The Lazarus Experiment

Dear Gary—

The Lazarus Experiment is probably my least favorite David Tennant episode. I find it unappealing, unattractive, and unappetizing. I don’t actively dislike it but I do not enjoy it.

I’ll start with the opening sequence. The Doctor is at his most callous here. He can see Martha’s excitement as she walks out the TARDIS doors in anticipation of some new and interesting destination only to be disappointed to learn he has taken her home. Then he takes a rather disinterested leave of her but then rematerializes because something of interest happens to catch his attention on the telly, and he proceeds to use Martha to gain entry into the gala event. Martha simply lets him walk all over her. This is a dynamic developing that I am beginning to find disturbing.

Next we are introduced to the creepy, dirty old man Lazarus and his equally unpleasant lady love Lady Thaw, followed by the reintroduction of Martha’s excessively suspicious and extremely acerbic mother. Leo seems a nice guy, but we barely get to see him; and Tish eventually conducts herself well as the episode goes along, but at first she seems self-absorbed and overambitious. I especially find it distasteful that Tish, who had been repulsed by the old man Lazarus, is willing to be seduced by him in his rejuvenated form.

Then we have the grand experiment. My first thought is that this guy is crazy to volunteer as guinea pig. I would have thought that he would send a multitude of minions through the procedure first to ensure that it is safe before submitting himself to it. And where are the scientists who worked on this machine? I can’t imagine Lazarus did this by himself. And are there no doctors on hand to run a battery of tests to determine if he is OK after this life altering event? I also don’t get the impression that there is any press presence or members of the scientific community on hand to witness the spectacle. The audience in attendance seems just that—an audience set for a show and ready to applaud but not the least bit curious about the whole thing; it is as though this is merely a magic trick performed for their amusement alone.

Plus this does not strike me as something worthy of the Doctor’s attention. There are no aliens involved; there is no threat to the Earth; there is no history tampering or time line warping going on. Lazarus’ experiment is a failure and will never be reproduced commercially; a monster is created, yes, but nothing that the police and/or military couldn’t handle on their own. (Speaking of which—where are they in the Doctor Who universe when you need them?) Even if the experiment had been successful, so what? What is that to the Doctor? There are certainly moral and philosophical points of debate, but that is for the human race to decide.

Turns out—this is simply a show; a show for the Doctor; a show for us, the audience; a conjuring trick; a manipulation. Whispers and secrets; shadowy figures and dire warnings. Mr. Saxon. Oh please save us from season long story arcs.

The monster is the big distraction in this Doctor Who sleight of hand. I can’t help wondering, though, how it is that the giant scorpion creature incarnation of Lazarus is ten times larger than his human body. How does that work? Not to mention the whole scorpion nature of the thing and how exactly does that fit in to our evolutionary path? But we’re not supposed to think of those things; we’re only supposed to be impressed with the wonderful special effect.

There are a few nice Doctor and Martha moments (the Doctor’s James Bond suit; Martha’s collecting of Lazarus DNA sample) but for the most part we have chases down corridors by giant special effects monster and people panicking as they try to get out of the sealed glass doors. Speaking of those frantic guests—with alarms sounding and lights dimming, who in their right mind is going to scoff when someone runs in with a warning of danger?

The Doctor and Martha end up in Lazarus’ machine spinning out of control while the Doctor works some magic of his own (“reverse the polarity “—gotta love it). Oh, and I guess there is a line thrown in to address the size differential, but “cellular triplication” indeed. Big bang, all is over. However there is still plenty of time left so we have a raising from the dead and yet another high adrenalin chase/confrontation.

There is a nice moment in the cathedral between the Doctor and Lazarus as they discuss what it is to be human and the quest for unending life. Except there is the one line that bothers me each time I see this, and I know it is nitpicking Gary but it annoys me to no end. Lazarus is talking of his childhood memories and the Doctor recognizes them as the Blitz. “You’ve read about it,” Lazarus says. Why? Why would Lazarus be surprised at the Doctor’s knowledge?  It is not like anyone, no matter what age, has never heard of the Blitz without having lived through it; I would venture to say that 95% of the population living in London and over the age of say, seven, knows about the Blitz. At this dramatic moment Lazarus chooses to dwell on and comment on the manner in which the Doctor has come by his information. The only reason for the line is to establish that the Doctor is older than he looks and to form the basis for their subsequent conversation. If I liked the episode more I could probably overlook it, but as it is it tends to mar the otherwise compelling scene.

And it is a compelling debate the two have. “Facing death is part of being human,” the Doctor says, and Lazarus counters with, “Avoiding death, that’s being human.” Lazarus views his failure as a success, thinking he is now more than an ordinary human. The Doctor, however, believes that “there’s no such thing as an ordinary human.” The Doctor ends on this melancholy note: “I’m old enough to know that a longer life isn’t always a better one. In the end, you just get tired. Tired of the struggle, tired of losing everyone that matters to you, tired of watching everything turn to dust. If you live long enough, Lazarus, the only certainty left is that you’ll end up alone.”

The moment passes quickly, though, as Lazarus transforms once again and we are off and running. This is where the Doctor could use a little Brigadier with his “five rounds rapid.” Instead he sends Martha and Tish racing up to the bell tower as bait. (OK, the Doctor doesn’t send them, Martha decides on her own and Tish follows, but what else did the Doctor expect?) His brilliant plan is to send shock waves of sound to dislodge the CGI monster from his perch so that he will come crashing down to his death. The Doctor takes his time doing this and takes some chances not only that it will work but that it won’t bring Martha and Tish tumbling out of the sky as well (which it almost does but miraculously doesn’t).

