I’m about to reveal levels of geekery that few people know I possess — once upon a time, I was a fan of Dr. Who, the longest running science-fiction television series of all time. If you’ve never seen Who, I won’t be able to explain its appeal. And if you have seen it… well, I probably still won’t be able to explain its appeal. Made in England on a budget of about $1.98 per hour of screentime, the show is largely an exercise in cheese — cardboard sets, silly storylines, dialogue consisting mainly of doubletalk and nonsense, and really, really primitive visual effects. I’m talking an extra-grande Pizza Hut CheeseLover’s Stuft Crust job here. However, there are times when it feels really good to eat one of those artery-clogging babies, and Dr. Who is much the same. If viewed with the proper mind set, it’s really a fun show.

Unlike a lot of science fiction, especially that of more recent vintage, Who never takes itself too seriously. It also manages to avoid the opposite trap, which is self-conscious, self-mocking irony. The show wears its heart on its sleeve and never tries to be more than it is. It is (or rather was, since it’s no longer being made) a throwback to the naive, make-it-up-as-you-go spirit of the old cliffhanger serials. I was addicted to the show when I was in high school — I even met one of the actors who played The Doctor once (Colin Baker, for those to whom that means anything) — and although I haven’t watched it in years, I still hold it in high regard. It was innocent entertainment for an innocent time of my life.

One of my favorite recurring Who characters was The Doctor’s arch-enemy, a goatee’d, dressed-all-in-black force of pure evil called The Master. The Master was one of those supervillains who’s always trying to destroy the universe for no good reason other than it seems like the thing to do on an overcast morning. He was portrayed by two actors over the show’s thirty-year run — well, three if you count Eric Roberts in that American-made TV-movie a few years back, which I don’t — and of the two, I preferred the second, Anthony Ainley. Ainley was one of those elegant, stage-trained types who could lend class to even the silliest of proceedings. He was the perfect villain, thanks to a silky voice that could shift from charming to sinister and back again in the blink of an eye, seemingly without effort.

Well, I hate to keep repeating myself, but I just read that Ainley has joined Col. Morgan and Tony Randall in the Great Beyond. If you’re a Who fan — or simply the sort who likes to follow links down InterWeb rabbit holes — here’s his obituary from the British newspaper The Guardian. These celebrity deaths seem to occur in threes, so let’s hope I don’t have to write any more of these for a while…