Asylum of the Daleks

Dear Gary—

“Something’s wrong with Amy and Rory, and who’s going to fix it?”

OK, so Amy has become a tarted up pseudo-celebrity rock n’ roll girl and kicked Rory out of the house. That’s out of the blue, unbelievable, and manufactured. And here we go again with the ‘who loves who more’ treadmill.

What’s wrong with Amy and Rory is that they have no clue what marriage is, in large part due to the Doctor. They obviously have zero communication skills and apparently need the thrill of the TARDIS to maintain any kind of marital harmony. So Amy can’t have kids, or I should say any more kids since she has already given birth to Melody only to have the baby stolen from her arms. Countless couples deal with infertility issues and manage to have strong marriages. Their confrontation over their breakup never resolves any of their issues; it is simply the rush of adventure that has thrown them together again; once they are deposited back home I recommend some serious counseling or they will soon be headed for divorce court.

Sorry Gary. I had to get that out of the way so I can now concentrate on the main storyline which is really rather decent. It’s a shame that I am irritated from the start and have an overall sense of discontent with the show of late because it makes it difficult for me to look past, but I’ll try.

Amy and Rory probably could have been dispensed with for this episode, and it is not a little odd and contrived that the Daleks decide to kidnap these two out of the blue just because “it is known the Doctor required companions” (reminiscent of The Five Doctors), but despite my aura of annoyance they do provide some comic relief and a few genuinely sincere Amy/Rory moments.

The Daleks and Soufflé Girl, however, are the real stars of the story.

The opening sequence with the Doctor and Darla on Skaro is haunting and the images we get of this long lost but apparently not lost planet are beautifully rendered. The realization that Darla is a Dalek puppet along with the implications of this Dalek technology is horrifying and lends a new layer of danger to these age-old enemies of the Doctor. Then we are treated to the sight of all of those assorted Daleks and the Dalek Parliament. Next we hear the deafening chorus of “save the Daleks.” (“Well, this is new.”)

And the surprises keep coming; this is the most depth the Daleks have been afforded in a long time.

The Dalek Asylum and Daleks that even the Daleks are afraid of are chilling prospects, and the sight of these  battle-scarred and insane” Daleks, even though dormant, is more frightening than the Parliament full of active Daleks cowering at the thought of even one of their mad brethren escaping. The “eg, eg, eg” refrain as one comes slowly to life and that is mistaken by Rory for ‘egg’ is both funny and spine tingling as it slowly evolves into the familiar and dreaded “exterminate.”

“It is offensive to us to extinguish such divine hatred,” the Dalek Prime Minister offers as explanation to the Doctor for the existence of this asylum, and it makes sense that the Daleks would have this concept of beauty. However I am getting a bit weary of the show’s constant barrage of disparaging images aimed at the Doctor. Deeming the Doctor their Predator  and then adding that it is due to the Doctor’s deep-seated hatred that they continually fail in their attempts to kill him, the Daleks are reiterating concepts of the dark and dangerous nature of the Doctor that the show has been hammering home for some time now. A little of this can be effective, but true to its nature New Who has beaten it into the ground.

“You’re going to fire me at a planet,” the Doctor asks. “That’s your plan? I get fired at a planet and expected to fix it?” Yeah, that’s their plan alright. Because, deep sigh, the force field surrounding the Asylum can only be turned off from within the Asylum. So this all could have been averted if the Daleks had only lived up to their brilliant reputation and built a control room on Skaro rather than essentially handing the keys of the Asylum over to the inmates. But then this all would have been averted and we wouldn’t have any reason for the episode and so I will overlook this obvious lapse in Dalek judgment.

In addition to the Daleks we have Soufflé Girl, alternatively known as Oswin Oswald, who is a standout in the episode. A self-described genius, Oswin has managed to stay alive and keep her sanity (to all appearances) for roughly a year while stranded in her crashed spaceship at the center of the Dalek Asylum. She listens to Carmen and bakes soufflés when not holding off the insane throngs at her door. Oswin is vivacious and resourceful; cute and charming; brave and vulnerable. Her flirtations with Rory as she guides him to safety are humorous (and OK, I suppose Rory is needed after all, and you can’t very well have Rory without Amy; I just wish they would put all of their stale and forced relationship issues behind them once and for all). She is equally comfortable bantering with the Doctor (gotta love that “Chin Boy”) even as she disables Daleks and hacks into their telepathic web. Her deletion of the Doctor from Dalek lore is brilliant, except for the fact that you just know this will be short lived. As short lived as the Doctor’s supposed death at Lake Silencio. (How is it again that the Daleks know he is still alive to begin our story?)

There is a mystery at the heart of Oswin Oswald, though. A mystery that the Doctor detects from the start. “Soufflés? Against the Daleks? Where’d you get the milk?” It is a question only the Doctor considers important, and when he learns the answer he is devastated. “You dreamed it for yourself because the truth was too terrible,” he tells the girl of soufflés. Slowly the truth dawns on her; she is a Dalek. It is a heartbreaking reveal for the Doctor, for Oswin, and for the audience. She is no longer a human despite her protests; she is a Dalek. But she does protest; she has denied and suppressed; now she fights against it. The part that is still Oswin can yet save the Doctor even as the part that is Dalek stumbles out “eggs . . . stir . . . min . . . ate.”

“Run you clever boy,” the Oswin side of her says, “and remember.” Knowing at this point in the show’s history that the actress, Jenna-Louise Coleman, is to play the role of the Doctor’s next companion, this statement, said directly to the camera, is prophetic. It is enigmatic and intriguing and doesn’t look like it will become the cumbersome burden recent season arcs have been.

A promising start to New Who's seventh season. I just wish, Gary, it didn’t end with the inane question . . .

The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe

Dear Gary—

“I found a spaceman in a field, possibly an angel, but he’s injured and I can’t get his helmet off, so I’m having to take him into town to find a police telephone box.”

