Dear Gary—
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
“Nothing weird. Nothing Alien. Just an old house and a dodgy landlord.”
If only. An old house and a dodgy landlord with a mishmash of weird and alien added to the mix—that is what Knock Knock boils down to.
How disappointing. Thin Ice ended with the promise of some TARDIS adventure. Instead the very next story is set on present day Earth, only a stone’s throw from the University. To compound this letdown, the episode itself is pretty awful. I recall that the first time I viewed Knock Knock was also the first time the thought struck me that Doctor Who was turning into a poor man’s Black Mirror. I’m not sure if that is accurate, Gary, since I have only seen a handful of Black Mirror episodes; all I know is that Doctor Who during this period is very distinctly non Doctor Whoish and Black Mirror is the closest comparison that comes to me. (Not to dismiss Black Mirror, but Doctor Who is not Black Mirror—there already is one of those—so could Doctor Who get back to being Doctor Who again please?)
But back to our present story of Knock Knock.
Bill is moving out of her foster mother’s house with a group of five students, only one of whom she knows. We have never met Shireen before, but apparently she is a friend of Bill’s. These six youngsters are having a hard time finding a suitable and affordable place to rent, until they meet the “dodgy landlord” who is offering a too-good-to-be-true deal of a lifetime. This is when I begin to wonder—six young people looking for a place to live, and not one of them has at least one hovering parent or adult relative or friend displaying even mild concern? None that is, except Bill. The Doctor shows up as the only interested party—exhibiting all of the human characteristics apparently lacking in the absent family members of the other five. But this is only the beginning to the many questions that pile up as the episode progresses.
My next question is, why is Bill so ashamed of the Doctor? Why does she insist on introducing him as her grandfather? And if these five students are from the University, why doesn’t at least one of them recognize him? The TARDIS is relegated to the role of moving van and the Doctor is passed off by Bill as an interfering old man; an embarrassment who needs to be shooed out. Thankfully, the Doctor sticks around—he is the only bright spot in this confusion of mediocrity.
“Nobody just does anything.” The Doctor is the only one to question the mysterious disappearing act of Pavel. Not one of Pavel’s roommates wonders why he has shut himself away in his room for the entirety of their first day together in their new home. I can accept this except for one thing—the fact that his record is stuck in a groove playing the same few strands of music over and over and over and over and over, and not one of these scholars has thought to pound on his door to at least make this repetitive annoyance stop. Not to mention that not one of them has the wherewithal to worry about poor Pavel who is locked away with this never-ending loop of insanity.
Without the Doctor these six youngsters would be dead and forgotten with no-one to mourn or question their sudden demise, just as the multitude of those who went before them in this house of doom and gloom. Then again, without the Doctor there probably never would have been any alien beings to bring doom and gloom into the house to begin with. Because that is the nature of a Doctor Who script at this time—the mere presence of the Doctor, no matter the time or place on Earth (always Earth), means there is an alien menace lurking. Subtract the Doctor and you subtract the menace. But I am digressing again. It must be the Pavel repetitive effect.
Another aspect of a present day Doctor Who script is that there is no need to explain the alien presence. Doctor Who historically whisks any questions away with the action, but lately Doctor Who doesn’t even make a pretense of asking any questions. The closest we get in Knock Knock is the Doctor trying to come up with a name to call these aliens—“wood nymphs, tree spirits, dryads; anything’s possible.” Because quite literally, anything is possible in a New Who script. Don’t even bother asking who, what, when, where, or why, not to mention how.
So let me summarize Knock Knock: because Bill is moving into a new house, and because Bill is the protégée of the Doctor, some cockroach insects creep out of the walls and eat people in order to keep a wooden woman alive so that her son can remain a momma’s boy all his life.
“No, wait. Doctor, that doesn’t make sense.” Finally Bill is beginning to question; finally Bill realizes the nonsense. But wait. What is it that Bill can’t make sense of? Is it that a woman is made of wood? Is it that cockroaches are eating her friends? Is it that cockroaches eating her friends is somehow keeping the wooden woman alive? No, what Bill wonders is why a man would bring an insect into the house to amuse his ill daughter. Of everything happening in this cockeyed tale, that is one thing that does make sense. So what that Bill doesn’t like bugs; it is very possible that a sick little girl stuck in bed would get a kick out of seeing an unusual looking insect that her father brings in from the garden. Of the many things to question in this story, that is the very least of them.
And the information that this one question provides is the very least of the facts that are sorely lacking in this plot. What we learn from this is that the landlord is not in reality the wooden woman’s father but rather he is her son. So what? How does this explain the alien cockroaches? How does this explain her turning to wood? How does this explain how the mother and son are controlling the alien insects or how or why the alien insects are keeping the woman alive? How does this explain why the cockroaches need to eat people to accomplish all of this? Or why no one has ever noticed that people are walking into this house never to be seen again?
And the information that this one question provides—that the father is in fact the son—raises a slew of new questions that are never even considered by anyone connected with the story. Like how has the son survived all of these years? How has he paid the bills? How did he avoid social services or interfering adult relatives all those years ago? What did he tell the mother’s doctors to keep them from treating her? (Unless he fed those doctors to the alien cockroaches in which case—how did he keep anyone from questioning the disappearance of those doctors?) When did the mother forget that this man was her son and decide that he was her father—when he was 15? 18? 21? 50? . . . .
And the biggest question of all—why does knowing that this man is her son and not her father enlighten the mother? Because he is her son and not her father, she suddenly wants to open the shutters? Because he is her son and not her father, she suddenly mourns the deaths at their hands? Because he is her son and not her father, she suddenly feels the unending boredom of her life?
And then, in a flash of a New Who second, the alien insects devour the mother and son and what—are gone for good? Never seek to devour anyone else? Have gotten at long last what they sought? What did they seek? What did they want? Why were they there? Where have they gone? Nobody cares anymore, least of all the Doctor.
“Oh, the questions, the questions, the questions. Just remember Time Lords. That’s enough for now.” That is the Doctor talking to Bill. It is an amusing little scene—one of a few in the episode. Unfortunately it applies all too broadly these days. Oh, the questions, the questions, the questions. Just remember _______ (insert alien of the day here—AKA, “woodlice from space”). That’s enough for now.
That’s enough, Gary. That is enough.
