The Impossible Astronaut

Dear Gary—

I well remember the first time I ever saw The Impossible Astronaut. We had just cut cable; my only hesitancy in doing so was the loss of Turner Classic Movies and BBC America, but I was already beginning to lose interest in the New Who thus making the decision easier. I could wait for the DVD to come out before seeing the new season of Doctor Who. Well, Dave found The Impossible Astronaut on line for me prior to that time. I started watching; after ten minutes I turned it off. I had seen enough. I knew exactly what to expect of the season and wasn’t in a hurry to watch. I eventually did resume viewing the episode but I didn’t bother finding any more on line. I waited for the DVD.

The DVD did not disappoint; that is to say it did disappoint by not disappointing; it played out exactly as I feared.

To start, the Doctor is dead. The show had to top the Pandorica peril from last season with something even more dangerous and, as the title explicitly states, impossible.  Something bigger, bolder, braver. (Is it any coincidence that the season opening Christmas episode featured a shark?) What better way than to kill off the Doctor to begin with? There is nothing more deadly than death. But does anybody seriously believe that the Doctor is dead? Not I. This is just another Doctor Who magic trick, one grand illusion, and we’ll have to sit through an entire season to see how it was done. We know they won’t drag out the miraculous memory spell from last season; they are already undermining that wizardry. The “memories are more powerful than you think” mantra from a few short serials ago is countermanded by The Silence and their supernatural memory erasing abilities. Memory is suddenly suspect. That just means there will be another cheat employed by The Great Nothing-Up-His-Sleeve Doctor and his lovely assistant River Song.

I’m bored already.

And I’m annoyed. I’m annoyed from the opening skit. The Doctor is romping his way through history—funny how all of those intentional insertions into history books and movies were never noticed by anyone else. Clive never picked up on them in his Doctor researches; neither did LINDA. Only Amy and Rory. “It’s like he’s being deliberately ridiculous; trying to attract our attention.” It’s the magician’s stand-by diversionary tactic. And it has nothing to do with the adventure at hand. It is meaningless, unless it is going to somehow figure into the larger arc of the season, and I just do not want to have to keep track.

So I will forget it. I will Silence it away.

I won’t get too much into The Silence just yet. For now I will acknowledge that they have a great visual and are sufficiently creepy. The killjoy in the bathroom is scary but inexplicable. He deliberately shows himself to Amy and delivers a message to her even knowing that she will immediately forget it, and the murder is gratuitous. He allows Amy to take his picture, so he obviously has some intention of letting the Doctor in on his and the Silents' presence. I can’t believe he is on the Doctor’s side, so the Silence must have some reason for alerting the Doctor; or they are very stupid. I don’t really remember all of the convolutions of the season, but I am going to hazard a guess and say that this bathroom intruder is setting the Doctor up through Amy somehow. Why he doesn’t appear directly to the Doctor is another matter but I don’t care enough to expend any more thought on the subject.

Convoluted. Contrived. Manufactured. That describes the episode, the season, and the plot as designed by the writer(s), The Silence, and the Doctor. Nothing is straight forward. Nothing is simple. Nothing is realistic. I don’t mind complexity, if it has a reason. I don’t mind calculation, if it makes sense. I don’t even mind manipulation, if it isn’t stupid.

What I really cannot stand is convoluted, contrived, manufactured, complex, calculated, and manipulative—all for the sake of showing off its own brilliance.

“We’re not all going to arrange our own wake and invite ourselves.” The Doctor is, however. The Doctor has invited them all—Amy, Rory, River, Canton Everett Delaware, and even a younger version of himself—to witness his spectacle in the sand.

River slaps him for good reason.

Except River is complicit in this; the magician’s assistant. It is all so clever and convenient, the timey wimey nature of things with the different timelines and different versions of themselves. I’m not sure how much River knows and when she knows, but she knows. On some level she always knows. She knows enough to hold Amy back from stopping what transpires on the beach, and she knows enough to let Amy go when the deed is done. She knows enough to keep Amy from warning the Doctor with the spoiler alert threat even though we all know that there is no danger of holes being ripped in the universe with any of it. It is a game. A show that the Doctor is producing and River is directing.

Why do I keep going, Gary? Because despite my growing disdain for the series it remains watchable. Credit Matt Smith, Arthur Darvill, and Alex Kingston. And to some extent Karen Gillan.

Therefore, when the Doctor bumbles his charming way through the Oval Office I’m entertained. I can even get caught up in the mystery of the little girl and the President. And my heart breaks a little as River explains the “far worse day” that is still in store for her. Rory and River in the tunnels is eerie and atmospheric, and for the moment The Silents are frightening.

The cliffhanger, however, leaves me cold. A little girl is calling for help and Canton is found unconscious; danger is lurking in the dark and abandoned warehouse; hearts are pounding. Amy chooses this moment to tell the Doctor a bit of news that just can’t wait. Does she tell him about The Silence? No. Does she tell him about his impending death? No. She tells him she is pregnant. Not relevant at the moment, Amy. Why is her pregnancy so monumental that the jeopardy they face is inconsequential? She had plenty of time to tell him before. Why now? “I’m pregnant.” Does she expect the Doctor to leave the injured Canton and ignore the frightened pleas of the little girl in order to engage with her in a meaningful discussion about child rearing?

At that vital moment the astronaut appears and the Doctor and Amy suddenly go into molasses mode. The astronaut’s visor opens to reveal the little girl and Amy shoots at her. Abrupt end.

The thing is, Gary, I have no feeling for this little girl. I could not care less that Amy shoots at her. Obviously this is no ordinary child. She is calling the President on a disconnected line and walking around in a space suit that is far too big for her. She is creepy, not pitiful. For all I know she is a hologram left over from the crashed space ship in The Lodger luring the Doctor and Amy to their doom. Go ahead and shoot at her, Amy. It’s an obvious set-up.

I can’t say that I’m on the edge of my seat, Gary. I trudge along because there are some genuinely engaging moments between the actors, but as far as the narrative goes I really don’t care how it will turn out.