Oh dear...

So, uh, I was intending to post after the airing of The Time of Angels and somehow seem to have messed up the TARDIS controls and overshot by a month or so. Sorry!

No, really, I haven't given up on updating this blog. It's just that Angels threw me for a bit of a loop; I still don't really know what I want to say about it. Don't fret, I'll figure it out eventually. Also, the delay gives me the advantage of appearing to follow the BBCA broadcast schedule, thereby not spoiling episodes as yet unreleased in America and avoiding the whole you-can't-use-iPlayer-so-how-do-you-watch-Doctor-Who-on-the-British-schedule kerfuffle. It's magic, I tell you.

In the meantime, have an adorable Britishism: faff. According to UrbanDictionary, it means to "muck about" (aw, that's delightfully British as well, innit!) or "waste time doing nothing/something unnecessary." Hmm, sounds like what I did today. Anyway, I like this word not only because it has a handy meaning neatly condensed into a single word, but it's also oddly entertaining to say and makes you feel a complete loony when you say it. Go on, try it: "faff." For some reason that I can't begin to fathom, this word reminds me of ducks. Specifically, duck feathers. Maybe because the mental image I associate with this particular sequence of phonemes is someone fluttering their hands uselessly with a vaguely distraught and bemused look shining in their eyes, rather like a duckling halfway across a motorway. "Faff." It also sounds to me (although I'm sure it's unrelated) like a twee replacement for the f-word.


Maybe because that rhymes with "duck"? Now I'm just confused.

Anyway, I highly recommend this word. Another one I quite like (although don't think I've ever encountered it in the wild, i.e. spontaneously elicited in speech, so I'm a bit vague on its usage) is "twee", which I've employed above. Again thanks to UrbanDictionary, we have "to be obnoxiously sweet, or quaint...disingenuous, corny, or effeminate." It seems to me that the best that Americanglish can offer in response is "saccharine" ("cloyingly agreeable or ingratiating; exaggeratedly sweet or sentimental"), which both lacks the sense of falseness and has the disadvantage of being distractingly pompous-sounding. "Twee" has the distinct advantage, like "faff", of fitting its phonemic form to its sense and meaning. I therefore recommend that both "faff" (and "faff about"; if we're going to do this, we might as well do it properly) and "twee" be adopted by all English speakers forthwith.

As I've written the above (in what has become an unexpectedly long post with a disproportionate number of brackets), I've noticed that my language is changing. Did you note the increased frequency of the present perfect instead of the simple past, the use of lexical items like "quite" and "proper", and the elevated register? I blame this, solely and entirely, on the BBC, especially Top Gear and Life on Mars. Britainglish is getting into my head.

Anyway: More Doctor Who reviews and other nonsense coming soon!

Dalek Psycholinguistics

This picture/poster was linked to from Hello, I'm the Doctor. I especially like the note on the "ears"/light bulbs: that they let off extra energy so the Dalek doesn't just spontaneously explode. I suppose that's a reasonable cover, given that the original rationale behind those flashing lights was probably something like, "Hey, wouldn't it be awesome if it had lights on its head? That flashed when it spoke?!"

Relevant in this particular instance is point (4), which reads as follows:

Inside the dome is the voice machine and translator unit, which connects to the control chamber (18). A Dalek has no vocal chords [sic], so this unit amplifies thought into speech and is sensitive to whatever language is necessary. For instance, an Englishman would hear a Dalek's "thought-noises" as though the Dalek were speaking English. This is best described as "Noise Telepathy." When anyone speaks to a Dalek, the process is reversed--it has no ears, but understands instantly.

This site seems to agree, stating that

Daleks have no vocal cords so this unit amplifies the Dal mutant's thoughts into speech patterns acceptable to the listener's brain. This process is reversed when the Dalek is spoken to.

