Hell Bent

Dear Gary—

 We’re entering the Christmas season and I’m feeling generous; I’m going to give Hell Bent a passing grade. 

To begin, the Doctor and Clara have never felt more companionable; to think, it only took a memory wipe and a reboot to make that happen. The Doctor walks into the desert diner, sits down at the counter and begins a heartfelt conversation with the dead or semi-dead or clone Clara; he spills all his deepest thoughts as though she were his confession dial; and she listens and reflects and responds calmly and compassionately, without her usual hysterics or histrionics. As the episode progresses, Clara’s hidden pain and sorrow are expertly portrayed by Jenna Coleman; and the restraint exhibited by Clara is impressive. In another Doctor Who World I could imagine Clara jumping over that counter, slapping the truth into the Doctor, and escaping off once again into the TARDIS with him to chase the universe. The fact that she realizes they are no good together shows remarkable growth in her character.

Viewed with this in mind, I can bear the ridiculous lengths the Doctor goes through to save this one companion (above all others). I can also ruminate on New Who’s relentless emphasis on the Doctor’s angst and the agonizing losses he has borne, piled up one after the other in a never-ending mountain of mourning; and I can begin to understand why he suddenly has thrown all his principles aside to save the life of his latest cohort. The Doctor has simply gone a bit dotty; he has been driven to the brink of insanity. Now, I don’t like a dotty Doctor; and there are so many things about these newest generations of his that I find tedious; however, with this admission by Clara (and presumably by the show) that his most recent persona and relationship has gone off the deep end and needs to be reset, I can accept it for the moment. I can resent the fact that the show has led us to this point (the long way round), but I can rejoice that it is finally (hopefully) putting it to rest. 

The whole line in the sand, ‘get off my planet’ standoff with the Time Lords (or more precisely Rassilon) is overly drawn out and a bit ludicrous; I’m not sure how or why the Sisterhood of Karn is present on this end of the universe, super secret and hidden Gallifrey; you well know, Gary, my contempt for this hybrid nonsense; the Time Lords are unbelievably gullible in falling for the flimsiest of Clara extraction excuses; the various monsters in the Cloisters are pointless; the ‘duty of care’ bit is getting way too tired and worn; and all in all things are rather confusing. However, it is well done and I accept it as is.  

And in the end, Ashildr/Me saves the day. 

“She died, Doctor. Clara died billions of years ago.” Ashildr/Me has a way of cutting through to the truth; of stating simple facts that the Doctor (and Doctor Who) has trouble with. 

“She died for who she was and who she loved. She fell where she stood. It was sad, and it was beautiful. And it is over. We have no right to change who she was.” 

Ashildr/Me could be talking about herself.  Ashildr died beautifully and heroically, for who she was and who she loved. The Doctor could not accecpt that and he changed her. He changed her into Me. 

Doctor: Ashildr. 

Ashildr: Me. 

Ashildr is dead; the Doctor created Me. Now Clara is dead and in the same way the Doctor is desperately trying to change the natural course of her life. 

I am a little disappointed when Ashildr brings up the hybrid (because you know, Gary, my contempt for this hybrid nonsense); however Me makes it real when she likens the hybrid to the Doctor/Clara combo: “a dangerous combination of a passionate and powerful Time Lord and a young woman so very similar to him.” 

It is this combo, this unnatural combo that has been polluting Doctor Who for several seasons now, that is finally called to account. 

Ashildr/Me points out to the Doctor as a matter of fact that he is “willing to risk all of Time and Space” because . . . and this next she tells him in the most dismissive of ways . . . “because you miss her.” Thank you Ashildr/Me; thank you Maisie Williams. With those four words she puts the entire Doctor/Clara dramatics in their proper perspective. 

Back in The Waters of Mars the Doctor had similarly decided to play god; had decided that the universe owed him; had decided that rules no longer applied. Back in the Waters of Mars the Doctor’s attitude was much more understandable and natural. Back in The Waters of Mars the gravitas of the situation was much more palpable. Back in The Waters of Mars it took Adelaide Brooke’s suicide to set the Doctor straight. 

In Hell Bent it takes just four words: “because you miss her.” 