Martha’s reward for her act of bravery is to finally be acknowledged as a full-fledged companion. But again he does it in a casual and somewhat callous way, letting her first think he is ready to take off without her. Martha’s effusive “Oh, thank you, thank you” highlights that this is a favor the Doctor is granting upon her and she should be grateful. “Well,” he tells her, “you were never really just a passenger.” But the way the Doctor has treated her, yes, she was just a passenger and it appears still is.

I feel sorry for Martha, but I also go back to the fact that she lets him get away with it. I wish she would be a little bit more like she was at the end of Gridlock when she forced him to be honest with her.

Martha’s trip is extended, and I too carry on, Gary, on this slow path of mine . . .

Evolution of the Daleks

Dear Gary—

“I feel humanity,” Sec the human Dalek says. “I feel everything we wanted from mankind, which is ambition, hatred, aggression, and war. Such a genius for war.”

This is the problem with Evolution of the Daleks. Daleks are pure hatred, aggression, and war. (The only one of the four that perhaps is lacking is ambition; ambition hints of emotion which is alien to a Dalek; and ambition implies there is something greater to strive for, yet Daleks already view themselves as supreme.) With such a statement Sec is granting supremacy to the human race. With such a statement Sec is devaluing Daleks. With such a statement Sec is clearly defining himself as insane (relative to a Dalek).

I can accept that Sec is insane; the problem is that neither the show nor the Doctor treats him as such. In fact the Doctor turns mad scientist to aid and abet Sec in his scheme of turning the human bodies he has in storage into a hybrid race. This is not like the Ninth Doctor’s allowing of the Gelth to inhabit corpses. This Tenth Doctor is playing Igor to Sec’s Frankenstein to turn stolen human beings into monsters. The Doctor is taking Sec at his word that the bodies before him are irretrievably lost as humans. He is taking Sec at his word that he wants elements of the human heart injected into the gene feed (the same Sec who had extolled the virtues of mankind’s genius for war). He is taking the Cult of Skaro at its word that they will allow this transformation.

Don’t get me wrong. An insane Sec evolving before our eyes is fascinating. His response to Solomon’s stirring speech; his ability to admire the subtler aspects of humanity; his mix of emotions upon witnessing Solomon’s extermination; his emerging philosophies on what it means to be Dalek; all of these are intriguing to watch. But it doesn’t change the fact that Sec is unstable; that Sec is still essentially a Dalek who has been altered with the human template of the ruthless Diagoras; his mindset is evolving, but that is no guarantee that he is seeing the light as the Doctor would wish.

The Doctor looks at this new Sec and hope stirs in him. In a flash the Doctor places his trust in this madman, based on the flimsy evidence that a Dalek has changed his mind. (“Daleks never change their minds.”)The Doctor has some serious blinders on.

 “That is incorrect.” The remaining Cult has no such blinders. They know that Sec is insane. That is the saving grace of Evolution of the Daleks. And that’s rather scary—that the Daleks know better than the Doctor. “You are no longer a Dalek,” they tell Sec. Sec being chained by the rest of the Cult is inevitable, and shame on the Doctor for not being more perceptive. “You told us to imagine,” the Daleks tell Sec, “and we imagined your irrelevance.” That is a perfect summation. In the grand Dalek scheme of things Sec is irrelevant.

Sec is not a Dalek and the human Daleks are not Daleks. They are not even scary. Sec rhapsodizes about the human knack for survival, which I guess is true in the Doctor Who universe, but in the Doctor Who universe they are also the perpetual dupes. The insane Sec might not see this, but the rest of the Cult surely does; I can’t imagine why they accommodate Sec for as long as they do. The most bizarre element to the whole thing is the desire to return to the flesh. The Dalek metal casing is one of their strongest assets. Why would they abandon their armament so readily? I can’t even think why Sec would view this as beneficial, except that Sec is insane. The resulting army of automatons marching through the sewers is both comical and pitiful; they do not strike terror in the heart.

Just as a side note here—where did the Daleks get all of the high tech equipment and weapons in 1930 Manhattan?

Most of the genre mash ups from the previous episode have been abandoned for this action packed conclusion. It is heart pounding and tension laden as per usual, but doesn’t quite mask the questionable actions of the Doctor or the ‘because we say it is so’ science. However it is sufficiently entertaining and the cast, both regular and guest, are engaging.

Martha especially shines. I love that the Doctor trusts her to work out what to do on her own; and I love that she does exactly that. Martha plays detective, first determining where the action is taking place, how to get in, and what the Daleks are up to. And then, with their backs to the wall and death by pig slave seemingly inevitable, Martha comes up with her ingenious scheme to electrocute their attackers (never mind that it is all too convenient and the timing in particular highly questionable).

Ultimately, though, it is all rather mundane. Because Daleks are Daleks and not Secs; and automatons are automatons and not Daleks. It all boils down to the Doctor racing against the clock to avert disaster; not quite succeeding but succeeding enough to buy some time for a final confrontation; a dramatic speech by the Doctor; a shoot out; and finally an emergency temporal shift to ensure that there will be Dalek episodes in the Doctor Who future. (“Oh yes, one day.”) There is just enough to enjoy but not quite enough to satisfy.