Just when I am about to give up on Doctor Who along comes a perfectly charming tale like The Doctor, The Widow and the Wardrobe.  This is a Christmas present to the audience, and what better way for Doctor Who to say Merry Christmas than with an actual alien planet, even if it is wrapped up in a WWII era English box.

The forest full of Androzani trees (nice callback) is beautiful, wintery, peaceful; almost magical—the perfect Christmas setting. The ornament drops that form on the trees are elegant in design; the giant wooden king and queen are majestic in appearance; and the sparkling souls fleeing the endangered forest are a dazzling sight.  It is no wonder that Lily first takes it for fairyland.

The Doctor packages up this peaceful world intending to take the Arwell family on the journey of a lifetime. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the denizens of Androzani Major have chosen this time to harvest the trees of this wondrous planet. And unfortunately for the Doctor and the Arwells, young Cyril can’t wait for Christmas morning to open his present.

It is a simple little tale that is told to perfection, and perfect is good enough for us as my dad would say. It might be overly sentimental, but what’s Christmas without sugar plums?

For me what makes it all work is Claire Skinner as the unflappable Madge Arwell. Matt Smith is stellar as ever as the Doctor, the children are solid, and the trio of Androzani Major harvesters are excellent; but it is Madge who lends the exact right tone to the sometimes tragic, sometimes hilarious, sometimes scary proceedings. She keeps the show on an even keel, never allowing events to careen over the top despite her lack of navigational skills.

It is through Madge that the humor and the pathos breathe. She provides a very real and human element that is not slapstick and that is not maudlin (not to take anything away from slapstick and maudlin—they have their place). Practical yet fanciful, she reminds me of another Christmas mother that any kid would be lucky to have—Melinda Dillon as Mother Parker from A Christmas Story.

“More than female, she’s mum,” the Doctor exclaims when he realizes the solution to the Forest’s predicament is through Madge; “the mother ship.”  

“Funny, isn’t it,” the imperturbable Madge ponders. “One can’t imagine being a forest, then suddenly one can.”

It’s a bumpy ride, but Madge successfully transports the trees, the Doctor, and her family to safety, and all she has to do is think (seems to be a popular cure-all in New Who). Thinking of home, thinking “till it hurts,” visions of her presumed dead husband guide Madge through the Time Vortex. Not only that, she lights the way for her husband in his lost and damaged plane. (Side note, the crashing Reg saying, “I’m sorry, my love,” to his wife’s picture is much more understandable and believable than River saying the exact same line for some inexplicable reason when the TARDIS was exploding and the Pandorica was opening.) “He did it again, Madge,” the Doctor tells her. “He followed you home.” A short cut to Christmas and a happy ending for all. After the dark and heavy tone of recent serials, this is a pleasant change.

Home and family and love and friends are the uplifting themes running through this episode and providing the Christmas miracle ending. They also play nicely into recent events in the Doctor’s life and his resulting loneliness. Desperately trying to fill the empty void within, the Doctor plays Mary Poppins to the bereft Arwell family. It is amusing to watch his attempts to lift their heavy and soon to be heavy hearts with toys and hammocks and lemonade taps. And it is touching as well. “What’s the point in them being happy now,” the Doctor speaks for Madge, “if they’re going to be sad later.” He then replies with, “The answer is, of course, because they are going to be sad later.” The Caretaker Doctor, taking care and looking after; all the more poignant knowing that he is covering his own sense of loss and pain.

In the energetic and entertaining opening sequence of the serial as the Doctor barely escapes from the exploding spacecraft (minor quibble in the Doctor murdering all of the aliens aboard, even if they are about to attack the Earth, but that just goes to the extremely inconsistent nature of the show in recent years) we are reminded along with the Doctor that Amy is no longer in the TARDIS; no one, in fact, is in the TARDIS. The Doctor is on his own. Until he meets Madge. As it turns out, Madge is his guardian angel and not the other way around as she imagines.

 “No one should be alone at Christmas,” Mother Christmas Madge tells the Doctor. Through Madge the Doctor is able to face his own tears, and the reunion scene with Amy and Rory is a satisfying way to end.

One of my favorite episodes of New Who, I have very little to say against it. Only one thing I want to mention: “I met the Forest of Cheem once; she fancied me.” This is an extremely insensitive thing for the Doctor to say given the fact that she gave up her life for the Doctor. It is indicative of one of the many things I find distasteful about New Who—cleverness for the sake of being clever at the expense of decency among other things (such as logic or common sense).

But for the sake of Christmas and the overall spirit of the episode, Gary, I will overlook this minor and throwaway flaw and send this out . . .

“Call it an idea echoing among the stars.”

The Wedding of River Song

Dear Gary—

After watching The Wedding of River Song I know exactly how the next season will open—with River waking up to find the Doctor in the shower. That is the only way out. Most of the season, and the entirety of this grand finale, has been a dream. That is the only explanation, because not for one minute do I believe any of it. It is not real. It never would have or could have happened.

But, you say, this is fiction; not just fiction, science fiction. However, I counter, in order for a piece of fiction to get me to suspend my disbelief it must remain true to its own framework. It must set up rules and work within those parameters, no matter how outlandish. Then I can dive right in and say, OK, yeah, this might never happen in the real world, but within the confines of this show I can accept it.

I can’t accept anything that happens in The Wedding of River Song.

It all starts with the fixed point theory that Doctor Who has gone to great lengths to establish. All of history is in flux; an ever-changing canvas of fluctuating colors for the Doctor to dabble in and shape and change and mock to his hearts delight; except for those few and rare instances when the show tells him ‘No!’ Instances that are sacrosanct and untouchable. Instances that must not alter no matter what. OK, this theory has been concocted and rammed down our throats, and in order for The Impossible Astronaut through to The Wedding of River Song to work we must believe this to be true in the Doctor Who Universe and we must further believe that the Doctor’s death at Lake Silencio on April 22, 2011 by the hand of River Song is one such fixed point. We must not only believe that this is a fixed point, but that tampering with this point will result in the collapse of all reality.