With those four words the inanity of the Doctor’s actions are brought to light. Because he misses this one companion he has murdered a man (despite his justification that “death is Time Lord for man flu”), he has broken the laws of time, he has risked the stability of the universe; in short he has gone against everything he stands for. Because he misses her. 

I won’t even get into the fact that Clara is hardly worthy of this—I’ll leave it to the mountain of loss and the last straw theory. 

Hurrah for Ashildr/Me. 

At last the Doctor realizes he has gone too far. At last he realizes he must stop. 

The memory wipe scene is effectively done, with full credit going to Jenna Coleman.  Clara’s reversing of the polarity is a clever twist with a nod to history, but it is Clara’s line that rings strongest with me: “Tomorrow is promised to no one, Doctor, but I insist upon my past.” The implications of this statement could fill several pages—going back to Donna; going back to Me who no longer remembers her own name or the father or town or people she loved so well and died for only to be resurrected by the Doctor to an empty life; and including the past he is denying Clara in order to give her a future she never asked for.  

It is only fitting that it is the Doctor who loses his memory of Clara. (Although it seems to be only her name and face he can’t recall while the adventures remain with him—and now that he has a name and face to attach to those adventures I guess all is well, but then what was this all about anyway?) 

Me and Clara flying off in a stolen TARDIS, journeying back to Gallifrey the long way round, is some New Who happily-ever-after tripe that I forgive because—who doesn’t love happily ever after? The two women robbed of their heroism and denied their destiny can now live out an eternity together, even if it turns out to be hollow. 

Now if the show can only take this chance to reset in a good way. But I’m not going to go into that, Gary. I’ll leave the future for the future. At least no one can rob me of the wonderful past. 

And I’m going to leave with this final thought, Gary. One of the best lines of the episode: 

“Stories are where memories go when they’re forgotten.”

Here’s hoping, Gary, that our memories are never forgotten; but if they are that we are left with some beautiful stories.

Heaven Sent

Dear Gary—

If I were to describe Heaven Sent in one word, Gary, what would that one word be? Tedious.

There, now I don’t even have to write any more.

OK, so I’ll explain.

The Doctor spends the hour trapped in his own confession dial endlessly repeating each day and each action over and over for billions of years, his skulls piling up beneath him, as he meticulously works out where he is and why, and as he slowly chips away at the hardest wall in existence in order to reach Gallifrey.

Peter Capaldi does his level best to make this interesting, and there are some genuine moments of suspense along with an air of mystery, but over all there is a lot of running in place and hitting one’s head against a brick wall (or I should say hand against an abzantium wall). And in the end I can’t help thinking, wouldn’t it have been easier if he just used that shovel rather than his fist? Even his shoe would have shaved off a couple hundred thousand years and saved some wear and tear on him. I briefly wonder why his whole arm isn’t worn down to a bloody stump by the end, but then I remember that everything resets each day—and then I wonder why the wall doesn’t reset as well and I am thrown down an even deeper abyss of futility.

“I’ve finally run out of corridor. There’s a life summed up.” Doctor Who revels in corridors and this line is a clever play on that; I do appreciate it; so why, I ask myself, am I not impressed?

The Doctor finds himself trapped, running in circles in a treadmill of corridor as he tries to escape a grizzly specter, and stymied by brick walls. Now he turns and makes a confession: “Oh, this is new. I’m scared. I just realized that I’m actually scared of dying.” Voila, like a secret password those words make the pursuing Veil disappear and the impenetrable walls move to reveal a doorway.

This is what I find wrong with it. The Doctor doesn’t run from ghostly figures. He confronts them and tries to communicate with them. The sight of a wraith reaching out to him wouldn’t instill the fear of death in him. And I just don’t sense any terror in the Doctor.

“It’s a killer puzzle box designed to scare me to death, and I’m trapped inside it. Must be Christmas.”

That’s more like the Doctor. He isn’t scared, he’s delighted.

Except I don’t sense delight in the Doctor, either.

He’s relentless.

And that’s what this episode is. Relentless.

It is a single-minded working out of the riddle.

The Doctor sets out on his endless path of discovery, retracing his steps, echoing his words, over and over, day after day, year after year, century after century. In this the episode succeeds brilliantly. It conveys to perfection the wearisome way the Doctor has chosen. The scenes with the shadowy and silent Clara in the TARDIS are expertly done to show the inner workings of the Doctor’s mind.

