace arrive at a secret Royal Navy base in Northumbria, likely around 1943 given clues about the state of the war, right at the same time that several rafts full of Soviet commandos storm the beaches at nearby Maiden’s Point, suggesting that perhaps the base isn’t so secret after all. The Doctor strolls right in, his air of authority such that several guards with rifles simply let him saunter to the office of Dr. Judson (Dinsdale Landen), a cryptographer working on deciphering German naval ciphers using his “Ultima” machine, an analytic proto-computer that can work through “[m]ore than a thousand combinations an hour, with automatic negative checking.” Like the Doctor, the Soviets also seek the scientist, but their sealed orders further include references to the engraved runes found in the crypt of the local parish church, built, as such things occasionally are, on the remains of an old Viking cemetery.

Briggs and returning director Nicholas Mallett deftly build up the tension in the first of four episodes, establishing a wide cast of characters while drip-feeding the development of the titular curse, one laid upon a group of Vikings forced to land on the British coast when “the fingers of death reached out from the waters to reclaim the treasure we have stolen” from far off lands. Their descendants go on to populate this corner of the British Isles, passing the curse down through the generations. The production team uses the various locations (scattered across England from Kent to Dorset) to excellent effect, much as “Delta and the Bannermen” benefits from its copious and lush location shooting. Several scenes shot underwater, looking up at passing boats and swimmers (in an undeniable homage to Jaws), plus excessive use of a fog machine, keeps the audience on edge, waiting for the creature responsible for the grisly deaths of several Soviet soldiers to finally reveal itself.

Dr. Judson and the camp commandant, Commander Millington (Alfred Lynch), share more than a steely desire to defeat the Nazis, the latter so engrossed that he has turned his office into a replica of “the German naval cipher room in Berlin,” giving viewers the initial thought that, shades of “Inferno,” the British are under fascist control in an alternate universe. (And indeed, it’s an exceedingly odd red herring to throw at the audience, a thread that never goes anywhere beyond signaling that Millington takes his job perhaps too seriously and/or is somewhat unhinged.) The two old school chums also harbor a deep-seated fascination with old Viking legends, collaborating in deciphering the runes in the crypt, which, as it turns out, were partially translated by the grandfather of the current vicar, the Rev. Mr. Wainwright (Nicholas Parsons). The ancient carvings tell of the day when “[t]he Wolves of Fenric shall return for their treasure, and then shall the dark evil rule eternally,” all because the Vikings stole a vase from the Far East. Granted, the squat ceramic flask does hold the incorporeal, sentient essence of all evil…

Doctor Who Project: Ghost Light

April 2, 2026March 2, 2026 by Chris Baer

My theories appall you, my heresies outrage you, I never answer letters, and you don’t like my tie.

Doctor Who under producer John Nathan-Turner draws heavily on the concept of the Doctor’s long life, filled with adventures that the audience knows nothing about; these lacunae add mystery and motivation to the stories we do see, with the peripatetic Gallifreyan having been to a planet before, altering its trajectory, or having previously crossed paths with a foe we’re only meeting for the first time. Marc Platt, in “Ghost Light” (Story Production Code 7Q), takes this device a step further, basing his tale of Victorian horror on a moment from a companion’s past instead of drawing on the Doctor’s history. Ace, as a thirteen year-old in Perivale, hopped the fence of a decrepit house, only to find something terrifying within; and the Doctor, for reasons that seem somewhat callous, takes her to that house in the nineteenth century to confront her fear. (After disregarding her coulrophobia in “The Greatest Show in the Galaxy” with nearly catastrophic results, one might think the Doctor would leave well enough alone.)

