"Better, richer, wiser"

Review: HUMAN NATURE/THE FAMILY OF BLOOD
Written by Paul Cornell, directed by Charles Palmer, 2007

 

























NB: Posts should be rather more regular from now on than they have been lately...

Human Nature/The Family of Blood is the story I’ve been waiting for since 2005, being as close to perfection as televised Doctor Who is likely to get any time soon. Even the arguable classics of the new series – Dalek, The Girl in the Fireplace – haven’t come anywhere close to this. (Even The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances doesn’t have the same level of structural and emotional complexity.)

It seems such a shame that one of the few examples of real brilliance from ‘the Davies years’ is taken wholesale from the New Adventures. Aside from this story the new series simply hasn’t aimed at creating anything comparable to the maturity, originality and emotion of the best of those novels. Everything’s straightforward and easy to grasp on one viewing; it’s all dumbed-down and very ‘Saturday night viewing’ – which, okay, is fine, but arguably I don’t think that’s what the best of the original run was.

So, on the one hand I feel vindicated that the best story of the new run derives from those books – but, it’s depressing that no brand new story has been as fully-formed or multilayered as this adaptation (perhaps with the exception of Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead).

Unfortunately, the season just gone didn’t offer any real competition, as, despite being an unashamed Moffat man, I can’t deny that the one area where his run has so far has fallen down – by comparison to his predecessor’s – is in its failure to provide a story that lives up to this precedent. Indeed, where the slot of the second two-parter has previously all but guaranteed an increase in scope and complexity, with The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood series fnarg delivered one of it’s most hackneyed and clumsily characterised outings. So, for now – to me – Human Nature remains unrivalled in new Who. (But – there’s always 2011, eh?)

Its structure alone is unusually ambitious, with a narrative straying beyond the given setting, to Tim’s glimpses of the future; the war; the memorial service; the flashbacks of past stories (which are effectively and economically used, for once); John Smith and Joan’s possible life; down to the voiceover handling of the ending. Even the three-month time span is a welcome exception to the adventures more usually taking place over only a day or so. Sadly, I doubt any of these techniques would have been employed had the script not derived from a broader medium than television – no other story of the new series has been quite this audacious or wide-ranging. In this way, the story felt like a ‘novel on film,’ rather than a simply televisual creation.

It really seems as if the stakes were raised for this production, as if, because of its origins as a novel, people realised there was more behind it than the majority of stories. I’ve never been an admirer of Paul Cornell – it’s always seemed to me that though he has the ideas, they’re let down by pedestrian prose. Here, freed from those constraints, it is wonderful to see the plot refined, and imbued with a loving attention to detail.

The continuity references, for example, are rather joyous, but not overplayed – the music accompanying the sinister schoolgirl from Remembrance of the Daleks momentarily echoed for the Family’s Daughter of Mine; the reference to the village’s dust being ‘fused into glass,’ alluding to the sequence from the novel in which the school itself is turned to glass; and, most charmingly of all, the sketches of the previous Doctors in the journal of impossible things. It’s wonderful that such a tiny thing, which’d be overlooked by the vast majority of the audience, is so heartening; it’s particularly great to see McGann’s portrayal vindicated by the new series, even if only so briefly.

It was also gratifying to see a story achieved so effectively with minimal use of CGI (which everyone seems to forget is going to date as badly as any crap blue-screen in about, ooh, two years). The use of green lighting for the Family’s communication demonstrates how effective simple, in-camera effects can be, while the rendering of the bombardment of the village is impressive for being so low-key.

On its initial broadcast though, the Doctor’s elaborate punishments for the Family came close to ruining things for me. Given that this sequence was narrated by Son of Mine, I immediately assumed that it was intended to appear unreliable: the Doctor doesn’t do this sort of thing! Which, given Cornell’s obvious understanding of Doctor Who and what it stands for, seems even more bizarre. What happened to ‘never cruel, never unkind’? Now, I’ve actually quite warmed to the Family’s ‘mythic’ fates; it feels pleasingly huge and magical, compared to the majority of the series at large, and, in a perverse way, it’s quite exciting to see an atypically vengeful edge to the Doctor.

