Friday, October 25, 2013

Delta and the Bannermen

Dear Gary—
I have a number of problems with Delta and the Bannermen, but somehow I don’t seem to mind too much. It has been a long time since I have liked and enjoyed the Doctor, so it is a relief just to watch and have fun and not worry about what is wrong. Also, I first viewed this during the same Christmas time pledge drive marathon that first introduced me to Paradise Towers so it retains some of that aura.
To begin, I take issue with the characters of Hawk and Weismuller. These bumbling bumpkins are not American agents of any kind. They never would have gotten a first interview, much less made it through the rigorous background checks and screenings. No, these are a couple of escapees from a nearby sanitarium or two locals who like to play act at secret agent in their free time. The big tipoff is when Weismuller picks up a phone in a police telephone box in Wales, asks for the White House, and is immediately put through to the President’s right hand man. Never going to happen. Not even close. (A more accurate result would be ala Mandrake trying to reach the President in Dr. Strangelove.)But I can put aside my doubts and simply accept this pair as the comic relief they are intended.
I don’t much see the appeal of Delta, either. She’s a bit bland and emotionless. What does Billy see in her to make him give up his entire world? Then again, Billy is rather impassive himself. And his lack of astonishment or any sort of reaction to the alien nature of Delta—I wonder, could he be a Ford Prefect type? Is he actually an alien who has just been waiting around for a ride out of here?  How else to explain that a few drops of Chimeron jelly turns him into a Chimeron, complete with white jump suit.
Speaking of wardrobe, where does Mel get her extensive 50’s collection, how does she get it all crammed in that tiny suitcase, and why does Mel’s dress fit Delta?
It always bothers me, too, that the Doctor wantonly wastes all of that precious honey. Goronwy is so proud of his honey that he has worked long and hard to produce. Then the Doctor rigs the walls of jars up as a booby trap, and for what? All it does is slow the Bannermen down a bit and give them a bee sting or two. It is an elaborate annoyance at best. Poor Goronwy and his life’s work deserves better.
Finally, the murder of the Tollmaster and more particularly of Murray and his busload of happy Navarino tourists is rather unsettling and a grim contrast to much of the lighthearted tone of the serial. However, these acts do serve to remind us of the deadly nature of Gavrok and his Bannermen, keeping the danger real for us.
Overall I have to say that the humor of Delta and the Bannermen is both its downfall and its salvation. And so you have the comedy of Weismuller and Hawk, too ludicrous to be true. Clowns undermining reality. And then you have the toothy Tollmaster and ebullient Murray and the Navarinos providing a cheerful backdrop and a promise of Disneyland fun only to explode in our faces. Slapstick and brutality blunting each other’s edge. Walking the line between the two is the gaping chasm of the aloof lovers.
What brings our divergent styles together is a trio of characters: Burton, the Doctor, and yes, Mel. It is in these three that the humor and the reality blend.
Burton, the cheerful leader of the holiday camp Shangri-La, succeeds where the farcical one-note characters of the Tollmaster and Murray fail.
Burton: “Now let me try and get this right. Now, are you telling me that you are not the Happy Hearts Holiday Club from Bolton, but instead are spacemen in fear of an attack from some other spacemen, and because of the danger you want me to evacuate the entire camp?”
In one fell swoop Burton condenses the absurdity into very real perspective.
Although Burton is not going to blithely accept the absurd in the same way that Billy does: “Oh, by the way, can we have space buns and tea afterwards?” However he has an open mind willing to accept the proof of the TARDIS: “Couldn’t we take it for a bit of a spin, Doctor?”
And so Burton is not simply buttonholed into the role of jovial camp leader; Burton can take a stand; Burton can display bravery and cunning; Burton can become a man of decisive action.
Mel, the companion who screams, also comes across well in this holiday camp of horror. Mel is caught up in the more fun aspects of this tour gone wrong. Throwing herself into the sing-along atmosphere of the Navarino excursion, she doesn’t miss a beat when the bus is blown off course (I can only imagine the hissy fit Peri would have thrown). Mel is making the best of it, and trying her darnedest to get the wet blanket Delta to join in.
