Monday, March 31, 2014

Tooth and Claw

Dear Gary—
Pauline Collins! I can’t say enough about Pauline Collins, even though I’ve seen very little of her work. My first and for the longest time my only exposure to her was through Wodehouse Playhouse. I wonder, Gary, if you also watched this as it was aired by PBS around the same time that the original Doctor Who series was playing in our TV market. I can’t remember if I was introduced via the written word or the screen version, but I have had a lifelong love of Wodehouse similar to Doctor Who, and much credit is due to Pauline Collins. (“When cares attack and life seems black, How sweet it is to pot a yak.”)
The next thing I ever saw her in was Doctor Who—the Second Doctor’s The Faceless Ones—and that was only since starting this correspondence just a few short years ago, and much of that serial is regrettably lost. Even still, in the little that remains she makes as much of an impression as she does in Wodehouse. What a loss that she never took the production team up on its offer to make her a companion.
It is only recently, within the past few months, that I Netflixed Upstairs Downstairs on the strength of her presence in the first couple seasons (plus a bonus of Jean Marsh, another notable Doctor Who alum).  One of these days, too, I really have to watch Shirley Valentine. As long as I have started this lengthy aside, I will continue. Shirley Valentine is one of two movies that I had wanted to see at their respective times of release (the other being 2003’s The Station Agent) that I never did catch but that stuck with me through the years as ones I really needed to get around to some day. I was fortunate enough to finally find The Station Agent and was not disappointed. (And to aside within my aside—when I first got The Station Agent via Netflix I watched it alone; Dave had no interest; then we started watching Game of Thrones and lo and behold Dave suddenly re-queued The Station Agent because of Peter Dinklage, and doesn’t that speak volumes about the merit of good, solid actors and how they can elevate the material.) I now have Shirley Valentine in my Netflix DVD queue but unfortunately its availability is listed as ‘Unknown.’
All of this leads me to Tooth and Claw. Pauline Collins guests as Queen Victoria, and she is far and away the best thing about this episode.
The Doctor and Rose are back on Earth (sigh) in 1879 Scotland, but they are still on a lark. It’s a little bewildering, actually, how these two manage to find giddy moments of glee amidst the death and destruction of Tooth and Claw. It’s almost as if the tragedy is playing out for their sole enjoyment. Victoria is so not amused.
Equally bewildering are the crouching tiger hidden dragon monks; traitors to their country and their God for no apparent reason.  The only explanation offered is that they have turned from God in order to worship the alien werewolf creature that landed on their front doorstep in 1540. However, why they would worship the thing is beyond me. They feed it local livestock at the rise of each full moon, provide it with a youngster from the village from time to time in order to house its being, and keep it under lock and key and controlled by its fear of mistletoe for good measure. However, there doesn’t seem to be any promise of power or wealth or glory to account for their devotion. I suppose I could buy that the faith of these devout men has become twisted and in unison they have turned their religious fervor over to the wolf, except that does not account for the one stating, ”May God forgive me,” even as he turns the innocent household staff over to his lupine god.
The monks plan is to have the beast bite Victoria in order to establish The Empire of the Wolf. They’re not in any hurry about it though. This particular order of brethren has been waiting around for a couple hundred years hoping for the current monarch to coincidentally pass by during the cycle of the full moon. Couldn’t they simply have let the thing loose in the countryside and soon there would be an empire full of werewolves? Or is it vital that only the Royal Family be infected? But once infected, wouldn’t the Family then be running around the countryside biting people? And how exactly is this going to help the monks? Do they plan on keeping the Queen in a cage with mistletoe scattered about so they can rule in her place?
Best to look upon this story as one of the fairy tales and folklore that Queen Victoria revels in even while she disparages the supernatural. As such it is quite fun and exhilarating. If it were not for Rose and the kung fu monks, this could have been a decent gothic piece. It has the requisite setting and atmosphere, and for the most part the actors equip themselves with all due seriousness. The monks, however, bring a jarring sense of the bizarre and Rose lends an air of levity that blunts the horror. The Doctor treats the plot with the gravity it deserves, except that is when Rose distracts him with a wink and a giggle. (I do love how the Queen stops Rose short in mid snigger with a stern, “Do you think this is funny?”) And so this one goes down as a child’s bedtime story more than anything. As Victoria would say, “Fanciful tales intended to scare the children; but good for the blood, I think.”
