Patrick Troughton (1920–1987)

Patrick Troughton. The man, the myth, the mop-haired recorder enthusiast. He stepped into the TARDIS in 1966, following William Hartnell’s historic exit, and—against all odds—proved that regeneration wasn’t just a one-time fluke. In fact, his success as the Second Doctor is the reason Doctor Who didn’t die a premature death, buried under the weight of its own wibbly-wobbly audacity.

Replacing Hartnell was no small task. The BBC didn’t just want a lookalike—no “Hartnell 2.0: Now with Extra Sternness.” No, producer Innes Lloyd and creator Sydney Newman decided to gamble big. Hartnell himself even approved the choice, reportedly saying: “There’s only one man in England who can take over, and that’s Patrick Troughton.” (Which is about as close as you’ll get to Hartnell handing someone a glowing, regenerating blessing.)

Troughton initially toyed with a few… let’s say “creative” approaches. A tough sea captain? Sure. A sinister pirate in blackface and a turban? Thankfully, sanity prevailed. (Can you imagine the BBC trying to explain that decision at conventions today?) Instead, Newman suggested the “cosmic hobo” angle, modeled after Charlie Chaplin’s tramp. And so, the Doctor transformed from stern grandfather to a scruffy intergalactic trickster who looked like he might ask you for spare change before saving the universe.

This Doctor wasn’t a commander barking orders—he was the opposite. He played the clown, bumbling about with wide-eyed innocence, letting enemies underestimate him. Which, of course, was their doom, because beneath the recorder-playing exterior was a razor-sharp mind capable of outwitting Cybermen, Yeti, and anything else the BBC costume department threw together on a shoestring budget.

Unfortunately, much of Troughton’s era has been lost to the infamous BBC tape-wiping spree, where priceless episodes were erased so the corporation could reuse videotapes for things like cricket highlights and Blue Peter. (Yes, someone decided Patrick Troughton versus Daleks was less important than a Labrador making papier-mâché. Thank you, BBC.) Still, the surviving episodes showcase his humor, charm, and uncanny ability to flip from silly to deadly serious in a heartbeat.

After three grueling years of cranking out 40+ episodes a season—seriously, how were these actors still standing?—Troughton bowed out with The War Games in 1969. His reasons were part exhaustion, part fear of being typecast as “that funny little alien man.” Which, given how fondly he’s remembered, was maybe not the worst label to have.

But like a bad penny (or a very good cosmic hobo), Troughton came back. Again. And again. He reprised the role in The Three Doctors (1973), The Five Doctors (1983), and The Two Doctors (1985). Each time, he slipped back into the role as effortlessly as if he’d never left. Some fans even argue he stole the show every time, which is quite a feat when you’re sharing the screen with other versions of yourself.

Sadly, Troughton’s story ended with an irony almost too on-the-nose. In 1987, while attending a Doctor Who convention in Chicago, he suffered a fatal heart attack in his hotel room. Yes, Patrick Troughton literally died while being celebrated for being the Doctor. If that’s not commitment to the fandom, I don’t know what is.

👉 So, the Second Doctor was scruffy, sly, endlessly entertaining, and a crucial pivot point for Doctor Who. Without Patrick Troughton proving the role could survive change, the show would have gone the way of most 1960s sci-fi: fondly remembered by a handful of people, filed under “cult oddity,” and never making it past black-and-white. Instead, his performance cemented the Doctor as a character who could evolve endlessly—a Time Lord in every sense.

And he did it all while looking like your eccentric uncle who claims he invented spoons.

Jon Pertwee (1919–1996)

Jon Pertwee didn’t just step into the TARDIS in 1970—he drove it straight into the 1970s, velvet collars and all. Where Patrick Troughton gave us a scruffy “cosmic hobo,” Pertwee flipped the wardrobe dial all the way to foppish secret agent. Smoking jackets, ruffles, capes—you name it, he wore it. He was the Doctor who made you wonder if Gallifrey had a Savile Row. Even the First Doctor himself once called him a “dandy” (The Three Doctors), which was less an insult and more a statement of fact.

Before he became television’s most flamboyant Time Lord, Pertwee had carved out quite the career in comedy. On radio, he was best known for The Navy Lark (1959–77), where he played the devious Chief Petty Officer Pertwee—yes, playing a character literally named after himself, because why not? He also popped up in the Carry On films, usually in roles that involved him looking bewildered, scheming, or wearing something vaguely ridiculous (foreshadowing his Doctor years, really). He even had a reputation as a Danny Kaye lookalike, and his impression of Kaye appeared in Murder at the Windmill (1949). Basically, Pertwee was a jack-of-all-trades: comedy, stage, film, radio—if there was an audience, he was probably there hamming it up.