But here is the thing, Gary. For me at least, this is not the Doctor. This is Peter Capaldi. This is Peter Capaldi doing some fine acting to be sure. But it is not the Doctor. I just do not see the Doctor in any of this. And this is more than Peter Capaldi. This is Stephen Moffat. This is Stephen Moffat writing some clever scenes to be sure. But it is not Doctor Who. I just do not see Doctor Who in any of this.

And then the Moffat touch becomes too much.

The Hybrid.

 I knew from the moment this was first uttered in The Witches Familiar that the Hybrid would rear its ugly head in some unsatisfying way and I dreaded it. Now here it is. Some shaky prophecy about a Hybrid has thrown the mighty Time Lords into a dither. A prophecy that has been kicking around for millennia and never caused a raised eyebrow before. Now, when the Time Lords have already been nearly extinguished and have been banished to the end of nowhere, now they suddenly decide to worry about a mythical Hybrid, as if their worries weren’t enough already.

And now the Doctor claims to be the Hybrid? Claims to be the foretold destroyer of the Time Lords? Didn’t he already play that role? Wasn’t that what the whole Moment thing was about? OK then, over and done with. No more to worry about.

But no. Here we go again.

I’m just bored by the whole thing.

And angered. Here we go again with the tampering of the show's rich and textured history. “I didn’t leave Gallifrey because I was bored! That was a lie! It’s always been a lie!” So the entire series has been a lie up until now just so Stephen Moffat can play his clever games with Hybrids and birds and confession dials and divinations.

All of the ingenuity; all of the atmosphere; all of the emoting cannot overcome this one word summation: Tedious.

 And if anyone asks, Gary, how I came to this conclusion, “tell them I came the long way round.” No. Tell them, Gary; tell them I took the slow path.

Face the Raven

 

Dear Gary—I am philosophically opposed to Face the Raven, yet I find no fault with it. New Who has shackled itself to Earth and thus the Men in Black/aliens among us type scenario is inevitable. Face the Raven embraces the concept and delivers a decent story enriched by the presence of Maisie Williams reprising her role as Ashildr/Me.

Ashildr, in her latest persona of Mayor Me, has set herself up as the ‘Man in Black’ arbiter for the aliens. These aliens, however, are not out and about in everyday life. Rather they have segregated themselves away in a hidden ‘trap’ street in the heart of (where else?) London. It is an intriguing concept and cleverly revealed through the saga of Rigsy. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let me back up to Rigsy. Rigsy, if you remember, recurs from the previous season’s story Flatline. Come to think of it, that is an apt callback to an episode in which Clara sets herself up as the Doctor. (But again I am getting ahead of myself.) Rigsy was a decent enough character from that rather unremarkable story, and he makes a pleasant addition to our present tale. The mystery he introduces in the form of a tattoo he inexplicably acquired on the back of his neck that is counting down is also promising. Doctor Who has done the countdown thing before to great effect (thinking Flesh and Stone and The Power of Three) and this time it is just as provocative; and it is the very thing to draw in the Doctor and Clara and set them on the path of discovery.

What they discover, through an entertaining sequence, is the trap street, a murder mystery, and Ashildr as Mayor Me.

 
The trap street provides the perfect atmosphere with its dark alleyways and its various inhabitants slipping in and out of their human disguises as they go about their gritty day to day activities in these cramped quarters. Rigsy, we learn, was lured to this pocket of London the day before. He doesn’t remember this, however, because he has been ‘retconned;’ in true Men in Black style his memory has been wiped of all events involving his alien encounter, including the murder he supposedly committed.

 

None of this would make any sense if it weren’t for the fact that Ashildr set everything up. After all, what use is the countdown tattoo if Rigsy can’t see it? Good thing he has short hair and a partner to tell him about it. And what good is the countdown tattoo if he doesn’t even know what it is counting down to? Good thing he has the Doctor and Clara to figure it out for him. And what good is it to give Rigsy the time he needs in order to say his goodbyes and make his final arrangements if he doesn’t know he has a death sentence hanging over his head? And what kind of justice is it that convicts a man without a trial based on the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence?

