Joe 90 was Gerry Anderson's penultimate puppet show of the 1960s, following Captain Scarlet (1968) and preceding the little-known The Secret Service (1969). In 2112 professor Ian McClaine has invented the BIG RAT (Brain Impulse Galvanoscope, Record And Transfer), a machine for copying knowledge and experiences from person to person. WIN (World Intelligence Organisation) uses this to prime their top undercover agent before sending him into the field on missions which range from foiling international terrorists to recovering a nuclear weapon from beneath the polar ice. So far so good, but in perhaps the most mind-boggling concept ever to reach children's TV, that agent is McClaine's nine-year-old adopted son, Joe. Somehow even as it stays true to the Gerry Anderson techno-fantasy formula of secret organisations, gadgetry, and action-packed adventure full of spectacular explosions and violent death, Joe 90 remains blithely unconscious of its own implications. The missions are as globe-trotting as anything in Anderson's classic Thunderbirds series, and sometimes Joe does save lives, performing a risky brain operation or rescuing trapped astronauts. Yet even then his criminally irresponsible father brainwashes the lad each episode before placing him in a highly dangerous adult situation. Though the production values remain way ahead of anything else being done on British TV at the time, the question remains how did this ever seem like a good idea? On the DVD: Joe 90 comes complete in a five-disc box set of the entire 30-episode series. Each disc contains six 25-minute episodes presented, as usual with Gerry Anderson DVDs, behind a lovingly crafted menu. As expected the 4:3 picture quality is superb and the mono sound is full, detailed and without a trace of distortion. [+]

"Filmed in VIDECOLOR [explosions, drum roll, music builds to a climax] and SUPERMARIONATION"! The opening sequence of Thunderbirds is itself a masterclass in Gerry Anderson's marionette hyperbole: who else would dare to make a virtue out of the fact that (a) the show is in colour and (b) it's got puppets in it? But everything about this series really is epic: Thunderbirds is action on the grandest scale, pre-dating such high-concept Hollywood vehicles as Armaggedon by 30 years and more (the acting is better, too), and fetishising gadgets in a way that even the most excessive Bond movies could never hope to rival. Unsurprisingly, it transpires that the visual effects are by Derek Meddings, whose later contributions to Bond movies like The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker echo his pioneering model work here. As to the characters, the clean-cut Tracy boys take second place in the audiences' affections to their cool machines-the real stars of the show-while comic relief is to be found in the charming company of Lady Penelope and her pink Rolls (number plate FAB1), driven by lugubrious chauffeur Parker, whose "Yes, milady" catchphrase resonated around school playgrounds for decades. (Spare a thought for poor old John Tracy, stuck up in space on Thunderbird 5 with only the radio for company. ) The puppet stunt-work is breathtakingly audacious, and every week's death-defying escapade is nailbitingly choreographed in the very best tradition of disaster movies. First shown in 1964 and now digitally remastered, Thunderbirds is children's TV that still looks and sounds like big-budget Hollywood. On this tape: International Rescue's very first adventure provides a template for all the rest: in "Trapped in the Sky" an experimental new aircraft becomes the target of an evil Bond-style megalomaniac who wants to get his hands on all the neat pieces of kit operated by the Tracy siblings. The show introduces, in fetishistic detail, the recurring set-pieces: Thunderbird 1 taking off from the roll-back swimming pool, which pod will Thunderbird 2 use this week-the mole or the submarine perhaps?-and so on. Nostalgia fans will be pleased to learn that despite digital remastering the puppet strings are still in evidence, and no amount of high-tech restoration could remove the clunky expository dialogue: Stewardess: "It's the maiden flight of the new atomic-powered Fireflash. " Passenger: "Isn't that the new aircraft that flies six times the speed of sound?" Stewardess: "That's right, but don't worry: it's perfectly safe. [+]

