film and tv

When a job is more than a job…

  • Reading time:5 mins read

So JNT didn’t have a strong creative vision guiding him. Well, sure; that’s obvious, considering where the show went (or didn’t) during the ’80s, until Cartmel came around. In that sense his approach — being so hands-off — was significant. So were his ideas about casting, his ideas about presentation, his ideas about continuity, his feel for showmanship, the way he tried to spin the show for various groups (in particular the increasing fanbase and the BBC management). There’s a pretty good story to be told here, and it needn’t be altogether negative. If anything, there’s more drama here than in most earlier periods.

As with any other era, the way JNT handled the show (or didn’t!) clearly led to the way it turned out and was ultimately perceived. It’s the mechanics of this that it would be enlightening to see illustrated, especially in contrast to other production eras.

I mean, even this discussion right here has made some connections in my brain that I hadn’t made before. Yeah, of course; JNT didn’t pay much attention to the creative ins and outs, did he — though he had some vague and shaky concept of a “big picture” he wanted for the show, and he had a few arbitrary things he felt he wanted to see. That would explain why it kind of went in circles, and why it kept referring to the past so much instead of moving forward. And why he made so many apparently odd demands. And why it was so terribly uneven, jumping from brillant to questionable to conservative to oddly progressive. And it would also explain why Cartmel was able to have so much influence when he came aboard, as there were no real creative conflicts (aside from JNT’s random specific demands). The show was just something to produce, with certain production concerns, according to a form he was familiar with.

Everyone was looking to the producer as a creative force, a guiding spirit for the show — and he was just expecting everyone else to get on with their creative work, while he paid attention to the mechanics of getting the show made and selling it to his bosses, the fans, and the general audience. After season 18 and until the McCoy era, no one was really driving. The real problem in the ’80s seems like it was one of communication — with perhaps a side order of organization (though that’s kind of a facet of communication).

That right there — that’s fascinating as hell.

Or to put it another way, this was the era where the script editor became the supreme creative force over the show — whether he appreciated it or not! Both Bidmead and Cartmell had distinct ideas what to do with the series, and went about implementing them with little interference; Saward… well, I’m not entirely sure what he was doing. There was obviously a huge communication issue here, in terms of what each party expected of the other, that wasn’t present with the other two editors, that just led to escalating frustration all around. Again: drama! Needn’t be dirty; if anything, an even analysis of the situation could defuse a lot of tension and anger that still seems to lurk around this area. Clear up a lot of misconceptions, and open it up for rethinking.

Dwelling a little more, this lack of communication on JNT’s part (though again there are two sides to any exchange, and neither Bidmead nor Cartmel seemed to have all that much difficulty, comparably speaking) might to some extent explain why he was stuck with the show for so long.

It’s often struck me as odd that JNT kept asking the BBC to reassign him, yet was continually refused. Looking back, I realize in most cases the sitting producers and script editors tended to have successors in mind who they preened for the role before themselves moving on. JNT didn’t approach it this way; again, it appears he was all business. When he decided he wanted to quit, he figured he could just fill out the forms and trot along; he’d done his part of the picture. The problem was, he was leaving to other people the task of continuing the show — much as he generally left the creative duties to the script editor, writers, directors, and cast. Of course the BBC wouldn’t have that; they probably felt it was his job to get the show’s affairs in order. Indeed, if JNT didn’t do it I can’t imagine who would.

Though JNT’s approach didn’t seem a very good fit for the show, I’m not sure if he can wholly be blamed. He just seemed to have different expectations from everyone else — and in another situation, his expectations might have been essentially reasonable. And they might have worked, if everyone wasn’t looking to him to make decisions that he wasn’t prepared to make and had simply let him do what he was good at — an area where, from what I understand, he was indeed quite skilled.

“I feel like I’m in a John Hughes rite du passage movie”

  • Reading time:3 mins read

Something curious about Wayne’s World is that, whereas most movies expanded from TV shows or skits throw the main characters into a situation where the goofy yet courageous heroes have to preserve [x] from the sleazy [corporate/bureaucratic/criminal something], in this case most of Wayne’s problems are entirely his own fault. They come out of the same character traits that put him in an endless string of food service jobs, living out of his parents’ house, wishing he could make something out of his life. These in turn simply the downside of the same traits that make him so charming and fun to be around in the short term.