The answers lie in the fact that it is all an elaborate sham engineered by Ashildr in order to maneuver the Doctor into sticking his hand into the stasis chamber that is keeping Anah (the alleged murder victim) alive and in a state resembling death, and this is in order to clamp a teleportation device onto the Doctor’s wrist. It is a convoluted plot that depends on lots of luck and happenstance. However, like in any good Doctor Who script, this is a case where the means justify the ends.


I can forgive the show’s contortions because of the enjoyable 50 minutes they serve up. I can forgive Ashildr’s insane plot because of the interesting puzzle it provides.  Just as I can forgive the season arc that seemingly has led us to this shackled Doctor—I can forgive it due to a season of stories involving Maisie Williams; I can forgive it due to a season of quality episodes; I can forgive it due to a season that has renewed my waning love of the show.

And I can forgive it this—I can forgive it Clara. Even this I can forgive.

From the beginning Clara has been set up as the end. She started as the arc; the reason for the season. As such, she had to be filled in. Doctor Who never did a good job of filling her in. Season after season they started at the end with her and had to backfill; had to force her character into the mold that would result in the big bang finale. And now Doctor Who has led us to this; to Clara’s end.

Jenna Coleman has been given some meatier material to work with this season and she has made the most of it. In Face the Raven many of Clara’s character traits, or I could say flaws, finally culminate into a part Jenna Coleman can sink her teeth into. This brings me back to my earlier comment about Flatline.  Clara has been flirting with delusions of Doctor for some time now, along with a sense of invulnerability. Her bravery has turned to recklessness and her intelligence to hubris; and at last these tendencies have caught up with her. At last she must pay the price. At last she must face the raven.

Clara hurls herself into the adventure head first—literally. Hanging upside down from the TARDIS high over London, Rigsy says of her, “She enjoyed that way too much.” The Doctor replies, “Tell me about it. It’s an ongoing problem.” This sets the tone and the theme for what follows.

Clara genuinely cares what happens to her friend; her compassion is one of her good qualities. However Clara’s egotism overrides her empathy. Playing on Rigsy’s sentiment for his infant child, Clara manipulates him into transferring his deadly tattoo to her. “This is clever,” she states as she cavalierly toys with their lives. Clara is so intent on being the hero that she disregards all else. Caution is not just thrown to the wind; it is flung into the abyss—gleefully.

And then she does what she always does—she turns to the Doctor expecting miracles. “We can fix this, can’t we?” She implores when she discovers the tattoo, once passed on, can no longer be removed. “We always fix it.” But she can’t fix it; the Doctor can’t fix it; Ashildr can’t fix it. Clara has made her pact with the devil and she and only she can pay the price. Except, of course, the price she pays will be felt, as it always is, by those left behind.

“If you feel guilty about this,” Clara tells Rigsy, “even for one minute, I . . .” But of course Rigsy will carry this burden to his grave. And then there is the Doctor. “You can’t let this turn you into a monster,” she admonishes the Doctor. She knows how deeply her death will affect the Doctor, and all she can tell him is, “I guess we’re both just going to have to be brave.” This is where her egomania trumps all feeling and she embraces martyrdom. After all, if Danny Pink can do it . . .

“I know it’s going to hurt you, but please be a little proud of me.”

Her final words: “Let me be brave. Let me be brave.” She isn’t being brave so much as she is being vainglorious.

An appropriate end to this control character. And now the end justifies the means as well. This powerful and apt death scene justifies the three seasons of indecisiveness building and coalescing into this monumental ego ultimately being expelled in a poof of black smoke.

Clara never had a form of her own. She has been inserted into seasons in order to provoke desired outcomes. And now the show’s repeated assertions that Clara is the best and brightest is coming to fruition as her sacrificial lamb effort provides the gut punch to the Doctor that will clearly define the remaining two episodes of this ninth series of New Who.

I can’t feel it with the Doctor, mainly because I could never develop any affection for Clara. I can appreciate the actor’s work and can even find moments to like the character, but I could never warm up to her.  Also, I know New Who’s penchant for creating unbelievable ever afters, so even without benefit of hindsight I figure this will not be the last time we see Clara.

However I can sympathize with the Doctor’s somewhat misdirected anger and I can look forward to where the arc will take us as he awaits teleportation to parts unknown. The hints all point to the Time Lords being the powers behind the scene, and the confession dial is again put into play. It is all very intriguing, Gary.