Like all good fairy tales, it has a magical ending. A giant diamond cut to dazzling perfection that the Queen just happens to have on her person; with some major precognition her husband and Sir Robert’s father had come up with divine inspiration to build a massive light chamber disguised as a telescope and powered by the diamond; the Doctor stumbles upon the plot and the solution at the most opportune time; everything comes together in phenomenal fashion; and they all live happily ever after.
“I’ll not have it. No, sir. Not you, not that thing, none of it. This is not my world.” Queen Victoria will not admit the fairytale beast. So while she can reward Sir Doctor and Dame Rose with knighthood for saving her life and her empire, she banishes the pair from her world.
“I don’t know what you are, the two of you,” she tells them, “or where you’re from, but I know that you consort with stars and magic and think it fun. But your world is steeped in terror and blasphemy and death, and I will not allow it.” She then leaves them with this advice, “You will reflect, I hope, on how you came to stray so far from all that is good, and how much longer you will survive this terrible life.”
The Doctor and Rose don’t take the sentiment to heart. They saunter back into the TARDIS chuckling to themselves over their private joke. Victoria, however, is in earnest as she leaves the Powell Estate. Thus Torchwood is born. The very institute that destroyed the retreating Sycorax ship in The Christmas Invasion which in turn led to the Doctor’s merciless condemnation of Harriet Jones. And so it all comes full circle for this facetious and unforgiving Doctor.
“And if this Doctor should return,” Victoria proclaims, “then he should beware, because Torchwood will be waiting.” It is a hint and a promise for things to come.
Another enjoyable episode, Gary, but yet another in which the Doctor doesn’t particularly hold up well upon close examination.  On the surface is Sir Doctor of TARDIS who consorts with the stars, but lurking beneath is the man of death and destruction who thinks it fun.
But it is still and all happily ever after, Gary . . .

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

New Earth

Dear Gary—
“Oh, I don’t know; just larking about. New Earth; new me.”
This is the first full adventure for the Tenth Doctor and Rose, and after the dark and somber season with the Ninth Doctor it is refreshing to have a romp. New Earth is a romp. It is the Doctor and Rose and familiar foe Cassandra from The End of the World larking about.
But it’s not entirely appropriate.
It is something like—and I cringe to think of and refer to and leap ahead to—The Silence. Everything seems fine on the surface, but out of the corner of one’s eye, on the fringe of one’s mind, there is something that doesn’t quite fit but is too slippery to pin down.
And I really wish I had not thought of that analogy, Gary, because now I have that stuck in my mind as I go forward in my viewing. Something has co-opted my beloved Doctor Who, something that is behind the scenes manipulating and shaping and hidden from view. However, I’m not going to start recording slash marks to commemorate.
I prefer to skim along the surface and take this as the entertaining lark it pretends to.
So let me start again. A new New Earth if you will.
At last the Doctor and Rose have made it to an alien planet, even if it is New Earth. Baby steps. It’s only taken an entire season, but baby steps. Rose even comments on the alien ground beneath her feet, fragrant with apple grass; although given previous comments this is not her first visit to another world, only the first that has made it to screen.
Rose is a bit too gushy to start, staring adoringly at the Doctor, reminiscing about their ‘first date’ and declaring her love of . . . traveling. The Doctor, too, basks a little too much in this attention, but the light and airy tone is a welcome change. This New New Doctor has set aside the grief and guilt and gloom of his previous generation, or at least has buried it deep within.
“This is beyond coincidence; this is destiny” Cassandra says upon discovering Rose in the New Earth hospital where she has been lurking and listening since her supposed demise. It’s an even bigger coincidence that it is the Face of Boe who has brought the Doctor and Rose to this hospital, especially since Boe doesn’t stick around to impart his momentous secret to the Doctor. His only purpose seems to have been to gather the three together. Perhaps he knew of Cassandra’s presence, or perhaps it is one vast coincidence, or as Cassandra concludes, destiny.
I also have to wonder why Cassandra has waited all these years before transferring herself. Surely she could have found a suitable body from the thousands of cured patients and visitors who pass through the hospital every day. Or is this part of the unbelievable coincidence that her transference process wasn’t ready until that particular moment when Rose and the Doctor happened to arrive?