These descriptions are, to me, a bit unclear. Take the first quote's description of the speech/translation process. It says that, given that the Daleks do not have an organic speech apparatus, this "translation unit" transforms their thoughts into speech. Okay, assuming a highly advanced alien race, I can suspend my disbelief long enough to let this slide past. But the description goes on to say that this translation unit is "sensitive to whatever language is necessary," and "an Englishman would hear a Dalek's 'thought noises' as though the Dalek were speaking English."

What does this mean? Does the unit, clearly already having telepathic capabilities, read the mind of the hearer in order to generate the proper language? Does it broadcast some sort of telepathic wave or other such nonsense that the hearer hears/receives and understands as being their own language? Anyway, the phrase "as though the Dalek were speaking English" seems to imply that the Daleks aren't actually speaking English, they're just perceived to be speaking English (or German, or French, or whatever). This brings to mind the passage in Acts where the disciples of Jesus preach to the masses and each man hears their words in his native tongue, and makes me wonder what the Daleks actually are saying (if anything). In reverse, the process is just as convoluted: apparently, the unit receives the audible input from a speaker, translates the entire thing into pure thought (including, apparently, highly culture- and context-dependent variables such as pitch, tone, stress, speed, emotional inflection, etc.--or not, given how obnoxiously literal and immune to humor and sarcasm the Daleks are!) and transmits it into the Dalek's mind as thought.

I cannot even begin to imagine what this would be like for the Dalek. First, it would require very precise cognitive control--how does the Dalek prevent the unit from translating every thought into speech? How does a Dalek lie? And how does it distinguish its own thoughts from those fed to it by the translation unit? Since humans are not generally telepathic, psychic communication is generally represented as audible speech in the media, usually with an echo effect; but that is still audible speech, represented so for humans, for whom audible language is the default mode. The Dalek would have no such echoing voices to distinguish each thought from another; from this description, they would have no concept of "word" or "language" at all, since they apparently deal directly with pure thought.

How does a creature with no voice and no ears conceive of speech as distinct from thought at all? With no way of producing or receiving language (no vocal organs or ears, as noted above), how can the Daleks understand this process at all? What sort of language could an alien have that has no way of creating or receiving language? The other options are telepathic communication and some sort of sign language/visual communication. The translation unit clearly has telepathic capabilities (it adapts to "whatever language necessary" and can clearly manage psychic input) but the Daleks specifically developed aparati to enable them to speak audibly--why, if they can communicate telepathically? Even when there are no other non-Daleks around, they still insist on shrieking obnoxiously at each other. As for sign language, the robotic shell they are encased in barely has enough mobility to function, let alone produce an entire language based on visual signs.

As a side note, the Daleks do seem to have one word of their own that is consistently left untranslated: "rel", which seems to correspond to the English "second" (as a unit of time). Why a high-tech telepathic translator would choose to leave this word untranslated when it has a simple counterpart in the target language (and, furthermore, is inflected as an English word; the Daleks often initiate a countdown from "thirty rels" or whatever) must mean either that (1) the Daleks, either intentionally or not, choose to preserve this word and distinguish it from their rest of their translated speech or (2) the word "rel" isn't actually a direct translation of the word "second." Given that the Daleks, like the Time Lords, have time-traveling capabilities and therefore would need specialized vocabulary (or thought-noises?) to deal with the mechanics of time travel, it's very possible that the word "rel" has additional senses or shades of meaning that are not captured by the English "second." It could also be a holdover from the language of the Kaleds, although certainly not for sentimental reasons. Being unfamiliar with Old Who, I have no idea if this word came up in Old Who episodes; even if it did, though, the TARDIS translation circuit should have translated it anyway, so the problem remains unresolved.

Anyway, these descriptions of the Dalek's mode and method of speech leave much to be desired. One would think that if a thoroughly malevolent alien race had not only impenetrable armor, unstoppable death rays, and time-traveling capabilities, but also a highly functional telepathic translation unit theoretically capable of reading the thoughts of their victims and transmitting their own thoughts into the minds of others, there would be nothing (short of an inability to climb stairs) that could stop them from very swiftly taking over the universe, not even a mysterious and overconfident bloke with modern hair and a screwdriver. And furthermore, with such a sophisticated thought-speech-thought translation system, they could come up with a more refined auditory output than grating, repetitive, robotic shrieking. Then again--maybe such speech is rather a painfully accurate rendering of what a Dalek's thought patterns are really like.