So when Patrick Troughton handed in his recorder and bowler hat, producer Peter Bryant cast Pertwee as the next Doctor. Pertwee himself had applied for the role but wasn’t exactly a hardcore Whovian. (To be fair, back then Doctor Who was still “that odd little sci-fi show with the police box,” not a global juggernaut.)

And then the 1970s happened. Pertwee’s Doctor was stuck on Earth for much of his run, thanks to the Time Lords grounding him like a teenager with too many parking tickets. But exile didn’t slow him down—instead, he teamed up with UNIT, zip-lined into action scenes, karate-chopped aliens, and turned the Doctor into a dashing, gadget-wielding hero. Forget bumbling hobos—this was a man of action, with a taste for Venusian Aikido and velvet that could kill.

Pertwee’s Doctor ran for five seasons, from Spearhead from Space (1970) to Planet of the Spiders (1974). That was the longest tenure at the time—five glorious years of capes, gadgets, and eyebrow-raising chemistry with Jo Grant. He was authoritative, brave, and charming, but also never afraid to scold a Brigadier or roll his eyes at bureaucrats. (Basically: James Bond, if Q was also the tuxedo.)

By 1974, Pertwee decided it was time to move on. Typecasting loomed large, and he wanted to return to the stage. So in Planet of the Spiders, he bowed out in suitably over-the-top style, collapsing in the TARDIS after a heroic sacrifice, his velvet cape billowing dramatically one last time. He regenerated into Tom Baker, who promptly took the role into even weirder and woollier directions.

Of course, Pertwee didn’t abandon Doctor Who entirely. He reprised the role for anniversary specials (The Five Doctors, 1983), delighting fans all over again, because nobody wore a frilly shirt quite like him.

👉 The Third Doctor wasn’t just a regeneration—he was a reinvention. Action-hero, fashion icon, martial artist, gadget geek. Jon Pertwee turned the Doctor into a figure as comfortable with car chases and karate as he was with technobabble. And really, only Pertwee could make a velvet cape look intimidating while lecturing an alien slug.

Because if the Second Doctor was your scruffy uncle, the Third was the uncle who drives a flashy sports car, wears cologne you can smell three blocks away, and insists he definitely once punched an alien in the face.

Tom Baker (1934– )

If the First Doctor was the cranky grandfather, the Second was the scruffy uncle, and the Third was James Bond’s flamboyant cousin, then the Fourth Doctor was… well, Tom Baker. There’s really no other way to put it. He didn’t just play the role—he became the role, scarf and all, for seven glorious years from Robot (1974) to Logopolis (1981).

Baker’s Doctor was eccentric, unpredictable, and magnetic. He could swing from childlike whimsy (“Would you like a jelly baby?”) to cosmic terror with nothing more than a tilt of his massive grin and a booming chuckle. He wasn’t just a Time Lord—he was the Time Lord. To this day, if you stop a random person on the street and say, “Doctor Who,” there’s a pretty good chance the image in their head is Tom Baker, floppy hat, scarf trailing somewhere out of frame, probably menacing a Dalek.

But let’s rewind. Before he was redefining science fiction fashion, Baker had a… colorful career. He got his first big break playing Rasputin in Nicholas and Alexandra (1971). (Yes, the mad monk who wouldn’t die. Typecasting? Maybe.) Then came The Canterbury Tales (1972), where he appeared in the altogether as the Wife of Bath’s much-younger husband. Because apparently, no résumé is complete without a naked medieval Chaucer adaptation.

By 1974, Baker was working construction jobs to pay the bills, his acting career thinner than his future scarf was long. Then, thanks to his swashbuckling turn in The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, he landed the biggest gig of his life. At the first press conference, he showed up in borrowed work clothes and was dubbed “Boiler Suit Tom” by the media. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous start. But within weeks, the scarf happened.

Ah yes, the scarf. Legend has it that costume designer James Acheson handed knitter Begonia Pope far too much wool, and instead of stopping, she just… kept going. Baker, delighted by this comically absurd accessory, decided to wear the whole thing. And thus, an icon was born. That scarf wasn’t just a costume—it was a weapon, a blanket, a rope, a distraction, and occasionally a snack mat for jelly babies.