Mel and Burton combine to successfully meld the comic and the tragic, culminating in the explosion of the bus with Murray and the Navarinos on board. “You killed all those innocent people,” Mel bemoans, and we feel both the horror and the grief with her as the menacing Gavrok stands over her while the ashes of the victims smolder. Wits about him, Burton calmly steps in to save Mel from a similar fate. Together these two turn what could have been a scene of jarring and gratuitous mayhem into something touching and heartrending.
The Doctor goes one step further than Burton and Mel; he blends not only the comic and tragic but the detachment of Delta and Billy as well. He does not fling himself headlong into the 50’s nostalgia as Mel does; he travels separately in the TARDIS. He also does not step lively out onto the floor during the Get To Know You dance, but he does discern the sad underpinnings in Ray, hopelessly yearning for Billy, and thoughtfully takes a turn with her to ease her pain.
This is the most apropos approach for the Doctor to take against the Bannermen, headed by the ruthless Gavrok, as they maraud their way through the 50’s funland. With just the right amount of detachment, humor, and seriousness, the Doctor stands up to Gavrok. Arriving under the white flag, citing fair play and justice, armed only with droll wit, the Doctor courageously frees Mel and Burton.
His subsequent actions to resolve the conflict are inventive and entertaining, although I still take issue with the wanton destruction of Goronwy’s honey. The use of the Chimeron princess’ high pitched scream, amplified by the Shangri-La sound system, is very satisfying, although having Gavrok trip over his own booby trap wire thus destroying himself and freeing the TARDIS is a bit too much of a plot convenience.
All in all I have to put Delta and the Bannermen in the plus column. The 50’s soundtrack, the likeable Doctor, the comic touches all help in keeping it enjoyable. It might not be the best, but it is one of the brightest in what has turned out to be a long grim stretch.
A promising beginning to the McCoy era. Here’s hoping, Gary . . .

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Paradise Towers

Dear Gary—
It’s weird watching Paradise Towers out of season. Here Halloween is just around the corner when it should be Christmas as I pop this in for my annual viewing.
I have to explain. The first time I ever saw Paradise Towers PBS was in the middle of a pledge drive marathon of Who. Cindy and I were up late one night drinking wine and baking Christmas cookies. We had just finished our last batch and tuned in for my very first Sylvester McCoy serial. From the first bizarre “Caretaker number three four five stroke twelve subsection three reporting” moments we were hooked.
Next the ‘Hooey’ ladies show up. Even now Cindy and I will break out with ‘Hooey; hooooooey’ when we want to get one another’s attention. (It is more accurately Cooey, but we hear it as Hooey.) And then Pex smashes through the door with “Are these old ladies annoying you?” to be followed up with “Are you annoying these old ladies?” We were smitten.
Maybe it was the sugar and wine high, not to mention some probable sleep deprivation, but the colorful Kangs with their inventive speech and the obtrusive musical score added a Christmas time layer of enjoyment to our Paradise Towers experience.
For me, though, the best part of Paradise Towers is the Deputy Chief Caretaker. As portrayed by Clive Merrison, the Deputy Chief Caretaker is probably my all time favorite character in the entirety of Doctor Who. (“Rules should always make sense.”)
To this day Paradise Towers brings a smile to my face whenever I think of it.
I can’t objectively talk about Paradise Towers. It is too bound up with memories and shared experiences and traditions for that. I have an affection for Paradise Towers that rises above critical thinking.