"Filmed in VIDECOLOR [explosions, drum roll, music builds to a climax] and SUPERMARIONATION"! The opening sequence of Thunderbirds is itself a masterclass in Gerry Anderson's marionette hyperbole: who else would dare to make a virtue out of the fact that (a) the show is in colour and (b) it's got puppets in it? But everything about this series really is epic: Thunderbirds is action on the grandest scale, pre-dating such high-concept Hollywood vehicles as Armaggedon by 30 years and more (the acting is better, too), and fetishising gadgets in a way that even the most excessive Bond movies could never hope to rival. Unsurprisingly, it transpires that the visual effects are by Derek Meddings, whose later contributions to Bond movies like The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker echo his pioneering model work here. As to the characters, the clean-cut Tracey boys take second place in the audiences' affections to their cool machines-the real stars of the show-while comic relief is to be found in the charming company of Lady Penelope and her pink Rolls (number plate FAB1), driven by lugubrious chauffeur Parker, whose "Yes, milady" catch phrase resonated around school playgrounds for decades. (Spare a thought for poor old John Tracey, stuck up in space on Thunderbird 5 with only the radio for company. ) The puppet stunt-work is breathtakingly audacious, and every week's death-defying escapade is nail-bitingly choreographed in the very best tradition of disaster movies. First shown in 1964 and now digitally remastered, Thunderbirds is children's TV that still looks and sounds like big-budget Hollywood. In this pod: The first 16 episodes on four VHS tapes in a special presentation box.

"Filmed in VIDECOLOR [explosions, drum roll, music builds to a climax] and SUPERMARIONATION"! The opening sequence of Thunderbirds is itself a masterclass in Gerry Anderson's marionette hyperbole: who else would dare to make a virtue out of the fact that (a) the show is in colour and (b) it's got puppets in it? But everything about this series really is epic: Thunderbirds is action on the grandest scale, pre-dating such high-concept Hollywood vehicles as Armaggedon by 30 years and more (the acting is better, too), and fetishising gadgets in a way that even the most excessive Bond movies could never hope to rival. Unsurprisingly, it transpires that the visual effects are by Derek Meddings, whose later contributions to Bond movies like The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker echo his pioneering model work here. As to the characters, the clean-cut Tracey boys take second place in the audiences' affections to their cool machines-the real stars of the show-while comic relief is to be found in the charming company of Lady Penelope and her pink Rolls (number plate FAB1), driven by lugubrious chauffeur Parker, whose "Yes, milady" catch phrase resonated around school playgrounds for decades. (Spare a thought for poor old John Tracey, stuck up in space on Thunderbird 5 with only the radio for company. ) The puppet stunt-work is breathtakingly audacious, and every week's death-defying escapade is nail-bitingly choreographed in the very best tradition of disaster movies. First shown in 1964 and now digitally remastered, Thunderbirds is children's TV that still looks and sounds like big-budget Hollywood. In this pod: Episodes 17-32 on four VHS tapes in a special presentation box.

Joe 90 was Gerry Anderson's penultimate puppet show of the 1960s, following Captain Scarlet (1968) and preceding the little-known The Secret Service (1969). In 2112 professor Ian McClaine has invented the BIG RAT (Brain Impulse Galvanoscope, Record And Transfer), a machine for copying knowledge and experiences from person to person. WIN (World Intelligence Organisation) uses this to prime their top undercover agent before sending him into the field on missions which range from foiling international terrorists to recovering a nuclear weapon from beneath the polar ice. So far so good, but in perhaps the most mind-boggling concept ever to reach children's TV, that agent is McClaine's nine-year-old adopted son, Joe. Somehow even as it stays true to the Gerry Anderson techno-fantasy formula of secret organisations, gadgetry, and action-packed adventure full of spectacular explosions and violent death, Joe 90 remains blithely unconscious of its own implications. The missions are as globe-trotting as anything in Anderson's classic Thunderbirds series, and sometimes Joe does save lives, performing a risky brain operation or rescuing trapped astronauts. Yet even then his criminally irresponsible father brainwashes the lad each episode before placing him in a highly dangerous adult situation. Though the production values remain way ahead of anything else being done on British TV at the time, the question remains how did this ever seem like a good idea? On the DVD: Joe 90, Volume 1 contains the first six 25-minute episodes presented, as usual with Gerry Anderson DVDs, behind a lovingly crafted menu. As expected the 4:3 picture quality is superb and the mono sound is full, detailed and without a trace of distortion. There are also several pages of character biography and background information on the show, a photo gallery and a variety of other extras. [+]