The setting certainly qualifies as eminently creepy, with a maid sliding a tray of food through a slot in a thick, barred metal door for unknown beasts; a mentally-addled explorer, Redvers Fenn-Cooper (Michael Cochrane) wandering the halls of the dimly lit manor in search of himself; large stuffed emus with glowing eyes at every intersection, seemingly watching all that transpires; and the lord of the house, Josiah Smith (Ian Hogg), flinching from light despite his sunglasses. Platt and director Alan Wareing take pains to develop a gloomy, uneasy atmosphere, giving viewers nothing solid to grasp (and very little to see), essential for horror to take root. Indeed, the three episode “Ghost Light” marks Doctor Who‘s first attempt at genuine, claustrophobic frightfulness since “Horror of Fang Rock,” notable for being confined, mostly, to a single indoor location, as with the present story.

The Doctor and Ace appear just as an envoy from the Royal Society, the Reverend Ernest Matthews (John Nettleton) arrives to take Josiah to task for supporting Darwin’s theory of evolution. Curiously, no one seems surprised in the slightest at the time travellers’ sudden presence, though Ace’s off-the-shoulder blouse causes extreme consternation. After a slight moment of dismay when Redvers, tied up in a straitjacket and locked in a barren room, is bombarded by light from his radioactive snuffbox, everyone seems quite content to sit down for a pleasant evening meal, looked after by the requisite evil Victorian housekeeper, Mrs. Pritchard (Sylvia Syms), and the head butler, Nimrod (Carl Forgione), who just so happens to be a Neanderthal. It’s that kind of story.

Upon realizing that the Doctor has brought her to Perivale, to the one house she never wanted to visit again, Ace runs away, blindly taking the lift into the cellar where the ominous metal door has been opened somehow. The inhabitants have knocked out Nimrod, who was operating a distinctly non-Victorian control panel beneath a glowing panel of lights, and they set their sights on Ace. Mrs. Pritchard, alas, has shut down the lift, leaving Ace to confront two of the most nattily dressed monsters since the Jagaroth…

Doctor Who Project: Battlefield

March 2, 2026February 2, 2026 by Chris Baer

You know, I think I’m rather enjoying this.

Having already shown a deft hand at nostalgia in “Remembrance of the Daleks,” Ben Aaronovitch opens Doctor Who‘s final season with “Battlefield” (Story Production Code 7N), returning a beloved ally rather than a shopworn foe to the series: the Brigadier. Two of them, actually. In short order viewers see Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart (Nicholas Courtney) wrestling with a potted tree in a garden center, having given up both teaching (as established in “Mawdryn Undead“) and brigadiering; and then Brigadier Winifred Bambera (Angela Bruce), rushing to the scene of an accident near (fictional) Lake Vortigern in Southern England, where a nuclear missile convoy has crashed into an archeological dig site with typical UNIT efficiency.

The Doctor detects a broadcast from the selfsame time and location in a very gloomy TARDIS and heads there forthwith. (Per Paul Kirkley’s Space Helmet for a Cow , the console prop had been discarded between seasons and not yet fully replaced, necessitating some lighting slight-of-hand). Pulling out a set of old UNIT identification cards from his hat (belonging to the Third Doctor and Liz Shaw) for himself and Ace, the Doctor attempts to convince Brigadier Bambera to let him poke around, but apparently she never got the memo about the Doctor and his ontological eccentricities. All the while, projectiles from space fall into nearby hills, eliciting very little curiosity from anyone but Ace. These meteors contain armored knights with futuristic weaponry, also summoned, apparently, by the signal from the vicinity of the dig site.

Aaronovitch and director Michael Kerrigan waste little time in “Battlefield,” with the largest group of knights engaging a solitary knight in battle—via sword, blaster, and grenade, in traditional knightly fashion—by the halfway mark of the first of four episodes. Even with a large guest cast and multiple plot strands to establish, including Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart coming out of retirement once Bambera reports the Doctor’s return to UNIT HQ, the action keeps pace with the exposition. (Though perhaps, as in the Third Doctor’s UNIT days, Kerrigan devotes a bit too much time to a helicopter flying back and forth, if only to get as much value out of the aircraft rental as they can.)