I wonder if you would remember, Gary. Paradise Towers was the subject of the one time we ever discussed Doctor Who. It was at Susie’s wedding. You came in late. You walked in the restaurant door and smack into the buffet line next to us. (This was the same wedding in which we tried to explain to people using Hershey’s Kisses and Hershey’s Bells the interrelations between the Spencers and the Knuths—why people can understand the concept of two brothers marrying two sisters, but when you tell them, "My mother's brother married my father's sister" they respond with, "That's incest, isn't it?" is beyond me.) At any rate, it was at that wedding that I revealed Paradise Towers as my annual Christmas viewing and you pondered this rather quizzically. That is one of those moments that slipped away and I wish I could have back. Now, when it is too late, I can only carry on this one-sided conversation about the show that we both know and love.
Ok. I’ll take a stab at analyzing.
What could be a biting commentary on societal breakdown comes off as a version of low comedy. But the elements remain. The bureaucracy, the overzealous adherence to rules (“rules should always make sense”), the gang rivalry (“Red Kangs are best”), the breakdown into groups and suspicion of anyone outside of one’s own, the taunting and name calling, the graffiti, the cannibalism. All of the nitty gritty. But served over-the-top. Personified by the Chief Caretaker/Great Architect.
For a meaningful rendition of the Nazi-like social realities done with the darkest of comedic touches, watch Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator. Paradise Towers is not The Great Dictator. Doctor Who is not Charlie Chaplin.
“Large as life, twice as nasty.” That’s Paradise Towers.
“No, no, no, Sunbeam. You’re coming with us.” And Clive Merrison’s Deputy Chief Caretaker steals the show.
Guess I’m not doing too well on being objective. Paradise Towers will always have a soft spot in my heart and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Mel’s quest for the great pool in the sky; wallscrawlers; Pex, ready to “put the world of Paradise Towers to rights;” mysterious basements forbidden “on pain of death;” the Great Architect Kroagnon (“all hail the Great Architect”); “ice hot” Fizzade; the unalive (“hail the unalive”); the three two seven appendix three subsection nine death; the robotic cleaners and murderous waste disposal units; raids on Kang brain quarters; the Fountain of Happiness Square; the illustrated prospectus:
“Nothing’s just rubbish if you have an enquiring mind.”
An enquiring mind is what the Doctor has, and it is alert and active throughout Paradise Towers. A detecting Doctor is always my favorite. And a Doctor who works towards the betterment of others. The Seventh Doctor is a positive force in the universe, something that has been suspect for at least one generation.
All of the factions at odds in Paradise Towers; the Doctor brings them together. “We work with Rezzies, no to do,” Fire Escape says. “We work with Pex, no to do. But the Caretakers?” “Never ever!” the chorus of Kangs shout, but the Doctor soon has them all acting as one. He has that knack, this Doctor number seven. He gets on with most everyone, even when being accosted or detained. He wins the Kangs over with his charm; he outwits the Caretakers (“rules should always make sense”) and impresses them with his intelligence. He is a kinder, gentler incarnation, but one who still manages to get the job done.
Maybe it is over the top. Maybe it would have benefitted from a darker interpretation. Maybe it is not the stuff of legends. But the Kangs, the Hooey Ladies, Pex (someday I’m going to get a T-shirt with ‘Pex Lives’ on it), and above all the Deputy Chief Caretaker combine to make this one of the most memorable and enjoyable Doctor Who serials in my experience.
“Rules should always make sense.” Paradise Towers makes sense to me. It speaks to me. The sounds, the rhythms, the cadence are like music to my soul. Snatches of dialogue flit through my mind at the oddest of moments. Stolen lines come in handy when I’m at a loss for words. Who knows why certain movies or shows touch the heart.
Paradise Towers touches my heart.
Build high for happiness Gary . . .

Friday, October 11, 2013

Time and the Rani

Dear Gary—
Time and the Rani is an inauspicious start for Sylvester McCoy. It opens with a rubbish regeneration scene, and the lack of care and respect taken with it does not bode well. It is followed up with a horrendous new opening theme and title sequence. The ensuing story is good only by comparison.