This story really shows the difference it makes when a story is written by someone with an abiding love and understanding of not only the series, but Doctor Who in a broader sense. As opposed to the jobbing writer approach of, say – ooh, I don’t know – Chris Chibnall’s stories.

A strong script, complemented by great character moments, the backdrop of the oncoming war, and some surprisingly non-‘mainstream’ directorial touches (the slow-motion shooting of the scarecrows scored by children’s singing, etc) add up to the strongest story yet of the resurrected series (again, only contested by Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead). Among the elements that particular impress me is the emotion of Smith’s breakdown (“What exactly do you do for him?”) and the entirely appropriate excision of Smith’s sacrifice and his change back into the Doctor. Also, I always want Doctor Who to be beautiful, but it’s ordinarily too busy being flashy – for once though, with Charles Palmer’s shallow depth of field and visual darkness, it really is.

This story is sad and complex and serious and wonderful. (A shame then that Journey’s End is a bit of a betrayal of Human Nature’s affecting human Doctor – as is Utopia’s demeaning reuse of the chameleon arch fob watch.) It’s just regrettable that, despite demonstrating the highs the new series can evidently reach, stories this strong have definitely been in the minority.

Redesign!

And a pretty but entirely random picture.

This will no doubt be a work in progress for a while (eg, I can't get rid of the bastard shadows on the images...), but I now actually have permanent access to the internet, so expect updates soon. Hurrah!

"Such things happen only in the theatre!"

Review: SILVER NEMESIS
Written by Kevin Clarke, directed by Chris Clough, 1988

NB: Well, this review has been a long time coming - my recent move of house seems to have taken forever... Posts should be a bit more regular from now on.

It’s been ages since I’ve seen Silver Nemesis, and I’m left unexpectedly torn by it. a) It’s crap – contrived and confused – but, b), I also found it fairly entertaining. That isn’t the best you could ask of a Doctor Who story, but it’s not the worst either.

Everything is immediately a bit shonky: the convenient countdown displayed in a massive font on the computer screen, and a pensioner shooting parrots with a bow and arrow (what?!). But, the (brief) South American-based scene is pleasingly unusual for Doctor Who – though I can’t decide whether the cut from there to the seventeenth century is intriguing or alienatingly unexpected? Followed by another seachange shift to Courtney Pine playing outside a pub. What? (Also, how is this bloody November?) The eighties contemporary setting feels very cheap and uninteresting - personally, I’d’ve preferred to see more of the seventeenth century - but these opening moments are unfortunately indicative of how choppy the story remains throughout (the random returns to Peinforte’s house = very bad plot structuring!).

Basing a story around multiple parties could be interesting – but unfortunately the Nazis are totally bland. (Although, what’s with de Flores’ numerous costume changes in part one? What a fashion-conscious fascist! He acts like a proper tourist too, talking about the estate of “the infamous Lady Peinforte” – though not in reference to the seventeenth century women he’d seen earlier, because he scorns the connection!)

The Cybermen don’t fair much better (though they look quite good; it’s just a shame they’re so turgidly shot). They receive only the most cursory backstory, too. Surely at this point, while not wanting to overdo the fan-oriented back-references, not giving them any explanation would have been a deadly move? There may not be distracting continuity references like in Attack, but there’s barely any acknowledgement that any new viewers/non-fans could be watching, either. It wouldn’t take much – surely Ace’d be curious about them?

I hate the Cyberleader’s hammy, melodramatic pauses and delivery… Seriously, why is ‘emotionless’ so difficult!? The Cybermen’s use of a gold detector (and subsequently wet reaction) undermines the erstwhile silver giants even further. Their bumbling anorak-wearing stooges are very, very unthreatening, too.

There’s lots of slightly baffling slips in the production: the initial modelwork shot of the Nemesis comet is strangely excellent – but that just emphasises how crap it looks after that. Then there’s the Doctor and Ace’s simultaneous fall into the river, which seems inexplicable because it’s been choreographed into meaninglessness; one of those stunts that’s lost any sense of what it was meant to convey.

The whole story feels very slapdash, especially compared to the assured production of Remembrance of the Daleks, or the stylistically unprecedented (but consistent!) Happiness Patrol. It also suffers from the typical eighties tendency to intercut various scenes by chopping them into tiny little segments, when they’d be more effective if given some breathing-space – which is especially regrettable here, as we’re already juggling multiple characters and locations.

