Boom Town

Dear Gary—

Boom Town is a nice little respite. It is one of the only if not the only episode in the Eccleston era that does not have an agenda. It isn’t introducing characters, establishing themes, fortifying story arcs, or reestablishing links to the Classic. The strength of the Doctor and the strength of Doctor Who has to stand on his/its own merit, stripped bare of themes and arcs and grand master plans.

Boom Town is stripped bare and just having fun.

With one glaring exception. Blaidd Drwg. Bad Wolf. “Chose it at random, that’s all,” Margaret says. “I don’t know, it just sounded good.” It does sound good. Blaidd Drwg. Bad Wolf. But it is rather random, and oddly appropriate that the season’s arc is for the first time directly addressed in this otherwise stand-alone episode.

“Everywhere we go. Two words following us. Bad Wolf.”

Except I have to protest. I remember the first time I saw this scene and thought, “What?” I hadn’t taken note of the words during the course of my initial viewing. But OK, now that I have the directive I can revisit on subsequent viewings and catalogue all of the Bad Wolf references and marvel at the cleverness. However, I have to wonder how the Doctor and Rose have cottoned on to this recurring phrase since many of the mentions occurred out of their presence or were rather obscure.

And so this rather random phraseology follows the Doctor and Rose and links this one-off episode to the rest of the season.

“Nah, just a coincidence.” Thanks Doctor. Let’s just shelve this for the moment and concentrate on the fun.

This is an episode of pure fun. It’s one of those great Doctor Who stories where you can throw common sense out the window and suspend your disbelief for 45 minutes and just sit back and enjoy. Who cares that Margaret the Slitheen hasn’t bothered to change her borrowed body since last we saw her in World War Three?  Who cares that Margaret has managed to become mayor of Cardiff in a remarkably short period of time (6 months) and has already pushed through the production of a nuclear power plant in the heart of Cardiff? Who cares that nobody has commented on the multiple tragedies associated with this project in such a short time span? Who cares that no one in authority is looking over the plans of this nuclear power station to ensure its safety? Who cares that the one man who has discovered the flaws in the plan hasn’t bothered to mention it to anyone but the mayor? Who cares? It’s just pure fun.

The Doctor and Rose and Captain Jack are clearly having fun. They are like a well oiled machine, working in perfect synch, completing each other’s sentences. Enter Mickey: “My God, have you seen yourselves?”

The camaraderie is infectious, and despite initially feeling an outsider, Mickey soon blends in to the mix. This is a real Doctor Who missed opportunity.  An entire season of these four would have been fantastic; but there you have those pesky ifs ands and buts, Gary, and Christmas is past. So we will have to settle for this single story of the fantastic foursome.

Boom Town has a decidedly lighthearted tone but with some surprising depth and pathos; and it all hinges on Margaret, AKA Blon Fel-Fotch Pasameer-Day Slitheen, Blon for short. Her scene early on with the intrepid girl reporter is amusing, even as Blon unzips with the obvious intent of killing the journalist. Then it suddenly turns melancholy as Blon learns of Cathy’s pregnancy and begins to mourn her own lost family. As a slimy green bug-eyed monster the Slitheen still garners sympathy.

The pursuit and capture of Margaret is hilarious, from its planning stages (“Excuse me; who’s in charge?”) to its execution (“She’s climbing out of the window, isn’t she?”) to its aftermath (“It’s a surfboard.” “A pan-dimensional surfboard, yeah.”). Mission accomplished. Celebrations are in full swing (“Raxacoricofallapatorious. That’s it! I did it!”) when Margaret brings it all to a screeching halt: “They have the death penalty.”

From this point the humor is toned down, although still present, as the script explores the moral and philosophical implications of the death penalty. Margaret stares down the victorious gang one by one; none can look her in the eye. “You’re very quick to soak your hands in my blood,” she tells them, “which makes you better than me, how exactly?”

Her dinner with the Doctor is the highlight of the episode, alternating between her comical attempts to kill the Doctor and her moving pleas for mercy. However the Doctor remains unmoved. “You’ve been in that skin suit too long,” he tells her. “You’ve forgotten; there used to be a real Margaret Blaine. You killed her and stripped her and used the skin.” The Doctor sees the horror behind the ordinary human life Margaret pretends to. “You’re pleading for mercy out of a dead woman’s lips.”

Margaret changes tactics and claims she can change, citing her inability to kill the pregnant Cathy. It is a convincing argument, backed up by that powerful scene still fresh in our memory. But again the Doctor knows better:

“You let one of them go, but that’s nothing new. Every now and then a little victim’s spared because she smiled, because he’s got freckles, because they begged. And that’s how you live with yourself. That’s how you slaughter millions. Because once in a while, on a whim, if the wind’s in the right direction, you happen to be kind.”

“Only a killer would know that,” Margaret counters. Unfortunately their compelling tete-a-tete is cut short by the opening rift.  

Rose and Mickey are having an interesting conversation of their own in the meantime. I feel like I have beat up on Rose enough, though, so I’ll refrain from the obvious here and instead simply say, good for Mickey. At long last he stands up for himself and tells her what she needs to hear. And at long last I think Rose really feels the hurt she has caused.

Boom Town is an overall entertaining tale that addresses some deeper issues but then lets everyone off the hook with the all too convenient ending. But as I said from the start, I don’t really mind because I simply enjoy watching. Besides, I don’t think I could look Margaret in the eye and take her to her death, so I’m glad that she gets a second chance. “She’s an egg.” Margaret, AKA Blon, has looked into the heart of the TARDIS and magically regressed to childhood. Sometimes, just for the pure fun of it, it’s good to have this TARDIS ex machina ending.

Oh, Gary, if life were only thus . . .

The Doctor Dances

Dear Gary—

“Go to your room.”

If only all impending doom was so easily dispensed with. But the Doctor is on fire, as is The Doctor Dances. Combined with the previous episode, this two part story is a list topper, and again with the Doctor and Nancy leading the way.