Lastly we have “the pig and the showgirl” ending. Laszlo and Tallulah are two of the brightest spots in both episodes of this two part story. With a fully equipped genetics laboratory courtesy of the Daleks, the Doctor is able to save Laszlo from his brother pig slaves’ fate. His fate is tragic nonetheless; doomed to be forever an outcast and a freak. Frank has finagled a home for him in Hooverville, but what will happen to him once this short lived camp is gone? I envision a life of circus sideshows for our poor hero and I can’t help thinking that somewhere out there in the Doctor’s universe the TARDIS could take him (and Tallulah if she so desires) someplace where he would be welcome; or someplace where he could be restored to his human condition; or at the very least someplace where some serious plastic surgery could be performed. Last but not least, Laszlo (and Tallulah if she so desires) could join the Doctor and Martha as TARDIS companion(s). None of these options are even considered. The Doctor and Martha leave making their “pig and the showgirl” jokes as though this is the best that life has to offer the star-crossed lovers.

Personally I would love to have them join the TARDIS crew. I like Martha, but really the whole unrequited crush theme is getting stale. The show could use a dose of “the odd pig slave Dalek mutant hybrid” and a dash of “three Ls and an H” Tallulah to liven things up.

Ah well, another opportunity lost. Best not to dwell on the would’ve, could’ve, should’ve Gary . . .

The Daleks in Manhattan

Dear Gary—

The Daleks in Manhattan is a rollicking good adventure. It is no Talons of Weng-Chiang, a classic Doctor Who backstage period piece also featuring a pig man, but it is fun all the same. It is unfortunate that many of the American accents put on by the actors are sub-par; some of the extras especially really shouldn’t speak; however Solomon’s is passable and Tallulah is such an exaggerated character to begin with that it is forgivable in her.

The story is set up nicely with the brief glimpse into the ill-fated romance of Laszlo and Tallulah before Laszlo is attacked by the pig man. Romance, humor, horror. Add mystery once the Doctor and Martha arrive to delve into the strange disappearances in Hooverville and you have a genre packed episode in the making. Who needs Daleks?

But the Daleks are promised in our title and so they too come along for the ride even though they seem a little forced and out of place. I have no problem going from the musical comedy bits in the theater to the depression era pathos in Hooverville to the horror in the sewers; however the Daleks playing at Empire State builders is jarring. “Explain. Explain.” just doesn’t have the same ring to it as “Exterminate. Exterminate.” Dealing with an unhappy labor force is not exactly the Daleks’ forte.

It doesn’t help that their front man Diagoras is not convincing as a powerful mogul in charge of the most important construction project in New York City at the time; he is middle management material at best. Having said that, the slightly philosophical discussion between a Dalek and Diagoras as they look out over the city is chilling. “My planet is gone,” the Dalek muses, “destroyed in a great war. Yet versions of this city stand throughout history. The human race always continues.” The Cult of Skaro, created to imagine; that is a horror that if treated right could make for a complex and intriguing narrative.

There are flashes of what could have been as the four remaining Daleks debate the merits of their Final Experiment. “Daleks are supreme; humans are weak,” one Dalek argues. Dalek Sec counters with, “But there are millions of humans and only four of us. If we are supreme, why are we not victorious?” Sec’s solution flies in the face of the Dalek mantra of racial purity, and the insurrection that is brewing amongst his fellow Cult members is darkly ominous.

Except that Sec’s Final Experiment is ludicrous and the philosophical debates and Dalek rebellions are not the focus of our story but merely window dressing. Instead we get pig slaves. The pig slaves are fabulous, but they are completely nonsensical. Depth of storytelling is sacrificed for action and genre sampling. And that’s OK because the action and the genre sampling are entertaining enough.

Solomon is the heart of Hooverville and he does a nice job of establishing the desperation of the place, even if it is shaky in historical detail. I have to remind myself, Gary, that this is not one of the historical stories of the Hartnell era; we are not here to delve into depression era social dynamics or politics; we are simply here to set up characters to either become fodder for the Dalek/pig slave onslaught or to push along the action.

The Doctor and Martha quickly evaluate the shanty town and its denizens and gain the confidence of its leaders. Volunteering for sewer duty (“I’ll kill you for this”) the two enter the dark, dank world below with Solomon and Frank. Andrew Garfield as Frank is a pleasant addition to the guest cast, even if his character is a little too conveniently perfect. Their discovery and examination of the slimy green jellyfish lends an eerie tone (is it just me, or does Martha seem extremely sensitive to smells?) and their subsequent encounter with pig slaves goes from touching to terrifying in a matter of seconds. The capture and seeming demise of Frank at this point is unexpected and effective.

Bursting out of the tunnels, our three survivors—the Doctor, Martha, and Solomon—run smack into the theater and Tallulah for a bit of a breather. The Doctor has time to examine his gruesome find and Martha and Tallulah can exchange lost and unrequited love stories. I really wish Martha would start using some of her demonstrated intelligence in evaluating her relationship with the Doctor. She made a start at the end of our last story but still seems to be carrying that inane torch. Tallulah, on the other hand, is much more realistic in her approach. “It’s the Depression, sweetie,” she tells Martha. “Your heart might break, but the show goes on. Because if it stops, you starve.”

Tallulah is a stereotype who defies her label. The ditsy blonde showgirl who is brave and determined and loyal and perceptive. The larger than life caricature who is deeply nuanced. She is not repulsed by her half pig half man lover; she does not scream or run away. She responds with sorrow and compassion and pragmatism.

The Daleks in Manhattan is the set-up episode of a two parter. We have gotten to know our characters and exposed our villains. It is now time for the cliffhanger and the big reveal concerning the Dalek’s Final Experiment.

The Doctor, Martha, Laszlo, and an alive and well Frank make their way to the Dalek lab. We have already witnessed the overly ambitious Diagoras being consumed by Sec, now he emerges out of Sec’s casing as a Dalek-human hybrid.

“I am a human Dalek. I am your future.”

It is effective in the moment.