I do have to say that Sylvester McCoy is an immediate improvement on his predecessor. He is overly theatrical to start, but he settles in nicely to the role as the serial progresses. It’s curious that he doesn’t notice that he has regenerated until he catches a glimpse of his reflection. His comically humble reaction—“Me? No wonder I’ve lost my memory”—is endearing and makes the Doctor accessible once again. His malapropisms are amusing at first, but their overuse becomes annoying. (Speaking of overuse—Mel’s scream.)
I like that he spends some considerable time in the Sixth Doctor’s too big costume. Without Colin Baker on hand for the regeneration, we at least have his unmistakable coat as stand-in. The Seventh Doctor, swimming in layers of colorful fabric and unfazed by his new body, demonstrates that he is indeed the Doctor as he recognizes the Rani and starts working out what evil plan she has brewing. Even under the influence of the Rani’s amnesia inducing drug his detective mind remains at work, continually questioning and reasoning. It has been a while since the Doctor has been this quick witted, especially right out of the box.
When the Doctor finally gets around to changing his attire it is a big improvement, and I instantly accept this new persona. However the scene itself is a bit of a ‘been there, done that’ let down.
Mel, when she isn’t screaming (which isn’t often,) is tolerable. I do enjoy the scene when she first sees this seventh incarnation and the two have to convince each other of their identity, and I like some of her exchanges with Ikona; Ikona is at his best when he is being befuddled.
I enjoy the Rani in this story, too. Her Mel impersonation is laughable but highly entertaining, and her Rani moments of impatience with the Doctor are the highlight of her act. Her schemes, on the other hand, leave something to be desired. I think she spent too much time with the Master (and how did the two of them get out of their last predicament I wonder?) and has picked up a bit of his convoluted thinking.
In her last story, Mark of the Rani, the Master was trying to convince her to utilize some of the great minds of nineteenth century Earth. She has apparently adapted this plan to her current machinations. It was true then and it’s true now—how can these few intellects, no matter how brilliant, be a match for two much less one Time Lord? The collection she has—Pasteur, Einstein, Hypatia—is limited in knowledge and time. If she is really serious about this, shouldn’t she get more modern beings who have the benefit of historical knowledge of Einstein’s theories combined with up-to-date technology and concepts? And really, with the many egos involved she should have expected the inevitable arguments to break out.
She goes through all of this just so that these minds can concoct a formula for creating a lightweight version of strange matter. How is it that when this formula is complete she has the resources on hand to produce this new substance on the spot? Her ultimate plan is to recreate a super nova which will in turn create helium two and after a bit of gibberish somehow she will have a time manipulator so that she can go back to the Cretaceous age to aid the dinosaurs. Couldn’t she cut out a few steps and have her captives come up with a way to produce helium two? Or to invent a time manipulator that isn’t as involved? Better yet, why not become a time manipulator herself ala the Meddling Monk? What does she need a machine for (other than her TARDIS)?
Despite the complicated nature of her plan, I can’t for the life of me figure out what she needs the Lakertyans for, and in particular Beyus. Beyus does absolutely nothing. He spends his time standing around. Occasionally he pushes some buttons, but can’t the Tetraps do that just as well, or the Rani herself?
“The computer control needs constant monitoring,” Beyus tells the Rani. “I can’t manage alone.” Beyus gets lonely standing around doing nothing all day; he wants some company. He has taken this standing around to a high art. When the Doctor is working his magic on the giant brain and there is a countdown to death they are racing against, Beyus nobly steps forward. “I know what I have to do,” he tells the Doctor as everyone leaves the chamber but Beyus. Stoically he stands. Doing what he does best. Nothing. Kablam! The brain explodes while Beyus just stands there doing nothing except getting himself blown up for no apparent reason.
There is no apparent reason for much of anything in Time and the Rani. Like the Rani’s booby traps. They exist for the spectacular special effect they produce and for an opportunity for Mel to scream her bloody head off. Why the Rani set them, though, is beyond me. Faroon is allowed to come and go as she pleases, and the Tetraps roam about the place; any one of them could easily trip a wire. One of the traps does effectively eliminate Sarn, but that brings me to why does Sarn run to begin with? That was a pointless little escapade. And speaking of Sarn, the Doctor displays more emotion at the sight of her “sad skeleton” than her own father does at her loss.