Whatever the reason the result is great fun. Billie Piper playing Cassandra inhabiting Rose’s body is hilarious. When Cassandra crosses over into the Doctor the farce reaches some over-the-top heights. It is curious that Cassandra, who has spent billions of dollars and undergone hundreds of operations in order to flatten herself suddenly delights in having curves. It kind of renders pointless all of the deaths she has caused in order to maintain her trampoline figure. That’s one of those slippery, out of the corner of one’s eye distractions that is forgotten with the bouncy castle comedy.
Accompanying the humor is action. When things start getting too dark, when the Doctor’s ire is raised, when the Sisters of Plentitude’s hideous secret is exposed, the walking plague starts sweeping through the hospital putting the Doctor/Cassandra and Rose/Cassandra on the run. There is no time for exploring the philosophical and ethical questions evoked by the Sisters’ living flesh. There is no time to consider the Doctor’s rather bold statement: “I’m the Doctor, and if you don’t like it, if you want to take it to a higher authority, then there isn’t one. It stops with me.”
And when they run out of room it’s time for some unrestrained, joyous, simplistic, and highly improbable resolution. Having mixed up a medicinal cocktail from various IV bags, the Doctor exults, “I’m the Doctor, and I cured them,” as he walks around simply touching the infected with his miracle hands.
“A brand new form of life,” the Doctor proclaims. He doesn’t stick around to find out what kind of life this is, though. Grown specifically to be disease carriers, restricted to miniscule cells for their entire existence, having no contact, no stimulation, no learning; what kind of life will it be for these suddenly freed beings? How will they be treated by the city at large? How will they care for themselves? That’s not a concern for the Doctor, though.
Rounding it all out is a bit of pathos, provided by Cassandra of all people. We get a hint of it when she re-inhabits Rose after having just left one of the diseased. “They’re so alone,” she says in a brief moment of reflection before the Doctor whisks her back into the action. It is left for the Chip inhabiting Cassandra, however, to deliver the real goods. Chip, the half-life, the force grown clone existing solely to cater to Cassandra. Chip offers himself up freely to his mistress, a body for the taking.
“Oh sweet Lord, I’m a walking doodle,” Cassandra/Chip says. And then, uncharacteristically, unexpectedly, the Cassandra/Chip comes to the realization: “I’m dying, but that’s fine.”  Cassandra of vain and murderous intent has suddenly grown a conscience or a soul or something. Perhaps it has been all of the body jumping she has done; or perhaps it is simply convenience of the plot as much of New Earth has been. Whatever the reason, Cassandra has decided that everything has it’s time and her time is done. And the Doctor overlooks all the evil that she has done and takes mercy on her in this her last hour.
Don’t look too closely, Gary. Just sit back and enjoy this sentimental moment as the Doctor takes Cassandra/Chip back to a simpler time to meet herself at the precise instance that had been captured in a good old fashioned home movie (where on New Earth did Cassandra dig up that millions year old projector anyway?) when she was last told that she looked beautiful. It is so very touching as human Cassandra cradles the dying Cassandra/Chip. She does have a heart, or at least had a heart at one time. A poignant and ironic end to ‘the last human’ Cassandra. (Although, Gary, I wouldn’t put it past her to have body jumped again into one of those party goers; but don’t look too closely.)
I don’t want to look too closely at New Earth; I don’t want to see The Silence; I don’t want to record slash marks. But I do have to note this: “It’s said he’ll talk to a wanderer; to the man without a home; the lonely god.”
Oh good God, Gary. “The lonely god.” Just look away . . .

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

The Christmas Invasion

Dear Gary—
“Tell them, this is a day of peace on planet Earth. Tell them, we extend that peace to the Sycorax. And then tell them, this planet is armed and we do not surrender.”
Harriet Jones. Good old Harriet Jones. Leave it to Harriet Jones. Harriet Jones, Prime Minister.  I start with this simple response of Harriet Jones to the alien threat to her planet because it addresses several of the major points I want to discuss about this episode, The Christmas Invasion.
First is that day of peace she mentions, the Christmas of our title. And I’ll start with the purely superficial nature of it. We have the music, the decorations, the presents; all setting the mood and establishing the atmosphere; Jackie full of longing and sadness as she contemplates the gift she has set aside for her missing daughter; Mickey desperately trying to hang on to some semblance of happiness as he attempts to shop with Rose on the bustling holiday streets. A touch of normalcy that Rose comments on as ephemeral and unreal compared to her TARDIS life.