I’ll hold off for now, Gary. A second part is yet to come. The suit wearing tentacle head can have his few minutes of glory.

Gridlock

Dear Gary—

I resign myself to the notion of having to watch Gridlock. It is an unfair preconception on my part but I can’t shake it. Once I am watching Gridlock I enjoy it, but the dark, claustrophobic nature of it colors my perception when it is not actually before me on the screen. Plus the fact that the one thing in this world I hate the most is driving, and the thought of viewing an entire episode about nothing but driving drives me nuts. (If I ever win the lottery, the first thing I will do is hire a chauffeur.)

At least in Gridlock the Doctor has at last taken Martha off Earth, even if it is to the retread New Earth, which is getting very old.

At this point I want to note, Gary, that I just recently popped in The Dominators, and from the first cheap model shot of a spacecraft landing on alien soil I was cheering. What a breath of fresh air. But back to the congested confines of Gridlock.

“Well, it looks like the same old Earth to me, on a Wednesday afternoon.”

Yeah, same old.

“You’re taking me to the same planets that you took her?”

Yeah, retread.

The story itself, however, manages to rise above this limited scope.

I’m not sure why it works, but it might be that very claustrophobic nature that predisposes me against it. This is a small story on a small scale dealing with some big concepts. On the face of it, Martha is kidnapped and taken to the Motorway where thousands or possibly millions of people are trapped in an endless loop of a traffic jam with no hope of escape. The Doctor is in pursuit but waylaid by Novice Hame and with the aid of the Face of Boe opens the roof of the highway allowing for all of the cars to enter the city on the planet’s surface.

(Oh, and as an afterthought throw in some monsters below to add some menace; the Macra, devolved from their previous form as depicted in The Macra Terror of classic Who.)

A multitude of questions arise out of this scenario, the bulk of which deal with how stupid these people are to stubbornly stay put on a journey of hopelessness and how exactly they survive along the way. But the story boldly flaunts these very ambiguities. It almost throws them in our face and stares us down with them.

“In all that time,” the Doctor demands of Alice and May regarding the twenty three years they have traveled on the Motorway, “have you ever seen a police car?” The two squirm uncomfortably and look askance as they evade the question. That is Doctor Who brashly daring to ask those very questions and yet managing to brazenly avoid answering them. Those doubts, those almost apologetic and guilty looks as the guest cast tries to cover their lack of knowledge or initiative or curiosity; that is all the understanding we need.

In a strange way this frees us up to simply accept the parameters the script has laid out for us and to concentrate on the larger storytelling.

The larger storytelling is actually a very simple thing; it is a story of hope and understanding and a sense of community and belonging. It is told by the people trapped on the Motorway and it is told by the Doctor and Martha.

The obvious starting point is with the people on the Motorway, these disparate individuals in their isolated and customized vehicles who banter with one another over the airwaves and take a moment out of their dreary day to sing hymns in unison. They are united in one hope, one vision, one goal. Optimism flows from Brannigan; it is a life affirming journey despite twelve years of dead end traffic. (Kittens!) It is a community in microcosm as the Doctor car hops his way down to the fast lane to rescue Martha.

One could make an ‘opiate of the masses’ argument here. After all, this planet is rife with drugs. The Doctor and Martha initially land in Pharmacy Town where street peddlers are pushing all manner of ‘moods,’ and we later learn that the current crisis is caused by the craze mood Bliss which “killed the world in seven minutes flat.” (I have to parenthetically wonder about the Honesty patch that Cheen is wearing—is Milo that suspicious of her and if so for good cause?)However the mass exodus is away from the under city and towards the light above. The hope that propels and sustains these people comes from within and from their bond with one another.

Kinship, unity, identity. These are all things the Doctor has lost.

“The sky’s a burnt orange,” the Doctor tells Martha of his home planet, “with the Citadel enclosed in a mighty glass dome shining under the twin suns. Beyond that the mountains go on forever; slopes of deep red grass capped with snow.”

We know that this Gallifrey of his is dead and gone; Martha does not. The Doctor keeps it alive in his mind—his planet, his home, his community, his people, his family, his friends. “I lied to you,” he later confesses, “because I liked it. I could pretend. Just for a bit I could imagine they were still alive underneath a burnt orange sky.”

The Doctor has to make his own way through the friendless universe.

“You are not alone.” The Face of Boe speaks his final words, but the Doctor finds no peace in them. “The Face of Boe was wrong,” he tells Martha. “There’s no one else.” The Doctor has no hope to carry him, only the memories that he desperately clings to. Strains of Abide With Me fills the air, the faith swelling down from the city above him, but the Doctor sits in his loneliness and despair as he relates the tragic history of the Time Lords to Martha.

It is a start, however; the first step in establishing a connection with another. That had been the true importance of Rose in his life; his mistake was in depending too deeply on that one attachment to the exclusion of all else. He has to begin again and he is understandably reluctant to do so. He promised Martha only one trip in the TARDIS claiming he would rather be on his own. We know this isn’t true, and deep down he knows it as well. Thus he stretches the definition of one trip to include one past and one future trip.

Along the way he has to lose Martha in order to find her. “Hardly know her,” he says of her as he frantically tries to rescue her from the lower levels of the Motorway. “I was too busy showing off.”  He is beginning to realize the superficial nature of their relationship and beginning to appreciate the significance of true friendship.

Martha, on the other hand, is beginning to realize the folly of blind faith. “I didn’t really think,” she tells Milo and Cheen. “I just followed the Doctor.” She is millions of years removed from her family. “They don’t even know where I am,” she says of them. “My mum and dad. If I died here, they’d never know.” She has followed the Doctor and she doesn’t even really know him. She continues to place her trust in him, though (what else has she got?). However, once removed from danger she puts her foot down and demands answers from him.

