The Girl Who Died

Dear Gary—

The Girl Who Died has the feel of filler. I think this about half way through the episode as the Doctor is preparing a rag tag team of Vikings to do battle against a generic alien-of-the-week warrior race. At this point, as well, I think how laughable it has become—this Earthbound Who that throws alien after alien at Humanity week after week and we are to believe that none of this has been set down in the historical record until the advent of Aliens of London. This is New Who’s version of the Classic’s rubber-masked monster Achilles’ heel.

As laughable filler, however, The Girl Who Died is pretty fantastic.

From start to finish, this story strikes just the right balance between comedy and pathos, with equal contributions from the writing and acting.

The episode starts with another New Who cliché—the mini-episode that wasn’t. The thrill-ride opening sequence— complete with a brain-sucking Love Sprite from the spider mines and a daring rescue in mid-space, with passing reference to a hitherto unknown species of Velosians –speeds by too fast to begin questioning why it is that some of these never seen adventures sound more fascinating than the eventual stories to which we are privy.

Clara: “You’re always talking about what you can and can’t do, but you never tell me the rules.”

Exactly, Gary; it’s like that. Doctor Who, New Who in particular, does a lot of fast talking but rarely explains. These mini escapades are a microcosm of . . . what’s that, Gary? Vikings? Hold onto your hat . . . .

Doctor: “No, no, not Vikings. I’m not in the mood for Vikings.”

I have to say that these Vikings (and I don’t mean the Minnesota purple variety, Gary) are much more entertaining than their predecessors from The Time Meddler.

What makes this episode special is its intimate nature. The Doctor says it: “The Earth is safe; humanity is not in danger. It’s just one village.” The Doctor remains because he cares; he has a vested interest in the individuals. Time after time the Doctor takes the view of the big picture, leaving the details to his companions. However, like his stance against bantering and hugging, it often turns out that the Doctor doth protest too much.

The poignant scene when Clara realizes the Doctor has decided to stay is beautifully done. The Doctor’s ability to speak baby, in the past used mainly as throwaway humor, is integral to the plot here. Who knows if his translation is accurate, but it is amazingly poetic and speaks to the deeply personal nature of the moment.

For a change, the Doctor has abandoned the big picture for the village.

The Doctor assigning nicknames to the villagers is hilarious as well as apropos to his commitment to these people. He does this not in the careless manner of a Michael J. Scott; rather his designations of Lofty and ZZ Top and Noggin the Nog are done rather fondly and thoughtfully despite his gruffness. And ultimately he stands shoulder to shoulder with Heidi and Daphne and Limpy. This is not a species that needs saving or a race in peril; these are Chuckles and Ashildr; these are his friends.

I’m going to say something here, Gary, about the Doctor Who historical. The Girl Who Died is not a pure historical; The Girl Who Died relies on the crutch of the alien. However it brings to mind some of those old William Hartnell serials. I already mentioned the Viking tie in with The Time Meddler; but what really brings me to my point is The Reign of Terror. “We can’t stem the tide,” The Doctor states in that long-ago tale, “but at least we can stop being carried away with the flood.” Echoes of that sentiment resound in our current Doctor’s statement:  “We’re time travelers; we tread softly. It’s okay to make ripples, but not tidal waves.” The difference, of course, is that Classic Who referred to History engulfing the Doctor and his friends, whereas here the Doctor worries that he (and by extension Clara) will engulf History.

“You are a tidal wave.”

No longer a wanderer, a traveler, an adventurer; the Doctor is a Force. It is a shift in New Who philosophy vs. the Classic. Yet the Doctor denies it: “Don’t say that.”

An essay on that historical tidal wave of old vs. the new tidal wave of the Doctor is something for another time, Gary. For now, let’s concentrate on the flood at hand.

The current tidal wave of the Doctor is a hint at the seasonal arc; yet I don’t mind it as much in this ninth season of the new era. The arc isn’t engulfing Doctor Who as much as Doctor Who is engulfing the arc. That might be a separate essay of its own, so let us return, Gary, to The Girl Who Died.

Ashildr (as played by Maisie Williams) is the titular girl who dies, and she is the Doctor’s ripple who turns into a tidal wave. Ashildr is an ordinary little girl (there is nothing extraordinary about a little girl who feels insecure and out of place) in an ordinary Viking village, until, that is, the Doctor intervenes.

First the Doctor saves the village, a ripple that the Doctor cleverly keeps from turning into a tidal wave courtesy of Benny Hill. It is all highly diverting with electric eels and puppets. Our generic villain of the week, the Mire (as opposed to the Mire Beast), are made a mockery of by the Doctor’s sleight of hand.