Sleep No More

Dear Gary—

“You must not watch this.” Good advice. Sound advice. I should have heeded it. From those opening words I knew Sleep No More would be a clunker.  “I’m warning you. You can never unsee it.” I should have listened. Because Sleep No More is one huge waste of time.

Those opening lines alone tell me not to trust this guy. This guy turns out to be Rassmussen, a researcher/scientist type on a space station. He stares out at us in found footage fashion from a flickering screen and in a terrified manner warns us not to view the video that he is purposely making—but for what purpose if he doesn’t want anyone to watch it? I quickly lose patience with this conceit.

So I don’t trust this guy to begin with, making the story he supposedly has pieced together in this video suspect. Turns out it probably all is a lie, or at least didn’t happen exactly the way he tells it, so why bother? This is another Doctor Who adventure that never happened. That would be OK if the narrative itself was compelling enough. It’s not. What it turns out to be is nothing more than a tale that kids make up around the campfire to scare each other, and it makes about as much sense as those cobbled together yarns.

It doesn’t help that the group of stranded characters on this base-under-siege are introduced to us by Rassmussen as stereotypes. We have Chopra (“Bit of an attitude.”), Commander Nagata (“Young, for the responsibility.”), Deep-Ando (“Conscript; likes to think of himself as the joker of this little group.”), and 474 (“This one’s obvious from the markings, isn’t it? We all know a Grunt when we see one.”). They never manage to break free from these classifications as assigned to them by our narrator. It also doesn’t help that the grainy, shaky, dark nature of the piece often makes it difficult to distinguish one from another.

In addition, the quality of the picture (or lack of quality) often obscures the action. When the Doctor asks, “Why did they kill Rassmussen like that,” I have to ask myself—Rassmussen is dead? When did that happen? (Of course, Rassmussen isn’t dead, but that’s another matter.)

The Doctor and Clara provide the only worthwhile moment early on in the episode during their “never put the word space in front of something” exchange. After that the Doctor and Clara are about as interesting as sleep dust.

Ah—sleep dust. There’s an inspired monster for you. The Doctor pulls this theory out of the air based on nothing and we are to believe it. Rassmussen backs him up, but then we can’t believe anything Rassmussen tells us. These dust creatures, or Sandmen as Clara dubs them, are rampaging through the space station and somehow killing people. I’m not sure exactly how. References are made to people being consumed. Do the Sandmen have teeth and digestive tracts? Are they sitting down to dine on humans? Or are people being somehow absorbed into the Sandmen (in which case I suppose that would make them distant cousins to the Abzorbaloff)? Why is it that everyone just runs from the monsters? Why does no one think to fight the things? They seem to disintegrate pretty easily. And since they are made of dust, the Doctor could call in a team of space maids armed with space vacuums to clean up the mess. (Who you gonna call? Dust Busters!)

I guess I’m just not sure about anything in this episode. Are these creatures arising spontaneously out of the corner of people’s eyes? Or are they transforming humans based on the altered brain chemistry brought about by an electronic signal? And what about this whole hijacked sight aspect? I assume it is Rassmussen who has been hijacking the Sandmen’s sight, but how and why? And why do they let him? They apparently are in cahoots with Rassmussen, and again, how and why? They communicate telepathically? Speaking of communication—why doesn’t the Doctor ever try to communicate with the Sandmen? He’s always trying to communicate with aliens; why not with these? I’m filled with questions but find I don’t really care about the answers. And neither does the show; just like the show isn’t interested in bringing this ordeal to any sort of conclusion, logical or otherwise. We are left hanging. Was it real? Did the Doctor save the day? Is humanity doomed?  Again, I don’t know and I don’t care.

I’m with the Doctor—“This doesn’t make any sense.”

There is a germ of a good idea embedded in the plot but it is squandered.

“Sleep’s the one thing left to us,” Chopra (the Attitude) says. But now, through the Morpheus machine, They (the ubiquitous They) are “colonizing it.” This could make for all kinds of intriguing scenarios. I can imagine Doctor Who of old expanding this idea out to a full 4 or 6 episode run, exploring a society in which sleep is deprived of its workers, parceled out in 5 minute doses that keeps the peons on their feet and in the factories, all for the greater glory of the Company. (Visions of The Sun Makers dance through my head.)