Sitting in the alley, the city above vibrant with song, Martha commands the Doctor’s attention; and the Doctor pulls up a chair. The two are finally beginning to communicate. The Doctor is letting Martha in and Martha is letting go some of her false ideals (if only Rose had taken a lesson).

“You are not alone.” It is a strong urge in all of us, to have that connection to another.

“You’ve got me,” Martha reasons. “Is that what he meant?”

The Doctor disagrees and dismisses the Face of Boe’s words. Yet he does have Martha; he is not alone; and after the events of Gridlock they are closer than ever.

Words of hope, Gary; you are not alone . . .

The Shakespeare Code

Dear Gary—

“Oh, let’s take the fun and mystery out of everything.” The Doctor is not in the mood for explanations in The Shakespeare Code. “Martha,” he continues, “you don’t want to know. It just does.”

The same can be applied to Doctor Who as a rule. Logical and coherent explanations are few and far between; the show invites the audience to instead just sit back and “hold on tight.” In the best serials the questions barely even register; in most cases the questions are easily forgiven; in some cases the questions leave behind a vague discontent; in a few cases the questions scream out at me.

The Shakespeare Code is a prime example of some lingering dissatisfaction despite the overall good feeling I have of the episode; and upon closer examination is in danger of teetering over the edge into the shrieking eddy wherein madness lies.

I’ll start with the good, because it is strong enough to pull me back up over that dangerous precipice. And I’ll start with the sets, costumes, and effects, because The Shakespeare Code looks fabulous. Shakespeare himself is another asset—both the character and the actor playing him (Dean Lennox Kelly). The Doctor also contributes to my general goodwill as does the humor. Last, but not by any means least, Martha Jones continues to impress.

Taken together these elements make for an entertaining serial that is enjoyable to watch. Yet when it is all over and done with I am left perplexed; something about it just doesn’t sit right with me. The fact that I have to go back and analyze to pin down what is wrong with it is a testament to the quality of the good bits, but it doesn’t quite make up for the fact that there is something amiss. This is irksome to me; I think I almost prefer the out and out bad.

The witches are the obvious scapegoat for my lack of enthusiasm, but it is not them per se, it is the lack of commitment the show displays towards them. Either they are honest to goodness witches straight out of Macbeth, or they are an alien race of Carrionites who have developed an advanced science utilizing the spoken word and psychic energy. But even the Doctor can’t make up his mind on this one.

Doctor: “If I tell them the truth, they’ll panic and think it was witchcraft.”

Martha: “OK, what was it then?”

Doctor: “Witchcraft.”

I suppose that is my main objection to this episode; it tries to have the best of both worlds, but in not taking a clear stand it sinks under its own indecision. And it continually undermines itself throughout in small ways as well as big.

Thus, Martha wonders if her race will be a problem in 1599 London, realizing that she is in a different time with different attitudes; yet when Shakespeare refers to her as a “delicious blackamoor lady” she is aghast. Then we have the Doctor pointing out to Martha that they are in Bedlam, a place in which a cry for help is lost in the cacophonous din; yet he loses his sense of place when he admonishes the keeper for doing his duty as he knows it. The show does such a wonderful job of establishing the historical nature of the time and place, and makes our characters mindful of the time and place in which they have landed, yet it still wants to enforce modern morality.

The Doctor tells Martha, “Its political correctness gone mad,” when Shakespeare tries to make up for his apparent  faux pas; yet the script continually displays its own political correctness gone mad; it is as though it is trying to apologize for history.

Speaking of history, Martha asks the Doctor, quite rightly, if it is safe to “move around and stuff.” The Doctor, still not in the mood for explanations, dismisses her example of butterflies and films. “What have butterflies ever done to you?” Then when she pushes the notion, wondering if she should by some chance kill her grandfather: “Are you planning to?” It is very clever and funny. But then later when Martha states that the world did not end in 1599 and therefore they are safe, the Doctor does his own film reference with Back to the Future. So he initially brushes off Martha’s concerns about changing the course of history, but then when it is convenient he emphasizes those very concerns as though she never thought of it before. Once again the script wants it both ways.

Then we have Shakespeare.  “He’s a genius,” the Doctor says of him. “The genius. The most human human there’s ever been. Now we’re going to hear him speak. Always he chooses the best words; new, beautiful, brilliant words.” Then the script undercuts this with the first words out of this genius’ mouth:  “Ah, shut your big fat mouths!” It is clever and funny and deliberate. However, the equally clever and funny and deliberate quotes that the Doctor feeds to our genius as our story progresses tend to prove that our genius is not so much a genius as a thief; the “best words” that he chooses are not chosen after all but stolen; a not so deliberate consequence, I suspect, of the oh so funny and clever script.

This is even more curious when you consider that the whole reason the Carrionites have found a way out of their imprisonment and into this world is due to the brilliant wordsmith, and the witches further enlist his aid in releasing the rest of their fiendish kin. “The mind of a genius will unlock the tide of blood,” Bloodtide proclaims. Except I can’t help but notice that the words comprising this magic code are not Shakespeare’s words at all—they are spoon fed via the witches’ potion to his pen while he is in some kind of a trance. So why exactly did they need The Bard?

Furthermore, the bloody tide starts to unleash during rehearsal as Burbage recites the magic spell written down before him on the page. It’s beyond me why the witches are upset about this; I would think they would be happy; but apparently there is a certain witching hour that needs to be upheld. At any rate, if a simple rehearsal can unlock the demon hole, why can’t the witches go to the Globe themselves and recite their incantation and be done with it? Why the need for Shakespeare or the play?