Tonally, it feels very ‘kiddie’ too (more like season twenty-four), with stupid ideas like being able to step away from a guided tour and bump into the (unaccompanied!) Queen. Or even the idea that the Doctor thinks she’d be the very woman to help him out – since when has he needed royalty on his side? (Well, okay, except Liz Ten. And Liz Two waving her hankie in Voyage of the Damned. And the Tenth Doctor shagging Liz One. Obviously this is a new series thing.) I like the idea of the Doctor raiding the Queen’s basement – I’m less keen on an unconvincing impersonator turning up. Also, why does the Doctor inexplicably tell the security guard at the palace that he arrived “by travelling through time and space” when they got to the royal apartments from the tourist routes?

There are lots of bizarre reactions and unfortunate dialogue like this – though bad editing plays its part (the Doctor saying, “Where did that come from?” of an arrow that shot a Cyberman several seconds before; Peinforte randomly noticing the Doctor after a long battle). One of my favourite dialogue clunkers is the line explaining Ace’s new ghetto blaster (itself a slightly meaningless piece of hardware which is presented as strangely meaningful): “Yes, I know I built it for you, to replace the one destroyed by the Daleks.”

Essentially, Silver Nemesis squanders the intelligence of the Remembrance reboot. It’s all a bit vague and pointless – there’s a time-travelling sorceress, a Courtney Pine cameo, a duck, Windsor, tourists, the Queen… None of it adds up. At best, it’s very, very unfocused, and desperately needs some decisive editing and tightening up.

Unexpectedly though, Peinforte and Richard are the best thing in it; they’re assured and fun, and on just the right side of ham. Though she isn’t a well-remembered adversary, Peinforte is really funny in her gung-ho-ness (eg, abruptly smashing the café window, rather than using the door). (Incidentally, the idea of having the setting change around them during their time travel is one of the story's few arresting ideas - although it still begs the question, why does no-one react? Does this happen a lot in Windsor? Ditto the tourists at the castle when the TARDIS arrives.)

Fiona Walker’s performance is effective because of her self-awareness of its hamminess (“I shall lead! And you, follow!”; calmly taking over the hitchhiking duties; and leaning over and conspiratorially telling Mrs Remington, “All things shall soon be mine”). Her final enraged scream is very funny, too, especially because you get the impression the actress is having a ball doing it.

It does make me wonder when the Doctor last encountered Peinforte though? (It’s jarring that he talks about her as if we should know about her – which could work. But doesn’t.) The trouble with a new take on the Doctor – his increased manipulation of events – is that it then gets retrospectively applied to his past, which doesn’t really fit. I mean, when did he set all this up? If it was just a couple of weeks back in his seventh life that isn’t very ‘mythic,’ but that sort of behaviour isn’t really true of any of the earlier Doctors (not that we’ve seen, anyway).

Similarly, it’s quite funny that, because of the story’s poor reputation, the validium - which would otherwise be a big deal within Doctor Who ‘mythology’ - has never been referenced in books, etc, to the extent of, say, the Hand of Omega. Also, the suggestion that the Nemesis caused various twentieth century atrocities seems a bit tasteless (while comparing Kennedy’s assassination with World War I stretches things a tad, surely?). (On the plus side, at least visually, the glowing paint used for the statue and the bow is surprisingly effective.)

That the statue told Peinforte ‘who the Doctor is’ is quite fascinating, and I like that nothing is actually given away… But, at the same time, it begs the question whether the production team actually had any concrete revelations in mind at this point? I suppose all the talk of the Doctor’s secrets is rubbish, really, because it’s so contrived, especially as it compares so badly to Remembrance’s gradual mystery (which actually hints at something particular, as well as expanding on part of the character’s past which we’ve actually seen a glimpse of, in An Unearthly Child).

The shadow of Remembrance hangs all too heavily over this story, which is a shame because, especially in its conclusion, this feels like a homemade, knocked-off version of the season opener (there’s a “miscalculation” line, and another “give me some of that Nitro 9 you’re not carrying!” line; the shots of the Nemesis travelling toward earth; even the music’s pretty much the same, though it seems even more intrusive here). Yet all the good things about Ben Aaronovitch’s story - its cohesive, mythologised approach - are entirely absent here.