However, let me get the inevitable out of the way. The Doctor ‘dances.’ For some misguided reason we have to deal with the question of the Doctor and whether or not he ‘dances.’ For starters, any romantic relationship the Doctor would have with a human companion would by necessity be a love-em-and-leave-em type of affair. (The show will later deal with this heart-breaking reality in School Reunion, but it then immediately reverts back to the high school romance mentality of the Rose relationship arc.)

But OK, the show has committed to the exploration of this question. That in turn begs the question, why Rose? Of all his many female companions throughout his long life, why Rose? Rose has come along at the most vulnerable moment for the Doctor.  The death of all his family and friends is one thing, the destruction of his race and planet another. For a Time Lord of 900 some odd years with all of time and space open before him, to have his entire history wiped out in a moment is catastrophic.

Rose enters the picture and is an immediate distraction from his darkest thoughts, and she takes full advantage.” I know how sad you are,” she had callously taunted him back in Father’s Day. She is playing him. She knows where her power lies. She doesn’t offer comfort or understanding or sympathy. She offers ‘dancing.’ Rose is the equivalent of a Time Lord one night stand.

OK, Gary, I’ve got that out of my system.

Now let’s deal with the deeper, more emotionally charged story of The Doctor Dances.

Nancy has just been terrorized by the gas-masked child monster; the last second “Go to your room” Hail Mary by the Doctor has saved her (“I’m really glad that worked”). Nancy stands alone at the window as she watches the dejected boy walk away through the deserted streets. With a sorrowful “Jamie” she slowly sinks to the floor in tears.

Nancy puts ‘dancing’ in its proper perspective.

One can only imagine how the poor and orphaned 15/16 year old Nancy became a single mother in pre-war London. It’s not important. What speaks volumes is the selfless and quiet dignity with which she faces the dismal reality of life.

“Mad, you are,” Nancy tells Rose who has just revealed she is from the future. As usual, Rose skims the surface of things and talks about the wonders of time machines. “It’s not that,” Nancy responds. “All right, you’ve got a time travel machine. I believe you. Believe anything, me.” And then, with the air raid exploding above their heads she concludes, “But what future?” Nancy deals in reality; Rose dwells in fantasy. With the Union Jack emblazoned across her chest and a sunny smile on her heavily made-up face Rose gives a wink and a nod to divulge the grand and glorious secret that England will persevere. The two women just do not belong in the same realm.

It is the same problem with part one of this story and what keeps either from being great TV.

But you know, Gary, I almost don’t mind. Because the elements that drag The Empty Child and The Doctor Dances down are also the elements that make both more accessible to the general viewing audience.

Take the Fantastic Three moment when the Doctor, Jack, and Rose stride towards the bomb site. It is pure cheese, but it gets the heart pumping.

And then there is the humor. For a somber and horrific premise there is a liberal amount of humor thrown into this episode. Some of it works; some of it is overkill; and some of it detracts from the quality. But most all of it is entertaining.

OK, let’s talk bananas. “I like bananas. Bananas are good.” The bananas work, then they become overkill, then they distract from the tension. The trifecta.  Through it all, though, they never fail to amuse. “Don’t drop the banana!”

Same with the sonic. “Who looks at a screwdriver and thinks, ooo, this could be a little more sonic?” Please don’t drop the sonic.

Of course there is also the Doctor ‘dances’ thing which really drags this down to the common level, but again it provides some very entertaining moments. “Rose, I’m trying to resonate concrete,” the Doctor says in a brilliant moment of the Doctor trying to put things back into perspective while Rose is more interested in the Doctor’s moves.

“The world doesn’t end because the Doctor dances,” she says in her flippant way. However the Doctor turns over her offered hands to examine their impossibly perfect condition after having been hanging onto a rope for dear life hundreds of feet up in the London sky. The Doctor remains on track even while Rose waltzes her way through the episode.

Captain Jack would gladly join Rose on the dance floor. Or the Doctor. Or Algy. “He’s just a bit more flexible when it comes to dancing.” (I can’t imagine why Rose is shocked to hear the news that in the future the human race ‘dances’ its way through the galaxy, given her own rather foot loose and fancy free tendencies.) However Jack has the appropriate sense of time and place. When confronted with his own culpability his expressions of disbelief are tinged with regret and contrition. The Doctor recognizes this. Rose is oblivious as usual, but the Doctor knows the responsibility Jack has accepted, and he has faith in Jack’s character. “Volcano day.”

I’m afraid I digressed again from the more serious aspects, Gary, but isn’t that just what the script itself does?

Nancy’s role as surrogate mother to the orphans of London is touching, her self-possession as she faces down Mr. Lloyd is inspiring, and her determination as she enters the bomb site is compelling. This is a young woman of great courage and character and it is evident in every fleeting moment of screen time she is afforded. When she is handcuffed to a table in a room with a young man who is obviously infected, therefore, the tension is heightened. Nancy’s composure is impressive as she pleas desperately but never hysterically. When the soldier inevitably turns, she remains true to her nature, soothing the empty child within with a simple lullaby.

That, of course, is the answer. The answer to the child’s question, “Are you my mummy?”

The army advances, the army of gas-masked zombies controlled by the empty child.

“Not the child,” Nancy corrects. “Jamie.”

Simple; true; natural.

The army is advancing, the bomb is imminent, Volcano Day is upon them. Desperation registers on Jack and Rose. Jack disappears and Rose is at a loss. The Doctor and Nancy remain the quiet eye of this storm.

And finally the answer. “I am your mummy.”

The Doctor shushes Rose and her silly blather of questions; he realizes the importance of this moment as Nancy hugs her son to her.

 “Give me a day like this. Give me this one,” he pleads, and then with exultation: “Everybody lives, Rose. Just this once, everybody lives!”

It is one of the most uplifting moments in Doctor Who, and one that is well deserved for this war scarred Doctor.