Which, come to think of it, is a similar situation to the one in The Big Lebowski. And collectively (both as a unit and within that unit), to the main characters in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. And even, yes, to Charlie Kaufman’s protagonists (despite the existential crisis in Adaptation). The qualities that make the characters distinctive and interesting to watch are also those that make them vulnerable; a strong character-based plot (and every plot is to some extent character-based) explores the positive and negative qualities of those traits, first by ingratiating the characters then by showing how those qualities we admire allow them to screw up, then showing how, when applied correctly, those traits can in some way redeem the characters. It’s pretty much scriptwriting 101, of course; the nature of a character arc. Still, there you go.

On an essential level, that’s what we’re there to experience: people who are redeemable fuckups, whose power for redemption comes from the same quality that makes them weak. The question, of course, is where to draw the line: how fatal, exactly, is that fatal flaw? It all depends on the character, and the traits in question — which is basically the point. As all stories are character-based (even if that character is nonliving or even nonphysical), a satisfying story comes entirely out of those characters’ characters. And there’s very little contrived about Wayne’s World; it’s a solid, honest, well-told story. For the movie’s origin and premise, this is pretty unusual! It comes through allowing the character to indeed be fuckups, rather than putting them on a pedestal where they can do no wrong and all the world’s ills befall them in spite of their best efforts.

Then Wayne’s World 2 finds the main cast again in a rut, basically relying on the same shortcuts that got them through life last time we saw them — only now they’re a little older, and the world is a little bigger, and none of their tricks are working anymore. If anything, they’re backfiring on a basic level. Taking the whole plot into account, they’re backfiring on a scale grander and deeper than is immediately obvious — which is sort of the whole point to the movie, and the reason for most of its awkward humor. Part of the reason the movie maybe isn’t so easy to like as the first one is that it portrays its characters as even less effectual than before. None of the character traits we’re there to see are doing the protagonists much good. The movie is basically chiding them for not learning their lesson last time, and giving them one last lesson by showing them the results of their lack of development. (Sort of an Ebenezer Scrooge thing.) It’s a really good coda, though — and an appropriate one, given the characters.

The Trouble with Lisa

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Finally a pretty good Torchwood episode. Though each of the previous three was better than the last , last week’s height was a respectable mediocrity. Now we’re basically on target with what I expected out of the series from the start. Aside from the story and tone details (A snappy pace! Enough plot to fill an entire episode! “Adult” content that doesn’t feel completely gratuitous!), finally we get some decent characterization going on! For the first time, there’s some chemistry! Even Dr. Sato gets more to do than usual, here — which isn’t to suggest a lot.

And amongst all that, it’s probably the best Cyberman story ever produced. (Which isn’t to suggest a lot!)

Actually, that leads to odd thing: despite this episode being the biggest, most obvious crossover yet with the parent series, it’s also the first one that seems to project its own personality apart from Who. Perhaps it was being set almost entirely in the Hub, mostly using elements introduced in the previous episodes — and the Who crossover, though involving a traditional monster, was directly tied to established Torchwood lore. From the pizza to the Canary Wharf incident to Ianto’s background, to Jack’s intense hardness, for once this series feels like it’s got its own mythology.

Now that I know the production team is capable of living up to some of the series potential, I guess I can be a little harder on it. Given that this is what I had always imagined as an “average” episode of Torchwood, I’ll be expecting a lot from now on.

Cybus Mk II

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Am I missing something, or has Sci-Fi not edited the show so far this series? We’ve just seen, I believe, the longest episode of the run — so long it didn’t even have a “Next Time” trailer at the end — and I didn’t notice any missing footage. This is as compared to last spring, where if an episode ran even a few seconds over 42:00, whole scenes were snipped — usually anything that dealt with Rose and the Doctor’s relationship.

Another note: the ad breaks were generally quite well-placed in “Rise of the Cyberman”. If anything, I think the added pauses helped the episode along by adding tension in the right places and generally letting the interesting moments sink in. That cut after “Back ‘er up” was rather genius, I thought.

Still felt more like an episode of Sliders than Doctor Who. Probably the most I’ve enjoyed it, though.