I hope to return to this topic someday, perhaps when I get around to analyzing the nature of the TARDIS's translation circuit, which shows similar features. For now, more research needs to be done.

It's Not Supposed To Make That Noise

A new preview clip was released as part of the "Doctor Who: The Ultimate Guide" special that aired on BBCA tonight. The clip is available in the player below:

A few things are clear in this clip. As has been speculated in our house, this is not River Song's first meeting with the Doctor; she's still ahead of him, and knows more about him than he does about her. Also, she knows her way around the TARDIS, and can fly it more smoothly than he can.

This leads to the positively glorious result of the Doctor attempting to imitate the TARDIS's wheezing vworp noise as Amy looks on skeptically. Turns out that the TARDIS isn't supposed to make that noise, and does so only because the Doctor leaves the brakes on. This would seem to indicate that if the Doctor started flying the TARDIS more efficiently per River's instructions (and we've already seen him snap the doors open in The Eleventh Hour), the TARDIS mights stop making the vworp noise altogether. This would be a tragedy of the first order, but given the Doctor's affirmation that he loves that "brilliant noise", hopefully he'll keep leaving the brakes on!

Continuity note: When turning on the blue stabilizers, Dr. Song reaches for the button with her left hand around the console, but in the next shot (a closeup) she pushes the button with her right. Clearly, I've just watched this clip too many times now.

Batman and the TARDIS

Despite the fact that that would be a kickass fanfiction title (and story, for that matter...although I bet someone's already done it), this is mostly to celebrate the simple fact that Matt Smith likes Batman.

The full story can be found here.

Eleven commented about Batman, "I’ve always loved him, you know? I guess it’s the darkness in him that I like." The article also draws a parallel between Batman and the Doctor, quoting Smith: "There’s something about the darkness and the loneliness of the man that I guess I’m sort of in tune with I think." That quote was apparently about the Doctor, though it could be about Batman as well.

The similarities and differences between Batman and the Doctor--two very different role models and, really, superheroes from two different cultures--would certainly be worth exploring in greater depth. I'm a huge fan of both characters, and find their darkness and loneliness fascinating as well. Those qualities bring both characters out of the two-dimensional, primary-colored world of pure children's entertainment and makes them into believable, relatable people brushed in the duskier hues of life's sorrows, griefs, and disappointments.

But in the meantime, extra points for Matt Smith for choosing Batman! And a few points off for Karen Gillan for picking Spiderman. That guy's a loser.

Okay, What Have You Got For Me This Time?

There will be no attempt at all to avoid spoilers below.

Four days and three viewings later, I'm still stewing over The Eleventh Hour. It's not that I didn't like it--I certainly did. It was fun and enjoyable. But I didn't love it.

As almost every other reviewer I've read, I was unimpressed by the title sequence. The new music failed to impress, sounding too drowned out and muffled after the brazen boldness of Season 4's theme. The time vortex was also unimpressive--until the whole thing lights ablaze and the title materializes out of the flames. Now I'm paying attention! I guess I'll just have to give it time.

The Man of the Hour
Nice to meet you, Doctor: quirky, zany, slightly mystical Eleven. After three (and a half?) seasons of Ten, who had shining moments of lightness and fun mixed in with heartrending angst and pounding drama, the new Doctor feels rather...fluffy. Ten really is dead--not just the face but much of the angst, the guilt, and the grief that weighed him down are gone. Eleven is more childlike, constantly in a state of distracted wonder; the darkness that stalked Ten seems to have finally faded.