And now, at last, when it is appropriate, the Doctor can dance. It is a moment of celebration. Of course Rose is still using it as a ploy in her little game. After spending the whole time trying to get the Doctor to dance, now when he remembers his moves she slyly says, “Actually, Doctor, I thought Jack might like this dance.” But the Doctor counters with this magnificent laugh, “I’m sure he would, Rose. I’m absolutely certain. But who with?” Rose doesn’t like that one bit, being forced to recognize that she isn’t in fact the center of attention.

Well done, Doctor. Well done.

And well done Doctor Who. Combined with The Empty Child, The Doctor Dances is among the best.

Everybody lives, Gary. How beautiful that would be . . .

The Empty Child

Dear Gary—

The Empty Child has a little bit of everything; I especially want to single out four strong elements that combine to make this episode a standout: the Doctor, Nancy, humor, and atmosphere. The gloomy streets, the night shoots, the sepia hues, the rumble of planes and distant explosions all lend the right ominous undertone, and then the horror elements are laid on top with the occasional dash of wit. When the Doctor and Nancy inhabit this space it all comes together.

There is a scene early on that highlights all of these components. It starts with the Doctor and this wry observation to a stray alley cat: “You know, one day, just one day, maybe, I’m going to meet someone who gets the whole ‘don’t wander off’ thing. Nine hundred years of phone box travel, it’s the only thing left to surprise me.”

At which point he is startled when the TARDIS’ police phone rings.

Doctor: “How can you be ringing? What’s that about, ringing? What am I supposed to do with a ringing phone?”

It’s a darkly droll moment, and then the mysterious Nancy shows up and warns, “Don’t answer it. It’s not for you.”

The scene is capped as the somewhat amused and bemused Doctor answers the phone to hear the eerie voice of a child repeating, “Mummy? Mummy? Are you my mummy?” Just like that the comical turns creepy, and it is brilliantly played out in the Doctor’s face.

Even though Nancy makes only a brief appearance in that snippet, she fills the scene. Nancy is a fully developed character from the start; possessed of a silent self-confidence, independence of thought and a strong will. Add to that compassion, courage, and wit. There is nothing superficial about Nancy.

Which brings me to Rose.

Whenever the script diverts to Rose it disperses the tension. I don’t mind too terribly because Rose’s storyline sets up some important plot elements and incidentally sows some seeds for the unfortunate Doctor/Rose relationship arc. Besides, it successfully separates Rose from the Doctor thus allowing the Doctor to more fully come alive. Plus it introduces Captain Jack.

The Empty Child is really those two separate tales, the Doctor and Nancy in one and Rose and Captain Jack in the other, with the Doctor and Nancy thread the superior. Being a two part story, the Rose/Captain Jack sections are necessary for setting up the second half but distracting. (“This isn’t business, this is champagne.”)

This occurs throughout the episode. Just when things are getting interesting we switch to Rose flirting with her latest. But it is most evident at the end. The Doctor has made his way to the hospital and Doctor Constantine with his ward full of empty patients. As the Doctor examines one after another his incredulity grows.

Constantine: “Examine another one.”

Doctor: “This isn’t possible.”

Constantine: “Examine another.”

Doctor: “This isn’t possible.”

The repetition underscores the point: “They’ve all got the same injuries.” “Yes.” “Exactly the same.” “Yes.” “Identical, all of them, right down to the scar on the back of the hand.” And then to punctuate, that same scar is revealed on the hand of Doctor Constantine.

“Physical injuries as plague.”

Finally the big reveal: “They’re not dead.”

Struggling with every last word, he directs the Doctor back to Nancy. Then the gruesome transformation as the plague manifests itself in Doctor Constantine.

It’s a powerfully dramatic moment interrupted with the sounds of Rose and Captain Jack arriving in the hospital.

Similarly, we have a contrast in personality insights, and again the depth is weighted towards the Doctor and Nancy.

The Doctor asks Nancy, “Who did you lose?” A simple enough question, but heavy with meaning. The Doctor has a fundamental sympathy with and understanding of Nancy on the shortest of acquaintance. Both have suffered a tragic loss that shapes them and forms a solid connection between them. And it is all simply stated in those four words, “Who did you lose?”

But it is not just in the words. Nancy gives the barest of details about her brother Jamie and the Doctor waxes eloquent about the human spirit (“A mouse in front of a lion”) and it is moving and touching. The power of the moment, however, belongs to the subtleties in Nancy’s expression as she listens to the Doctor’s speech.  She never has to say a word.

When words are spoken, every one counts. Take this gem from Doctor Constantine: “Before this war began, I was a father and a grandfather. Now I am neither. But I’m still a doctor.” And the Doctor’s reply, “Yeah, I know the feeling.” Nothing more needs to be said.

Now let’s examine Rose and Captain Jack.

We don’t just get speech from these two, we get the benefit of psychic paper to bear witness to where their minds are.

Rose: “You just handed me a piece of paper telling me you’re single and you work out.”

And what’s on Rose’s psychic wavelength? “Oh, you sort of have a boyfriend called Mickey Smith but you consider yourself to be footloose and fancy free.”

Profound stuff.

Then there is Rose’s obsession with Spock and scanning for alien tech. “Finally a professional,” she says when Jack does just that, in awe of the flash. (I have to laugh thinking about Peri who always griped that she was bored with the Doctor and now Rose is unimpressed with him. And then I have to laugh even harder when this scene is immediately followed up with the Doctor using his non-showy but handy super binoculars which I wonder if are the same as the first Doctor used so long ago in The Daleks.)

Her preoccupation with TV effects over substance extends even to the name.

Doctor: “Mister Spock?”

Rose: “What was I supposed to say? You don’t have a name. Don’t you ever get tired of Doctor? Doctor who?”

Rose has completely forgotten that the Doctor had earlier shown her his own psychic paper with the name of Doctor John Smith of the Ministry of Asteroids. The name aside, Rose is demonstrating a basic lack of understanding of who the Doctor actually is. Unlike Nancy who needs no psychic paper to be on the same wavelength as the Doctor.