Instead we get a production that feels cobbled together from disparate elements, with no flow or internal logic. The excessive time travel and flitting between locations and times would be okay if the whole story was predicated around that (as in The Chase), or if something clever came of the multiple time zones (as in Mawdryn Undead), but… no. Neither happens here.

Which is all the more annoying because there’s a sense of missed opportunity here, because an expansive, varied story like this could be unusual and interesting (and even do the anniversary slot justice) – unfortunately, it’s all too rushed; the concepts/scripts aren’t quite good or developed enough, and it all comes across as disjointed. In a way, it’s ambitious (at least in terms of concepts) – but not ambitious enough, because some of these concepts could really do with pushing further. Instead, it just gets absurd when all the various parties roll up at the end, and then stand around, waiting for a chance to speak.

My main problem with Silver Nemesis though is that none of it ever feels like it matters, or has any sense of gravitas, because there are no normal, everyday points of reference: instead we have Nazis, Cybermen, seventeenth century time-travellers, the Queen, a rich American tourist, skinheads… It’s like Kevin Clarke dared himself to not include any ‘everyman’ figures. Real people are almost entirely absent from this story.

I’m torn about making the (inevitable) comparison to the modern series - which, whatever else you might say about it, has no problem presenting realistic, everyday characters - mainly because it’s just a bit too easy, isn’t it. In the scheme of things, certainly when considering how long the series has run, 1988 doesn’t seem that long ago - but Doctor Who, like television itself, was a different beast at that time. It feels churlish to complain that it’s not like it is now.

It may be unpolished, but I will concede that this story isn’t lacking in imagination, and at least that makes me better disposed to it than if it were unfocused and lacking interesting ideas.


Next Time: HUMAN NATURE/THE FAMILY OF BLOOD

Well, I can only apologise for the delay in posting my Silver Nemesis review… I’m sure people have been clamouring for that (that's irony, right there), but I’ve just moved house, so suck it up. In the mean time, enjoy this photo of my mantelpiece.

Character Options’ action figures are the only merchandise I have any time for (not counting fiction, in whatever media) – there’s something rather glorious about them. The attention to detail combined with the kitschness of owning little models of Doctor Who characters stirs something in me...

Review: WHO KILLED KENNEDY

Missing Adventure novel written by David Bishop, 1996

A relatively obscure Doctor-lite Missing Adventure novel from fourteen years ago might seem a strange choice to review straight after the dizzy heights of a brand new series. But then, that’s why I like the novels, as they offer a more tangential approach to Doctor Who than the series ever can. In that way, they’re a satisfying counterpoint to the on-screen adventures - which almost by definition have to be far more broadly accessible.

Frustratingly, then, I haven’t read any Doctor Who novels in ages – not deliberately, just because of lack of time. Which, upsettingly, is why I left Doctor Who behind back in the nineties, because I felt I was missing out on so many other amazing books and films. So, since getting back into it, I’ve tried to alternate with ‘real’ novels (if you will), so I don’t burn myself out on it, or feel like I’m denying myself more varied things too.

There’s so much I want to enjoy though, Doctor Who-wise: at the moment alone I still have a big proportion of a 30-plus Oxfam novel haul to get through; I really want to reread the collected DWM strips to date; old DWMs I’ve eBayed from after I stopped buying them; and re-listen to several sixties audio soundtracks (I tend to listen to them at night, with the inherent danger of falling asleep and not giving them the attention they deserve).

It’s the novels that seem most important to me though. The Virgin series especially – at their best – represents Doctor Who at its most ‘right,’ for me. It upsets me, actually, how they are becoming more and more forgotten – even that they’ll never be reprinted and will gradually fall apart (which seems unfair considering they kept the series going, and their continued influence on the revived TV series; I really wish more could find their way online, for posterity).

In a way, I think that’s why I write these reviews, to sort of commemorate the books I feel are worthwhile, cos they mean so much to me!

Therefore, it’s really nice coming back to a book I read in the past but don’t have a huge memory of.