Copious references to the Arthur legend leave little doubt about the story’s direction—the local pub’s CAMRA-listed beer is called “Arthur’s Ale” after all—so that when one of the knights, Ancelyn (Marcus Gilbert), calls the Doctor “Merlin,” the experience is one of knowing appreciation rather than shock, at least until he starts talking about time travel and the relative dimensionality of the TARDIS. Pulling the Arthurian romance into the future rather than sending the Doctor back to the past feels like one of those obvious concepts that somehow never made it into Doctor Who until now, and the anachronism of plate armor together with laser guns comes across as clever and fresh.

Too, the conflation of the Doctor with Merlin fits neatly into the effort by producer John Nathan-Turner and script editor Andrew Cartmel to deepen the sense of mystery behind the Doctor’s past (and his future possibilities). “Oh, he has many names, but in my reckoning, he is Merlin,” proclaims Ancelyn, even as the Doctor evinces no knowledge of the knight or of the summons from Excalibur that has led everyone to this moment—including Mordred (Christopher Bowen), leader of the other group of knights, who cowers upon realizing the old foe Merlin has returned. And where Mordred can be found, his mother cannot be far away…

Doctor Who Project: The Greatest Show in the Galaxy

February 2, 2026January 5, 2026 by Chris Baer

We want more.

Doctor Who, under producer John Nathan-Turner and script editor Andrew Cartmel, can scarcely be accused of false modesty. Case in point, the decision to end Season Twenty-Five with Stephen Wyatt’s “The Greatest Show in the Galaxy” (Story Production Code 7J), a less-than-subtle title that refers as much to our favorite series, following a jaunty, peripatetic time traveller, as to the intergalactic circus that the Seventh Doctor and Ace decide to visit after a junk mail robot singing its praises materializes within the otherwise inviolable confines of the TARDIS. But with the series forever balanced between continuation and cancellation, a little horn-tooting can be forgiven.

An overall lack of nuanced presentation pervades Season Twenty-Five, and Wyatt’s entry continues the trend. The Doctor spends not five minutes on the planet Segonax, home of the Psychic Circus, before declaring, “Something evil’s happened here, I can feel it.” The Doctor likewise immediately declares the presence of evil in “The Happiness Patrol” rather than letting an unsettling atmosphere develop organically, an odd decision on the part of Wyatt and director Alan Wareing given that the story otherwise takes its time establishing much of anything at all. With four episodes to spare, there’s no narrative pressure here, and ample time is spent layering images and characters and scenes, a luxury after two three-episode stories in a row.

The juxtaposition of a circus tent replete with whip-wielding ringmaster (Ricco Ross) against two circus performers scurrying across wasteland fleeing from kites being flown by eerie clowns in a hearse—all while the Doctor and Ace eat creamed corn out of melons to ingratiate themselves with a local to get directions to the circus—leaves the audience quite befuddled, though not in a disagreeable way. Even the sudden appearance of the Captain Cook (T.P. McKenna), a nineteenth-century British explorer-type straight out of central casting, and his punk-rock partner Mags (Jessica Martin) digging a giant robot out of the ground comes as no real shock at all.

Indeed, throughout much of the first episode, one gets the overwhelming sense that only Doctor Who could throw this welter of concepts onto the screen and not have it written off immediately as farce; though the appearance of Mad Max-wannabe Nord (Daniel Peacock) on a motorized trike and nebbish teen Whizzkid (Gain Sammarco) on a BMX bike, both headed to the Psychic Circus, begins to strain the otherwise ample supplies of audience goodwill. Less charming, the Doctor’s behavior towards Ace, who shows a decided unease with the entire notion of circuses in general and clowns in particular. He practically browbeats his young charge into coming along, completely disregarding her near panic once they reach the rather undistinguished big top of the Psychic Circus. The show must go on, but a more clever means of getting our heroes into trouble might have been better in keeping with the Seventh Doctor’s near-paternal attitude towards the teen from Perivale.