Rose is too caught up in herself and her flirtation and her pretense at being a time agent. She gives an off-handed, look at me I know so much comment about Chula warships, but she doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. The Doctor, on the other hand, asks the right questions. “What kind of Chula warship landed here?” His mind is working. His mind is on serious matters. He might not know what is going on yet, but he is working it out: “Human DNA is being rewritten by an idiot.”

And the big question that needs an answer is left for another episode as the empty child and the hospital patients all ask in unison, “Are you my mummy?”

Once again I’ll leave it on the cliffhanger, Gary . . .

Father's Day

Dear Gary—

“An ordinary man; that’s the most important thing in creation.” I love the fact that Father’s Day celebrates the ordinary.  In the process, Father’s Day goes a long way in rehabilitating Rose’s character; it humbles and humanizes her.

The episode starts by putting the self-importance of Rose into a commonplace perspective. A little girl who lost her dad before she was old enough to have memories. She has since built up the image of her father in her mind: “the most wonderful man in the world.” Now a young adult, she pleads with the Doctor to take her back to a time when her dad was alive. It’s all about Rose; but it’s relatable.

Her first glimpse into the past starts to knock her idol off his pedestal. A dingy little wedding ceremony with her dad stumbling over his lines. “I thought he’d be taller,” Rose says.

Her next thought is to go back to the day he died so that he won’t be alone at that tragic moment.

“The day my father died,” Rose says as she finds herself on the fateful street. “I thought it’d be all sort of grim and stormy. It’s just an ordinary day.” An ordinary day and an ordinary man.

Slowly her illusions are being shattered.

She stands immobile and watches as the car hits her dad. She cannot act; except she knows a man with a time machine.

“It’s a very bad idea,” the Doctor tells her. But he puts his faith in her; he grants her request; he gives her another chance.

“I did it,” Rose exults after pushing Pete out of the way from the oncoming car. She did it; she really did it; and the Doctor knows exactly what she did.

Echoing Rose, the Doctor says, “I did it again. I picked another stupid ape.” Rose is not the only one to be disillusioned in this episode. At last the scales are falling off the Doctor’s eyes and he is seeing Rose as the imperfect human being that she is.

Rose doesn’t comprehend this immediately. She still thinks she’s the center of the world. “I get it,” she tells the Doctor. “For once, you’re not the most important man in my life.” She’s really rather cold hearted and treats the Doctor similarly to the way she treats Mickey. “I know how sad you are,” she cruelly states, and then she gloats, “You’ll be back in a minute, or you’ll hang around outside the TARDIS waiting for me.” And then as he walks out the door, “And I’ll make you wait a long time!”

It’s an ugly, squalid little spat that brings out the worst in Rose; the Doctor’s stony stare glares a revealing spotlight on the deepest defects of her character. And it is that condemnation that finally brings Rose down to a human level.

Of course the Doctor isn’t going to leave Rose; he is a better person than that; he is not going to strand her out of place and time. Plus there is the whole “wound in time” business that needs sorting out. In the process, the two slowly rebuild their relationship on a more realistic basis.

“Now Rose, you’re not going to bring about the end of the world, are you? Are you?” The Doctor reestablishes a connection through baby Rose. Subsequently he is able to turn to adult Rose, and after a brief but stern dressing down he coaxes an apology out of her.

Doctor: “Just tell me you’re sorry.”

Rose: “I am. I’m sorry.”

Rose at long last has to admit that she is in the wrong. I love it. Not only does she tell the Doctor she is sorry, but she repeatedly takes the rightful blame, culminating in: “This is all my fault. Both of you. All of you. The whole world.” The Doctor is gone and the entire world is in danger of ‘sterilization’ because of her egotistical and selfish desires. And for once she reproaches herself. I love it.

And yet her desires are not totally selfish and egotistical. Yes, she wants to play hero and she wants to meet her idol; she wants, she wants, she wants. But at the heart of it is simply a little girl’s longing for her dead daddy.

The story of Rose and her father plays out in a similar fashion to the deconstruction and reconstruction of the Doctor’s and Rose’s relationship. As her idealized vision of Pete Tyler is brought down to earth, Rose comes to accept this man as the flesh and blood, flawed and imperfect person that he is. A man. An ordinary man. Only with that admission can love, a true love, grow; only with that admission can the father/daughter bond be formed; only with that admission can the final “Peter Alan Tyler, my dad; the most wonderful man in the world” have real meaning.

And it plays out in beautiful fashion. Simply because Pete Tyler is an ordinary man. And “that’s the most important thing in creation.”

Rose triggers the Blinovitch Limitation Effect when she wheedles the Doctor into allowing her to cross her own time stream. The result is larger than life devastation as the Reapers descend to fix the damage that has been done. Amidst this universal carnage the intimate emotional tale unfolds. The elegant tale of an inelegant man.

A man who can’t even remember the full name of his intended. “It’s good enough for Lady Di,” Jackie says, but this man is not Prince Charming.  “He was so clever,” Rose says of her dad; and then her mother tells her, “He’s a failure. Born failure, that one.” The same mother who once upon a time spun castles in the air built around his memory.

“Be careful what you wish for,” the Doctor warned Rose. Her wishes have come true, but they are not what she had imagined. Instead she is confronted with the simple, plain, unvarnished truth that is Peter Alan Tyler. An ordinary man.

Rose weaves an idyllic picture for her father when he asks about the future; an ideal that any little girl would crave.

“That’s not me.” Pete knows better. He knows that he is not the fantasy Rose describes. He is a man. An ordinary man. A flawed and imperfect human being. A disappointment and a failure. “I couldn’t even die properly.”

But he is also a dad.

Pete: “Who am I, love?”

Rose: “My daddy.”

The most important thing in creation; the most wonderful man in the world. An ordinary man.

“I’ve never had a life like that.” The Doctor is extraordinary. An extraordinary show about an extraordinary man with an extraordinary machine; and isn’t it great that for a change the salvation of the world rests with an ordinary man whose heroism lies in his mundane life and death.

