The Return of Doctor Mysterio

Dear Gary—

 

The Return of Doctor Mysterio is some comic-book-lite fun. It is pleasurable and forgettable. It is kick back and relax and enjoy for the moment and then move on amusement. It is turn your brain off entertainment that does not keep on giving. (I won't bring up the fact that the TARDIS has landed in New York and wasn't there something about the TARDIS never being able to land in New York again or it would tear open the space/time continuum or some such nonsense and therefore he can never go back for Amy and Rory?)

With broad strokes it paints a Clark Kent/Superman/Lois Lane knock off for no particular reason other than it can. It can do so courtesy of the Doctor and his conveniently magical and rare gemstone that he for some inexplicable reason hands to a child. A child who is sick and who somehow manages to swallow this valuable jewel thinking it to be medicine and who is therefore imbued with all sorts of miraculous powers as the precious stone feeds off of the child’s love of super heroes. 

The child grows into Grant, our mild mannered Clark Kent working as a nanny for his Lois Lane (AKA Lucy Lombard—or Fletcher as the case may be). Grant’s Superman alter ego is The Ghost. Grant has known Lucy since childhood and even set her up with his best friend, now Lucy’s ex-husband and father to her infant daughter Jennifer to whom he (Grant) is now nanny. Grant continues to call Lucy Mrs. Lombard despite their lifelong acquaintance and her resumption of her maiden name of Fletcher. Grant’s disguise, similar to Clark Kent’s, is a pair of glasses. Lucy never catches on to Grant’s alter ego.

“There are some situations which are just too stupid to be allowed to continue.”

Except that this improbable and hackneyed scenario allows for some good old fashioned Doctor Who fun. As with most Doctor Who, the actors are agreeable and have some nice chemistry. And there are some unexpected moments that surprise, such as Mister Huffle, Lucy’s squeaky toy interrogation technique. (“This is Mister Huffle. Mister Huffle feels pain.”) The villain of the piece is not worth much—a generic corporation (Harmony Shoal—in other words, kinda sorta, Melody Pond?) of aliens with zipper heads intent on taking over the world somehow; easily defeated and easily forgotten.

The focus of the episode is the love story, and that too is mostly paint-by-numbers. Lucy’s infatuation with The Ghost slowly evaporates as it dawns on her that Super Nanny is really the man of her dreams. A nice bit of fluff to pass the time.

This is where, Gary, I tell Dad’s Superman joke.

If Lois Lane had a cat, and that cat one day walked in wearing a pair of glasses, would Lois Lane ask, “What cat is this?”

The episode successfully riffs on this comic book trope as the Doctor obtusely observes to young Grant (“Take a good long look. It takes a moment to see it.”), “Superman and Clark Kent are one and the same person.”

With moments like this, Peter Capaldi’s Doctor succeeds in lifting this trite tripe into something a little more than watchable.  The Doctor has an easy and pleasant bond with the kid, Grant. As a side note, Gary, the Doctor tends to interact well with youngsters—little Amelia and young Kazran are two good examples. It is a shame that the show has never taken advantage of this dynamic in the way of companionship beyond the Classic versions of Susan and Vicki (although neither was hardly a tot).

This rapport translates well to the adult Grant and extends to Lucy. These are affectionate acquaintances; a nice respite from the passionate ties of recent companions. Add to the mix the welcome return of Nardole.  The Doctor has rescued Nardole from out of the previous story’s Hydroflax and the reconstituted Nardole takes on the role of sidekick to the Doctor. Again, a nice respite from the intensity.

However those ardent feelings simmer throughout the episode;  the Doctor is not far removed from some harsh losses and the wounds are still raw. Lucy and Grant both pick up on the Doctor’s pain but he sidesteps their questions, as he does Nardole’s more pointed remarks. Yet the sadness seeps through and is evident throughout. Finally Mister Huffle brings out this from the Doctor: “Things end. That’s all. Everything ends, and it’s always sad. But everything begins again too, and that’s always happy.”

The Return of Doctor Mysterio is the perfect adventure for the Doctor to work through his unhappiness.  He needs to be Doctor Mysterio caught up in a fantastical comic book scenario in order to escape from reality for the moment.

And as he moves past this escapade the Doctor has Nardole to look after him. As Nardole concludes, “He’s the Doctor. He’s very brave and he’s very silly and I think, for a time, he’s going to be very sad. But I promise, in the end, he’ll be all right. I’ll make sure of it.”

Things end and things begin again, Gary. The era of Clara is over (thank goodness) and the intermittent appearances of River Song seem to be laid to rest. The Doctor now has Nardole to accompany him and a fresh face ready in the wings to provide companionship. If I didn’t have hindsight, Gary, I might be hopeful at this time.  As it is, I simply plod along, and with Reinette I say, “The path has never seemed more slow.”