This Mire subplot, for it is a subplot in the larger scheme of things, is amusing. The Doctor is captured by Vikings and pretends to be Odin, only to be out-Odined by the head Mire; the Doctor’s yo-yo trick pales in comparison to the Odin-head -in-the-sky trick, which has impeccable comic timing.

Clara and Ashildr add to the proceedings during their encounter with Mire Odin Head. Clara is resourceful in her dealings with MOH, almost convincing him to leave with no more harm done than the incidental mashed up Viking juice obtained from the fiercest warriors of the village. Ashildr’s defiant taunting of MOH, however, is both laudable and lamentable and serves to propel our plot: “I think this village just declared war on them.”

This leads to the Doctor’s personal investment in saving the village as already described; and I cannot overstate how entertaining it all is. But as Mom used to say, it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

Really, the Doctor should have known better than to place the massive Mire helmet on the head of a little girl and expect her to harness the alien tech to project a holographic Wyrm onto the longship prow. She has an active imagination, makes puppets, and concocts fantastic stories, sure. But anyone could have thought ‘dragon’ and transformed that wooden bow. Instead the Doctor places the giant weight on the little girl’s shoulders and she dies in the process. Saves the village but dies in the process. Funny to watch the Mire warriors in their retreat, but a little girl dies as a result. Shame on the Doctor.

It should have been her shining moment, and to the Doctor’s credit he allowed the little girl to step up in this way. Her death was unforeseen and unfortunate, but really, the Doctor should have been more responsible.  (His ‘care of duty’ apparently only applies to Clara, and that is merely lip service.)

The onus is on the Doctor; however I can only laugh when Clara cradles the lifeless body of Ashildr and enquires of the Doctor, “is she dead?” Clara has just declared that she feels no pulse, yet she looks to the Doctor as though he is an omniscient doctor who can divine life or death from thin air.

This, Gary, is a running theme throughout the episode, and throughout the Clara/Doctor relationship. Clara continually looks to the Doctor as though he is omnipotent. “He hasn’t got a plan yet,” she says early on in our story, “but he will have; and it will be spectacular.” Confidence in the Doctor is paramount for a companion, but at times Clara escalates this to unrealistic expectations.

It can be argued that Clara is at fault here. She cajoles the Doctor into remaining. She talks the Doctor into determining what he is overlooking and to “start winning.” She, it can be argued, is responsible for Ashildr’s death. She has created the tidal wave that will be felt as the season progresses.

And it starts with this piece of dialogue.

Doctor: “They’ll die fighting with honor. To a Viking, that’s all the difference in the world.”

Clara: “A good death? Is that the best they can hope for?”

Doctor: “A good death is the best anyone can hope for, unless you happen to be immortal.”

A good death, Gary. The Vikings chose to stand and fight. They chose a good death. Clara convinces the Doctor to hand the Vikings a death defying victory.  That’s all well and good. However, Ashildr pays the price. She dies. She dies a good death. That was her choice and she was heroic in making it.

The best, the most honest, the noblest ending to this bizarre alien encounter with a Viking village is for the Vikings to die with honor. Failing that, the sacrifice of Ashildr is a poetically tragic denouement.

But the Doctor decides that isn’t good enough. He is tired of losing people. He is tired of following the rules. He has won the war but lost Ashildr. Hang the consequences, he is going to defy all of the laws he has vowed to uphold. He is going to defy death. Ashildr will live again with the aid of Mire technology.

“But it’s entirely possible she has lost the ability to die.”

Denied death; denied honor; denied nobility.

It is effectively done. The Doctor’s remembrance of times gone by; his realization of why he has chosen this particular face for his latest incarnation; his proclamation: “I’m the Doctor, and I save people.” It is all justified; and the Doctor is defiant and joyous in his determination. And then the remorse: “Immortality is everybody else dying.” And the self-recrimination: “I was angry. I was emotional. Just possibly, I have made a terrible mistake. Maybe even a tidal wave.”

With more than a little help from Clara, the Doctor’s ripple has turned into a tidal wave that will be felt as the season progresses. And this seeming filler of a story has turned into the core of an arc.

“In a way, she’s a hybrid.”

The parting shot of Ashildr as the scenery and seasons swirl around her is masterfully done, and with the subtlest of changes in expression Maisie Williams conveys all of the power of those mournful and prophetic lines.

A good death is the best anyone can hope for, Gary . . .