OK, I believe that if the show sticks to the concept; except the show doesn’t. At least it hasn’t been consistent with it. The Doctor himself changed one of those precious fixed points back in The Waters of Mars and nothing dire happened. There was some history bending around it, but nothing of drastic consequence. You can argue that this was because Adelaide Brooke compensated by killing herself; she was the center of the fixed point; her death was the crucial factor; therefore she corrected time by her act. OK—there’s your out, Doctor. River cheated fixed history by sparing your life. So commit suicide already and life will resume for everyone with only a slight alteration in their memories. Why put River through the agony of killing you when you can achieve the same result with a simple flick of your own wrist? But I can believe that the Doctor is selfish enough and cruel enough to force River to go through with the Lake Silencio scenario to put things back to rights.

Even accepting that, though, I still have to accept that the Doctor’s death in Utah in 2011 is a fixed point; that it will always happen in every iteration; it has always happened and always will. Except guess what—it doesn’t. There is at least one reality, one universe, one whatever it is, in which River does not kill the Doctor, and that plays out before our eyes in The Wedding of River Song. The death of the Doctor at Lake Silencio on the 22^nd of April in the year 2011 is not a fixed point. If it is not a fixed point, the world would therefore not go haywire and none of the events in The Wedding of River Song would take place. Or, if it is in fact a fixed point that has been altered, no amount of compensation will ever put it back to normal. River can kill the Doctor a million times over and there will still be that one time that she didn’t and therefore all of the devastating consequences will continue.

So there you have it, right off the bat I can’t believe anything that is put before me in this episode, and I haven’t even started in on the whole Teselecta cheat.

For most of the episode the Doctor is not the real Doctor but rather Teselecta Doctor (hereinafter referred to as T Doc). My first question is: how and why does T Doc grow a beard? But that is minor compared to some of the mind boggling and complex questions that arise from this. I’ll start with some relatively simple ones like: Is the marriage legal; is River really married to T Doc; or was T Doc standing in as proxy? I have to say that River really threw herself into that man-and-wife kiss even knowing that it was T Doc and not the real Doctor. And how and why would the eye patch work for T Doc, both as a Silent reminder and as a death trap?

The real question, however, is this: Is the fixed point actually the death of T Doc and not the real Doctor? I won’t even get into the time traveling paradox of the fact that the only reason T Doc was on that beach is because the real Doctor was forewarned of his death on that beach and therefore all of the eyewitness accounts and the historical records were referring to T Doc’s death before the real Doctor ever got the bright idea to dress up in a Doctor suit. What I will ask, though, is that if the Doctor knows all along that it is T Doc who dies on that beach (at least during the events of The Wedding of River Song), and if the death of T Doc would put reality back in order (assuming the suicide theory postulated above), why not destroy T Doc and be done with it? I suppose because the Doctor wants the universe to believe he is dead, and he wants the Silence to believe they have succeeded, and so he goes through with the charade.

But now I have to wonder again about this fixed point involving the death of T Doc. Is this universal, hard and fast Law of Fixed Pointiness really concerned with or fooled by a Teselecta? What exactly constitutes a fixed point? What are the criteria? And is it really so easy to manufacture a fixed point as the Silence apparently has done? Is all you need to accomplish this monumental feat simply a still point in time? Does that mean that anything that happens at Lake Silencio becomes a fixed point?  

But wait a minute. The Silence is taking credit for creating this Lake Silencio fixed point, however it is the Doctor who gathers all of the relevant people together on that date and time. The Silence has nothing to do with that. All the Silence does is take advantage of their presence to somehow send a spacesuited River there. How did they know from the beginning that the Doctor would be there? Because it is a fixed point? But it is a fixed point of their own making, or so we are to believe; an artificial fixed point that they manufactured out of—what—sheer luck? They stumbled into it? The only reason the Doctor assembles the cast is because he has been told it is inevitable, and that information came not from The Silence but from bits and pieces that his friends let slip and then from his own investigations. How exactly did the Silence manipulate all of these actions to get the Doctor where he needed to be for their convoluted plan to work?

Too many fundamental questions and the production’s over the top silliness can’t distract me.

It is the very nature of this ridiculousness, in fact, that brings me to my dream conclusion. All of history is happening at once, but it is Doctor specific history; in particular, New Who Doctor specific. Thus we have Charles Dickens and Winston Churchill and Malohkeh and Romans inhabiting this world of River’s creation. And we have key individuals—River, Amy, Rory, Eye Patch Lady, the Doctor—all meeting up despite the fact that some of them at least don’t remember each other from the real world. In fact it is rather fast and loose who remembers what and when. Rory and Churchill don’t remember anything; Amy remembers most of it but not Rory until the last and most dramatic minute; River and EPL and the Doctor remember everything.

As long as I’m talking about memory—can we at last admit that the Silents are idiotic? Oh so cool looking, and what a neat concept, but it just doesn’t work; out of sight out of mind just doesn’t work. People need the eye patches to retain the memory of the Silents; so can somebody please explain to me how it is that Amy takes off her eye patch and abandons Rory to face the oncoming Silents alone only to return to the room she has left to shoot down the Silents that she can’t remember are there?

The Silents. The Silence. Eye Patch Lady. Does any of this make sense? The Silents and EPL are members of The Silence, a religious order dedicated to the principle of concocting elaborate schemes to kill the Doctor when they could have killed him many times over, but then it wouldn’t be a fixed point that really isn’t a fixed point (or is it?) and it wouldn’t be a challenge I guess. A religious order that worships at the altar of the holy NASA spacesuit. (Hey, are these guys affiliated with Leela’s Sevateem tribe? Wouldn’t that be a hoot; all of history is playing out at once; why not the Silence and the Sevateem merging?) A religious order reading from the sacred scrolls of The Ambiguous Future of Trenzalore.