The Husbands of River Song

Dear Gary—

I’m actually writing about a Christmas episode during the course of the holiday season. Not that The Husbands of River Song has much to do with Christmas. There is some snow and some carol singing to start the show and that’s about it. I do wonder why the Doctor chose to park in the middle of Christmas just to post a sign warning off carolers, but oh well (as we say in New Berlin).  What The Husbands of River Song does deliver is some unabashed silliness as a Yuletide treat.

With the first sight of the Doctor sporting felt antlers on his head the tone is set, and his admonishment of the TARDIS for the unwanted hologramatic novelty furthers the theme. The Doctor is grumpy (understandably so given recent events) and is in need of some holiday cheer. The Husbands of River Song is exactly what he (and the audience) needs.

For the most part it works, although probably more so if viewed while drinking some Christmas nog. It’s not especially memorable or notable, but it’s some well played fun; and Peter Capaldi and Alex Kingston are clearly enjoying themselves as the Doctor and River. This is the strength of the episode. The plot is incidental.

The head in a bag gag is funny with its giant angry mechanical body trailing after it. The restaurant dedicated to the murderous of the universe is interesting and the blue toady Flemming fits in perfectly. The sight of interchangeable Nardole and Ramone cyborg heads is a bit unsettling but I’ll let that pass.  The diamond lodged in Hydroflax’s brain and the ensuing sale/auction is enough of an excuse to tie all the elements together and provide an entertaining story. The Doctor and River navigating this plot is the payoff.

“I married the diamond.” River continually justifies her marriage with Hydroflax to the Doctor without knowing he is the Doctor. It is a very merry mix-up, and although I find it hard to believe that it takes so long for River to catch on, it makes for some fine comedy. The Doctor’s reactions alone are worth it. River’s free-wheeling, devil-may-care, morally ambiguous lifestyle is on full display here for Peter Capaldi’s disapproving Doctor to see, yet he is caught up in the fun despite himself.

The Doctor is clearly disappointed in River (“Because they cross; I’ve got cross arms”) yet he is also clearly enjoying the adventure. “I can’t approve of any of this, you know,” he tells River, “but I haven’t laughed in a long time.” Indeed, the sight of the Doctor laughing as he gets unceremoniously dumped into the snow is a delight. Equally amusing is the Doctor making a proper show of the “it’s bigger on the inside” shtick. And the talking head in a bag (“We’re being threatened by a bag! By a head in a bag!”) adds the perfect touch of absurdity to the proceedings.

The shift towards the emotional also works thanks to the Doctor and River. River’s speeches about unrequited love are obviously scripted. “You don’t expect a sunset to admire you back,” is a lovely sentiment but it just doesn’t flow naturally. The feelings behind the words, however, are pure, and Alex Kingston conveys them best in the quiet moments. The discussion about River’s diary is especially effective.

The Doctor: “Is it sad?”

River: “Why would a diary be sad?”

The heartbreak in River’s eyes is obvious even for the Doctor to see.

The use of the diary does get a bit heavy handed, particularly as Flemming pages through it for the entertainment of the devout diners, but it is a great call back and beautifully brings the Doctor’s and River’s relationship full circle. What was started in Silence in the Library has been a long and sometimes bumpy road, but it is impressive how it has navigated across the years and through the change of Doctors with its confusing timelines and has stayed relatively true to itself. And once again, much credit to Alex Kingston. She has played expertly off each actor, subtly adapting to every change in the Doctor’s persona, yet remaining constant in her love for the man within. I have not always enjoyed the River story, but I have always enjoyed Alex Kingston.

I have to say, Gary, that the relationship between River and this twelfth Doctor is the most impressive. Her time with the tenth was too short and unexplored. Her time with the eleventh often seemed awkward and forced. With Peter Capaldi, however, the two can meet on mature and level ground and as a result this parting of the ways is that much more effective.

“Times end, River, because they have to.” At last the Doctor has learned this lesson (one companion too late). Gone are the wailings and flailings; gone are the histrionics; gone are the wrong-headed and stubborn refusal of the inevitable. What remains is the quiet and tender goodbye to lives long loved and lived.

River understandably hesitates: “I want you to know that if this is the last night, I expect you to find a way round it.” However the Doctor gently reminds her, “Every night is the last night for something.”  The Doctor has been putting off this fated night, time after time cancelling their inexorable date at the Singing Towers of Darillium. But the towers and Darillium have finally crashed into his and River’s timeline, and in his best Doctor way he takes the glaring facts as presented to him and arranges them to perfection. With a suggestion here, a diamond there, and a TARDIS leap or two he orchestrates the entire evening.

And again in best Doctor Who fashion: “How long is a night on Darillium?” – “Twenty four years.”

River understands—“Happy ever after doesn’t mean forever. It just means time. A little time.” The Doctor has given her time; he has given her happy ever after.

For all of the contrived happily ever afters that New Who has foisted upon us, this is the only one that rewards. One could easily flow from The Husbands of River Song to the Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead pairing and see the full arc of this romance fulfilled.

“And they both lived . . .”

Here’s hoping, Gary; “happily. . .”

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.