I also realized for the first time that Rose’s weakness and pissiness in this episode — which I previously interpreted as being terribly out of character — might be at least partially explained by the Doctor’s recent behavior, re: Mme. Pompadour and horses and windows. Perhaps the Doctor is losing some hold on her here, especially in the face of her own flavor of temptation. Later, of course, all the other men in her life abandon her, leaving her with just the Doctor — almost like a sign, or punishment for doubting him. I guess in this light I can see where the Doctor might try to take her to see Elvis.

It’s also here, I imagine — as she realizes there’s nothing left in her life but the Doctor — that Rose latches onto him hardcore, setting up the final couple of episodes. The season’s starting to make a little more sense to me.

EDIT: Oh, they cut the “In the Jungle” scene? No wonder the episode seemed so much better than usual! It is, of course, the favorite scene of nearly every hardcore Who fan (often cited “the only good scene”). I’ve always felt it dragged the episode down, though I never realized how much. That its omission was so invisible seems to suggest, almost by definition, how gratuitous it was.

Tying into the previous post, sort of…

  • Reading time:2 mins read

I also think it’s a bland way of explaining the eighth’s regeneration – “Oh he died in a war”. I like to think of the Time War as a bit more complex than that.

I believe the word you want is “mythic”. That’s one of the big reasons for the War being there: it creates a new myth, putting everyone — old and new viewers — on the same level, and suggesting unrecountably grand and mysterious things, creating a new wonder, a new quest for knowledge, a new drive for the show to realign it with its original appeal. Also, curiously enough, the War serves to “fix” the arguably unsatisfactory resolution to a lot of the original mysteries by ditching the Time Lords and Gallifrey, the revelation of which earmarked the end of the show’s original era, and the start of something arguably less intriguing.

Doctor Who’s about the travel; not the destination. Soon as you stop and resolve something, it becomes real; mundane. The magic’s gone, as is any driving force it provided. Which isn’t to imply that you can’t create a new driving force — since that’s just what Davies did. And what ho; it worked.

I just don’t know if fact can do any better than legend, for something like this.

“Grown?! What bollocks!”

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The TARDIS is clearly engineered in the original series (just look at it!)

According to Davies in a DWM column, the TARDIS interior can be “skinned” rather like Winamp — which is probably a function of something like a chameleon circuit, I’ll wager to speculate. Though not ever stated before, this seems at least consistent with the established lore — especially given how easily various Time Lords seem to reconfigure the insides at will.

For the rest of your argument — well, uh. There’s nothing to say there’s no element of engineering in TARDIS construction. If anything, a TARDIS seems largely an artificial construct — one that involves a certain controlled organic development, presumably for the most basic architecture and… “spirit”, if you will. Then things get bolted onto that, taking advantage of more overt Time Lord technology, like the chameleon whatsit and the console controls and whatnot.

I don’t see anything particularly far-fetched for a stage of controlled organic engineering, especially given how far ahead Gallifreyan technology is. If anything, it sort of makes sense, given how complex and seemingly random the darned thing is. The Time Lords never seem to have absolute control over the machines — which probably is due in part to their treating them completely as machines (if partially organic ones), under their will. The Doctor seems relatively unique in having come to terms with the apparent sentience of his TARDIS — though even he often forgets that he’s not always so much in control of the thing as giving it general suggestions.

That his TARDIS is so persnickety — so insolubly “broken” — might, and here I’m wildly speculating, be a result of its will having become much stronger than usual for a TARDIS. It’s too spirited, and doesn’t always obey orders just because they were given by its “owner”. Thus, it’s broken. A flaw in its system. Sounds very Time Lordy to me. There are parallels in many other works of fiction, of course. Popular anime in particular (Ghost in the Shell, Eva) keeps coming to mind.

Rose = (Susan + Ian + Barbara) x 2005

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Somebody like the Doctor – an ageless, lonely wanderer – he can’t be that desperate can he? You would think that with his wisdom and experience, the last person he would want to get his leg-over with was Rose.

Since that’s the same thing as love, yes.

Rose “saved” the Doctor when he was at his most vulnerable, his most miserable. Therefore, he became attached to her in a way he rarely allows himself to become attached to others. She became attached to him because, well, she’s a silly little kid and he showed her the world. Though in the short term they bettered each other, eventually the two of them had to part ways — for reasons illustrated in both School Reunion and Girl in the Fireplace (the one on Rose’s end; the other on the Doctor’s).