Don't get me wrong--this isn't necessarily a bad thing. I remember that my biggest doubt about Ten during his regeneration/new Doctor period was whether he would be able to successfully portray the gravitas and depth that his predecessor had--and he did, in spades (albeit with much more clenching of teeth and wild-eyed fury). Now I'm wondering the same thing about Eleven: he can do the light and fluffy and heroic and clever. Can he be serious and dark as well? Or does the regeneration signal the death as well of much of that survivor's guilt and anguish from his past? I can't decide if I'm hoping for that or not.

But enough doubts and negativity--Matt Smith was still wonderful. A couple moments were almost painfully Tennish (cf the cheerful "Hello!" as he climbs through the hospital window; also, the first shot of his face after the TARDIS crashes in Amelia's backyard was very reminiscent of Partners in Crime) but most was purely and beautifully Eleven. As I mentioned above, there's something gloriously childlike about him; he seems enthralled by the minute details of the world he finds himself in, as if he's seeing it for the first time. He can't seem to stop twitching and moving as well--I don't mean the throes of regeneration but the fidgety energy of a six-year old. Watch him interact with Amelia, pounding his fork on the table, tossing water out of a glass as if surprised by his own movement--he looks like a kid trapped in an adult's body.

But then the moment calls for a hero and he's suddenly full of authority and cleverness. He doesn't lose the childlike wonder, just channels it. He's wacky and zany and rattles on a mile a minute, but underneath all of it there's a clever and calculating mind dead set on saving the world. As the episode progresses, he even follows a development, from more childlike (connected with his time with seven-year-old Amelia) to more and more mature, until as the fully realized Doctor he faces first Prisoner Zero and then the Atraxi head-on and proclaims who he is.

Of course, put him with Amy and watch him show his childlike side again--he fidgets with his bowtie as he talks to her like a nervous teenager on a first date. Yet he bubbles with confidence and enthusiasm--which seems to miff his new companion a bit.

A Very Brave Little Girl and a Very Distrusting Kissogram
Amelia Pond is nothing short of delightful. From her first moments onscreen praying to Santa to her cold, fruitless vigil sitting on her suitcase in the garden, the character glows on the screen. Her immediate faith in the Doctor is beautiful, which makes his 12-year delay that much more heartbreaking.

It's almost a shame, because in almost every respect, I prefer the young Amelia to the older Amy. No, it isn't Amelia's eager trust and wonder versus Amy's wariness and bitterness; that's a fascinating part of the character. It's that Amy just wasn't as sympathetic, compelling, or interesting.

Given his 12-year miscalculation, Amy has every right to distrust the Doctor. But she doesn't just mistrust him, she also lies to him repeatedly. First, she pretends to be a policewoman when she's not; she refuses, until pushed, to tell him about the 12-year gap, or who she really is; she tries to disguise or gloss over her relationship (whatever it is) with Rory; and she neglects to mention that she's engaged and getting married in morning, presumably to Rory as well. So many secrets and misdirections do not bode well for a strong relationship between her and the Doctor. Then again, maybe it's about time that the companion has secrets that the Doctor doesn't know about instead of the Doctor always being the enigma.

But beyond that, Amy didn't really do much. She's (hopefully) going to be a strong and active companion with talents of her own--although, say, Martha, who had a definite skill set to use, never got to do much but get in trouble and get rescued by the Doctor, so given Amy's limited qualifications, I'm not too optimistic. Rose rescued the Doctor from plastic soldiers on her first day; Martha saved an unconscious Doctor from death and captured a murderess; Donna, depending on when you count her "first day", saved the Doctor from himself by making him stop or kept the whole world from being turned into Adipose. Amy forced Prisoner Zero to take its own form--being directed by the Doctor when she was helpless and unconscious, after he had already cornered the creature and summoned the Atraxi. Pardon me if I'm less than flabbergasted.

Also, her judgment seems to be less than stellar. She seems perfectly poised to recreate the Rose/Mickey situation with Rory, although heaven forbid she falls in love with the Doctor! Still, on the evening of her wedding, she disappears with the Doctor--despite the fact that he has already proven that his margin of error, even with a fully regenerated body and a new TARDIS, is two years. This is also after having spent a grand total of about half an hour with him since he returned. And as mentioned above, she fails to mention her upcoming marriage at all.