And then the Santa-faced robots of death, the unreal masked in normalcy, reestablishing the standard in Rose’s topsy-turvy life. These are only nominally dealt with as ‘pilot fish.’ They kind of come and go, just a distraction really. “Remote control; but who’s controlling it?” That question is never satisfactorily answered. But it is never really important; they are summarily dismissed by the action to follow as the pilot fish they signify; a precursor to the real threat; dispersed into space when the real action heats up; purely the superficial.
There is a deeper layer to that Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. But I hope, in the Doctor Who world of The Christmas Invasion, that it is unintended. I hope that I have read too much into it. Because the promise of that ancient day celebrated through the ages, the implication of eventual rebirth and resurrection—I really and truly hope that Doctor Who did not deliberately link this religiously symbolic day to the Doctor’s regeneration. (Now if this had taken place at Easter . . . .)
“Doctor, help us. God help us.” Harriet Jones again. It is that—that linkage of the Doctor to some all-powerful, all-knowing, all-present being—that makes me pause; that makes me shiver; that makes me wonder, along with Harriet Jones, “What does that make you, Doctor? Another alien threat?” Heaven help us if the Doctor Who universe ever dares to make the Doctor not a super hero, not an idol, not a superstar, but a god. The whiffs of super hero and idol and superstar are bad enough; setting the Doctor up as a god, whether of tin or gold or dalekanium, would be catastrophic. (To quote another Christmastime fare Christmas in Connecticut: “Catastrophe, what is it?” “It’s from the Greek: it means ‘a misfortune, a cataclysm, or a serious calamity.’” “It is good?” “No sir. That’s bad.”)
But let me set that aside, because these are only whiffs and hints and suppositions.
Let me instead just settle on the regeneration. I don’t mind a purely superficial linkage to the day, and given Doctor Who’s disdain of the spiritual I can take this on a simple secular level, Harriet Jones’ ‘day of peace’ aside.
This ninth regeneration that the Doctor undergoes hits him hard and he is laid up for much of the episode. This allows for an exploration of two of the other elements embodied in the above quote that I opened with, and those are Harriet Jones and the nature of leadership. With the Doctor sidelined it is up to the rest of the cast to deal with life and with the Sycorax, the alien threat who were also mentioned in the opening quote.
Rose proves to be predictably dependent on and useless without the Doctor. Threatened by a marauding Christmas tree all she can do is fumble around for the sonic screwdriver, place it in the Doctor’s limp hand, and pathetically plea for help in his unconscious ear. Even on his sick bed the Doctor is able to sit up and with the flick of his finger save the day. When the Doctor lapses back into his comatose state Rose just gives up and hides in the TARDIS. Directly confronted with the Sycorax she does manage some bravado, although they understandably laugh in her face.
Jackie is more practical in her approach, offering suggestions, and even if rejected at least she is trying, not to mention highly amusing. Her interactions with the Doctor are some of the best moments. And even though Rose is dismissive of and rude to her mother, it is Jackie’s common sense provision of tea that ultimately cures the Doctor.
Mickey more or less stands in the background and still hasn’t seemed to have learned his lesson with regards to Rose. However he does have the presence of mind to look up pilot fish and he at least attempts to hold off the deadly tree with a chair.
It is Harriet Jones, however, who really steps up. She might not have the answers, but she has the confidence, the poise, and the determination necessary to lead (apart from her rather hokey and desperate address to the nation). “I’m proud to represent this planet,” she tells the Sycorax, taking full responsibility.
She is brave, but she does not possess the knowledge that only the unconscious Doctor has. Revived by Jackie’s healing tea, the Doctor emerges from the TARDIS just in time. This newly regenerated and Tenth Doctor is first finding his voice; he does not yet know who he is; he is still defining his leadership style.  He emerges from the TARDIS and is relaxed, casual, charming, disarming; he ignores the Sycorax as he reunites with old friends before turning his attention to the “great big threatening button” and flippantly deriding the alien threat, calling the Sycorax bluff.
“You stand as this world’s champion?” the head Sycorax asks in response to the Doctor’s challenge.
“Thank you,” the Doctor replies. “I’ve no idea who I am, but you just summed me up.”
Not quite declaring himself a god, this Tenth Doctor nevertheless holds himself forth as protector of the Earth, placing the fate of the world in his newly and doubly regenerated hands. It is a bit presumptuous, but then Harriet Jones had done the same. The Sycorax hold over the Earth has been exposed for the “cheap bit of voodoo” that it is, the hypnotic spell over all of the A Positives has been broken and they have all stepped back from the edge (although surely one or two of these billions would have toppled over either accidentally or on purpose—whether by murderous or suicidal intent), and all that remains is the huge spaceship full of menacing aliens to be warned off for good. With sword in hand the Doctor duels his way to victory and sends the defeated on their way.