You know what sounds like a fixed point, Gary? This whole first question, Fields of Trenzalore business. It seems that everyone and his uncle has The History of the Universe textbook open before them and knows what is in store, at least as far as the Doctor is concerned.  “On the Fields of Trenzalore,” Blue Dorium Head intones, “at the Fall of the Eleventh, when no living creature can speak falsely, or fail to answer, a question will be asked. A question that must never, ever be answered.”

OK, then who is asking it and why? Maybe The Silence should go after the questioner instead.

Maybe the Doctor is the one asking the question. All of the big shiny arrows are pointing to the Doctor as the answerer; maybe he is the one asking the question.

At any rate, what this all boils down to is that The Silence is one elaborate religious order founded on the notion that if and when The Question is asked at some point in the future it should never be answered. Now the Teselecta in Let’s Kill Hitler had no clue what the question could possibly be, even though they were reading from the same history book as everyone else in which the question has apparently already been asked and answered. Just ask any inter-galactic school kid. Blue Head Dorium knows The Question and now, thanks to Blue Head Dorium, the Doctor also knows what The Question is. The First Question. “The oldest question in the universe, hidden in plain sight.”

If the question was posed when the universe was in its embryonic stages, who asked the question; who is continuing to ask the question; who will ask the question; and why? That is the real question. And the answer? Who cares?

What is this? A pass/fail quiz? If the Doctor answers he passes and the Silence fails and vice versa? Will the consequences of the answer being spoken aloud be any more devastating than what is happening to time now as a result of The Silence trying to keep the Doctor silent?

“The question you’ve been running from all your life,” Blue Head Dorium informs the Doctor. And then . . . oh, hidden in plain sight . . . “Doctor Who?” . . . how cool . . . how clever . . . Doctor Who.

Oh please. Who cares? Are we supposed to believe that is The Question? The Question that must never be answered? Doctor Who? Doctor Who Cares. Feet, alright? His name is Feet. Or Thete, or Theta Sigma, or John Smith, whatever.  Asked and answered. Bring back the inane question marks on his vest and be done with it already.

That is my biggest complaint against New Who these days, Gary. It’s self-reverence.

I cannot take this story seriously, but as a collection of random events as concocted in River’s mind I can enjoy it.

Chess to the death: cool. Munching skulls: cool. Blue Head Dorium on his head: funny. The It’s a Wonderful Life, ‘Who loves you, baby’ cry out from the Universe: emotional. Pterodactyls in London: cool. The passing of Brigadier Lethbridge Stewart: touching.”It would involve crossing my own time stream; best not:” hilarious. “Rory Williams, the man who dies and dies again:” clever. Amy reflecting on her murder of Eye Patch Lady: moving. Amy’s reaction to the realization that she is the Doctor’s mother-in-law: amusing. The Doctor giving Rory dating advice: comical.

But that is all it is; a collection of cool and clever and funny and emotional scenes.

I’m not even going to ask why the marriage ceremony is necessary. It’s necessary because it is River’s fantasy. I will ask this one last question, though: why is River imprisoned in the 52^nd Century when she supposedly kills the Doctor in the 21^st? Beyond that, I won’t get into who exactly put her on trial and why her lawyer didn’t bring up the ‘the suit made me do it’ defense; and I won’t get into how exactly she was free to study archeology or why she never ran across the fact that she killed the Doctor in all of her scholarly research into the Doctor.

One last stray thought, though, Gary. It is curious how common time travel has become in the Doctor Who universe. It really makes one wonder why the Doctor made such a fuss about the Time Lord secrets of time travel being discovered back in The Two Doctors. Not to mention the fact that ubiquitous time travel belittles the Doctor. Who needs a blue box anymore?

“I got too big,” the Doctor tells Blue Head Dorium. Doctor Who has gotten too big, Gary. Big and bloated and weighted down.

Closing Time

Dear Gary—

“I’ve been knocking about on my own for a bit. Bit of a farewell tour. One last thing, popping in to see you.”

Closing Time is exactly that—the Doctor popping in to see Craig in this penultimate episode prior to the big bang farewell of the season. It is the popping in aspects of the story that shine. Since events of The Lodger Craig and Sophie have moved. (Doctor: “Oh, you’ve redecorated; I don’t like it.” Craig: “It’s a different house. We moved.”) And they have had a baby named Alfie. (“Yes, he likes that, Alfie, though personally he prefers to be called Stormageddon.”) Craig, however, is the same; as personable as ever; and he and the Doctor still make comedy gold.

The Cybermen put in an appearance in the story, but they are more or less incidental. Their Cybermats hold greater threat than the depleted men of steel. However they do provide the monster of the week for the tale and give an excuse for the Doctor to stick around. He is hesitant to do so at first. This 200-years-older-than-last-we-saw-him Doctor has apparently grown tired of saving the day. He is lonely and exhausted and has only one day left to live. All he wants is to get into the TARDIS and leave. However once he makes the decision to stay he is all in; this is what he does; weariness gives way to enthusiasm.

The toy department of a store is the perfect place for the Doctor as he investigates with childlike delight the mysterious happenings in Craig’s neighborhood. The strange disappearances, the power fluctuations, and the “patina of teleport energy” pique the Doctor’s interest. “And then there’s that silver rat thing.” That really gets the Doctor excited.

The Doctor has been so weighed down lately with the responsibilities of being The Doctor; it is nice to see a return to the pure joy of being the Doctor. There is a brief moment when he warns off Craig, but Craig will have none of it. “I know where it’s safe for me and Alfie,” he tells the Doctor, “and that’s right next to you.” He really doesn’t have much reference to base this claim on, and he is taking a huge risk with the life of his son, but I’ll allow it. Together the three of them make a great team.