But we never even get a glimpse of any semblance of a social network. Instead we get dust bunnies hopping around, shaky camera work, and a whole lot of unexplained business that isn’t very interesting. The few mentions we have of society leave me with the impression that Mankind has willingly surrendered to a drone-like existence and is standing in line to sign up for 5 minutes in the Morpheus machine so that they can spend every blessed waking minute working, working, working, working, working. Not me. If I had the choice, I would first choose to keep my precious sleep time, but if forced to take my dose of Morpheus, I would spend my purchased waking moments in something other than work.

We don’t even get any hint of some vast, evil conspiracy. This is all the work of one mad man, Rassmussen. He has somehow hoodwinked the good people of Triton into becoming grunts. Except they grow Grunts. So why the need for human grunts? If they can grow Grunts to do the grunt work, why oh why . . . .

I give up. The real question is, why am I even trying to understand any of this? I think, Gary, I’ll just go to bed, perhaps to dream . . .

The Zygon Inversion

Dear Gary—

The Zygon Inversion accomplishes what many Doctor Who Part 2 stories do not, and that is it lives up to a great Part 1 and delivers an entertaining, action packed, coherent plot without falling victim to overblown spectacle. To quote the Doctor, “I’m a very big fan.”

It also achieves the rare feat of revealing Clara to be a complex, interesting, and likeable character—twice over. It is telling that Clara (the real Clara) is at her best when going head to head with her doppelganger. I have to say, though, that I prefer the character of Zygella (AKA Zygon Clara, AKA Bonnie) to the original.

An aside here, Gary. It is not the lack of depth I object to so much as it is the way the show runners have tried so very hard and so very desperately to make Clara into some superhero who is given UNIT clearance (with access to the Black Archive no less!) and who is the bestest ever companion and who is indispensable to the Doctor and without whom the Doctor cannot live simply by repeating ad nauseam that she is all of that and more rather than by giving her actual, consistent attributes that would make her such. It is a credit to Jenna Coleman that Clara has remained watchable despite this mishandling.

Perhaps it is because of this heretofore dearth of character development that I find the Clara face off scenes in this story so compelling. At last Jenna Coleman is given something to sink her teeth into, and she makes the most of the opportunity. And while this heretofore dearth of character development calls into question the Doctor's delighted comment—“The mind of Clara Oswald; she may never find her way out” (the ‘she’ referring to Zygella)—this single episode manages to give the line some weight.

Osgood, on the other hand, is a character who has always impressed despite limited screen time, and with an expanded role here she continues to shine. As in the previous episode, Osgood holds her own with the Doctor, challenging him in a way that Clara never does. Clara has always been obvious, providing the Doctor with a literal or proverbial slap in the face or outright adoration, depending on the circumstance. Osgood is subtle, providing intellectual stimulation and true companionship on an equal footing, based on mutual respect and admiration, but with a healthy dose of objectivity.

Just take their exchange on the beach. The world is on the brink of a takeover by rogue Zygons; the world needs the Doctor; the Doctor is despondent at the thought that Clara is most likely dead. Osgood doesn’t read the Doctor the riot act or rant speeches at him. Rather she guides him through a series of questions to get him thinking; to get him hoping; to get him planning.

Osgood: “How’s that hope phase now?”

Doctor: “Worse than ever.”

Osgood:  “Then we’ve got a game.”

The game is indeed afoot, and it is Osgood who has successfully read the Doctor and has effectively propelled him onto the path of action. Indeed, it is Osgood who is the key to this whole puzzle. “Two Osgoods; two boxes. Operation double. What did you expect?” What I don’t expect is the Doctor to continually hound Osgood as to which Osgood she is. It simply is not important and the Doctor above everyone should know this. Leave it to Osgood, though, to calmly and steadfastly refuse to answer. If I didn’t know better I would say that Osgood is the Doctor in a future incarnation. (Too bad Ingrid Oliver wasn’t just announced as the next Doctor.)