The ‘renegade’ Ikona is another useless character. His idea of rebellion is to wander around trailing after strangers who appear on his planet. He is a tad more active than his leader Beyus, but not much more effective. But then the two seem to be indicative of Lakertyans in general. The Rani, in her Mel disguise, tells the Doctor, “The benevolent climate has induced lethargy.” The only lie in that statement is that the climate on this rock quarry of a planet is benevolent. The Lakertyans are indolent on their own; content to emulate their leader by sitting around in their Center of Leisure. They don’t need any coercion to cooperate; just give them a spot to sit. The killer insects stocked in the globe don’t seem necessary, and if there were any concern the problem is easily dealt with—simply leave and close the doors behind them. But no, they would rather loll around with a globe of death over their heads.  If the Rani is really using these people as a labor force there is no evidence of it.
About those killer insects. The Doctor sensibly locates and swipes the Rani’s antidote and graciously offers it to the Lakertyans; Ikona thanklessly dumps it on the ground. Who elected Ikona ruler anyway? What right has he to make this reckless decision that they must “meet their own challenges?”  Given their idle ways, that’s a tall order. If they are to survive they could use all the help they can get.
The Rani could get along splendidly without the Lakertyans and so could I, although Faroon does have a quiet dignity about her and I actually do like their elaborate costumes and makeup. At least it is an attempt to make humanoids slightly different; they remind me in a way of the inhabitants of The Leisure Hive—I wonder if the two races are related in any way. The monsters of the week, the Tetraps, are a decent stab at it that doesn’t quite work, and they too seem superfluous, except for a means of giving the Rani her just desserts.
In the end, Sylvester McCoy keeps me engaged in the story. “Perhaps this is my new persona: sulky; bad tempered,” the Doctor says as he feels his way through this new generation. And then, “The more I know me, the less I like me,” as he is being spoon fed information by the Rani. But in the end: “I’ll grow on you, Mel. I’ll grow on you.” He has already grown on me. He is personable, compassionate, clever, and humorous. Everything I want in my Doctor.
“A miss is as good as a smile,” as the Doctor would say, and Time and the Rani is a miss, but as good as a smile. I send this out with a smile, Gary, hoping it doesn’t miss you . . .

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Colin Baker

Dear Gary—
I’ve made it through the Colin Baker years. I had my fears going in, but I have come to appreciate Colin Baker’s Doctor more than I thought possible. It is unfortunate that he was a victim of the times. Bad decisions, bad scripts, bad companions, bad wardrobe, bad production values.
Not that it was all bad. And despite the bad I managed to find some good. Even the worst, like The Twin Dilemma and Timelash, had their good points. Conversely, some of the best, like Vengeance on Varos, had some of the worst.
The Colin Baker years were a patchwork quilt of good and bad, much like his trademark coat. More bad than good, but enough good to keep me going.  I ranked him dead last in my original Doctor ratings. I have to keep him there. It’s not Colin Baker’s fault, but it is what it is.
The Doctor can’t go it alone. Starting with the Fifth, Peter Davison, the companions have become more of a liability than an asset. The Sixth Doctor, Colin Baker, was burdened with Peri. One companion. Peter Davison had too many, Colin Baker had too few. Again, it is not Nicola Bryant’s fault. She was saddled with a phony accent and a one-dimensional characterization. She was hired for one (or two) asset(s) and never allowed to develop beyond that. She did the best she could with what she was handed.
What she was handed was an erratic Doctor trying to kill her. No wonder they spent the majority of their time together at one another’s throat. The few truly companionable moments they were allowed came too little too late. Then Mel was shoved into the middle of things with not so much as a ‘how do you do,’ and Peri was disposed of in dramatic fashion only to have it blunted with the web of lies called the Matrix.