The Doctor has another pang of angst when he spies Amy and Rory, who conveniently and coincidentally just happen to be wandering through the store. This is such an obviously contrived scene that it takes away from the emotional impact it intends; and all I can wonder is when and how exactly did Amy become this minor perfume-hawking celebrity? Did we know this about her? Did the Doctor know this about her? I find it odd that the subject of her stardom has never arisen before. The point in time that our present adventure is taking place is the day before the events in The Impossible Astronaut; nothing from this season has yet occurred for her. Her star must have risen in lightening speed, sandwiched in with TARDIS adventures during the months between her wedding (June of 2010) at the end of last season and the Doctor’s death (April of 2011) at the beginning of this season.  And then I have to wonder how it is that Amy and Rory were stumped by the word petrichor in The Doctor’s Wife, which takes place chronologically after this story, when Amy’s perfume is called Petrichor.

However I will put that aside to enjoy the Doctor and Craig taking care of a baby while hunting Cybermen.  The shushing bit is hilarious and the Doctor translating Alfie for Craig (“I speak baby”) is amusing. The running joke of the Doctor and Craig being mistaken as a couple is funny at first but soon gets old and leads to one of those lines of script that stand out for me as being forced. Val asks Craig if they are married, to which Craig replies (thinking of Sophie), “No. We talked about it, but it’s just a piece of paper, isn’t it?” Now this is not Craig speaking. Not the Craig from The Lodger who was so desperately in love with Sophie and who’s love caused the alien spaceship to implode. That Craig would drag Sophie off to the nearest register office and tie her up with that piece of paper so fast she wouldn’t have time to think about it. Here a disappointed Craig is most probably echoing Sophie’s laissez faire philosophy on marriage, but even so the line exists simply to milk the gay gag when it has already been done to death. I will also put that aside, though, and instead enjoy the sight of Craig trying to question the staff and ending up knocking over a rack of ladies under garments.

 Ultimately the Doctor and Craig show is all about Craig learning to have confidence in himself, first and foremost as a father. Unfortunately it is marred by the over-the-top, sappy, love not only conquers all but blows up all solution to the Cybermen. Craig is being converted, his emotions are completely eradicated, but Alfie cries and the system is rebooted. It is just so conveniently easy when it needs to be; when the Cybermen are there not to be Cybermen but merely to provide the requisite amount of danger for the theme to be reinforced. No explanations; just: “I blew them up with love.” Even the Doctor can’t begin to explain it and acknowledges that it is “grossly sentimental and over simplistic.” Going forward, I suppose, the Doctor will know how to combat the Cyber conversion process—think of your loved ones (similar to Amy‘s solution to the Bracewell bomb in Victory of the Daleks). Then again, I’m sure it will be forgotten the next time the Cybermen appear—just like the gold defense has long been abandoned.

Craig and Alfie are safe and closer than ever at the conclusion of the adventure as Sophie returns home. Hopefully this new, self-assured Craig will now work up the courage to tell Sophie what he really thinks about family and marriage.

Another fun, lightweight, mostly standalone episode.

And then we have the arc tacked on, bridging us over to the finale.

It is an extremely poor segue. There is no reason in the world that the three children would take such fascinating note of the Doctor; no reason for them to stop their play; no reason for them to remember the moment; no reason for anyone to track them down to take statements. None. But there you have it. River is reading the witness reports of this mundane non-event as Eye Patch Lady (can’t quite bring myself to call her Kovarian) and a couple of Silents approach armed with a NASA spacesuit.

“You never really escaped us, Melody Pond,” EPL (Aka K) tells her. “We were always coming for you.”

Why? Will someone please tell me why? Why does it have to be River who kills the Doctor? Why did she need to be brainwashed if the suit will make her do it against her will? Why, in heaven’s name, why a spacesuit? Why a NASA spacesuit? Why?

Tick tock goes the clock, Gary . . . but nobody can answer why.

The God Complex

Dear Gary—

“So, what have we got? People snatched from their lives and dropped into an endless, shifting maze that looks like a 1980’s hotel with bad dreams in the bedrooms. Well, apart from anything else, that’s just rude.”

A succinct and simple summary of a succinct and simple story; except it isn’t as simple as that. Like the hotel, the plot is a complex maze of faiths and fears with shifting parameters. I have to say, Gary, that it took me a long time to warm up to this episode. My distaste for the recent direction of the show always colored my perception of it. Truthfully, for at least a season and a half I tend to watch each installment with a sense of resentment. However I deliberately tried to set aside any chips on shoulder for this latest viewing of The God Complex and have come to a deeper appreciation of it, flaws and all.

 The God Complex does what New Who does so well. It covers the defects with skill . . . usually with spectacle and effects and emotional wallops, but in this case more subtly with thought provoking themes and with atmosphere.

The 1980’s Earth (of course) hotel mock-up with nightmares hiding in every room is creepy. It does seem to come too closely on the heels of Amy and Rory trapped in a dollhouse from hell, but that’s minor. The opening “Praise Him” sequence with Lucy sets the mood perfectly for this house of psychological horrors, followed by the sinister sight of all of those ventriloquist dummies surrounding the helpless Joe. I only half-heartedly wonder why Joe is tied up; there is no logical explanation for it unless he had become violent towards the others, which I highly doubt. At this point in the tale they don’t know what is going on so I have no clue as to why they would bind him to a chair and abandon him in a roomful of his greatest fear. (Why his fear has manifested in the restaurant rather than in one of the bedrooms like all of the others is another mystery.)

The trio that the Doctor, Amy, and Rory run across in these ever-changing hallways also helps to deflect any nagging questions; the competent Rita, the nerdy Howie, and the cowering Gibbis. Any one of these would make for an interesting addition to the TARDIS crew, although Rita is clearly the Doctor’s first choice (shades of Martha). Personally I think having the untrustworthy Gibbis on board would make for a fascinating dynamic, but undoubtedly none of them is fated to make it that far.

It is through the fears and faiths of these three that we (that is the Doctor) begin to learn of the intention of the alien Minotaur cousin to the Nimon; however it is also through these that the narrative falls apart.