And then, this newly regenerated Doctor who hasn’t fully defined himself but who fancies himself Earth’s Savior does something that is unforgiveable. He breaks one of the most important and dearly held Laws of Time, the one Law that he has consistently championed throughout his many generations until now. He blatantly and deliberately and irresponsibly alters history. With six words. (Never mind that the whole idea is ludicrous.)
Up until that point the Doctor had been touting Harriet Jones as the architect of Britain’s Golden Age. With his six little words (no matter how ludicrous) he single handedly ensures that this apparently momentous era never comes about. (And he wonders why the future Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire is stunted, or looking ahead a season, how Harold Saxon ever came to power.)
I can only look back to the Third Doctor and The Silurians. When the Brigadier blows up the entrance to the Silurian cave the Doctor calls it what it is, murder; and he finds it hard to forgive; however he does not let it stop him from continuing to work with UNIT and the Brigadier. Never once does he intimate that the Brigadier is unfit for duty. And the Brigadier was never the architect of any Age, golden or otherwise.
I’m going to continue on my soap box, Gary, and I’m going to present a hypothetical. What if the Sycorax had not encountered Earth at the time and place they did? What if instead they arrived in 1861 Washington, DC? What if instead of Harriet Jones it was Abraham Lincoln who met and eliminated this threat? Would the Doctor have acted the same?
Beyond the altering of the time line, I have to wonder if the Doctor’s action (no matter how ludicrous) is justified. Harriet Jones did fire upon a retreating enemy, there is no doubt. However it was not a decision she made lightly. Her drawn and haggard face tells the tale of the toll this day and this decision has taken on her; it is something that she will have to live with for the rest of her life; but it is something that she stands by and takes full responsibility for. She perhaps acted hastily and arguably without authority; but she had to act fast; and this was one of those tough calls a leader must make, right or wrong.
 Harriet Jones does have some compelling arguments on her side. She has seen what the Sycorax are capable of and knows that they are likely to return. She has seen the Sycorax murder two men before her eyes; she has seen their defeated champion break his sworn vow and attempt to stab the Doctor in the back; she has witnessed them taking one third of the population hostage and demand half the population as slaves. She has no guarantee of peace from the Sycorax regardless of the Doctor’s efforts. And she has no guarantee that if the Sycorax do return the Doctor will be there to meet them.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she tells him, “but you’re not here all the time. You come and go. It happened today. Mister Llewellyn and the Major, they were murdered. They died right in front of me while you were sleeping. In which case we have to defend ourselves.”
Harriet Jones did not make her decision lightly. When the Doctor hears her defense, when his grand and glorious gesture as Champion and Savior of the World is not perhaps met with all the halleluiahs that he would expect, when he is told that he cannot always be counted on, he makes his snap decision with cold calculation. “Don’t you think she looks tired?”
“I don’t know,” the Doctor says when trying to define his new self. “See, there’s the thing. I’m the Doctor, but beyond that, I just don’t know. I literally do not know who I am. It’s all untested. Am I funny? Am I sarcastic? Sexy? Right old misery? Life and soul? Right handed? Left handed? A gambler? A fighter? A coward? A traitor? A liar? A nervous wreck?” And then later, after killing the Sycorax leader: “No second chances. I’m that sort of a man.”
There is one more word the Doctor should add for his consideration: sanctimonious.
That was my long-winded diatribe, Gary, and I’m glad to have gotten it off my mind. Because I really do enjoy the Tenth Doctor. The overwhelming defining word I would give to David Tennant’s portrayal would be entertaining. And this premier episode is most entertaining, even if those few brief moments at the end mar it for me.
Just skimming along the surface and ignoring the troubling undercurrents, The Christmas Invasion is amusing and witty and thrilling; “very Arthur Dent” to use the Doctor’s own words. The final Christmas celebration and the Doctor’s contemplation of a new wardrobe are a joyous contrast to the often somber Ninth Doctor scenes. The TV reports calling for the downfall of Harriet Jones just a scant few hours after some whispered insinuations is idiotic, but I’ll let that go. And then there is just the touch of solemnity as the Doctor points out that the snow everyone is making merry in is actually the charred remains of the Sycorax before he and Rose plot out their next course for fun and adventure.