And Ace, as it turns out, is not wrong in the least. Clowns are creepy…

Doctor Who Project: Silver Nemesis

January 5, 2026November 2, 2025 by Chris Baer

This is no madness. ‘Tis England.

For all of producer John Nathan-Turner’s efforts to continually reinvent Doctor Who, he always understands the value of returning to what works, as evidenced by Kevin Clarke’s “Silver Nemesis” (Story Production Code 7K). To paraphrase the old saying about IBM, “No show ever got cancelled by bringing back the Cybermen,” and on the strength of this admittedly derivative three-episode story, the advice stands. Absent from the screen since 1985’s “Attack of the Cybermen,” roughly four years and sixteen stories prior, the menace from Mondas proves fresh enough to distract viewers from the undeniable similarity of “Silver Nemesis” to “Remembrance of the Daleks” just two stories earlier. Not that Clarke’s tale tries to hide the parallels, making the linkage explicit at one point: the Seventh Doctor is settling scores with his enemies, wrapping up “[u]nfinished business,” as he calls it, as though aware his time—or at least that of the series—draws to a close.

Veteran Doctor Who director Chris Clough takes the helm for the second story running, following on from his turn on “The Happiness Patrol” (though that story will be shot after this one), and where the latter (next?) story involves moody studio shooting, “Silver Nemesis” takes full advantage of being set in jolly old England, with bright, beautifully shot location footage of various locales, including a vibrant high street and a not-quite Windsor Castle (Arundel Castle in West Sussex standing in for the exteriors). The sense of lived space, with natural light and wide vistas, helps ground unlikely time travellers from the seventeenth century, wanna-be modern-day Nazis from South America with dodgy accents, and, yes, Cybermen in a contemporary setting, the story taking place mostly on November 23rd, 1988, neatly the same day as the first episode airs—also, not coincidentally, twenty-five years after the initial airing of Doctor Who‘s first episode, a “silver” anniversary present of sorts.

Much like “Remembrance of the Daleks,” the initial episode sets up the various factions at play in the story. De Flores (Anton Diffring), a Nazi holdover hiding in South America, prepares a strike force of Aryan-esque mercenaries committed to bringing about a Fourth Reich. They plan to reach Windsor on November 23rd, and bring with them a small silver bow. Some three hundred and fifty years earlier, Lady Peinforte (Fiona Walker) reinforces the archery theme, shooting an arrow that lands harmlessly next to a pair of unimpressed pigeons in either the most deadpan, or most unintentionally funny, scene ever shot on Doctor Who. She wields a silver arrow, once, along with De Flores’ bow, part of a silver statue she had commissioned of herself from a mysterious ore that fell from the sky.

Said sculpture, the Nemesis statue, flies through the heavens as Comet Nemesis, launched there, as it transpires, by the Doctor. Lady Peinforte’s astronomer (Leslie French) calculates that it will return to Earth exactly three hundred and fifty years after being sent on its long, looping journey; and using a bit of black magic, the blood of the unfortunate mathematician, and a vague bit of knowledge about time travel acquired from who (?) knows where, she and her retainer Richard (Gerard Murphy) travel to present-day Windsor, where her home has been turned into a restaurant. The Doctor and Ace, meanwhile, are also in the vicinity at the time, enjoying a jazz brunch which is rudely interrupted by two headphone-wearing assassins who are, thankfully, not very good at their jobs, allowing our heroes to escape to the TARDIS. The Doctor checks his watch and sees that an alarm he set for this very day, some three hundred and fifty years in the past, requires his attention: Earth is in danger once more.

When the comet lands with a prodigious explosion next to a delightfully telegenic warehouse, it attracts the frenetic fascists, our haphazard guests from the past, the Doctor and Ace, and, inevitably, David Banks…