The fears lurking for Rita and Howie are appropriate, if somewhat stereotypical; Rita finds a disapproving father behind her door while Howie is confronted by a bevy of belittling beauties. Gibbis’ fear is rather random and seems more just an excuse to give the Weeping Angels some screen time. It is interesting that for Rita and Howie the terror is internal whereas Gibbis’ fear is a tangible threat, but nothing is ever explored down this line of thinking so I’ll abandon it as well.

Now as the Doctor reasons, the Minotaur uses these personalized phobias in order to foster and feed upon each individual’s belief system.  That is the theory, at any rate, but it doesn’t quite hold up in practice since the fears and the faiths don’t quite gel for any of them.

Rita’s Muslim heritage is the basis for her faith and it is the strongest of the trio; however Islam is hardly a defense against her daddy issues. Her idea that the hotel is Jahannam is what brings out her faith and lends her strength. “You don’t understand,” she tells the Doctor. “I say that without fear.” Without fear. The idea that she is in hell erases her fears. “Jahannam will play its tricks,” she continues, “and there’ll be times when I want to run and scream, but I’ve tried to live a good life, and that knowledge keeps me sane, despite the monsters and the bonkers rooms.” Poppa behind the door only brings out her faith in a roundabout way, not directly, but I suppose it ultimately does its job.

That doesn’t explain Howie, though. Howie spouts conspiracy theories, but that is not faith. If anything, the certainty of conspiracies displays a fundamental distrust in all things. And at any rate, how can a conspiracy theory save him from the mockery of empty-headed blondes? The supposed fear and faith do not correlate.

The weakest link, however, is Gibbis. Gibbis has no convictions whatsoever. He cowers and surrenders; he epitomizes the absence of faith. Perhaps that is why the Minotaur never goes after him; but then why was Gibbis kidnapped to begin with?

The whole kidnapping aspect of the plot is also suspect. Are people chosen at random or targeted? How are they transported? And why? Yes, I know it is to feed the Minotaur; but this is a prison. The only explanation is that the Minotaur’s captors belong in jail themselves. Are there more prisons like this out there preying on the unsuspecting populace of the Doctor Who universe, and if so why are they allowed to exist? What is this ruthless race of aliens anyway? None of this is explained in any satisfactory way.

In the long run, however, it just doesn’t matter. Or at least I don’t really care. The characters are engaging, the action thrilling, and the setting spooky. And it is all window dressing for the deeper questions it explores regarding the Doctor and his relationships. Truthfully I could do without more rehashing of this subject, but since New Who insists on it, this is as entertaining a way to go about it as any.

Let me get this out of the way: I am ambivalent towards Rory in this episode. Normally he saves the show for me, but in this one I shake my head at his characterization as someone with no beliefs. I go all the way back to The Eleventh Hour and remember a Rory who was full of almost childlike wonder. He was possessed of an open and curious mind. That was his pre-Doctor existence. Here he is suddenly hard and cynical with no guiding principles, and I have to say that a faithless Rory is a tad boring. Arthur Darville still manages to breathe life into the character, however, so all is not lost. And I suppose one could argue that this transformation is the result of his travels with the Doctor, and if so is more damning of the Doctor than any physical danger he and Amy face.

Ultimately, though, it is the Doctor’s effect upon Amy, and companions in general, that is at the heart of the tale. New Who has flirted with this concept almost from the beginning, and there is a danger in this. I have already questioned why Amy and Rory would continue traveling with the Doctor after everything that they have gone through; when the show explicitly raises the question it makes the viewer aware that life in the TARDIS is really not much fun. While that can give an edge to the show that is compelling, it can also ruin the enjoyment for a large section of the audience. It is a tightrope act; and I have to say that it is one in which New Who cheats. It likes to dangle the dangerous side of the Doctor in front of us, but it does so with a wink in its eye. Thus we get the Doctor fretting over the peril he has placed Amy and Rory in and advising Rita: “Offer a child a suitcase full of sweets and they’ll take it; offer someone all of time and space and they’ll take that too; which is why you shouldn’t.” He follows this up with a soberly delivered: “Which is why grown-ups were invented.” Only to brightly offer up all of time and space to Rita. Traveling with the Doctor is hazardous and don’t ever forget that, the show admits; but never mind, don’t take it too seriously. Walking on a tightrope, but with a huge net below.

We mustn’t forget that net as the Doctor breaks Amy’s faith in him. He accomplishes this by lying. “I can’t save you from this,” he tells her. “There’s nothing I can do to stop this.” He is of course in the process of saving her by telling her these things. He throws in a few semi truths to keep it real: “I took you with me because I was vain; because I wanted to be adored.” But none of this is convincing stuff to break Amy’s spirit. The Doctor did a much better job of it with Ace in The Curse of Fenric. If he really wants to do some damage he would bring up Melody and the fact that he promised to find Amy’s baby for her but that he has essentially stopped looking. But the tepid stuff he offers up seems to do the trick. I’m not really sure why or how this kills the monster, but oh well (as we say in Alvin).

Because her faith in him literally almost killed her, the Doctor decides it is time to say goodbye to Amy (and Rory).  “Why now?” Amy asks. “Because you’re still breathing,” the Doctor replies. And then in a dark moment of reflection he says, “And what’s the alternative? Me standing over your grave? Over your broken body? Over Rory’s” (again)? He hasn’t restored her baby to her, but he at least gives the couple a car and a house as door prizes before leaving them on their own. However there is that net always—“You haven’t seen the last of me.”

A number of things would have made this episode so much better. If the fears and faiths had matched up better or if the alien and the logistics of the place had been better explained for instance. But once again the story suffers in service to the arc and to the production. We needed to get to a place where the Doctor could question his influence upon his companions and where he could drop off those companions to once again fly solo. And too, if the production team would commit to the dark side of the Doctor, work without a net, and properly and seriously explore the dire consequences of traveling with the Doctor rather than using it as a device that will be forgotten the next time the Doctor runs across Amy and Rory or some other companion he decides to whisk away. Even still it is a decent enough adventure and I can say that I have enjoyed much of this season despite myself.