There are only three nuggets of truth that I find in the chosen person and place. The first is the witches’ entrance into this world. Speaking of Shakespeare, Lilith explains, “His son perished. The grief of a genius. Grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance.” This I can believe (at least I can believe this of a Shakespeare who doesn’t swipe all his best lines from passing strangers). The next is the architecture of the Globe Theater. “Words and shapes following the same design,” the Doctor says as he begins to put the pieces together. “Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets.” And then later he links this up with “the fourteen stars of the Rexel planetary configuration.” This is a plausible enough explanation for the need to perform the incantation in the Globe.

Finally, I can accept the use of Shakespeare to dispel the witches (the genius wordsmith and not the plagiarist). “That’s what you do, Will,” the Doctor encourages him, “You choose perfect words.”  Here is the justification for his presence. The special effects whirling about, the chaos, the confusion, and William Shakespeare standing in the middle of this maelstrom working his magic. “No! Words of power,” Lilith screams. Except again the clever and funny script can’t help itself. The final word to complete the spell and seal the Carrionite doom is supplied to him by JK Rowling of all people via Martha and the Doctor. “Expelliarmus!”

The power of the word. So much is made of this in The Shakespeare Code, yet that power is continually blunted throughout. The Shakespeare Code falls victim to its own conceit. I have no idea what that means, Gary, but it sounds good.

“Words of the right sound, the right shape, the right rhythm. Words that last forever.” A science based on words. It’s an intriguing concept, especially when coupled with Shakespeare. But it is never fully embraced and it ends up being some beautiful and entertaining mumbo jumbo.

“Oh, let’s take the fun and mystery out of everything.” The Doctor isn’t in any mood for explanations, and perhaps that is where I should take my cue.

After all, Gary:

“You don’t want to know. It just does . . . .”

Smith and Jones

Dear Gary—

Smith and Jones is a good old fashioned Doctor Who adventure. It is the introductory story for a new companion, but Martha fits so seamlessly in that it doesn’t feel like a ‘Ta Da! Presenting Ms. Freema Agyeman as Martha Jones’ episode. We first meet Martha through her family and quickly discern that she is the rock at the center of this dysfunctional unit. Unlike Jackie and Mickey who were developed as characters of interest, Martha’s family members are strictly utilitarian in nature, serving to define Martha and to incidentally move along the narrative.

Martha is a medical student at the hospital where the Doctor has checked himself in as a patient. It is curious that Martha listens to his two heartbeats, makes no comment, and then later has a hard time believing he is an alien. However that is the only false note in her character.

The Doctor singles Martha out immediately, and as he observes and appraises, so too do we. Martha is intelligent, resourceful, curious, brave, and adventurous—all desirous qualities in a good companion. And she is instantly and eminently likeable.

The story itself is likeable as well. Simply put: “Judoon platoon upon the moon.” The Judoon are a decent new entry in the Doctor Who list of aliens; a bit derivative of the Sontarans, but that’s OK, I like the Sontarans. They are also similar in nature to the Megara from The Stones of Blood; these two races could team up for a spinoff— Law and Order: UFO.

In pursuit of their fugitive, the Judoon transport the hospital to the moon, which is neutral territory, since they have no jurisdiction over the Earth. This results in some impressive special effects. (I especially like the Judoon space craft.) It also makes for some considerable panic. Martha remains the calm at the center of this storm, and the Doctor naturally gravitates to her.

The felon the Judoon are after is a Plasmavore in disguise as Florence Finnegan, a patient at the hospital. We only get the sketchiest of details concerning her background, race, and crime, but that is all that is required for the story. Similar to Martha’s family, she merely serves a functional role, in her case as villain; someone for the Doctor and Martha to uncover and outwit. Smith and Jones is a case of less is more. We don’t need the details of the Judoon or the Plasmavore or Miss Finnegan’s minions the Slabs. They appear before us fully realized, no explanations required, and serve their purpose for the narrative, leaving room for the true heart of the adventure—a skillful blend of action, humor, and character development.

This is the type of story in which the Doctor shines. Unencumbered by the baggage of Rose and rid of onerous story arcs (with only hints of future themes that thankfully can be ignored) the Doctor is free to simply be the Doctor; and David Tennant takes full advantage.

It starts with Martha. This is the first chance in New Who that we get to see the Doctor sizing up a new companion. Back in Rose we didn’t yet know the latest incarnation, and much of the audience was not even familiar with the older ones. Rose was therefore the focal point, and we got to know the Doctor along with her. By Smith and Jones, however, we are completely indoctrinated with the lead character, and while much of the emphasis is on Martha evaluating this strange man, we have the advantage on her and can watch the process objectively. We therefore get to know her along with the Doctor and we get to observe how the Doctor reacts sans Rose.

The two click from the start. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got to earn that title,” Martha tells the Doctor regarding his name, but it doesn’t take long before she is calling him Doctor, much to the Doctor’s delight. They work well together solving the moon mystery; Martha makes an excellent Watson to the Doctor’s Sherlock. Then when action is required, she steps in as an able Robin to his Batman. Except that I have to say she is far more intelligent and capable than either of those two sidekicks.

Martha really shows her merit when the Doctor risks his life by allowing the Plasmavore to drink his blood. By all rights he should be dead and the show ended. However Martha quickly realizes the sacrifice he has made and she is not about to let this remarkable man die. She is a doctor (once she passes her exams) and she works swiftly to revive him, utilizing her knowledge of his two hearts which she previously had refused to believe, and in the end selflessly giving him her last breath in order to save him. Martha has truly proven her worth.

