our story thus far

I’ve been watching the new Doctor Who episodes. You know the one; season 5, 11th doctor. Matt Smith and Karen Gillian. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, nevermind; you’re not one of us, skip this entry. These episodes are several weeks behind in the US; in Britain they’ve been playing weekly since 3 […]

I’ve been watching the new Doctor Who episodes. You know the one; season 5, 11th doctor. Matt Smith and Karen Gillian.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, nevermind; you’re not one of us, skip this entry.

These episodes are several weeks behind in the US; in Britain they’ve been playing weekly since 3 April 2010, and are up to episode four (504 if you’re counting; Steven Moffat is insisting these are 101-104, not 501-504, but he’s full of crap and viewers are ignoring this affectation)).

Results are mixed.

I’m not going to do a detailed episode review; no major spoilers. But the ones we’ve seen so far are:

501 “The Eleventh Hour”
502 “The Beast Below”
503 “Victory of the Daleks”
504 “The Time of Angels”

I reviewed Eleveth Hour already; in short, it’s pretty terrific, and stands well against the middling episodes of the Davis era.

However, there’s a huge drop-off on the next two.

Beat Below is just ok; it’s weakly plotted, has a resolution that makes no sense, and is unevenly cast and written. It’s filled with classic moffat items like dead-faced robotic villains with Great Big Pointy Teeth, but here they’re not scary, and not really interesting, they’re just odd.

Victory of the Daleks takes a big leap further down. It’s really just bad. While it starts well (London during the blitz, with Daleks painted army green and acting tame and helpful), it quickly leaps into utter nonsense, with non-surprising twists. It introduces a ‘new’ dalek, which is another clear case of Moffat trying to put his own stamp on the show by chaging something iconic. He fails hugely here, however; the new Daleks are a mad mish-mash of original dalek and Ikea furniture. They’re candy-colored and stupid. The ending is awful; it makes no sense whatsoever. Watching this episode filled me with trepidation; it may be the worst single episode of the entire modern Doctor Who area (though it would have to fight with The Girl in The Fireplace for that honor – an episode which, tellingly, is also written by Moffat).

Time of Angels, though, is a huge redemption. It re-introduces a key character from an one of Moffat’s earlier episodes (Silence in the Library), and a villian from his most iconic run as writer, Blink. It’s well written, scary, well paced, and like Eleventh Hour, it stands well with the middling episodes of the previous era. It’s the first of two, the second one airing this weekend (in britain) as Flesh and Stone. I have high hopes of a good second part, given that the first was good.

So the score: two pretty good, one bad, one terrible. Which isn’t encouraging.

Moffat’s already making some big mistakes. The Davis era was profoundly respectful of plot, and also profoundly respectful of the show’s history, re-inventing only in very small ways. The innovations were in adding better writing, and a more modern way of telling stories. Moffat, on the other hand, is spending energy on changes for changes sake (those terrible candy color daleks, and a complete Tardis redesign that doesn’t really improve on anything). He’s not spending energy on insuring that his plots and characters move the story forward; like with Torchwood, he seems willing to allow individual writers leeway to fuck around with character motivations and behavior without an editorial hand. This leaves the episodes wildly uneven, and (so far at least) produced little in the way of arching narrative continuity over the season.

Sure, it’s early. I do expect growing pains. These first few may be experimental. But I feel a cold fear in my belly when I look at future episodes and see the name Chris Chibnall as writer on two (Chibnall was responsible for every single one of the worst Torchwood episodes, including the only one I had to turn off in disgust). IT tells me that while Moffat is a good writer himself, he’s not a good judge of other’s writing, and that’s the worst thing a show runner can be on a show with many writers.

There’s so very much to like in Moffat’s 11th doctor so far. Amy Pond is an excellent companion (though I ache to see her naked, which I’m NOT getting on this show); Matt Smith is absolutely a terrific Doctor, and the arching story line that’s building (a crack in teh fabric of the universe) has massive promise. But great shows, always, have to have great writing. And so far, on average, this season’s writing is just ok, and no better. They’re going to have to bring that level way, way up to make this work.

My fingers are crossed. But my expectations are dropping.

