Four hours later and equally inexplicably, everyone wakes up. This is the point at which Sarah-Jane would turn to the Doctor and say that since everything seems fine, they could split now, right? But the Doctor would suspect that something else was afoot -- it must be, since we're only 15 minutes into the episode... er, movie.

The twist Village takes is of the slightly naughty variety that Doctor Who would never have touched. All the women of childbearing age in Midwich are now pregnant. Even the unmarried ones who declare, "But I never... it's impossible!" Even the one who's -- gasp! -- only 17! (One wonders how all the fertile 16-, 15-, 14-, 13-, 12-, and 11-year-olds escape this fate, but that would be too naughty a concept even for film, I guess.) The babies develop fast, are all born on the same night, and continue their rapid growth. They're creepy and they're kooky, these kids, with their "arresting" eyes, genius IQs, and seeming telepathy. And, ho boy, do not make them mad, 'cuz then their eyes start glowing and who knows what kind of hell is gonna break loose. Gordon defends his preternatural son, David (Martin Stephens), imagining him the next Einstein, but we can all see, as Hank Hill would say (to borrow from yet another bit of brilliant TV), "The boy ain't right."

Just as Doctor Who was, at its best, cool and eerie, so is Village of the Damned, which is, by the way, based on a novel by John Wyndham, who also wrote the very Doctor Whoish Day of the Triffids. It was never Doctor Who's cheap monsters themselves that gave you chills -- it was the thought of aliens or mutants or whatever invading somewhere so nice and normal. Midwich, here, is a charming little town: a pub, a post office, little fences setting off from the road homey brick houses, their cozy rooms all wallpapered with happy Laura Ashley florals (even if the film is in black-and-white). Why would aliens -- as it seems these damned children are the spawn of -- choose here for the beachhead of their invasion? If they'd choose here, what's to stop them choosing my town next?

Okay, Village of the Damned is, in spots, as cheesy as Doctor Who could be. It's hilariously overearnest, the kind of film in which Gordon and his wife, Anthea (Barbara Shelley), can wrap a discussion of how they just don't know why they passed out for four hours with her grave question: "Gordon, what did happen?" to which he replies, "I don't know," and you can positively hear the italics. It's the kind of movie in which Gordon can march around authoritatively because, "It's okay, he's a professor," says Alan. Of what, we never learn... could be his specialty is 14th-century French poetry, not alien invasions. But he smokes a pipe and has patches on the elbows of his jacket, so he's in charge.

Oh, all right, fer pete's sake, Village of the Damned has actually got peasants wielding burning torches marching on the undesirables. And in the end -- here's a shock -- lowly humanity triumphs, once again, over the vast superior alien intelligences. Hurrah for us!