There is probably a lot more I could say about Father’s Day. There’s little Mickey, Jackie with big hair, 80’s cell phones, ominous monsters . . . .

But Gary, I’m leaving this one with the ordinary man, “the most important thing in creation.”

The Long Game

Dear Gary—

“It must’ve been a glitch.” Nice to know they still have unspecified glitches in the year 200,000. The Long Game itself is a bit of a glitch. Or, to quote the Editor, “Something is wrong; something fictional.” The Long Game just doesn’t feel right. It has its share of entertaining moments, interesting characters, and intriguing concepts; but it just does not fit it all together. It is like those 600 channels all broadcasting out, a jumble of data streaming out to millions of planets and species but none of it of any relevance.

But first let me indulge in some Rose bashing to get it out of the way. I’m mystified by my new found dislike of Rose; I haven’t had such negative feelings towards a companion since Peri; Rose is starting to make me look back fondly on the Peri years. I have always had an aversion to Peri; my distaste for Rose has grown slowly over time and with careful consideration. To tie this aside in with The Long Game, the character of Rose is something like Suki—the truth to her persona lies hidden underneath the surface of the blonde girl heroine.

At the end of Dalek Rose persuaded the Doctor to bring her latest boy toy along for the ride. Mind you, she never consulted Adam in this decision. Adam had no clue what he was getting into when he stepped through the TARDIS doors. Now they are at the start of their first adventure together; however before allowing Adam out, Rose pulls the Doctor aside to get the skinny on where they have materialized so that she can impress Adam with her superior knowledge. When she runs out of her canned info she graciously lets the Doctor take over the explanations.

Then when Adam doesn’t measure up, Rose quickly loses interest in him.

Doctor: “He’s your boyfriend.”

Rose: “Not anymore.”

Let’s add fickle to Rose’s list of defects.

Rose abandons Adam and trails along after the Doctor for the rest of the story and this is where I really get irritated. The Sixth Doctor and Peri had an obnoxiously contentious relationship; the Ninth Doctor and Rose have an equally obnoxious mutual adulation. “Now Rose. Look at Rose. Rose is asking the right kind of question,” the Doctor tells Cathica, giving Rose some unwarranted credit for her simple complaint about the heat due to her own discomfort. In fact, Cathica states that she has repeatedly asked the same question to authorities and has been told there are technical difficulties. But Rose is quick to accept the praise. The final straw, though, is when the Doctor declares, “I only take the best. I’ve got Rose.” Rose’s head grows ten times larger, if that’s possible, over the course of this one episode.

I don’t think I would be this focused on Rose, Gary, if the episode was better than it is. But I just do not buy the overall premise.

This is supposed to be the “Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire.” It is supposed to be the “planet Earth at its height” and “the human race at its most intelligent.” If that is supposed to be true, how fragile is mankind that the mere fact that all of broadcast news is being manipulated can subvert it during its most impressive era? This is a fault with Doctor Who in general, though. Doctor Who has always had a rather dim view of the human race and its ability to progress of its own accord.

Now, I have to point out that this mighty news empire overseen by the Editor and the Jagrafess is dependent on the human brain; there is a reason that the brain is used as the computer, the processor, part of the software. The brain, the human brain, is a complex organism; brilliant, methodical, flexible, unpredictable; the human brain. (At this point I have to think: Destiny of the Daleks.)

And yet we are meant to believe that the entirety of the human race, spread across millions of planets, is unwittingly enslaved by a steady stream of propaganda.

I’m sorry, and with apologies to Skinner, but I just don’t buy it; I have more faith in humanity than that.

If you take two siblings with the exact same upbringing, instilled values, and indoctrinated beliefs, and you show them the exact same program, there is bound to be some point of discussion, some minor difference in perception. Any two people are going to see things differently, no matter how small that difference. Now, multiply that minute difference out by millions of billions of people who each have had different upbringings and who have different values and beliefs; multiply that out by millions of billions of the human brain; multiply that out by millions of billions of that organic computer, that wonderfully brilliant, methodical, flexible, unpredictable organic computer called the brain. The Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire would not be taken down by a news monopoly; regardless of fact manipulation and subliminal seduction.

Something more is going on here. It has to be. The Doctor reprimands Cathica for not asking the right questions, but I have to take a long hard look at the Doctor and wonder why he doesn’t ask more than the superficial questions.

But then, this is nothing more than a superficial episode:

“Oh, I was hoping for a philosophical debate. Is that all I’m going to get? ‘Yes?’”

“Yes.”

 It’s a set up episode, and that is a fundamental problem with the whole idea of a season long story arc. But I don’t want to get into that, Gary. It just makes me mad. Besides, to take this on the slow path, simply as a one episode story and the next in line in the history of the Doctor, I should simply ignore that bad wolf.

OK, so let’s just look at this episode; the baddies of this episode; the Editor and the Jagrafess.

Simon Pegg does wonders with the role given. But the role given is inauspicious. He answers to his boss: “The mighty Jagrafess of the Holy Maxarodenfoe. I call him Max.” The two of them are a set up for that one-liner. Period.

The mighty Jagrafess (I’ll call him Max) oversees everything; but what does that get him? An air-conditioned room. That’s about it. And what of the Editor? “Simply being human doesn’t pay very well,” he says; but then what does being Editor get him? An air-conditioned room. That’s about it.

When the Doctor and Rose uncover the Editor and Max sitting high atop Satellite Five in their air-conditioned room he decides to leave. The Editor has other plans. The Editor is intrigued by the fact that the Doctor is a non-entity. Then when Adam conveniently reveals all with his newly implanted head spike the Editor exults with the possibilities of the limitless knowledge the Doctor and his TARDIS possess. Except the Editor and Max deal in distorted truths. He wants to use the TARDIS to rewrite history and prevent human development, but he’s already doing that. Why does he need information in order to misinform? Why does he need historical knowledge in order to distort history? I just do not get the logic.