However, Amy definitely has potential. With any luck, she'll be a true Moffat woman, like Sally Sparrow, Nancy, and Reinette before her: strong-willed, capable, independent, and clever. She certainly seems to be headed that way. I hope and expect that the somewhat tenuous chemistry between her and the Doctor will deepen and develop into real friendship and trust.

The Poor Man Doesn't Deserve This
Rory deserves mention as well. I like Rory much more than is probably warranted by his brief screen time. He's not as strong-willed or brave as Amy (like Mickey) and seems to always take second place in her life to the Doctor (like Mickey), but the best guess is that it's him she's marrying. As far as I can tell, he's sweet, willing to be brave in a crisis, and head over heels for Amy, and that makes him endearing. I really hope to see more of him soon.

It's Biggerer On The Inside!
I love the TARDIS. After the Doctor, she might just be my favorite character. And I just love what they did with the new interior. I will be severely disappointed if we don't get to see other rooms in the TARDIS before this season is out.

I love the relationship between the Doctor and the TARDIS as well, and this Doctor portrays it beautifully. From the onset, he's treating her more like a living thing than Nine or Ten ever did. When she shuts down to rebuilt herself, he strokes the door, pouting, "It's still rebuilding, not letting us in." Then, of course, he addresses the TARDIS directly when the glowing key calls him back with one of my all-time favorite lines: "Okay, what have you got for me this time?" When he brings Amy aboard at the end, he receives a new screwdriver from the TARDIS and takes with a murmured, "Thanks, dear." I really hope Moffat and Co. develop this idea more; a sentient TARDIS with a more prominent role as a character (not just transport) would be delightful.

Prisoner Zero Has Escaped
It's like The Girl in the Fireplace and Smith and Jones got shuffled together with dashes of Silence in the Library and the 1996 movie thrown in for flavor. The plot, although definitely creepy (love that "corner of your eye" stuff!) and intriguing, was by no means original or fantastic. I guess it didn't have to be; we really cared more about meeting the new Doctor and companion than the plot anyway.

Perhaps what bothered me the most was that the deadline didn't feel real. The Doctor said that he only had 20 minutes to save the world, but besides the change in the sun's appearance, there was no real indication or sense of impending doom. (Compare, for instance, Gallifrey materializing above Earth in Part Two). And besides that--why did it even have to be the whole world? Incinerating Leadworth, or England, would have been just as effective. What were the Atraxi thinking?

Despite its previous usage, the missed-time idea was heartrendingly compelling. The mistrust and secrets that Amy and the Doctor mutually have will hopefully be further and more richly explored in future episodes. Although the action-plot was just mediocre, the character-plot was lovely. I'm looking forward to more of the same!

Favorite Moments
Doctor: I hate yogurt. It's just stuff with bits in.
I was really hoping that Amelia would give him a pear!

Doctor: You're Scottish. Fry something.

Doctor: Everything's going to be fine.

Doctor: It's not just a box. It's a time machine!
Amelia: What. A real one?

Doctor: WHAT is that?!
Amy: It's a duck pond.
Doctor: Why aren't there any ducks?
Amy: I don't know, there're never any ducks.
Doctor: Then how do you know it's a duck pond?

Doctor: I've commandeered a vehicle!

Doctor: Okay, what have you got for me this time?
unlocks TARDIS door and looks inside
Doctor: Look at you. Oh, you sexy thing. Look at you!

Amy: That was TWO YEARS AGO!
Doctor: Oh. Oops.

Premonitions and Predictions
"The Pandorica (?) will open. Silence will fall." Hmm.

My first thought was that the cracks in the universe were from the breaking of the time lock in The End of Time, but now I'm not so sure. Please please please, no Dalek/Time Lord/Cyberman plan to destroy reality--please!

Did anyone else notice that when the TARDIS monitor was buzzing at the very end, the shape it was displaying was the same as the crack on Amelia's wall? That can't be a coincidence. We'll see if that pattern shows up again. Maybe this plot wasn't a throwaway after all.