I’m looking forward to that next course, Gary.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Christopher Eccleston

Dear Gary—
Christopher Eccleston was shortchanged. Or perhaps it is Doctor Who that was shortchanged.  Or maybe I am the only one feeling shortchanged.
I would have loved more of the Fantastic Four combo of the Ninth Doctor, Rose, Captain Jack, and Mickey as they adventure out into time and space on the lark of a lifetime. We get a brief glimpse of this in Boom Town but nothing more. The Ninth Doctor is never really allowed any fun; and the show during his run is big on the T of TARDIS but has all but forgotten about the S.
It is a shame that the show took the entire season to establish Doctor Who as something old that is new again.
Not that I’m complaining. OK, I guess I am complaining. But I wouldn’t be if Christopher Eccleston had stuck around to reap the benefits of this seed season.
But maybe his purpose, and the purpose of this single season, was simply to reestablish the show, experience the birthing pains, and send it off into the world to grow as an independent being. In that it and he succeeded admirably. And so I guess nobody is shortchanged.
We never get a regeneration scene for this Ninth Doctor. He is presented to us fully formed but an enigma, much like the First. He is the first, in a way, as well as the second in the sense that he is bridging the gap between Classic and New; and yet he is the ninth in a long and continuing line. It is a lot to ask of one actor; Christopher Eccleston fulfills it all.
His primary function is as The First—that is, the first to forge the character for a new generation that generally speaking has never had the luxury of viewing Doctors One through Eight. If the show didn’t succeed in capturing this new audience it would have been doomed.
The improved special effects and compact, single 45 minute episode format helped with this, as did, dare I say, Rose. I really wish I hadn’t taken this sudden dislike of Rose; it only came about as a result of considered thought. That is one of the hazards of action packed, special effects laden adventures—they don’t always hold up upon close inspection. Their very nature requires the fast paced, cursory perception of first acquaintance. On that level Rose works; just don’t scratch too far beneath the surface like I did.
Merely on the superficial, Rose represents the audience, someone we can identify with as an ordinary person thrust into extraordinary circumstance via the Doctor; and we get to know the Doctor through her eyes; this new Doctor; this first Doctor for a new generation. Through Rose we learn that the Doctor is not of this world; through Rose we travel with him in time (not so much space); through Rose we experience the TARDIS and alien threats and adventures beyond expression.
Rose also helps the initiated audience span the gap from the Classic to the New series along with the Doctor. This is probably Christopher Eccleston’s next most important role; that of secondary Doctor. Without gaining diehard fan acceptance New Who still might have succeeded, but certainly not to the extent that it has. Based on several seasons of hindsight, Eccleston succeeded beyond expectations in this role. However, I can only speak for myself and not for the hordes of dedicated, lifetime fans on the impact of his tenure (although I am sure you will forgive my inevitable extrapolation).
As I have said before, Gary, I had my doubts going in to the premier episode Rose. Based on the debacle (in my view) of the previous attempt to revive Doctor Who with the TV Movie, I did not let my expectations get too high. Just because a show calls itself Doctor Who does not mean that it will be true to the spirit of Doctor Who. Christopher Eccleston and the production team of the new series, however, did not disappoint.
As Christopher Eccleston first extended his hand with the single word “Run” he took not only Rose but me and an entire audience along with him. What better way to proclaim himself? Any aficionado of the prior history of the show would understand without further explanation. Once he does utter the phrase, “I’m the Doctor, by the way,” it is merely a formality. He already is the Doctor in a multitude of minds.
What sells it more than anything is his supreme confidence; Christopher Eccleston inhabits the role, much the same way William Hartnell did so many years before. I never get the sense, with this Ninth Doctor, that there were countless hours and numberless people behind the scenes determining how this particular persona of the Doctor should be shaped and portrayed and developed. Doubtless there were. I am sure that endless discussions and preparation preceded the introduction of this new Doctor. Much time and thought and effort went into the making of the character. But in a single word, “Run,” Christopher Eccleston took it all on as his own.
And he was off and running. (Sorry Gary, I couldn’t resist that.)
Along for the ride are the constant of the TARDIS and the reemergence of the sonic screwdriver, two icons of the series but with fresh looks, updated for a modern era. Also bridging the gap are some familiar foes like the Daleks and the Autons who receive similar face lifts.