So, I can’t buy the threat to the universe, the Earth, or humanity; I can’t buy the motivations for the villains; and I can’t even buy the menace to the Doctor. What’s left? Entertainment value?

“Time travel’s like visiting Paris,” the Doctor tells Adam when they first arrive on Satellite Five. “You can’t just read the guide book; you’ve got to throw yourself in. Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers.” Now that sounds fun.  However I just do not care enough about Adam one way or another. Tamsin Greig as the nurse provides a small modicum of amusement as she lures Adam on to his ultimate undoing, but his underlying machinations don’t interest me. He wants to transmit future knowledge back home so he can profit; I just don’t care. Then when the Doctor unceremoniously dumps Adam back home with his head stuffed with impossible technology I have little sympathy for him. Even still, I find the Doctor and Rose particularly smug and distasteful at that moment.

I guess I don’t have many positive things to say about The Long Game but I never really realized it before. I think the 45 minute format tends to make me overlook shortcomings upon first view because of the pace of things. When I slow down to actually think about it, however, I begin to unravel some of the nagging doubts that the action initially swept away.

“Knowledge is power;” except my knowledge does not invest this episode with any power. And so I leave Satellite Five, Gary, knowing that it still awaits in that future time swirl of the Doctor.

Dalek

Dear Gary—

Dalek. There could not be a Doctor Who revival without a reboot of the Daleks. Classic Who Daleks ran the gamut from terrifying to laughable; kids hid from them behind sofas and taunted them as pepper pots. How do Daleks fit in with this New Who for a new age?

The new Doctor for a new age first meets this new Dalek and he is terrified. This might be the one and only time that the Doctor is at a complete loss, totally petrified, you could almost say cowardly. He does not throw a hat over the eyepiece or stand defiantly before him with hands on lapels. He bangs on the door begging to be let out.

“You are the enemy of the Daleks; you must be destroyed,” the Dalek says, speaking for the first time upon recognizing his age old foe. But this Dalek is helpless; chained and helpless; weaponry useless.

“Fantastic,” the Doctor exults, “the great space dustbin.”

Terrifying and laughable in the space of a minute.

And then we get the news: “You’re race is dead! You all burned, all of you. Ten million ships on fire. The entire Dalek race wiped out in one second.”

The devastation of the Time War that haunts this new Doctor also haunts the sole Dalek who has survived. Something new: terrifying, laughable, and now pitiable.

“We are the same,” the Dalek declares.

“We’re not the same! I’m not  . . .” The Doctor pauses. He stops to think. “No, wait; maybe we are,” the Doctor considers. The same? The Doctor the same as a Dalek? “Yeah, okay. You’ve got a point,” the Doctor continues in this line of thought, “’cause I know what to do. I know what should happen. I know what you deserve.” The Doctor stands triumphant. “Exterminate.”

The Doctor and the Dalek relationship of Classic Who turned on its head.

It’s rather an ugly moment for the Doctor. What it does, this moment, is shine a spotlight on those missing years between the Eighth Doctor and the Ninth. “I watched it happen,” the Doctor tells the Dalek. “I made it happen.” The great Time War that saw everyone die, Dalek and Time Lord alike. When he is confronted with the lone survivor of his most ancient and despised enemy, the massive survivor’s guilt he has been carrying with him manifests in hatred and vengeance and all of the emotions usually alien to him. “Why don’t you just die,” he demands of this reminder of all that is lost.

“You would make a good Dalek.”

The trauma of the Time War has left its mark on this new Doctor. Rose is slowly reviving his faith in life but his brush with the past starts to drag him back.

The Dalek undergoes a similar arc. His encounter with the Doctor awakens old rivalries; his absorption of Rose’s DNA transforms him; news of the Time War’s destruction overwhelms him.

Mixtures of Classic, Missing, and New in both the Doctor and the Dalek, with Rose as the reagent.

“I am waiting for orders,” the Dalek says. He is one lone soldier Dalek in need of orders, in the absence of which he reverts to his primary order to exterminate. He is chilling, this lone Dalek; single minded, calculating, manipulative. The Doctor’s assertion that this solitary Dalek can kill the entire population of Salt Lake City is entirely credible. Daleks of old were able to maneuver stairs and navigate through water; Daleks of old were ruthless and merciless; Daleks of old were brilliant engineers and tacticians; Daleks of old conquered entire civilizations and turned on their creator; yet Daleks of old were always vaguely absurd. This Dalek, this one lone single solitary Dalek makes us believe he could take on the Earth and win.

(Except, Gary, if the Dalek downloaded the entire internet it doesn’t necessarily know everything as the Doctor claims; amongst all of the meaningful data it has learned, it has also soaked up a wealth of useless, false, and conflicting information, and good luck, Dalek, sorting that lot out.)

But when it comes time to kill Rose this new Dalek cannot act. He begins to question himself. Rose’s genetic code has not only revived him, it has regenerated him and he starts to feel new feelings and think new thoughts. This is madness for a Dalek, or in the Dalek’s own words, “This is not life; this is sickness.” Even the Doctor has pity for his mortal enemy; the Doctor who had been willing to sacrifice Rose to stop the Dalek; the Doctor who went against all he stands for and armed himself with the biggest gun he could find; the Doctor who uttered that one word that exemplifies a Dalek, “Exterminate;” the Doctor who lost everything and everyone and who has nothing left except bitter hatred. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Pity, mercy, empathy. A new Dalek and a new Doctor. The classic, the missing, and the new jumbled up with Rose as the reagent.

It is too much for this new Dalek; he sees suicide as his only option, the final extermination. The Doctor, on the other hand, drops his weapon, sheds his anger, and returns to his TARDIS: “A little piece of home; better than nothing.” The end of the Time War; the last of the Time Lords. With Rose by his side.

It is a fascinating new perspective on this most classic of Doctor Who rivalries.