I love the doses of humor in this episode as well. I do cringe a little when the Doctor literally shakes off the massive amount of radiation he absorbs, however the “barefoot on the moon” scene is sufficiently amusing and I can buy his “It’s only roentgen radiation; we used to play with roentgen bricks in the nursery” explanation. I’m dubious but forgiving. Even better is his postman act to throw the Plasmavore off the scent. It is a brilliant bit of maintained mania on his part and something I could easily see the Fourth Doctor doing.

The resolution is both simplistic and contrived, but again for this one serial it serves its purpose. I’m not sure why the Plasmavore needs to increase the settings on the MRI to reach all the way to Earth when she is merely trying to take out the Judoon who are right there with her on the moon, but it makes for an exciting climax as the Doctor races to stop the destruction; in the end he does the only logical thing—he pulls the plug. After that it is simply a matter of waiting for the Judoon to reverse the process and all is well. (I’m not even going to worry about all those intensive care patients who were never shown but surely were in that hospital and who must have died along the way.)

Martha has been to the moon; she has helped save the Earth; she has met an alien with two hearts. She also has exams to pass, rent to pay, and a family to appease; she has a life to live. She can’t go traipsing off across the universe, no matter how attractive the offer. Except: “If it helps, I can travel in time as well.” Now I do love the tie scene; the humor of it mixes well with this story. However: “Crossing into established events is strictly forbidden; except for cheap tricks.” This is dangerous territory, Gary.  Already New Who has had one too many impossibilities made possible; now it is blurring the lines on those immutable laws once held so dear to the Time Lords and to the Doctor. New Who is starting to go in for “cheap tricks” and while I will forgive this one, I will not forget. The cheap trick works and Martha is the new companion.

Martha: “You’re spaceship’s made of wood.”

Welcome aboard, Martha Jones.

“It’s bigger on the inside.” I never get tired of seeing the first reactions to the TARDIS; no matter how retread it is, it still always manages to be refreshing. There is the obligatory reference to Rose, and inexplicably the Doctor is reluctant to commit to Martha as full time companion, promising only one thank you trip and then home, but we know how that goes, don’t we Gary . . .

The Runaway Bride

Dear Gary—

There are so many things I dislike about The Runaway Bride, and upon first viewing I recall that the dislike was intense. However it has been several years and several viewings since then, and I have to say that I can now watch it and be utterly entertained, despite the fact that the elements I dislike remain. It all has to do with that “big picture” that the Doctor keeps trying to get Donna to see and that she continually overlooks.

The Runaway Bride and Donna are the exact slap in the face that Doctor Who and the Doctor needed at that time. Fresh from the Rose-induced illusions of castles in the air, both needed a reminder that the Doctor is not some starry-eyed schoolboy or some teeny bopper idol; he is the Doctor. I do love a well-deserved slap in the face (key word being well-deserved, which does not happen often), and the two that Donna administers in The Runaway Bride almost (but not quite) rival Leela’s back in Horror of Fang Rock.

At the time I did not appreciate that. At the time Donna was one of the elements I disliked most about the episode. Now I view her as its saving grace.

The story itself seems just an excuse to throw together a bunch of disparate components that someone thought would be awesome to see on screen.

“So, come on then. Robot Santas. What are they for?” Well might Donna ask the question. The robot Santas are a tie back to the previous Christmas special, and as in that story they have no plausible reason to be there other than the fact that it is Christmas and they look cool. They have no credible connection to the narrative.

The most obvious example of this, however, is the TARDIS chase scene. It is a thrilling sequence to watch but totally ridiculous and has absolutely no foundation to back it up. It is a parlor trick that cheapens the production.

The Empress of the Racnoss is impressive enough at first, but she’s rather static. I don’t really get the threat. And if she has been on the loose since the creation of the Earth, why has it taken her so long to get around to digging up her kids? She seems to have magical powers, barking orders to the air that miraculously come to be—like, “Transport me!” or “Activate the particles.” Maybe she has some invisible allies—the ‘they’ the Doctor keeps talking about but never defines. The ‘they’ who dug a hole to the center of the Earth and created this underground lab and manufactured the ancient and extinct Huon particles. Was Torchwood in league with the Empress, or HC Clements and his board of directors? Someone has been busy on the Racnoss’ behalf, and it is certainly beyond Lance. None of that is explored, though.

But all of this is incidental. Like the whole key thing. The Doctor makes a big point out of HC Clements making keys, but that really has nothing to do with anything. It is merely a diversion. What really matters in The Runaway Bride is Donna. The Runaway Bride is about Donna and her journey of personal growth. (By the way I find it amusing that Donna has more positive and tangible growth in this single episode than Rose did over the course of two entire seasons with the Doctor.)

Donna begins shrill and angry, which is an immediate turn off. But I have come around on Donna, and I realize that this is a defense mechanism she has utilized all her life. Superficially, the character of Donna is shallow. But just as she learns to dig deep, so too do we as the story progresses. There are hints in the opening TARDIS sequence. As Donna shouts her way through it there are brief moments of quiet when we can see her mind at work.  She throws open the TARDIS doors in mid tantrum and is cut dead at the wondrous sight of space. Her immediate reaction is the practical, “How am I breathing?” Next she delves into who her captor is and where he is from. She takes in all the alien, then returns to the practical, “It’s freezing with these doors open.” She is processing it all and accepting, but she doesn’t want to think about it; not yet. “Get me to the church!”

This is again brilliantly played out in the few seconds as she first steps out of the TARDIS to realize its true nature. After walking around and then in she realizes exactly what the TARDIS is but it horrifies her and she turns her back on it. “I just want to get married.” She reverts to her comfort zone.