The Doctor’s fixation on Reinette, if anything, helps to illustrate the nature of his relationship with Rose. All it takes is that rare person at the rare moment who can break through and touch him, and he’ll latch onto her. Rose did it by being stubborn at the right time, then worming under the Doctor’s skin, showing appreciation, nurturing him. By giving him a certain regularity, and a family of sorts. Reinette did it by literally crawling into his head, seeing things that he normally doesn’t show anybody. When he lost Reinette, and he reacted that badly after having only known her for a few hours, that set up just how much of an effect it would be on him when Rose left.

At least Rose is safe, though. In a way he gave her what she always wanted, before he came around — and what he could never have. Though the TARDIS will feel very empty for a while, the Doctor will… well, not get over it. He’ll put it behind him, though; chalk up the sadness to just one more illustration of his curse — how alone he innately must be — and move on. It’s kind of like ditching Susan all over again.

I don’t think we’ll see him that ga-ga over another companion. I get the feeling the Doctor isn’t about to be so dependent on anyone again, if he can help it. At least, that’s the way he always used to work.

Dalek Bay

  • Reading time:5 mins read

Unless I missed something, I don’t think the location being called Bad Wolf was a revelation.

One way to read it — and I think perhaps the way intended — is that this beach is the original “bad wolf”, explaining the phrase getting scattered through time last series. This is what Rose was really trying to tell herself, in the moment when she could see all of time and space: she saw that this was the end of the road; the precise time and place that will allow her to “get back” to the Doctor and say her farewell, and so she scattered the clues backwards to lead her there. The earlier “bad wolves” are all backwards echoes of this.

Either by coincidence or design (on Vortex-Rose’s part), the situation in Parting of the Ways works as a really good early metaphor for the true “bad wolf” situation that will arise one series later — a metaphor aided by the “DÃ¥rlig Ulv” business. (Dalek = bad! Yuk yuk!) Though maybe Vortex-Rose also meant it as a trail to lead her back to the Doctor in that moment and create herself, that now seems like a secondary effect.

I mean. She could have used anything, any phrase to lead herself back there — and yet instead of any old phrase from out of a hat, she chose to use the ultimate “you can get back to him” phrase. This suggests that the phrase was less intended to get her to that precise moment (since, hey, she was there already!) than it was to impress unto herself its future significance. Which in a sense is slightly less paradoxical (and arbitrary) than the action seemed last year.

Still a little weird, of course.

EDIT:

Because what’s presented on-screen and in the dialogue of Bad Wolf/PotW clearly indicates it?

All that TARDIS-Rose says there is “I take the words, I scatter them” — at which point the words on the sign literally rip off the wall and fly off. Clearly the latter isn’t meant as a literal depiction of her transforming those particular physical objects into the Platonic forms they represent, and then scattering them — so I don’t know that it really means anything other than as an illustration of what she’s talking about: scattering the words “Bad Wolf”. Not neccesarily those particular tangible letters that she ripped off the wall; just the words themselves. Nowhere in the episode is it stated that the words originate at the station.

Because it’s the only way the plot arc makes sense?

Now, that’s clearly not so. Again, the arc would make more sense (and be more dramaticall fulfilling) if the words had some significance beyond simply the name of the owners of the TV station. Even within the episode, everyone assumes the TV station’s name is just another instance of the “repeated meme” (if you will). And frankly, the entire situation feels unresolved: why was the company called “Bad Wolf”? Well, it just… was. So why did Rose latch onto the corporation name as a “code” to send through time and space? Well, she just… did. The connection is tenuous and not really satisfactory. This isn’t an elegant place for a causal paradox.

Now, had the name an actual origin — were it to actually mean something significant to Rose or the Doctor (or better yet the relationship between the two of them — then we’d be onto something. Then the plot arc would make a little more sense, and it would be a little more satisfying as a piece of drama.

What to some degree makes the most thematic sense is if the original “bad wolf” is the final one, which is then projected backward. And as it turns out, this “bad wolf” is probably the most significant individual instance of all, as it refers to a time and a place at the end of everything where Rose can find the Doctor — where that last dimensional anomaly happens to be located.