"Why aren't there any ducks?" I dearly, dearly hope that this turns out to be important, like the bees from Season 4 or the dolphins from Hitchhiker's.

Tenth Doctor Drinking Game

I have never played a drinking game in my life, and I don't plan to ever get drunk. So the "shots" would probably be, like, Pepsi or Nerds or something. But still. This would be fun.

Take a drink every time…

The Doctor uses his foot or a mallet to fly the TARDIS.

The Doctor says: “brilliant”, “clever”, “molto bene”, “allons-y”, “I’m sorry”

The Doctor and his companion hold hands

The Doctor pulls something out of his Time Lord pockets

The Doctor mentions Rose after “Doomsday”

You catch an in-joke from a previous season

The Sonic Screwdriver develops a new skill

Every time Jack says hi to someone

Every time the Doctor ruffles his own hair

Every time the Doctor puts on the brainy specs

Every time the Doctor gets snogged by someone else

Every time Donna says “Spaceman” or “Martian”

Every time the Doctor tries to reason with a villain (“Just listen!”)

Every time the Doctor smiles like a boggle-eyed ax murderer

Every time the Doctor dramatically screams the name of his companion

Every time the Doctor mentions being the last of the Time Lords

The Doctor is dead. Long live the Doctor!

-Spoilers!-
After the catastrophic mess that was Part 1, I'd been worried that Part 2 would be equally disappointing. As many more experienced and perceptive voices have pointed out, Part 2 had its inconsistencies and absurdities, but the real soul of the story--the terror and grief and poignancy of inevitable death fast approaching--shone through brightly this time. Thank God.

Davies Ex Machina
There were several instances of what is fondly known in my house as Davies Strikes Again. The Master's transformation of the entire population of Earth into himself, and his subsequent (apparently completely improvised) plan to turn all the Time Lords into himself as well was dismissed with a wave of the Lord President's hand, which was fine with me because the whole situation was more ridiculous and annoying than really threatening. Likewise, the Time Lords were not given the complexity, peril, and attention they deserved; they didn't actually do much except stand in the white light and proclaim that they were going to end reality. (Heard that one before. At least the Daleks actually had a device to make it happen...) Given their emotional significance to the Doctor, they weren't treated very well, although the revelation that they had become as rotten and warped to the core as the Daleks was unexpected and, I thought, very good.

Two Sad, Noble Old Men And One Raving Psychopath
There was so much in this episode that I liked that even the ridiculous parts were not too blatant to spoil it. From the very beginning, the true heart of the story was the three caught at the center of the storm: the Master, Wilf, and the Doctor. Focusing on them and their relationship to each other elevated the story past its pseudo-scifi attempt at plot into really beautiful storytelling.

First, the Master's transformation over the course of the episode was wonderfully subtle, completely overshadowed by the bombastic return of the Time Lords but ultimately saving the day. The cackling maniac from Part 1 was thankfully toned down, and even in the first few minutes of the episode, when it looked like no one was left to stand in the Master's way, he still listened to the Doctor and showed himself to be vulnerable and lost. His search for the source of the drumming and childlike eagerness to bring the Time Lords to Earth was more sympathetic and pitiable than sinister; he was a victim and a tool, not a villain. That made it all the more satisfying when he was one to push the Time Lords back to their doom at the hands of the Doctor in the final days of the Time War. Was it just me, or did he become a good guy?

I was sure that there was no way to surpass the beauty of Part 1's cafe scene, but the conversation between, again, Wilf and the Doctor on the Vinvocci ship about the gun was just as good. There was no snarky cleverness from the Doctor, no naivete from Wilf, just these two lost and weary men exposing their souls to each other. The clear love they have for each other made the Doctor's final sacrifice for Wilf even more touching; the whole scene, from the Doctor's premature relief at having survived, to the dreaded knocking, to his desperate, futile rage, to resignation with dignity, were all wonderfully played.