I wish I could say that I liked the story of Dalek as much. It’s not that I dislike it; it is just that I cannot warm up to it. Perhaps it is the fault of the dark, claustrophobic, and sterile world of Henry van Statten’s underground bunker; or perhaps it is Henry van Statten himself, along with the other human players in this story, Diana Goddard and Adam Mitchell.

I’ll start with van Statten. Now this is a thoroughly unlikeable guy. I spend most of my time despising him and wondering if a person like this could really exist. There is nothing redeemable about his character, and while that is the point of the character, I find it overpowering; I don’t want to know this guy much less watch him for 45 minutes of TV. As a result, I tend to overlook some of the finer points of development, like the delicate alien instrument that the Doctor has such joy in and that van Statten tosses aside, tired of his new toy already. It is all nicely done, however by now van Statten’s insufferable insensitivity has been rammed down my throat; the finesse doesn’t blend well with the ham-fisted.

Next there is Diana Goddard. She isn’t much better. Sidekicks like this work best if they have some level of sympathy or entertainment value (off of the top of my head from Classic Who—Packer, Marn, Scorby). Diana Goddard has neither. Diana Goddard is a bland mercenary opportunist who well deserves a boss like van Statten (and he an employee like her). The only thing separating her from van Statten is her objection to the loss of life amongst the ranks of her fellow workers. However even this is negated when she orders van Statten’s memory wiped and him abandoned in some random city. She is as callous at that moment as van Statten ever was. I can’t feel any sense of justice at van Statten’s fate and I can’t feel any vindication for Diana Goddard.

Finally there is Adam. Adam, a know-it-all punk, is only bearable by comparison to van Statten and Goddard.  And I find the instant attraction between him and Rose a bit off-putting. The Doctor’s encounter with the Dalek has changed him so much that he allows this braggart aboard the TARDIS, and I have to mention that Rose fights more for Adam than she ever did for her actual boyfriend Mickey.

Despite my best efforts I am finding that I dislike Rose more and more during this current round of viewings. This is actually a strong episode for her, what with her connection with the Dalek and all; yet I continue to find fault with her. For instance, when informed that she is in the year 2012 her first reaction is, “So I should be 26.” Thanks for putting things in perspective for us, Rose. In contrast, the Doctor’s heartfelt reflection on a Cyberman head mounted in a display case: “An old friend of mine. Well, enemy. The stuff of nightmares reduced to an exhibit. I’m getting old.”

This is indicative of a dichotomy in Dalek that I can’t seem to get past. The finesse vs. the ham-fisted; the sincere vs. the disingenuous; the credible vs. the unbelievable. The Doctor and the Dalek are mainly on the side of finesse, sincere, credible. All of the rest tend to fall on the other, except for Rose who falls someplace in the middle.

Let me cite an example, for my own edification if nothing else. The Doctor informs the Commander of the Dalek’s defenses and advises him to have his men concentrate their fire, aiming for the eyepiece which is the Dalek’s weak spot. The Commander replies, “Thank you, Doctor, but I think I know how to fight one single tin robot.” How did this guy rise to his level? This is perfectly sound advice and even if the Doctor had never said a word anybody would come to the same common sense conclusion that a concentration of firepower would be the best defense; furthermore the knowledge of an enemy’s weak point would be welcomed by any commander and exploited, not ignored. This is just an incredibly clumsy way of hitting the audience over the head with the idea that the Doctor is right and van Statten and his men are not only wrong but stupid. In contrast we have the simple but powerful scene of the Dalek withstanding the rain of bullets (that is not being concentrated on his eyepiece or anywhere else for that matter), slowly taking stock of his situation, calmly calculating his best move, and then elevating and brutally electrocuting the entire room; this after restoring the visual and deliberately allowing the Doctor to witness the massacre.

Rather ironic when I think about it. Dalek being beset by this dichotomy given that Classic Who Daleks long have been beset by the terrifying vs. laughable dichotomy. Perhaps it was deliberate. Or perhaps it is just inherent in anything Dalek.

I’ll leave you with that thought, Gary . . .

World War Three

Dear Gary—

“Deadly to humans, maybe,” the Doctor says as he removes the fatal ID card that the Slitheen are using to electrocute the gathered intelligentsia at Downing Street (vaguely reminiscent of the assorted experts in The Day the Earth Stood Still but not really). He then turns the tables, attaching the device to one of the Slitheen, thus effectively disabling the assorted Slitheen who were also menacing Jackie and Rose and Harriet Jones. The Aliens of London cliffhanger resolved; so starts World War Three.

It is a slam bang, action filled first few minutes of the episode, and like so many action adventures it is dependent on the absolute incompetence of both bad guy and good guy alike. Everybody should be dead five times over, but hesitations, dithering, and indulgences in gloating abound and everybody escapes.

Meantime the murdered specialists go unmourned. (“Excuse me, people are dead. This is not the time for making jokes.”  Thank you, Harriet Jones.)

However, like all good action adventure, World War Three sells the improbable.

“What, you? Trapped in your box?” Margaret the Slitheen knows the Doctor is facing the impossible. “Yes, me.” The Doctor knows he can face up to the impossible.

The Doctor’s confidence sells it despite the implausible. The implausible; the ease with which Mickey hacks into the Royal Navy’s database to launch a missile; the use of ‘buffalo’ as the only password used by both UNIT and the Royal Navy; the UN releasing the security code to the Chairman of the Parliamentary Commission on the Monitoring of Sugar Standards in Exported Confectionery; a TV anchor getting the news that the UN is going to release the code even before the code has been released. The implausible.

Doctor Who was always keen on the action glossing over the questions. In New Who there is little time to even ask the questions; the action is non-stop.

“Right then, question time.” Except, of course, when the Doctor wants to pause to ask a few questions. And the Doctor uses the most improbable means to pause the action, using a bottle of port to threaten the aliens. The sheer audacity of it stops the Slitheen temporarily; luckily for the Doctor, when they get wise to the trick the Doctor simply activates the steel walls protecting the Cabinet Room he, Rose, and Harriet Jones are standing in.