Logistically, there is no reason why this could not be the origin of the phrase — and I don’t see how, as a retcon, it particularly complicates the events as played out before. Again, Rose had access to all of Time and Space. She would therefore see her entire arc with the Doctor; she would know when she left him, and would know the significance of that last meeting where they admitted their love for each other. TARDIS-Rose is, to an extent, a being formed of pure love for the Doctor — therefore, “I am the Bad Wolf: I create myself” makes sense in that context. Likewise, “Bad Wolf” as a message to spread throughout time to lead Rose to the Doctor carries a great metaphorical weight that would not otherwise be present.

It’s not impossible, either, that the bay is just one more thing she renamed way back in Parting of the Ways — except, why? Again, it just becomes arbitrary. If she was able to look forward enough to randomly rename the bay back then according to the name of the owner of a TV station, then how is it any less plausible that in looking forward that is where she originally found the name? Again, thematically that has the greater dramatic resonance; it’s not really any more complicated; and I don’t recall anything in either series that would logistically negate it as an option.

Bad Wolf Bay

  • Reading time:1 mins read

Dear God.

…

Well. The series could end perfectly well here. Even with that final ten seconds or so. Actually, it would have been kind of interesting had the show ended like that in 1989.

It would be fruitless to even begin discussing the details.

Though… I like how long they held off with the 3D glasses, and the way Davies finally explained them. This is almost certainly his most clever, best-written work for the show to date. Almost nothing wasted. Almost everything introducing something new to the mythos or the characters, even as it’s ending an era. And it’s all so sincere. It’s a real shame he’s been cutting down on his scripts.

Indeed, this pretty much makes up for the earlier meandering.

Maybe after I dwell a bit…

The Invasion

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There have been rumors for a while; now it’s been publicized. A teaser trailer‘s even out.






Yes, the legendary and long-incomplete 1968 Patrick Troughton serial The Invasion has been completed — through modern flash-based animation, set to the original off-air soundtrack. It’s been done by Cosgrove Hall (Danger Mouse, Count Duckula) — the same people also behind the Scream of the Shalka webcast from a few years ago. This is supposed to be a good deal more sophisticated, though.

It’ll be out this November, in the UK; we’ll probably have to wait until next spring for the DVD. The remaining six episodes are getting the typical Restoration Team cleanup — which is welcome, considering the condition all existing consumer prints are in.

As it is, I find the story hard to take, as it’s drawn out and padded to a ludicrous degree. (It was conceived as six episodes, then cut down to four because there wasn’t enough story to sustain a six parter, then expanded to eight because another serial fell through at the last minute.) The whole middle part of the serial consists of the characters repeatedly breaking into the enemy compound, getting caught, escaping, then breaking back in again. And again and again and again. It’s impressive, on a certain level.

Even so: wow. The cleanup on its own should make the story far easier to watch. Interspersed with animation of this detail, this release perhaps wins out over The Beginning as the most ambitious and appealing classic series release to date.

Odd that there have been so few truly great Cyberman stories, considering how much potential the Cybermen hold.

Zombies, Love, and Closure

  • Reading time:3 mins read

The second series of Doctor Who has, to date, focused to an unusual degree on a loss of identity by outside influence. It’s been a central plot point in every story: the blood control in The Christmas Invasion, Cassandra’s shenanigans in New Earth, the Werewolf in Tooth and Claw, the children in School Reunion, the repair droids’ use of humans in The Girl in the Fireplace, the Wire’s victims in The Idiot’s Lantern, Toby and the Ood in The Satan Pit, the Abzorbaloff this Saturday — and then there’s all the Cyberman stuff. In each case the victims are robbed of a personality, such that their bodies might be used for other purposes — in most cases, to be physically transformed or integrated into something else.

Then there’s this lesser theme of people with obsessions abandoning them and “moving on”: The Rose with Doctor #9, Cassandra again, Sarah Jane, Mickey. The Doctor keeps half looking for excuses to give up wandering (in both Fireplace and Satan Pit) — or at least, he sure gives up quickly whenever it looks like he’s going to be stuck somewhere. To contrast, there are the characters who insist on clinging to the past — and we see what happens to them: Sarah Jane, who nearly wasted her entire life waiting for the Doctor to return; Reinette, who did. Then there are all the “Doctor Who fans” in Love & Monsters.