Underscoring the entire season and the regeneration are the ill-fated Time Lords. When the First Doctor entered that long ago junkyard of I M Foreman the Time Lords were not even a gleam in Doctor Who’s eye. As the series progressed, however, they were conceived and born and eventually produced fully formed, kicking and screaming into the Doctor Who universe (much to my dismay if I may say, Gary). I can’t help but breathe a sigh a relief that the new series decided to kill off these illustrious Galactic Ticket Inspectors. In so doing, the show runners imbued the Doctor with a depth and a sense of mystery for both old and new enthusiasts alike.
The catastrophic loss, revealed slowly and subtly with immutable grief but at times punctuated with sudden bursts of anger and always underlined with crushing guilt, defines this Doctor and instills his race with the majesty and mythos that had been tarnished during the Classic years.
Finally, and of somewhat diminished significance, Christopher Eccleston is the ninth in a long line of Doctors. One of many. The latest generation. The newest incarnation. Taking over from a string of actors before him.  Preceding what one can only hope will be a string of actors to follow. The Ninth Doctor.
Unfortunately he was never able to develop the role fully beyond the confines of the first two burdens placed upon his character. The Ninth Doctor carries not only the responsibility of the Time War and the destruction of his planet and people, but also carries the weight of Doctor Who itself.  It is a lot to ask of one man, one actor, one Doctor.
He carries it off brilliantly, but this is where I feel that he, we, and the show have been shortchanged. Because he is never allowed to break free of those shackles and explore the universe unfettered in the TARDIS. He is never free to just be the Ninth Doctor.
We get flashes of him, for example in the aforementioned Boom Town, but also in his delight of mystery in The Unquiet Dead, in his interactions with Jabe in The End of the World, and in his Big Brother House segments of Bad Wolf to name a few.  For the most part, though, he is carrying the weight of Gallifrey or ushering Rose through alien adventures or reintroducing Doctor Who to the world.
I maintain Eccleston solidly as my number three, with increased respect and admiration for his portrayal.  And so, Gary, I send this out, a new path embarked on this slow path of mine . . .

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

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 . . .

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Bad Wolf

Dear Gary—
“The human race; brainless sheep . . .” Will someone please tell me why the Doctor bothers with us?
The Doctor finds himself back on Satellite Five 100 years after the events of The Long Game only to find that “history’s gone wrong again.” With a sinking feeling, the Doctor realizes that the game show of death mentality of the supposed Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire is his fault, the result of his previous actions.
Now Gary, I have to note that this concept of the Doctor’s previous actions impacting badly on the future has been explored before, in both The Ark and The Face of Evil. However, Bad Wolf never seriously explores this idea. It throws it out as a handy plot device, a neat story arc, and a brief ‘what did I do’ moment for the Doctor. But the results in this case are just too preposterous.  The news channels shut down overnight and the human race falls apart? The government, the economy, the social order? All gone because cable news goes dark? Maybe the Doctor should just throw up his hands and leave us to our pitiful selves.
But of course he won’t do that. Although, when I think about it that is exactly what he did at the end of The Long Game. He shut down the news and walked away, which in and of itself is fine and dandy. What he failed to do, however, was to dig deeper into the what and why and how of Satellite Five. He took the easy answers and left it at that. Bad Wolf does the same. It gives us the easy, paint by numbers explanation that the Doctor shut down production and the Daleks swooped in and replaced the news with deadly game shows. How they accomplished this or why is another matter. Apparently the human race can accept being disintegrated if it’s all in fun, and no one is going to ask any questions or protest. But really, what are the Daleks getting out of this? They have been manipulating the human race for centuries, why? Questions will be answered eventually in this two parter, but not satisfactorily. So I’ll hold off until they are addressed, although by then the fun and games will long be forgotten.
Let me address the games, though, before they are left behind. They are rather entertaining, even if unoriginal. There is a bit of the Vengeance on Varos feel to Bad Wolf; maybe someday I’ll revisit both for a comparison. For now I’ll just comment that Wolf could benefit from a little of the Greek Chorus in Varos while Varos could benefit from a little of the Doctor’s concern in Wolf.
The Doctor is thrown into one of the Big Brother houses and his reactions rapidly evolve from disorientation to disbelief to disdain to dismay. “Are you insane?” he asks housemate Lynda with a Y. “Is it that important, getting your face on the telly? Is it worth dying for?” The Doctor goes into full action mode, reckless but decisive. It is exactly that emotional unpredictability factor that plays perfectly against Dalek rigidity.