Who Killed Kennedy, while an aberration in published Doctor Who fiction, is a fascinating one, following journalist James Stevens on an investigation that takes in the events and cover-ups of various UNIT-era stories. With even on-screen, irrefutably ‘canon’ stories like Love and Monsters viewing the Doctor’s adventures from an oblique angle, it’s easy to overlook how radical and unprecedented Who Killed Kennedy’s outsider perspective was, and it’s actually much more successful that you might be given to expect. (I like the idea of viewing this as a Third Doctor era ‘Doctor-lite’ story. In fact, the replaying of events from recent adventures from an everyman, outsider context is present, particularly, in both Love and Monsters and Turn Left.)

There’s something about contextualising the outlandish events of Doctor Who within the default ‘real world’ setting it always returns to which I find really interesting. Having the events of The War Machines (C-day), Spearhead from Space (Black Thursday) – et al – mentioned alongside Asian flu, the fall of the Wilson government, or the death of Charles De Gaulle, is therefore rather wonderful, especially as these sorts of things never really impinge on the Doctor’s world.

Not only that, but seen from the point of view of reporter James Stevens, and grounded in the context of a life involving drink, sex, affairs, and divorce – creates a persuasive dichotomy. (And isn’t as jarring as it could easily be, perhaps because a realistic approach is brought even to characters like usually anonymous UNIT rookies like Private Cleary, whose letters bring to life a usually overlooked position. I always feel – especially given my appreciation for the NAs’ adult approach – that though sex and swearing and other ‘unsavoury’ activities don’t feature in televised Doctor Who, it’s not that they don’t exist in that world, just that we’re not permitted to see them; a viewpoint which David Bishop realises nicely here.)

Obviously the NAs put sex and drugs into Doctor Who, but they were dealing with the on-going adventures of the then-current Doctor; having such realism applied to a past era is unusual, and surprisingly doesn’t feel ‘wrong’. Whereas – in the first of possibly many comparisons with Gary Russell’s The Scales of Injustice – shoving some violence into a typical Third Doctor story just doesn’t work, and shows how facile that approach is. (Incidentally, I’ll be posting a review/defamation of Scales at some point.)

Subtle nods to Doctor Who tropes like Metropolitan magazine and a pre-digital BBC3 also show a relative subtlety unknown to the Gary Russells of this world, which help blur the boundaries between reality and the earth of Doctor Who. Even interviews with characters like Greg Sutton or Ralph Cornish don’t feel overdone – I guess because, in the context of a journalistic investigation, it makes sense they’d be tracked down, whereas Scales arbitrarily namedrops any and all characters imaginable.

(I also particularly liked the justification of the British Mars missions from The Ambassadors of Death within an otherwise recognisable seventies England – linking Ralph Cornish to the leftovers of Tobias Vaughn’s International Electromatics, and thus advanced Cyber-technology. Ooh, neat.)

Stevens’ integration and presence in existing stories is also very elegant and constrained (Spearhead, Doctor Who and the Silurians, The Mind of Evil). This is perhaps because, as Bishop himself was a journalist, it feels as if the concept for an investigation of these UNIT stories’ events was inspired by the pre-existing presence of journalists in those stories, rather than shoehorning these links in later.

The cover-ups Stevens faces, and the conspiracy thriller elements of the book also seem quite believable (or at least believably unpleasant), whereas, watching the stories in question, it’s all too easy to scoff and deride the fact that their events are apparently forgotten next week.

It’s also pleasing to have conspiracy thriller tropes applied to the usually morally black and white Doctor Who world, especially when the Doctor himself and the UNIT family are present in the background (and especially since they are made ambiguous themselves by distance).

Again, this is a less broad approach than in Scales, but to similar ideas, with Bishop taking a more believable and genuinely unpleasant approach (rather than just throwing in the odd arbitrary decapitation). These conspiracy sections might be trashy to an extent – beatings and firebombings – but it is to the author’s credit that, in keeping with this realistic perspective, they are also terrestrial, and don’t veer toward slavering dogs infected with Inferno-ooze, Cyberised villains, or partially-Auton henchmen.

Given that this deals with the first prolonged period of alien activity apparently in the public eye (the UNIT era), tellingly, this book wouldn’t work with regard to the second (the Davies era), because Russell T Davies repeatedly went out of his way to point out the whole world couldn’t possibly avoid this invasion… Only for it to be mentioned once more down the line and then forgotten, with our suspension of disbelief in tatters. At least it does seem conceivable that the events of The Web of Fear could be put down to some kind of tear gas attack.