And yet there’s this temptation, this constant theme that maybe one can return to the past. That there’s some way to reclaim what you’ve lost: Cassandra and her business with Chip, Victoria and her paranormal mutterings, the Skasis Paradigm, this “before Time” business in The Satan Pit. Though she thought it was behind her, Rose still can’t get over her father and is drawn to his doppelganger. Part of the Doctor’s infatuation with Reinette was in how she managed to help him revisit his old, buried memories. And then there’s “Army of Ghosts”, coming up.

Of course, given that an identity is mostly built up out of memories… this all gets rather complex.

Especially in light of the huge new spoiler that will not be mentioned, I wonder how this all ties into the last couple of episodes. I doubt we’ll see any true conclusion in the next few episodes; these themes seem to be setting up something so huge that it’ll take most of series three to address.

I will gobble you up… pretty boy!

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Yeah, that was a pretty big improvement on The Unquiet Dead. I’m not sure why everyone got his and her face back at the end. There wasn’t even a line in there, that I heard, to justify it. (Why are their faces taken anyway? And how do they breathe? You just need a sentence!)

Sort of a weird episode, with the social commentary. Mix of nostalgic nationalism and commentary on the unfortunate social concepts of the time. The whole “faceless drone” thing as a result of television seems… pretty intentional. In a Twilight Zone sense. TV aerials looking like swastikas and all. Neither glorifying nor damning the period. Just.. noticing.

I think it’s intended that the kid might be gay, though it’s… not made clear, since I guess it’s not important.

The Father’s another sorta Roald Dahl adult.

The Tenth Doctor does have a sensitive tongue, doesn’t he.

Too bad they didn’t work in that Logopolis reference. It could have been shortened: “It’s nothing… I just have this thing about broadcast towers.” Then he shakes it off, and continues. It could have worked. Needn’t have been distracting.

I also thought it went by a little too quickly, much like — say — Tooth & Claw and The Christmas Invasion. It’s written to the format more well than last year’s, though. The tone and internal pacing, in particular, were much, much more well-composed. It’s a fun piece, with little except that weird plot point against it. Certainly better than most of the series two episodes, so far. I’m looking forward to the next Gatiss episode.

As for the production: as much as I love The Third Man, I find myself agreeing with some people that the camera here could have used a carpenter’s level in a few scenes. There are times to get all impressionistic; there are times when it’s just distracting. It’s a pretty minor quibble, though. Most of the artsiness was put to practical effect.

So. After Girl in the Fireplace and School Reunion, I’d say this is probably the strongest episode of series two. That says more about the other episodes this year than it does about Idiot’s Lantern. Still, there we are. The Twilight Zone factor and the handsome direction are the big plusses here.

we muzzzzzt surviiiive..

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Well, that was a decent end to a blah beginning. I like it that this episode was mostly visual: all action and framing and memorable scenes, in place of the lamentable dialog and plotting of last week. Everything seems to play to the strengths of the writer and director at hand. It could almost be a silent movie — which is appropriate, I figure, to a Cyberman episode.

By a similar stretch: I just realized why Tennant reminds me so of Troughton in this episode. Well, the writing and performance do a lot of it. Just a important, though, is the outfit: black suit, light shirt, bow tie. Versus Cybermen, of all things. So again, yeah — appropriate. Troughton performance. Almost a silent horror movie. Some imagery to rival Tomb. This half of the story is one of the few effective Cyberman appearances in the history of the series. Too bad the build-up was so boring.

Still not as captivating as the best of the new series. It’s solid, though. Classic, in mostly a good way — whereas last week was classic in mostly a bad one.

Girl in the Fireplace

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Well. That… certainly broke the template. There always was the potential to do something like this with the schow, and in forty-some years they never did. This is kind of like a revelation.

So this is what you can do with a time travel story.

It’s like… a Treasure game, the way it’s using the series concept. It’s like this is what the show’s format has been meant for all along, and it just hasn’t happened until now.

I like also how all the writers seem to be fighting to inject new, random bits of continuity and “mythology”. Christmas, you get the hand. Here, you get the Doctor turning his “mind meld” powers on a human. Then you get all the business about “Doctor” just being a title, like “Madame de Pompadour”, and it hiding something dark and secret.

