The Parting of the Ways

Dear Gary—

“Never doubted him; never will.”

That is the strength of this Ninth Doctor; he inspires. He inspires confidence in his friends and fear in his enemies.  He inspires those around him to dig deep, to find and exceed their potential. He doesn’t so much save planets as redeem people, even as they die.

“Wish I’d never met you, Doctor,” Jack says as he takes his leave to face an army of Daleks. “I was much better off as a coward.” His parting kiss says what he doesn’t, though. He wouldn’t have missed his time with the Doctor for the world. He might have been better off, but he didn’t know better then, and that is not how he measures his worth anymore.

Bad Wolf ended with the Doctor making defiant predictions. He said he would save Rose, save the Earth, and exterminate the Daleks. He declared this with utter confidence and we never doubted. He was inspiring.

The Parting of the Ways delivers on his failure. Of his three promises he fulfills only one; he saves Rose Tyler.  But in saving Rose he accomplishes the rest of his vow, because Rose will save the Earth (sort of) and eliminate the Daleks.

“I told you I’d come and get you,” the Doctor tells Rose as the TARDIS materializes around her.

“Never doubted it,” Rose replies. There is that inspiration again. Does anyone doubt the Doctor?

“I did.” Despite his bravado, the Doctor harbors misgivings. He can’t let them show, though, not when people are counting on him. He has to keep hope alive, and that is his greatest gift.

He has to keep hope alive, even when faced with legions of Daleks. Daleks who were supposed to be extinct. Daleks who were responsible for the destruction of the Time Lords. “I almost thought it was worth it,” the Doctor says. “Now it turns out they died for nothing.” Another chink in his armor shows, but that spark of hope has to keep burning. “Let’s go and meet the neighbors.”

From inspiration of confidence to inspiration of fear: “Do you know what they call me in the ancient legends of the Dalek home world? The Oncoming Storm.”

Oncoming Storm meet Dalek Emperor, the “God of all Daleks” who “reached into the dirt and made new life.” That doesn’t faze the Doctor, though; it intrigues him (“Since when did the Daleks have a concept of blasphemy?”). Realizing these new Daleks are insane, hating their own human tainted existence, the Doctor boldly strides away, back to Satellite Five and his limited resources: a handful of survivors, a defenseless and wretched Earth, and, oh yes, “a great big transmitter.” Brimming with certainty the Doctor outlines his hopeless plan. The Delta Wave is a distraction, a stalling tactic, a desperate attempt to rally the troops and keep that wavering spark lit to the bitter and inevitable end.

One last time the Doctor digs deep into his reserve and convinces Rose he has The Answer. Infectious enthusiasm, unqualified faith. The day is saved and there is never a doubt. The Doctor races out of the TARDIS then stops dead, turns with stoic sorrow, and sends Rose home, out of harm’s way. The day is not saved, there is no hope. All he can do is watch as the TARDIS and Rose dematerialize.

“Just get on with your work.” The Doctor remains. Jack remains. A handful of survivors remain. There is work still to be done. It’s probably hopeless, but the Doctor stays calm and active and fosters trust. It is his gift.

And it is heartbreaking. Because this gift is also a curse. People put their faith in the Doctor and people die. It is a heavy load of guilt that this Ninth Doctor carries.

One by one, people die in The Parting of the Ways. Some die nobly, some die cowardly, but they all die. It is a heavy load of guilt; however it is an unfair burden.

Let’s examine some of those deaths.

First there is the Floor Manager. This is a no-name character; an extra; a red shirt. Except this is one of those marvelous Doctor Who extras in a long, long line that manages to convey depth and integrity and individuality despite the briefest of screen time and limited lines. She is just doing her job, despicable though it may be. She is a drone, a worker, a single cog. But when it is time to step up, she breaks free of her bonds. That is the influence of the Doctor’s world. She could stay behind on Floor Zero and be slaughtered with Rodrick and the cowering crowd. She doesn’t. She fights back. Her reward? She dies. One more death at the feet of the Doctor: “You lied to me!” Except she would have died regardless. Because of the Doctor her last act is one of bravery.

Next there are Davitch Pavale and his coworker, once insensitive game programmers of death, now fighting for their own lives and the lives of every life on the planet Earth. They die, of course. But in death they atone.

Then there is Lynda. This is the hardest to swallow. The Doctor had promised her she would be safe. He promised her. She believed him. We believed him. She dies. “Lynda, you’re sweet,” the Doctor told her in Bad Wolf. “From what I’ve seen of your world, do you think anyone votes for sweet?” Lynda is sweet, but no one would ever vote for her. She was stuck in a Big Brother house of doom; she followed the Doctor out. She followed the Doctor out to her death; but she found something worth dying for.