This Is The Ending That Never Ends
Which brings me to the epilogue. The radiation chamber was heartbreaking, bittersweet in that the Doctor would die for one old friend with honor even when he had so much yet to live for. But then he uncurled from his fetal ball of agony, stood up, starting making jokes...it was a cheat. It felt awful, painful, wrong. He had surrendered to death, and yet he still couldn't die.

And on it went. Martha and Mickey together were silly, confusing, and pointless; I haven't bothered to care about them for a good while now. The Doctor's rescue of Luke and wave to Sarah Jane was similarly unmoving. Most irritating was hooking up Captain Jack with Alonso. I've never liked Jack, and the Doctor has never really approved of him, and yet his farewell is to set Jack up for a cheap fling with a naive young man to compensate for the fact that Jack killed his own grandson horrifically?

Of the three remaining vignettes, the visit to Joan Redfern's granddaughter, while sweet and touching, seemed totally unnecessary. If he wanted to check on her, why didn't he go and check on her? The granddaughter was a brand-new character, no one for the Doctor to say farewell to. Also, when was he going to have time to read that book? (Although if he could read the way Nine could in "Rose," it would take him about ten seconds.)

The Doctor's visit to Donna's wedding was much better: he makes sure that Donna will be secure and happy, and uses her father's money to buy her her wedding gift. Wilf finally says farewell to the Doctor, and his grief alone makes the scene work.

The last, though, was the most heartwrenching, and the one that was really important. If this had been the only one, the ending would have been just as good, if not better. As the Doctor dies, alone in the snow, he sees Rose one last time, even though she doesn't know him. He dies broken and terrified, but with the song of the Ood singing in his ears--and with him, the TARDIS as we know it.

...And Still Not Ginger!
And then...Eleven. Even though I was filled with grief for Ten, Eleven was brilliant and hilarious. He did the two things that he needed to do to make the regeneration really work: he mentioned his youth and features ("I'm a girl!") and he was irritated that he still wasn't ginger. The sudden change in tone to adventurous and lighthearted even as the TARDIS burned around him really drove home Ten's prediction in Part 1: everything that is or was Ten died completely. All the gravity, the grief, and the desperation were burned up in golden fire, purged away. And this new man is not Ten and yet is the Doctor.

Nice to meet you, Doctor. I look forward to getting to know you this spring.

A Few Thoughts on "The End of Time: Part 1"

Spoilers.
(Say that like River Song and you've got it.)

A Bit Of Background
I'm pretty much a brand new Whovian. I spent the first half of the last school year on exchange in Germany, and when I returned to my small college town in Washington State, USA, I was desperately thirsty for the freedom, novelty, and adventure that had been at my fingertips during my stay abroad. And of all things, in my absence several of my friends had been pulled into a fantastic show called Doctor Who. It had everything: wit, pathos, drama, comedy, tragedy, high romance, robots, aliens, time travel, and cute guys in suits with British accents. What more could one ask for? But even more than that, it was a taste of freedom, wonder, and adventure--exactly what I was craving. I never had a chance.

Keep in mind, though, that this was only this last spring. My roommate and I plowed through Doctor Who; even counting the week-long funk I sunk into after "Doomsday", we finished all four seasons and all of the specials (up through "Planet of the Dead") in less than two months. Nine was my first Doctor, and although I was attached to him and sad to see him go, I'd only known him for a couple weeks before he regenerated into Ten--who I thought at the time was, due to his manic energy, a boggle-eyed ax murderer, but only for about two episodes, so please don't tell David Tennant I said that. We soldiered on, culminating in the brilliant season four and the tragedy of the loss of Donna.

Then came the waiting: long, painful, and seemingly unending. We drank up preview clips of "Waters of Mars" and were suitably stunned by the Doctor's long-overdue egomania. (I'll have to write on that later.) But the real heartache was still to come: the final death of our beloved Ten, inevitable and inexorable. Part 1 was the beginning of the end, and all the interviews, clips, previews and articles said it was going to be a fitting farewell.