We’ve been getting the “Doctor Who?” jokes since last March, and all through the new series the Doctor keeps dodging the question of who he is. This is the first time some real importance has been tied to the question, though. That the audience has been given the cue: “That’s a good point. Who is he, anyway? What’s his deal?” It all goes back to the beginning. One of the big, important unresolved issues that kind of got forgotten after 1969 or so.

Curious thing is, all through the ’80s and ’90s there was an attempt to bring the question back up again. John Nathan-Turner, the producer during the ’80s, addressed it by putting question marks all over the Doctor’s clothes. (“‘Doctor WHO’ — get it?!”) Then Andrew Cartmel, the script editor during the final couple of seasons, had this plan for suggesting that all we knew was wrong, and that the Doctor was way more than we’d ever imagined. That plan ended when the show ended, though the novels and stuff all through the ’90s took it in some seriously strange directions.

This isn’t clothes-deep, though. And it isn’t attempting to rewrite history. It’s just bringing attention back to the realization that we really don’t know who this guy is, outside of what we’ve witnessed. We don’t know what’s driving him or why. Though it seems we know a lot, it’s all just details. He’s a Time Lord. He’s been wandering for nine hundred years, basically on his own, separated from his own kind. Somewhere over the last couple hundred years, all the other Time Lords died out. Though to an extent it doesn’t make that much of a difference, as he was always alone anyway. At first he was hiding from his own kind; now he’s just… used to hiding. He even hides that he is hiding, with all of his adventures and attempts to do right by throwing himself in without a thought of caution, and the parade of assistants he’s enlisted. Then he always just moves on. Never bothers tidying up. Goes back into hiding, in his little box, outside the universe.

* * *

I think the best line — well, exchange — in this was between the Doctor and MdP:

“This is my lover, the King of France.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m the Lord of Time — and I’m here to fix the clock.”

Somehow, framing the story so you can also see him as sort of a fairy tale character from Madame de Pompadour’s perspective, and so you can see the weird logistics that fall into space then — well. Cripes.

I mean, it makes sense. For her and everyone there, he’s like a sprite or gnome, who keeps popping in and out of the world. And it just so happens that he’s the lord of time. So of course he’d be there to repair the clock. And of course the menace would be made of clockwork. That’s the only way it would make sense, his being there. And of course the only time he does appear is when the clockwork droids do — when the clock needs fixing. And of course they’re no real menace, because he’ll always be there, like the tooth fairy.

Somehow all that business is solidified in one brief exchange. He becomes a myth. A small, personal myth.

And in a sense, he’s not much more to us — even though he’s (effectively) been there through our whole lives. Forty-three years, actually. (Hmm.) On a practical level, he’s no less a mystery.

Moving On

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Another thing that annoyed me about Rose was that she thought she was the first person to travel with the Doctor and the only person on Earth to know about alien life. She didn’t even think to ask whether she was or not! Rose must really rate herself.

It’s just denial. She hasn’t thought about it, at least in part because she’s chosen not to. It hasn’t been brought up, and she’s seen no reason to go into it — probably because she knows what the answer will be. If she doesn’t ask, she can pretend all she likes. It’s a part of being infatuated.

She admits out loud that she knew somewhere in her mind that there had to be someone else before her; it just wasn’t important enough to bring up. What teed her off so much here was being confronted with the situation she’d been avoiding so long (even after the Doctor went into his history with “dancing”), and then the math that came as a result.

“So… okay, here’s your old Companion. That’s… interesting. Wait, though. Why haven’t you said anything about her? What does that say about her? What does that say about you? What does that say about me?”

Basically, she’s being forced to deal with issues she’s been putting off, hoping she’ll never be faced with. That’ll annoy anyone, as it forces you to completely change your head. To open up to imperfection, to compromise. It takes away all the luster. Once you do that, there’s no going back. All you’ve got is reality — which is exactly what Rose has been trying to escape, this whole time.

This is probably one of the first big seeds sown for her leaving the series. Once she manages to get past all of this, she’ll be in more of a position to appreciate all the other things in her life — Mickey, her mum, even the simple inanities of twenty-first century London.