The End of Time, Part Two

Dear Gary—

Let’s see, where did we leave off? Oh yes, the Time Lords were returning. These are not the galactic ticket inspectors of old, though. These are fully hardened war lords driven mad with battle lust. I do find it amusing that these lords of time who have all of time and space at their disposal, who can look into the Time Vortex and Untempered Schism, who control the laws of time, these almighty Time Lords hang on the every gesture of a soothsayer. The character is quite effective, however, and I am reminded of the Seeker from The Ribos Operation.

Time Lords gone mad. Six billion Masters have nothing on them.

Oh yeah, what of the Master and his six billion grinning, clapping, and waving clones? They are still grinning and clapping and waving, mostly rooted to the same spots in which we left them last except for a few who are scurrying about at the Master’s command. That’s the problem with six billion Masters. They are redundant. The one practical use these extraneous extras serve is one that is becoming a habit for Mankind in the new Who universe—and that is to serve as a transmitter. In Last of the Time Lords they all thought the one word (Doctor) to work their magic Peter Pan spell; in The Stolen Earth it is their phones that are used to transmit the Doctor’s telephone number. Here in The End of Time Part Two hapless humanity, in the shape of the Master, tune in to the drum beat in unison in order to track down its source.

 It is all to good effect, though, and that is what New Who is all about. The End of Time (Parts One and Two) are Doctor Who at its most self indulgent.

I have long since learned that there is no use trying to follow any logical thread in these two part season ending stories. Most plot elements exist merely as a thin veil to string together a series of dramatic highpoints, spectacular special effects, and poignant character moments. 

Let’s take Wilf’s gun as one example. The Woman in White cajoles and chastises Wilf with vaguely dire prophecies into digging it out from storage. This gun obviously has been set up as a linchpin and is the center of some interesting discussion between Wilf and the Doctor. It becomes a focal point emphasizing the Doctor’s pacifism as he resists Wilf’s urgent and moving pleas; but in a flash the Doctor tosses aside his principles when he learns of the returning Time Lords and he grabs the previously rejected gun without hesitation. This is the Doctor taking arms. Shakily he stands between the Master with his Skeletor powers and Rassilon with his lightning bolt throwing gloves and he cows them both; with Wilf’s rusty revolver that has been collecting dust under his bed for who knows how long. I think the sheer audacity of it has awed the Master and Rassilon into inaction. The Doctor can’t make up his mind, though, which mighty Time Lord to use it on until he gets the brilliant idea to shoot out the controls that will send the Time Lords and Gallifrey back where they belong. That’s always the go-to Doctor Who solution—disable the controls. Why didn’t he just do that and be done with it? And for that matter, why the need for the gun at all? What’s wrong with his magic sonic which he has used countless times to damage controls and at least once in this episode alone? But then we wouldn’t have any of the drama and the pathos and that is what this entire show is about.

And spectacle. Let’s not forget the spectacle. What would Doctor Who be without explosions and chases? The Doctor and Wilf and the Cacti in a spaceship being chased by dozens of missiles. They’re dead, of course. Ten times over they are dead. Except this isn’t reality; this is virtual reality complete with game boy chairs and joysticks.

Speaking of dead of course—the Doctor hurtling at high speed from the space ship, smashing through a glass skylight, and crashing onto the hard floor putting the drop that did in the Fourth Doctor to shame. Dead of course. Except this is only virtual reality; he pops up with a few scratches and a torn coat. (And after surviving that he expects to face down Skeletor and the Lord President with a bullet.)

It is a breathtaking ride of a comic book narrative. When it is all over the disposable characters need to be disposed of. That’s easy. With just a line or two the Cacti skedaddle and the Naismiths are arrested for “crimes undisclosed.” The six billion Masters are handily erased with one magic wave of Rassilon’s glove.

Even the Time Lords are disposable really. They look and sound impressive; they put on a good show; but ultimately all of their ‘end of time’ threats come to naught. The Doctor warns that “hell is descending,” but all we see are a few Time Lords standing around and a giant planet appearing in the sky with no apparent adverse effects upon the Earth. There is just too much crammed into these two hours and none of it is given the time to fully develop (although the origin for the sound of drums in the Master’s head is one rich nugget gleaned from this flash in the pan).

Everything that has been crammed into the story has all been to serve one end, and that is the departure of David Tennant. It is a grand and epic spectacle put on in his honor. Through it all we are left to guess and wonder when and how it will happen; through it all we are misdirected and misled; through it all Wilf remains by his side as friend and counselor and ally.

“He will knock four times.” How fitting that the Doctor has emerged unscathed from the mayhem only to hear Wilf’s meek little raps on the glass and realize his time is up. (I’ll refrain from commenting on the idiotic nature of these chambers that can only be pulled out of the desperate air of a writer’s mind.)

It is indicative of this tenth generation that he throws a hissy fit when confronted with the inevitable. Even though he had been warned and prepared, he rants and raves to the bitter end.  “It’s not fair!” How many lives have ended in just this serial alone, not to mention since the Tenth Doctor first woke up on Christmas Day; and yet the Doctor cannot reconcile the fact that he is about to regenerate; not die but regenerate, something he has done nine times before; to walk away and live for perhaps another 906 years.

“Oh, I’ve lived too long,” he finally decides as he releases Wilf from the most ridiculous of predicaments and absorbs five hundred thousand rads of radiation.

He’s not done yet, though. He’s not quite ready to give up this pleasing form of his with the great hair adored by young girls. He is off for one last jaunt to claim his reward.

I said this was Doctor Who at its most self indulgent, and these last few moments of The End of Time Part Two are decadent with indulgence. It is a reward not only for the Doctor and for Doctor Who but for the fans as well, this end of an era extravagance. This is a chance to revisit old friends one last time. It’s all made up and contrived, of course, but that is appropriate for this Doctor. I also notice that he blatantly breaks those laws of time that he preaches as he crosses time lines and peeks in on people at the most coincidentally opportune times. I don’t mind; I’ll take this reward along with the Doctor. I don’t even mind seeing Rose again. Jack, Sarah, Mickey, Martha, Jackie; how great to meet up with them once more. With the added bonus of Alonso and the granddaughter of Joan Redfern. And of course the final parting from Donna, Wilf, and Sylvia. Lovely vignettes to shut out the Tenth Doctor’s run.

“We will sing to you, Doctor.” Ood Sigma stands by as the Doctor finally starts to lose his grasp on this generation.

“The universe will sing you to your sleep.” Quite a production for this tenth in a continuing line.

“This song is ending.” It’s taking its time, but it is ending.

“But the story never ends.” We’ve been here before. We know what is coming next.

“I don’t want to go.” No, I think we have gathered from your feet dragging that you don’t want to go.

Self indulgent. But appropriate.

At long last—Matt Smith.

Geronimo Gary . . .