And so, Gary . . . “you haven’t seen the last of me.”

The Girl Who Waited

Dear Gary—

Doctor Who is in a rut; it is trapped in one of its own time bubbles reliving the same things over and over and over again, only in different ways as in alternate time lines. There is the ever popular Rory is dead/no he’s not scenario; the Rory/Doctor competition in Amy’s mind; the waiting for—fill in the blank; the daisy petal does she love him or does she not pastime; and the I’m Amy Pond, no I’m Amy Pond game.

The Girl Who Waited hands us a trifecta of these themes, with one of the winners explicitly stated in the title. It is a refreshing rehash, I’ll give it that. It is a clever script given added warmth by the actors. On its own it is a solid entry. But in the greater context—do we really need these points hammered home quite so often?

“I don’t care that you got old. I care that we didn’t grow old together.” Ah, Rory. Rory is the answer and the key. Rory gives an extra dimension to the tired topics.

Then there is the fact that they have materialized on a planet other than Earth for a change. (“Apalapucia.” “Say it again?” “Apalapucia.”)This alone warrants applause.  From the Doctor’s description it sounds beautiful, although hardly worthy of the “number two planet in the top ten greatest destinations for the discerning intergalactic traveler” designation he claims for it. But then we never get to see it properly to judge for ourselves.

Apalapucia is under quarantine when our trio arrives. A deadly plague has befallen the planet, a plague that affects beings with two hearts. Amy and Rory are immune, therefore, but the Doctor is not; thus necessitating his remaining in the TARDIS for the bulk of the episode.

Now I have multiple problems with the logistics of the place and these so-called “kindness” facilities. First of all, a Handbot informs them that there are 40,000 residents in the facilities, so where are they? Not once does another sentient being appear. And why are there no emergency buttons or means of communication with anyone running the place? Is there no administration building? No security? No doctors or nurses? No maintenance crew?

And why are there no instructions? A green anchor and a red waterfall aren’t exactly informative. Given the fact that a plague infestation lurks behind one of these options I would think there would be numerous precautions set up to make sure people don’t accidentally end up in the wrong place. But then we wouldn’t have Amy blithely walking into the Red Waterfall of death and we wouldn’t have a story.

OK, so if Amy has wandered into the quarantined area for plague victims, why do the Handbots continually try to inoculate her? Even if she carries an “unauthorized infection,” everyone in there (well, Amy is the only one in there) is presumably going to die in a day anyway so what does that matter? The time for inoculations is past.

Now, about the whole “kindness” aspect of the facility. A doomed patient lives out his or her life in a compressed time stream watching movies or looking at fish or sitting around in a garden by his or her self. Alone. An entire lifetime. And this person’s nearest and dearest observe their dying  loved ones twiddling their thumbs, talking to Handbots, and generally becoming bored once the novelty of their chosen entertainment zone wears off. It’s little more than a zoo. A zoo in fast forward. Thirty-six years have gone by for Amy yet only a few minutes for the Doctor and Rory; if they had sat and watched her as they were meant to they would have seen only a blur.

Regardless, Amy is trapped in an accelerated time stream while the Doctor and Rory try to come up with a way to save her (never once thinking to try to contact anyone in charge).

“You didn’t save me.” Wow, this older Amy is . . . I’ll say unreasonable to be kind. Unreasonable, cranky, ornery. Yes, she has been waiting around for 36 years. But that’s just it—she has been waiting around to be saved. In all of those 36 years did she ever try to do anything to save herself? She somehow miraculously made herself a sonic ‘probe’ and has been clever enough to survive amongst the Handbots, but what has she done in the way of finding an exit or some means of communication with . . .who the heck is in charge of this place anyway? But OK, she has been waiting around for 36 years to be saved, and when Rory arrives to save her she greets him with, “You didn’t save me.” Only to find out that one of the main reasons he didn’t save her is because she refused to help.

About that. Most people who have led a tragic life and who are then given the chance to go back and change it would jump at the opportunity. Not Amy. Not older, unreasonable, cranky, ornery Amy. She prefers to wallow in her misery. It’s her miserable life, dammit; no one is going to change one dismal detail of it. Not even Rory. She’ll blame him right enough for not saving her, but by golly she’s not going to allow him to save her. Her reasoning is that if she is rescued in the past her present self will cease to exist. But she is Amy; Amy Young and Amy Old; if Amy Young is saved Amy Old will still exist in 36 years time, just under happier circumstances (presumably). Old Amy really needs to get over herself.

This is where Rory comes in. “Do it for him,” Young Amy tells Old Amy after they both admit, “Rory’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”  It is love for Rory that convinces Amy the elder to rescue her younger self. And it is the thought of Amy’s and Rory’s first kiss (which apparently took place during the Macarena) that does the deed. No doubt about it, Amy loves Rory. Why there would still be doubt this far along in the series is beyond me, but there you go.

This love story angle, though, is what gives the story heart. Karen Gillan does a great job depicting both Amys, each holding fast to the ideal of Rory. However, it is Arthur Darville as that ideal who steals the show. The Amy loves Rory plot is just words without Arthur Darville giving life and soul to the part of Rory. We can believe that Amy considers him the most beautiful man she has ever met because of Arthur Darville’s performance.

The stubbornness of Old Amy threatens our happy ending until she works out a deal with the Doctor; she still isn’t willing to let go her wretched existence. She will help in the rescue of herself only if she is allowed to co-exist with her younger version. Despite the massive paradox this would create and despite breaking those once sacred laws of time, the Doctor agrees.

 Except—Rule One, the Doctor lies.

Again it is Rory who breathes life into these segments.