That same web of lies clouds Colin Baker’s last season. None of the adventures that are shown during the Trial of a Time Lord season can be taken at face value. They are all tainted. That leaves only a handful of legitimate adventures to judge him by.
Starting his tenure with a regeneration gone haywire, Colin Baker was never given a chance to establish a consistent voice. Perhaps he simply wasn’t given enough time. Some of his most genuine moments occur with a non-companion and/or outside of the main adventure. His touching farewell of Asmael in The Twin Dilemma for example. Or his delight in helping George Stephenson with his work, only to have the sparkle in his eye extinguished when Peri arrives to send him chasing after the Master and the Rani. In one of his better stories, Revelation of the Daleks, the Doctor begins some real bonding with Peri, but the two don’t even reach the scene of the action until the mid point. He finally begins to show some positive impact and companionable moments in The Mysterious Planet, but then this whole story is thrown into doubt by the Matrix and is immediately followed up with Mindwarp in which the Doctor reverts to the erratic persona from his first story.
I don’t know, though. He was given two years, and two years should have been more than enough time. The few moments of compassion and engagement and effectiveness are not enough to overcome the bouts of violence, carelessness, cruelty, and callousness that mark much of his early adventures.
I find myself disengaging during the Colin Baker years. It’s still Doctor Who and I still watch, but I’m just marking time until the next generation.
And so I say, I made it through.
Here’s to looking forward, Gary . . .

Friday, October 4, 2013

The Ultimate Foe (Trial of a Time Lord, 13-14)

Dear Gary—
“The only logic is that there isn’t any logic.” How apropos that this disaster of a trial winds up with this confession.
The Ultimate Foe (Trial of a Time Lord, Parts 13-14) brings us to a surreal, slam-bang finish, and when the dust settles, well, the joke of it is that nothing is settled. The Doctor is simply free to go with no real legal justification. The entire trial is thrown out of court with not so much as a ‘case dismissed.’
Getting to that point is a bizarre and twisted road, starting with the Master. It is the Master who provides all of the answers, all of the evidence to clear the Doctor and condemn the Time Lords. The Master has been watching the proceedings from inside the Matrix, and for the life of me I can’t understand why the Inquisitor doesn’t immediately declare a mistrial upon his appearance, but that’s Time Lord (in)justice for you.
“In all my travelings throughout the universe,” the Doctor declares, “I have battled against evil, against power-mad conspirators. I should have stayed here. The oldest civilization—decadent, degenerate, and rotten to the core. Ha! Power-mad conspirators, Daleks, Sontarans, Cybermen, they’re still in the nursery compared to us. Ten million years of absolute power, that’s what it takes to be really corrupt.”
Hear, hear. As I have stated before, this season should be labeled Trial of the Time Lords rather than Trial of a Time Lord.
The Time Lord High Council has engineered the removal of Earth from its own space, its destruction and renaming. Talk about Article Seven. When the Doctor blunders onto Ravalox, the High Council yanks him out of time, brings him up on trumped up charges, falsifies evidence, and makes a pact with the devilish alter ego of the Doctor in the form of the Valeyard—“the distillation of all that’s evil” in the Doctor, an incarnation of the Doctor from somewhere between his twelfth and final regeneration. Again, talk about transgressing the Laws of Time.
What I find unfathomable is that they then choose the very adventure (The Mysterious Planet) that is full of all of the condemning clues to their fiendish plot as their Exhibit A. What were they thinking? I suppose they were thinking that the Inquisitor and the sitting Time Lords are too stupid to realize this, and that was actually a safe assumption on their part.
Of course, we only have the Master’s word for any of this, and I trust the Master about as much as I trust the Matrix at this point.
“We’re not dealing with reality,” the Doctor tells Glitz as they traverse the Matrix. People jumping in and out of the Matrix; secrets being stolen from the Matrix; recorded events being manipulated within the Matrix; duplicate keys to the Matrix floating about; how is it again that the Time Lords have come to respect and revere and rely on this Matrix?