If I Hear The Word "Swansong" One More Time...
Which just goes to show that actors are really good at acting, even when not in character. I found Part 1 to be profoundly disappointing, even more so because really authentic, heartwrenching, and achingly beautiful moments are jarringly and gratuitously interspersed with insanely silly bits.

The tone began well enough: you can never have enough Wilfred Mott, even scared and alone. Then came the long-awaited reappearance of the Doctor, but although he spoke with his usually glib cheerfulness, it was painfully apparent that it was no longer a true account of his grand adventures but a flimsy facade to cover his growing dread and urge to escape. Even the brain-headed Ood was okay; we were suitably set up, as a panicked Doctor raced backed to his remote-locked TARDIS, to follow him down whatever wild path he need to tread to save the universe from yet another disaster.

Then...Well, Then It All Went To Hell In A Handbasket
From the anguish in the Doctor's face and his heartpounding terror that he may be too late to a inexplicably well-prepared Lucy Saxon who blows up her husband after he is magically regenerated by his equally inexplicably devoted cult with a ring, some blue goo, and a "biometrical signature" left on her lips after heaven-knows-how-long--what? I mean, what? Who in their right mind would think this was a good idea? Was anyone else thinking Harry Potter?

This fluctuation between soulful and silly marred the whole of the episode. Sure, give the Master superpowers and make him insane--why not? He's the Master, and that means he can do or be anything. But please, give him sensible superpowers that don't make him look like Gollum hybred with a deranged Sith. Every time he flew away on rocket lightening blasts from his palms, the show fell into absurdity. The Master is at his greatest and most terrifying when his cackling madness is juxtaposed with deadly, terrible brilliance; but all we really saw was the mad jackal and none of the mad genius.

Ten's conversation with the Master about Gallifrey, about madness, brought home that they are really two of a kind. Which brings to mind another thought about the Master: he is the Doctor's Joker. He seems to be even more Jokerlike than the Joker himself (and we're talking Dark Knight Joker here); he brings to mind the Joker's description of himself as a mad dog chasing cars--he wouldn't know what to do with one if he caught it. The Master seems to have no plan except to hurt and thwart the Doctor, so when the Naismiths drop that opportunity in his lap, he goes for it, with no apparent further gameplan. What would he have done if they hadn't kidnapped him to fix their broken Gate of Phlebotinum? Made a life out of eating hobos and being mistaken for a Halloween decoration? And by the way, how in the world does "losing your life energy" make you fade like a glitchy hologram between flesh and blood and a glowing blue skull?

I'm Going To Die...
In the "wonderful" column, the cafe scene jumped instantly to the top of my unofficial list of best Doctor Who scenes ever. My heart broke for the Doctor not just because of his anguish and grief and horrible loneliness, but because it was more than a little true--it really is a different man that will go sauntering away, calling himself the Doctor, who isn't Ten at all. That conversation tapped straight into the pain for the loss of David Tennant as well as Ten.

Maybe the point is this: If RTD had wanted a patently absurd, Skeletor-Gollum-Sith-Master-takes-over-the-world-and-the-Doctor-must-stop-him story, that's just fine, and would probably be great. If he had gone for a really beautiful, urgent, dramatic, and exquisitely human take on the Doctor facing his inevitable death and the return of the Time Lords, to whose memory and legacy he's been enslaved for so long, that would be even better--that was what I wanted, at least. The disappointment comes from the seemingly indiscriminate mixing of the two. The sci-fi silliness of the Master's transformation and insanity, and his rather frivolous takeover of the entire world, is in complete disharmony with the solemnity and real emotion with which the Doctor, alone in fear and grief and sadness, faces his inevitable end. The dischord is what makes Part 1, despite its brilliant moments, more of a frustration than a fitting finale.

I can only hope that, as promised, Part 2 will focus on the Doctor: on his loneliness, his place in relation to the returning Time Lords, his relationship with the Master, and the form his death with take. Donna and Wilf will hopefully have important roles to play. This story can still be salvaged, but the next few days will tell.