Donna has spent her life skimming the surface of it. She has a no-nonsense personality yet doesn’t like dealing with harsh reality. Thus she creates romantic illusions, similar to Rose. This is hilariously exposed with the recounting of her courtship with Lance juxtaposed with the truth. She has built up her defenses, and one can hardly blame her, what with a best friend like Nerys and a family that parties at her expense after just witnessing her disappearance into thin air. When Donna walks into the reception, therefore, and is immediately attacked by her loved ones, she deflects the anger with tears; then burying the hurt she dances like nothing has happened.

Anger is easy; tears are easy; dancing is easy. Facing the emotions boiling under the surface is the most difficult thing in the world.

Donna needs a slap in the face of her own and she gets it from Lance. I have no doubt she has been subjected to casual cruelty her entire life, but Lance’s cruelty cuts to her core. And she stands there and takes it, absorbing and digesting. “But I love you,” she quietly says. The shock and pain washes over her; she faces the harshest truth of all; and she survives, emerging a stronger and better person, all in the span of a few minutes. “Don’t you hurt him!” Her immediate concern after this humiliation is for the Doctor.

All of the qualities are present in Donna from the start; they are simply hidden behind the wall she has built up around herself. Chief among these are her compassion and curiosity, and the Doctor has been slowly drawing them out. In the midst of her TARDIS tirade, therefore, she can suddenly stop with a heartfelt, “How do you mean, lost?” Or after missing her wedding and being chased on the motorway by killer robots and having to make a leap of faith in her wedding dress she can sit calmly on the rooftop and absolve the Doctor of all guilt. And when her family and friends have been attacked by a Christmas tree she thinks first of the wounded, but grasps the ‘bigger picture’ and follows along after the Doctor to get some answers.

This is what allows her to stand there and take the abuse that Lance heaps upon her; this is what allows her to see the painful truth; this is what allows her to ultimately forgive her faithless fiancé. The Doctor has led her to her inner strength.  Likewise, Donna has awakened some dormant traits in the Doctor. The Doctor and Rose usually brought out the worst in each other; the Doctor and Donna bring out the best.

This is beautifully depicted in the TARDIS scene when the Doctor takes Donna back to the creation of the Earth. Donna sits silently in her grief; this time her tears are real. The Doctor is taken aback; his bombastic way of bigger, further, brilliant isn’t cutting it. He is drawing Donna out of her parochial view, but he has to realize that sometimes he misses the trees for the forest. Her grief is real; her tears are real; they are deeply personal. For once he does not lose sight of the individual in his grand scheme of things. Gently he leads her to the TARDIS doors to witness the majesty before them.

“All I want to see is my bed,” Donna says, reverting to her head in the sand coping device, but the Doctor prevails as he flings open the doors to reveal the stunning sight.

“Puts the wedding in perspective,” Donna says, voicing her lesson. But the Doctor has learned a lesson of his own: “No, but that’s what you do. The human race makes sense out of chaos. Marking it out with weddings and Christmas and calendars. This whole process is beautiful, but only if it’s being observed.”

There are more lessons for the Doctor to learn, though. Unfortunately this is another element of The Runaway Bride that I dislike. Whereas the previous scene was subtle and moving, the Doctor’s showdown with the Empress is heavy handed and contrived.

For starters, I just don’t buy the Empress as a danger. The Doctor admits that she is defenseless because she used up all her Huon energy. In fact the Doctor doesn’t even deal with her himself in the end; he leaves that for the tank in the street to handle. So why does he have to murder her children in front of her? If she is defenseless I would imagine these baby Racnoss are as well. Can’t he simply brush the Empress aside and take the kiddies in his TARDIS to drop them harmlessly off someplace in the universe like he originally offered?

Then there are the exploding ornaments. I can’t imagine they are capable of the magnitude of damage they cause, but OK, I’ll give them that. But really, couldn’t the Doctor program them to attack the Empress rather than destroying the building and draining the Thames? (Although I love the pockets aspect of this—what a great payoff to the earlier scene with Donna and her pocket rant and a brilliant homage to the Doctor’s historically deep pockets.) And I have my doubts that even the amount of water contained in the Thames would destroy all of the baby spiders climbing their way up from—how deep of a hole and how many miles down at the center of the Earth? (Oh, and lest I forget, I do love Donna’s “trying to help” reference to dinosaurs. She doesn’t seem to be too far off—dinosaurs, giant spiders, same thing.)

But oh what an awesome sight to see the Doctor amidst all of the flooding and the fire. This is a dark Doctor indeed. (And if this is what Rose has brought him to thank God she is gone.) And then there is Donna to bring him back from the brink.

Now it is time for the third and final and most effective slap that Donna administers.

Doctor: “Come with me.”

Donna: “No.”

After Rose’s cloying co-dependence the Doctor has met his match in this independent woman who stands before him.

Donna puts a mirror up to the Doctor and forces him to take stock of himself. “Sometimes I think you need someone to stop you,” she tells him. Donna is not ready to take on that role, not yet. She is ready to “walk in the dust,” but she is not ready to face the sometimes beautiful but more often terrible world in which he lives.

The Doctor and Donna. After Rose, Donna is exactly what the doctor ordered. But it is too soon. Donna is not a rebound, Donna is the real deal. The Doctor is not quite ready to let go the clinging Rose.

Donna: “Am I ever going to see you again?”

Doctor: “If I’m lucky.”

And so, as the TARDIS zips off into space (oh, that effect—too cool, too awesome, too unnecessary) I zip this off, Gary, hoping in the luck of the Doctor.