The unreality of the Matrix, however, provides the bulk of the entertainment value for The Ultimate Foe. Anything goes in here, and the weird, fantastic dreamscape created within it is just the right touch to put an end to this season of outlandish perplexity. Because it all has been a dream. A lie. A land of make believe.
The Dickensian touch is particularly appealing. Popplewick, J J Chambers, the Junior Mister Popplewick—it’s all good. The cobbled streets, the Sydney Carton speech, the steam engine—why not? The fog, the horse drawn carts, the water barrels—atmosphere, atmosphere, atmosphere. A world of fiction. If you’re going to enter a world of fiction, what better?
It has absolutely nothing to do with the trial, the Time Lord treachery, the Master’s machinations. Who cares?
The hands reaching out from the sand to drag the Doctor under is effective and compelling, but it doesn’t rhyme with the rest. Everything else in this Matrix world is straight from the Fantasy Factory dream world of Dickens; the sand and the hands are discordant. Where did that come from and where did it go? Either have more of this nightmare diversity ala The Deadly Assassin or commit to the Dickensian theme.
Then we have the fake courtroom scene. Ironic that the only true trial sequence, complete with actual witnesses, is phony in this season long Law and Order.
And it’s a waste of Mel, isn’t it? Mel was thrown at us in mid stride and we really haven’t had a chance to know her. Suddenly she’s called as witness, but then it’s a fake Mel as most things Matrix are. Glitz has some nice companion moments with the Doctor, but wait, now he’s with the Master and we really don’t know where his loyalties lie.
Ah, the Master. He always seems to be called in when the show doesn’t quite know what to do. But then the show never quite seems to know what to do with the Master. The Master apparently has been sitting back with his own bowl of popcorn watching the farce along with the rest of the Time Lords until he got bored and decided to interject himself into the act. With his love/hate feelings for the Doctor showing, the Master sides with good Doctor vs. evil Doctor/Valeyard; but then he veers off into Matrix secret snatching even though the Matrix has been revealed to be a tissue of lies and deceit.
The Valeyard, meanwhile, has switched from his prosecutor, henchman of the High Council role to that of a Snidely Whiplash villain. It must be something in the Matrix air.
Now we sink into the Doctor racing against time to defuse a ticking time bomb to avert the destruction of the Time Lords, or as the Valeyard would say, “prevent the catharsis of spurious morality.” Voila, the Doctor pulls a few wires on this “megabyte modem” (why not?) in this fictitious matrix of deceit and saves the day. Fourteen parts leads to this.
“All charges against you are dismissed, Doctor.” The trial wasn’t real; the charges weren’t real; the adventures weren’t real. You saved us from certain death so all is forgiven, if there ever was anything to forgive which we have never established.
The duplicitous High Council, meantime, has been overthrown and Time Lord society is in upheaval, if you can believe the Master. How he knows this I don’t know; how he has possibly manipulated it (?) I don’t know; why they take him at his word I don’t know. Similarly, I’m not sure that I trust the Master’s revelation that Peri is alive and well and living with King Yrcanos. The Time Lords and the Doctor accept this bit of news with no question. I never much cared for Peri, as you well know Gary, but I think she deserves better. The truth about Peri deserves to be told. I blame the Doctor for not finding out.
Instead the Doctor blithely leaves with the mysterious Mel from some mythic future in a world of paradoxes that boggle the mind.
There is no law; there is no order. Trial of a Time Lord, parts 1-14 is a slap dash affair with no rhyme or reason.
But it somehow works.
It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t come together. It doesn’t enlighten.
But it entertains.
It is like the Sixth Doctor’s coat. Colorful, loud, in bad taste, patchwork. It’s garish and obnoxious, but for better or worse it is the Doctor; it is Doctor Who. And in some bizarre, Matrix-like way it works.
For better or worse, Gary, it is Doctor Who . . .