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The Elevnth Hour

I just watch the first episode of Matt Smith era Doctor who, The Eleventh Hour. In a word – excellent. I blogged recently about discovering the Russell T. Davis/Christopher Eccleston/David Tennant version of Doctor who. I happened to come in at the tail end of the run, so I had the pleasant ability to watch […]

I just watch the first episode of Matt Smith era Doctor who, The Eleventh Hour.

In a word – excellent.

I blogged recently about discovering the Russell T. Davis/Christopher Eccleston/David Tennant version of Doctor who. I happened to come in at the tail end of the run, so I had the pleasant ability to watch it all is a great stream, over a couple of weeks. I finished just in time to catch the grad finale of the arc, The End of Time.

It’s worth repeating; those four+ seasons, watched together, constitute some of the best television I’ve ever seen. great in all respects: writing, plotting, acting, casting. But mostly, it’s a triumph of a show-runners vision, because all the disparate episodes form one single, cohesive story told in fragments over five years.

The problem with all this, of course, is what do do for a fucking encore.

Normally what one would suggest is, don’t. No sequel, no encore. Tell a story with a finite end, make the end good, and leave it. Truly great stories have an end. But Doctor who has a constraint, in that the character is all but immortal, and the show, by it’s nature, has to go on.

Davis did what he could; he ended his doctor who, in a very definitive way. He told a story, and gave it a conclusion. Rose’s story was over, and with it, the 9th/10th doctor’s era concluded.

But the show itself has to continue, as the character must. And that leaves a very big problem for whomever comes after.

The good thing, for a long-time fan of the show, is that one knows this doctor, for good or ill, is just a stop on the way. Some of them memorable, some less so, but when the 11th doctor’s run is over, the long-time fan knows, there’s a 12th. This is a bit harder for those, like my daughter’s friend Kevin, who’ve now grown up watching the Davies-Eccleston-Tennant Doctor; yet even she (Kevin is a girl, despite the name) understands the mythology of the show.

All this let me come to this new Doctor with an open mind. Even after re-watching The End of Time, Tennant’s crowning moment, I was still entirely willing to like Matt Smith’s doctor, but also with appropriately lowered expectations. The recent trailers have been encouraging; Smith manages to convey both the appropriate level of whimsical silliness, and the air of power and sadness behind the grin. He looks like he’s capable of a fight (if less so than Eccleston, then more so than Tennant). He also has a sort of goonieness that neither of the recent doctors posses, but which harkens back to earlier versions. The trailers have been full of Daleks and Cybermen, explosions, peril, and memortable one-liners. Also, Karen Gillan, who plays Amy Pond, has an appealing look, if no evident personality one can get from the trailers.

I’ve been waiting for weeks to see this new Doctor. So when a friend pointed me to a pre-US-release version of The Eleventh Hour, I simply couldn’t take the antipation any longer.

I have to say, it exceeded all my expectations.

It’s no surprise that the episode is well written; Steven Moffat, the new show’s runner, is the author of several of the Davies era’s most memorable episodes. And it shouldn’t be a surprise that Smith is terrific as the doctor, given all we know of the show’s casting history. Yet Smith manages to bring both a new energy, and a clasic sense of ‘whoness’ to the character. He doesn’t have Tennant’s Shakespearean sense of comic timing, nor does he have Eccleston’s tough-guy edge; but he has his own identity, and is appealing enough already that I want more.

From the moment he emerges from the TARDIS (crash-landed in a Gloucestershire garden), Smith inhabits the character. Both physically and verbally, he’s hysterical in an early scene, desperately hungry, yet with a ‘new mouth’ (‘like eating after you’ve brushed your teeth’, he says; ‘everything tastes weird‘). The bit concludes with the Eleventh Doctor calmly discussing time and the universe with a tween-aged Amelia Pond while stuffing himself with custard and fish fingers.

From there, of course, all hell breaks loose, and Smith adds new quirks to the doctor’s powers and character; he manages to look both awkward and heroic when he’s running, and has a spaced-out look most of the time. He has comically exaggerated features; less handsome than Tennant, he still manages to be completely charming in a daft way. His high forehead and just-a-bit-too-long hair, together with his tweedy looking dress, give him a sort of absent minded professor air, almost someone you can image teaching at Hogwarts.