Finally we have Jack.  “Do you see, Jack,” the Doctor asks as the Emperor Dalek reveals that the Doctor’s Delta Wave will kill everyone in its path, “that’s the decision I’ve got to make for every living thing. Die as a Human or live as a Dalek.” A heavy burden; billions of deaths; all on the Doctor’s shoulders. “What would you do?” Jack’s answer confirms his faith, “Keep working.”  And then, as the last man standing, Jack presents himself defenseless before the Daleks. No fear; no regret; no doubt.

“Finish that thing and kill Mankind.” The Doctor still faces his dilemma. No one is left to guide him; no one is left to fight for; no one is left to encourage him. The Emperor Dalek alone is left to taunt him: “What are you—coward or killer?”

“Coward, any day.” He cannot become like the Daleks; he has had enough of death. “Maybe it’s time.” Time to die. To die like Jack, like Lynda, like Davitch Pavale, like the Floor Manager; to die defenseless but uncompromised. To die.

Except there is Rose. Rose, the Doctor’s life line; his hope; his one spark sent out into time and space and ready to come back burning brightly with his inspiration.

Rose is useless without the Doctor. He picked her up out of her dead end life and gave her the universe. He promised to take care of her, and when all hope is lost he sends her home. “I bet you’re fussing and moaning now—typical,” his holographic self tells her (yes of course she is). There is only one thing he wants, though: “Have a fantastic life.” It is the only life he can give; the only life he can save. Surrounded by death; grief and guilt weighing him down. “Have a fantastic life.” It is the only consolation he has left.

Now, Gary, I have to confess that I originally wrote a Rose bashing diatribe next, but I decided to stop and think about it overnight. It’s easy to let the negativity snowball. I never disliked Rose until this latest round of viewing, and I admit that I have let my newfound aversion take over at times. The only nod I will make to this, therefore, is to say to the sulking Rose, sitting in a diner eating chips and bemoaning an ordinary life without her inspiration to guide her, two words: Peace Corp. Just a suggestion.

I actually really like the domestic scenes of Rose back with Mickey and Jackie. It’s an interesting dynamic, the companion abandoned and the loved ones no longer left behind but now having to deal with the fallout.  And the Doctor’s motivational hand reaching back through time. “You know,” Rose tells Mickey of the Doctor’s better way of living, “he showed you too. That you don’t give up. You don’t just let things happen. You make a stand. You say no. You have the guts to do what’s right when everyone else just runs away.” And her retelling of Father’s Day to her mother: “That’s how good the Doctor is.”

Mickey and Jackie are the heart and soul of these segments, breathing meaning and life into them. Both realize that they have to let go of Rose, Mickey because, well, he deserves better (I hope he has finally gotten that message), and Jackie because her little girl has grown up. Together they help Rose follow her paradoxical trail of Bad Wolf crumbs back to the Doctor.

(I’m going to digress here, Gary, on an apropos sidebar from my dad regarding the Bonanza reruns he has been watching on METV. To paraphrase him: Recently the writers have gotten the Cartwrights into some situations that seem impossible to get out of but then they do at the last minute. Hopefully the writers will go back to the old way of writing soon, but I doubt it.)

Enter: the TARDIS ex machina from Boom Town now repurposed as the Rose-Channeling-The-TARDIS ex machina.

What a nice bookend to the season, though. Rose takes the Doctor’s hand and thus offers him a lifeline in the premier of Rose. Here, in The Parting of the Ways, she spreads out her arms in salvation: “I want you safe, my Doctor.” It has been a ponderous journey; but now: “’The Time War ends.”

Rose has looked into the Heart of the TARDIS. “Everything dies,” she says as she (the great exterminator) dissolves the Dalek emperor and his army.

“Rose, you’ve done it,” the Doctor exclaims, “now stop; just let go.” He realizes the dangerous road she is on. Everything he had rejected is now her glory.

“I bring life,” she continues as she resurrects Captain Jack. I notice, though, that she stops short of breathing life into Lynda or any of the other dead bodies on Satellite Five; and no attempt is made to address the destruction on Earth.

She only stops when it begins to hurt. “The power’s going to kill you and it’s all my fault,” the Doctor says, shouldering the blame once again and stepping in with the true kiss of life.

The gift the Doctor bestows is also his greatest burden. Inspiration brings with it culpability.

“I might never make sense again,” he tells Rose. It is a relief and a rejoicing in these final fatal moments of the Ninth Doctor. He can let go. Let go of all of the grief and the guilt and the pain that he has been carrying.

“Rose, before I go, I just want to tell you, you were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. And do you know what? So was I.”

And he was. And is. Christopher Eccleston. The Doctor. Fantastic.

Enter: the Tenth Doctor, David Tennant.

Life and death and new life, Gary . . .