To Rory, both Amys are valid. Both are real. Both are his Amy. I go back to that quote I cited earlier: “I don’t care that you got old. I care that we didn’t grow old together.” He meets Old Amy and he accepts her as his wife without question. He is presented with the prospect of two Amys and he reasons, “Amy, you always say, cooking Christmas dinner, you wish there was two of you.” (Stark contrast to Flesh Amy’s reaction to Flesh Doctor—but I digress.) For the Doctor, however, Young Amy is very clearly “our Amy,” and Old Amy will simply never have existed. “There can’t be two Amys in the TARDIS.”

For the Doctor the choice is obvious. For Rory it is agonizing: “So I have to choose – which wife do I want?” He can see and talk to both; he can only save one.

“She is me,” Old Amy reasons with her husband. “We’re both me.” She is right, of course, but she doesn’t really see her own point. If “she is me” and “we’re both me” then she shouldn’t have a problem with saving Young Amy.  Old Amy has asserted her independence however, and Rory is caught in the middle.

“You being here is wrong,” Rory asserts. “For a single day, for an hour, let alone a lifetime.” Rory is feeling the pain of every long and arduous day that Old Amy has felt. And then he (justly) turns on the Doctor: “This is your fault. You should look in a history book once in a while, see if there’s an outbreak of plague or not.”

“That is not how I travel,” the Doctor responds, to which Rory shoots back, “Then I do not want to travel with you!” And he goes on to condemn: “This isn’t fair. You’re turning me into you.” (Another ongoing theme in New Who—the sometimes deleterious effect the Doctor has upon his companions. And as long as I’m mentioning it—here we go again with the 'fill-in-the blank’s choice' drama.)

Finally Old Amy sees the light and relents. “Tell Amy, your Amy, I’m giving her the days. The days with you. The days to come.”

It is heartbreaking to see Rory turn the latch on his wife. To him Old Amy will always exist. The Doctor and Young Amy can take it in stride, but Rory will always live with the painful memory of the wife he turned away.

The Girl Who Waited doesn’t give us anything new, but it gives it to us in a unique way and it is performed with feeling.  I’ll accept that, Gary, as I continue on.

Night Terrors

Dear Gary—

“Well, I suppose it can’t be all planets and history and stuff.”

Not much of it is these days. Rory has about a 90% chance that the planet will be Earth when he opens the TARDIS door. As for history, yes they have materialized in different times, but they rarely take the opportunity to soak any of it up. They have a grand time mocking and mangling history, but rarely do they witness it.

They have run across lots of stuff though. Night Terrors falls under the category of stuff. It is a quiet little tale; a standalone episode in an arc heavy season. That is a detriment and a plus. A detriment because it points out how shallow the arc really is. There is no true emotional attachment; we go from Let’s Kill Hitler, let’s find Melody, let’s uncover River, to let’s go off on a random house call with no thought whatsoever to the deep, dark tragedies of our lives.

But the plus outweighs it. As onerous as the arc is, the buoyancy of a clever little standalone tips the scale in its favor.

It over tips it, actually. Night Terrors is that much more effective simply because it distances itself from its surroundings. It is a fine piece of storytelling told by a decent cast, but there is nothing particularly outstanding about it other than its uniqueness from the season in which it resides.

It is quite claustrophobic actually, somewhat like the cupboard in which George’s fears are locked away, and that suits the plot. We are delving into the realm of childhood nightmares, something New Who is familiar with and has dealt with successfully. Monsters under the bed; images out of the corner of one’s eye; dangers lurking in the shadows; add to this list creepy dolls come to life. Although I do have to confess that the dolls are the least scary aspect of the episode for me and I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe because I never had a horror of dolls. (Carrie would be the perfect audience for this; she was visiting this past month, Gary, and she banished Baby Secret—who normally resides in the Doctor Who room where Carrie’s children were camping out—to my bedroom. But I could never relate to her primal fear of dolls and clowns.)

To me, the scariest aspect is the sight of a kid all alone in the dark and petrified of the unknown terrors lurking in his closet (where his mother made him stow them away). The twist of the little boy being the alien is intriguing but not properly explored. It becomes simply a convenience to put people in peril and to have a warm and fuzzy outcome. I’m not sure why he thinks the sound of the lift is so frightening, and I’m unclear as to how or why random people in the complex get pulled into the dangers of his creation. Is this the first that people have gone missing around there, and if so, why now? Because the Doctor is there? Does George have a grudge against the landlord or the old lady? Does he even know Amy and Rory? There isn’t any logical explanation for any of them being menaced by George’s funhouse of jeopardy.

As for the lonely orphan seeking acceptance and the childless couple desperate to bestow love, it feels like a rushed solution. However it is satisfying in its happily-ever-afterness. I am reminded of the Isolus from Fear Her and the devil dad in the closet. And even though the mother/daughter dynamic was more fully explored in that earlier episode, I relate better to our present characters. The wide-eyed George and his befuddled father, together with Matt Smith’s Doctor, make for a more appealing way to spend some forty odd minutes.

That is the key to this story; the actors. They make us laugh; they make us care. Therefore, while I never really feel that Amy and Rory are in danger, I laugh when Rory says, “We’re dead . . . again.” And I’m interested as they piece together the odd nature of their trap. And I wonder how Amy Doll will turn back into real Amy (confident that she will).  And when the Doctor and Alex are pulled into the same dollhouse I figure help is on the way. I am a bit disappointed that the Father and Son Reunion conclusion is so hastily dashed off. The ‘all is right with the world’ hug takes me back to the ‘love is all you need/home is where the heart is’ wrap-up to The Lodger. It’s so handy how these things work out.

Just like that (“What, just like that?”) we come to an end and the TARDIS crew are off with the chilling nursery rhyme ringing in our ears. George is forgotten. Melody is forgotten. Amy, Rory, and the Doctor fly off.

“Now, did someone mention something about planets and history and stuff?”

I don’t mind so much if it is just stuff, Gary, if it is enjoyable to watch. Night Terrors is a little lightweight entertainment that will keep me going on this slow path of mine.