And the public loved him. Absolutely adored him. Baker’s performance was so distinctive that for many, Doctor Whoand Tom Baker are basically synonyms. For seven years he ruled the TARDIS, becoming the longest-serving Doctor in the classic era. He injected the role with humor, danger, mischief, and just enough alien strangeness to remind you this man wasn’t entirely safe.

Fans still debate his place in the pantheon, but here’s the thing: in Doctor Who Magazine polls, Baker has only ever lost the “Best Doctor” crown twice. Once to Sylvester McCoy in 1990 (a polite surprise), and once to David Tennant in 2006 (a generational inevitability). But losing twice in nearly fifty years? That’s basically Time Lord immortality.

Baker himself had a heavy hand in shaping his incarnation—he insisted on the humor, the whimsy, the jelly babies. He was the Fourth Doctor as much as he played him. Even decades later, when he returned for Day of the Doctor (2013) as the enigmatic “Curator,” fans were ready to believe he really had just become part of the TARDIS.

👉 Tom Baker wasn’t just another Doctor—he was the yardstick. The scarf. The hat. The booming laugh. If the Doctor is a mad wanderer of time and space, Baker made him into a mad wanderer you wanted to follow. Even if it meant tripping over six feet of wool on the way.

Because if you weren’t already hooked on Doctor Who by the Fourth Doctor, you never stood a chance.

Peter Davison (1951– )

Imagine being told you’re the person who has to follow Tom Baker. Seven years of scarf-swinging, jelly-baby-offering madness, and then—boom—it’s your turn. That was Peter Davison’s lot in 1981, when he made his debut in Castrovalva. He was only 29 at the time, making him the second-youngest actor ever cast as the Doctor. (Which meant half the audience spent his tenure wondering, “Isn’t he a bit young to be my eccentric alien granddad?”)

Davison’s Doctor was a sharp pivot from Baker’s wild unpredictability. Gone were the manic grins and six-foot scarves; in came cream-colored cricket gear, decorative celery (yes, really), and a personality that was more vulnerable, fallible, and—dare we say—human. He wasn’t the invincible cosmic trickster anymore; he was the Doctor who could get knocked down, make mistakes, and still keep going. Which, honestly, made him all the more endearing. He was the Doctor who actually earned your sympathy instead of just dazzling you with scarves and jelly babies.

Of course, Davison wasn’t some unknown plucked from obscurity. By the time he was cast, he was already a household name thanks to his role as Tristan in All Creatures Great and Small—basically the 1970s BBC equivalent of “hot young vet heartthrob.” Landing Davison was a coup for Doctor Who, a way to prove that the series wasn’t just a goofy cult thing anymore, but a show that could attract established, popular actors.

But even with his success, Davison took advice from a trusted source: Patrick Troughton, the Second Doctor himself. Troughton famously told him, “Stay for three years, then get out before you’re typecast.” Davison listened, and so after The Caves of Androzani in 1984, he hung up the celery and regenerated. (Smart move—nobody wants to be remembered forever as “that guy with the salad accessory.”)

Despite his relatively short run, Davison’s Doctor saw some serious action. Daleks in Resurrection of the Daleks,Cybermen in both Earthshock and The Five Doctors, and, most memorably, one of the most heartbreaking companion exits of all time. (Earthshock. Adric. Need we say more?) His era gave us moments of humor, tragedy, and stories that proved the Doctor didn’t have to be indestructible to be heroic.

Since leaving the TARDIS, Davison has continued to work steadily in television, film, and—most importantly for Whovians—in Big Finish Audio, reprising the Fifth Doctor for endless new adventures. His legacy didn’t stop there, either: his daughter, Georgia Moffett, played the Doctor’s daughter in the 2008 episode The Doctor’s Daughter. She then went on to marry David Tennant, the Tenth Doctor. That’s right: Peter Davison is David Tennant’s father-in-law. The Doctor Who family tree has basically collapsed into itself at this point.

👉 The Fifth Doctor may not have had the swagger of Pertwee or the scarf of Baker, but he carved out a quieter, more vulnerable corner of Time Lord history. He was noble, brave, a little insecure, and often just one bad over of cricket away from total disaster. And that’s exactly why fans still love him.

Because sometimes, the most heroic Doctor isn’t the one shouting at Daleks—it’s the one standing there in a cricket jumper, knowing he’s in over his head, and refusing to give up anyway.