But I digress. The game is afoot and Osgood is the key. All action converges on the Black Archive where the Osgood box—turns out boxes—reside. Zygella arrives with Pod Clara in tow. Outraged at her discovery, she summons the Doctor from his diversionary trip to the surprisingly empty shopping center  of instant internet notoriety with the also instantly notorious peaceful Zygon revealed against his will (a side show that is entertaining and moving but doesn’t really make a lot of sense in the scheme of things upon close inspection, but who has time to closely inspect?) along with Kate Stewart who it turns out is not Zygon Kate Stewart but human Kate Stewart who divulges her escape from Truth or Consequences in flashback (“five rounds rapid”—gotta love it). And of course the ever present Osgood makes the trip as well. All parties assembled for the final showdown.

And what a showdown it is. This is the Doctor’s shining hour—and quite likely Peter Capaldi’s crowning moment as the Doctor. This is the Twelfth Doctor achieving what the Eleventh failed in Cold Blood. This is the Doctor standing tall and proud in the face of two factions on the brink of war and talking them down. His speech is riveting and impeccably delivered as Kate and Zygella stare at each other across those devastating Osgood boxes of death and destruction.

“This is a scale model of war,” he sums up. “Every war ever fought, right there in front of you. Because it’s always the same. When you fire that first shot, no matter how right you feel, you have no idea who’s going to die! You don’t know whose children are going to scream and burn! How many hearts will be broken! How many lives shatter! How much blood will spill until everybody does what they were always going to have to do from the very beginning—sit down and talk!”

And then his relentless persuasion of Zygella. (Kate is easy—she relents early on. She is privy to his history and understands his anguish as he describes his similar hour of reckoning.) And again Jenna Coleman excels as she portrays the defiant yet wavering Zygella, her hand poised above the deadly buttons. When the Doctor declares Zygella’s conversion and she asks him, “How can you be so sure,” I believe the Doctor’s response, “Because you have a disadvantage, Zygella. I know that face.” Jenna Coleman’s face says it all.

It is all so masterfully done that I forgive the obvious flaws. However, I still feel like everything is undone when the Doctor, in response to Kate’s question as to how they can forget the secret (that the boxes are in fact empty) replies, “You’ve said that the last fifteen times.” Are you kidding me? Fifteen times? The Doctor has allowed this same deadly scenario to play out fifteen times, each time erasing their memories so that it can play out again? This is not peace he has brokered. This is simply a temporary ceasefire. A ceasefire to last—what—given the timeline between the first Zygon outbreak and this, a couple months or weeks? Why can’t he stop simply hitting the reset button and come up with a permanent solution? For this to have happened fifteen times already there must still be quite a few Zygons who are living in discontent and plotting rebellion. This has got to keep the Doctor so busy he can’t have time for any of the other adventures he supposedly has. This was a case of the scriptwriter not being able to resist the urge to insert a clever zinger.

I’ll take that hint, Gary, and assume that this was merely the Doctor throwing out a one-liner and not being literal.

And again we have an ending in which a potentially valuable and noteworthy companion turns down the Doctor’s offer to travel with him in the TARDIS. But Osgood is almost too good for the Doctor at this time, and she (along with her newly acquired Zygella-turned-Osgood twin) is better left to keep the peace that the Doctor apparently can only temporarily proffer.

Before taking my leave, Gary, I have to say a word about this hiatus I have been on recently (in the middle of a two-parter no less). I can offer excuses like: Writers block. Busy life. A general malaise brought about by the recent political climate. The knowledge that you have never seen these stories I am currently on. Or any combination thereof. But I suppose the major reason is my increasing disenchantment with the show, despite the quality of the episodes I am covering at present. Outside of my slow path I have forged ahead in my viewing, and I have to say that this show has found new ways in which to disappoint me. It has rarely if ever reached perfection, and you well know my reservations about the New Who, but this most recent season, this tenth season of the New Who, has completely lost its identity. It is no longer Doctor Who. It is as if it is trying to be a pale imitation of The Twilight Zone. But no, I don’t even want to compare it to a show of that quality. Rather it is striving to become a distant cousin of those modern Zone like shows, such as Black Mirror. I truly hope Doctor Who can find its direction once again and I will continue plodding along. I see that the new Doctor has been announced and I can only hope that she is not treated as a gimmick, but I don’t have much faith at this point.

Sorry to end on a sour note, especially when The Zygon Inversion is anything but . . . but, oh Gary . . .