The walls close, effectively keeping the aliens out but also trapping the Doctor in. It is a nice change of pace from the running around in circles inside Downing Street up to this point. There is a brief respite as the Doctor and company make their own inquiries before the action picks up in the confines of Mickey’s flat. It is a highly suspenseful sequence with the scene switching between the attack in the flat and the Doctor desperately seeking information in his wood paneled cage in order to save Mickey and Jackie; which of course he does in the nick of time with the most unlikely of weapons—vinegar. Questions, action, the unbelievable; all mixed together in classic Doctor Who style.

Then there is that other question hanging in the air, the question Jackie asks of the Doctor: “Is my daughter safe?” Pause. Silence. No answer. “Is she safe? Will she always be safe? Can you promise me that?” Pause. Silence. No answer. The Doctor cannot answer and he does not cover the question with action. It is a pointed moment of non-action. Until, of course, the action catches up with them and the Doctor can thankfully brush aside the question, leaving it hanging in the air unanswered but not forgotten.

Mickey puts his finger on it: “This is what he does, Jacks, that Doctor bloke; everywhere he goes, death and destruction; and he’s got Rose in the middle of it.” The Doctor realizes it as well, and it almost paralyzes him. “I can’t guarantee your daughter will be safe,” he tells Jackie when he discloses that there is a way out of the predicament they face; and to Rose he says, “I could save the world but lose you.” (I do find this a false dilemma, though, since if he doesn’t save the world Rose will be lost regardless.) “This is my life, Jackie,” he tells Rose’s mother, “it’s not fun, it’s not smart, it’s just standing up and making a decision because nobody else will.” Except the Doctor can’t decide, and so the ever dependable Harriet Jones steps in and makes the decision for them all.

This makes me think, Gary. In reviewing these first few stories of Rose and the Ninth Doctor I have noted how each is a flawed or damaged person looking to the other for guidance or redemption. However this episode also is highlighting the deleterious effect each sometimes has on the other.

For the Doctor’s part it is an interesting parallel back to the Fifth Doctor in Earthshock. However in that earlier serial the Doctor’s faith in friendship in his stand against the Cybermen comes across as a newfound strength. In contrast, the Ninth Doctor wallows in his feelings and is immobilized.

As for Rose, Harriet Jones tells the story. “You’re a very violent young woman,” she remarks to Rose. And when Rose explains her insensitivity as being due to her association with the Doctor, Harriet diagnoses, “Well that’s a strange friendship.”

A strange friendship that is still being worked out; expanding horizons and opening outlooks; at the same time feeding egos and inflating defects. And I’m sorry, Gary, but I have to dump on Rose some more; because when the Doctor says, “I could save the world but lose you,” Rose gets off on that; she smiles to herself; that is one ego that doesn’t need feeding.

However, they are beginning to trust one another and to work as a team. The Doctor learns he can count on Rose to sacrifice herself in order to save others (even if there is a supreme sense of self in that self sacrifice). And when in a tight spot she is quick on her feet and the first to start offering suggestions. Her mother and Mickey are right, it is a dangerous world the Doctor is offering Rose, but Rose has acclimated to the alien nature of it and is thriving on the danger. “The first time I stepped in there it was spur of the moment,” she tells the Doctor. “Now I’m signing up. You’re stuck with me.” She has packed her bags and everything. She is fully on board with the Doctor.

It is a natural progression in the life of a young woman to move away from home. Still, though, Rose’s departure feels heartless, and again the Doctor is complicit. Jackie is all set to give in and allows that he is “good in a crisis.” She is even planning on making dinner for him. But the Doctor won’t meet her half way; he gives Rose no choice but to leave with him at once. Rose makes a half hearted protest before rushing to pack.

“Don’t go sweetheart,” Jackie pleads to deaf ears.

Mickey fares a little better. After helping to save the world, the Doctor treats him with a modicum of respect and even offers to take Mickey aboard the TARDIS. It is too soon for Mickey, however. He requests that the Doctor help him to save face with Rose, and when Rose repeats the offer to join their ventures the Doctor states that Mickey is not welcome. Rose never misses a beat, shrugs, says ‘so sorry,’ and runs off, leaving Jackie and Mickey once again.

She is a thoughtless and selfish young woman who thinks she means well, and it is heartbreaking to watch as Jackie counts out the ten seconds for Rose’s promised return and then leaves when the time expires; and even more heartbreaking that Mickey stays behind, forever waiting.

The Jackie and Mickey story in World War Three is more than heartbreaking, though. It is heartwarming as well. The arc of their relationship, from the previous episode to this, is much more meaningful and enriching than that of the Doctor and Rose. “You saved my life,” Jackie says to Mickey; “God, that’s embarrassing.” From antagonists, the two slowly progress towards friendship as they experience not only the life and death nature of the Doctor’s world, but as they experience the range of very human emotions associated with Rose’s return and departure.

“Do it then,” Mickey tells Jackie, daring her to stop him from launching the missile that might very well end her daughter’s life but save the world. He stops, turns to Jackie, stares her in the eyes, and demands, “Do it then.” Stop me; I can save the world but lose Rose; stop me; it is a silent, desperate plea. They stare into one another’s souls. Mickey returns to the Doctor on the phone and his work on the computer. “Do it then.” A subtler and deeper moment than Rose’s more melodramatic “Do it” to the Doctor when he outlines his plans to save the day that could get her killed.

Mickey and Jackie, the unsung heroes of World War Three.

And then there is Harriet Jones. “Harriet Jones, who does she think she is?” Jackie Tyler might not think much of her, and Rose and the Doctor might be the splashier heroes, but Harriet Jones, “architect of Britain’s Golden Age,” is a true hero and deserves the recognition.

Mickey and Jackie and Harriet Jones.  This trio alone makes World War Three worth watching. The action holds my attention, the Doctor and Rose keep my interest, and the Slitheen entertain me. Mickey and Jackie and Harriet Jones, however, stand out above them all.

And so I send this out, Gary; like Mickey, forever waiting . . .