When the new adult Amy Pond was introduced, I pretty much instantly fell for her. Red haired, fresh faced, with a scottish accent and an adorable little scar above her left eyebrow (which I think is a left-over from a healed piercing), she’s a bit damaged, and pretty much exactly my type. Promo photos do her no justice whatsoever (she looks much younger in the promos, and like a sort of a generic grunge-girl.) They don’t convey the sense of self-possession the character has, nor do they convey how pretty she is moving. They also don’t convey how adorable she looks when she’s introduced, in a kiss-o-gram police girl outfit (complete with working handcuffs). In a later scene, she declines to look away when The Doctor is changing clothes, and makes a sort of a yum face that cemented it for me. I completely love her.

As a Doctor WHo episode, it’s a good one. Maybe a great one, it’s hard to tell on one watching. I think it’s a better piece of TV then Rose, the Eccleston introduction, and Christmas Invasion, the Tennant introduction; neither one are truly great Doctor Who episodes, for all that they contain some of my favorite moments of the show ever. But I was completely without significant complaints; and immidiately wanted to look up clever quotes and screen grabs of interesting aliens.

I’m not just encouraged; I’m excited. This was good, in a lot of ways. And it has the look of a show that can carry on from where the previous team left off, forging new ground while not forgetting where they’re coming from.

Near the end of the episode, there’s a quick montage; several major Who villians (Daleks, Cybermen, SOntarans, etc), and then a montage of every incarnation of the The Doctor from William Hartnell to David Tennant. SMith walks through the tail end of the montage, saying I”m the doctor; and dammit, it looks like he really is.

easter beast

I have a particular problem with easter. Oh, long time readers will know I have problems with several holiday. One might take this all to mean I’m just a sort of joyless, curmudgeonly bastard. And I guess that’s a little right. But generally my objections have more to do with the general pointlessness of american […]

I have a particular problem with easter.

Oh, long time readers will know I have problems with several holiday. One might take this all to mean I’m just a sort of joyless, curmudgeonly bastard.

And I guess that’s a little right.

But generally my objections have more to do with the general pointlessness of american holidays than they do with the idea of holidays in general.

BUt my problem with easter is a bit different than my issue with, say, st patrick’s day (a day for those who aren’t irish to celebrate irishness), or valentines day (a day where love is celebrated by those who have no idea what love is about).

My feelins about easter have less to do with meaning than with lack therof.

MY family were, like me, staunch atheists. We profoundly and strongly believed in a purely physical universe, one without gods or demons. For us, holidays were meaningful only in that they were cultural events, and celebrations were enjoyable for the simple pleasure of ritual.

When I was a child, waking on easter morning to find a carefully composed basket filled with chocolate eggs and minor toys was more about the break from routine than in was about deeper meaning. Once I was old enough to have figured out there was no mystical egg-laying bunny, the pleasures had more to do with my parent’s inventiveness in basket composition than it had to do magical wonder or reverence. I had absolutely no idea, when I was a child, that easter had anything to do with jesus; at that age, I don’t think I even had a clear idea of who jesus was, other than that it had something to do with god.

Unfortunately, once the basket-bringer stopped being mysterious, the holiday degenerated into a simple opportunity for aquisition. It was about getting something. Which is when my p[arents stopped it.

It wasn’t a big deal; the sort of gifts we got were on the order of mouse-sized plus animals, inexpensive chinese teacups, pocket-knives, or small plastic animals. So when we started to ask for things, presenting easter wish lists, my parents rightly decided we’d outgrown the whole thing.

Once I was beyond childhood – and i mean childhood in the sense of, too young to really grasp things in the universe, not in the modern sense of ‘under 18 – I was too old for easter baskets and bunnies.

My the time my age was in double digits, easter was a day when everything seemed to be closed, and when my brother and father crammed themselves with sees buttercream eggs until they were nautious.

The day was meaningless.

Later, when I had the puzzling realization that people, commonly, actually believed in god, jesus and various things saintly, it occurred to me that easter could possibly have some meaning beyond eggs and rabbits and baskets full of minor toys.

IT’s been odd, however, watching as my kids grow up, and my frineds