Captain Jack, on the other hand, dives head first into the fun of his What Not to Wear segment. His lighthearted approach makes for the most amusing moments in Bad Wolf, and the casual way in which he dispatches his murderous makeover mavens is a suitably organic outcome of the hilarity.
Finally we have Rose, appropriately enough in The Weakest Link. It has some mild entertainment value but drags on too long, with Rose going from inane laughter to anxious sweating as she begins to realize the danger she faces. The long, awkward pauses as each contestant winces under Anne Droid’s interrogation and the endless list of absurd, fortuitous, and mundane questions become rather dull after a while.
Keeping the edge off of the mediocrity are the Doctor, Jack, and Lynda with a Y as they make their way out of their respective games, find each other, and look for Rose and some answers. Meanwhile on a repurposed floor 500 Davtich Pavale and his coworker notice something amiss in the games. (I have to wonder, though, why Rose having fits of the giggles is of note; surely in all of the thousands of shows beaming out over ten thousand channels there have been hysterical contestants before now.) Some nice character moments come out of these various groupings though.
Mixed in with all of this we get the emergence of the big Bad Wolf. Good thing the Doctor spelled it out for us and for Rose in Boom Town; I know I would not have gotten the significance of the corporation name otherwise, and I doubt that Rose would either. The Doctor and Rose both come to the conclusion that someone has been manipulating them. However the someone who has brought them to the games is not one and the same with Bad Wolf; rather it is the Controller.
The Controller brings up some more murky questions; like, what the heck? Who is this ghostly chick who has to stand all of her days hooked up to a bunch of cables? How did she get there? Did she volunteer or was she forced? How exactly is she running the games? What kind of warped technology needs this living creature to feed entertainment to the masses? What happens if she keels over? Do all the billions of TVs suddenly go to a ‘please stand by’ screen?
And then there are the real questions. How did she learn of the Doctor; and if the Daleks can read her thoughts, how did she learn of him, much less hatch her plan, without the Daleks finding out? Why did she bother transporting Rose and Jack along with the Doctor? And since she did transport them all, why didn’t she keep them together? How is it that she knows what the Daleks are up to? And if she really wants to defeat the Daleks, couldn’t she simply unhook herself if she really is the essential cog in this madhouse of machinery?
The whole thing is one big grand master design, but it’s not designed very well. Start following a thread and the plot unravels; unplug the Controller and it all falls apart. Then again, it is Doctor Who; it is so cleverly designed that the questions whiz by with the action.
With the apparent death of Rose and the revelation of the army of Daleks no one even remembers The Long Game or the charnel house of entertainment or the Controller or the helpless herd of humanity sitting glassy eyed in front of blank TV screens.
Because with the apparent death of Rose and the revelation of the army of Daleks, what we get is an angry and motivated Doctor full of reckless determination. He and Jack are in perfect synch (and again, what a loss that we never get more of this Ninth Doctor and Jack) as they break free from their jailors and storm floor 500.
The Doctor gives orders with authority even as he throws his weapon to Pavale. (“Oh, don’t be so thick. Like I was ever going to shoot.”) From here on in he utters curt questions and commands, cutting to the heart of things. Then when Jack emerges from the TARDIS with the miraculous news that Rose is alive, simply transported to some place unknown, the Doctor acts with renewed hope and invigorated resolve.  Using information obtained from the Controller, the Doctor exposes the Daleks and stares them down.
Doctor: “No.”
Dalek: “Explain yourself.”
Doctor: “I said no.”
Dalek: “What is the meaning of this negative?”
Doctor: “It means no.”
The Daleks are flummoxed. This is not an expected response. They are at a loss.
Against all odds the Doctor proclaims, “Because this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to save Rose Tyler from the middle of the Dalek fleet; and then I’m going to save the Earth; and then, just to finish off, I’m going to wipe every last stinking Dalek out of the sky!”
All questions are swept aside; all expressions of disbelief are forgotten. The Doctor is going to save the day and that is a matter of fact.
With the echo of “Exterminate, exterminate, exterminate” ringing in our ears, we are left hanging; but we are left with no doubts. The Doctor is going to save Rose Tyler, and then he is going to save the Earth, and then he is going to finish off the Daleks.
The Doctor’s reckless defiance is infectious. Who has any questions?
Gary . . . ?