(I guess this approach to existing Doctor Who stories – presenting them as events within a continuous timeline – could go on for ever; I’d love to see more stories presented in such a way as to believably fit within a near-real world, but it’s probably a blessing that Bishop exercised as much restraint as he did.)

I also particularly liked the idea of the Master’s ‘Victor Magister’ persona being portrayed as a terrorist by the media after the events of The Dæmons, used as a scapegoat for what, from the public PoV we are seeing through Stevens’ eyes, appears to be a spate of terrorist attacks. Having said that, I sort of wish the Master weren’t any more directly involved with the story than this, as it does seem slightly predictable within a UNIT era novel.

However, this is balanced by possibly the bravest element of this book; its use of Dodo. Seeing even such an unloved companion homeless and hopeless following her ignominious departure from the Doctor, is quite horrifying. There is also added pathos given her treatment as a real person in The Man in the Velvet Mask, while, like in that book, it’s kind of sweet that she’s allowed a starring role (especially outside of her era, and over Liz, say). It’s also nice having an earlier companion linked to the mainly UNIT-oriented situation here, making Doctor Who’s twentieth century seem like a coherent whole. It does seem a shame however that, given this novel’s proximity to The Man in the Velvet Mask in the schedules, that more wasn’t done to link them.)

It’s to David Bishop’s credit that a melange of elements including the Master, Dodo Chaplet, Liz Shaw, et al, feels cohesive, and not overly unrestrained.

Some of the journalistic wranglings and access to important and/or convenient contacts seems a bit too easy, but we’ll let that one slide in the name of dramatic licence. The sections toward the end where Stevens is locked up, and comes face to face with the Master (nefariously posing as the Director of the Glasshouse), followed by his all-action escape, and live-television humiliation - while necessary in terms of genre conventions, does seem at odds with the realism previously built up, but I can also forgive this as central to the gradually-building degradation and defamation the character is put through, resulting in not only the murder of ‘the woman he loves’ and their unborn child, but his arrest for said crime.

Stevens really does get put through the ringer in a way that wouldn’t really be achievable with a companion. Although, look at Dodo – at least not during their time with the Doctor, then. Similarly though – as in The Man in the Velvet Glass – Dodo’s fate was probably only sanctioned because of how unloved a character she is. (Can you imagine anything comparable happening to, say, Martha, these days?)

The Master’s dastardly (and, let’s face it, somewhat overcomplicated) plan – which I suppose is true to the character – also jars, though the major letdown is just how unrelated (and unnecessary) the Kennedy assassination seems. It feels very much shoehorned in, especially given the coincidence that Stevens happens to have always been interested in this, which remains nothing more than a coincidence, and doesn’t have any particular significance aside from providing him with the requisite detailed knowledge back in 1963.

Overall, Who Killed Kennedy is an unexpectedly brave formula experiment. Though well done, there isn’t quite enough invention for it to be brilliant, even though it takes an interesting perspective. That it avoids becoming a list recounting the events of various familiar stories is probably the books greatest feat (though there is perhaps – if necessarily – a little too much of this). Most of all though, and not for the first time, this novel makes me wish a similarly experimental series of books were still being published…


Next Time: SILVER NEMESIS

Reaction: THE BIG BANG

Written by Steven Moffat, directed by Toby Haynes, 2010

Less a story than a puzzle box, though exhilarating The Big Bang can't help but be ultimately anticlimactic, given that nothing is resolved. I don't know what I was thinking, really, imagining that, say, the Dream Lord, or some similar vengeful supervillain would be responsible for the TARDIS' destruction. Obviously I reckoned without Steven Moffat's wormy brain.

I feel I should be annoyed by the ultimate lack of resolution to these events (and I’m sure lots of people will be), but actually, the delicious tortuousness of this story is perfectly adequate recompense. "Silence will fall," indeed?! I should have known nothing so mundane would be on the cards. The potential for multi-season arcs is quite intriguing, though one wonders what a general audience must have made of this story (if anything), let alone another self-involved conundrum down the line.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Less out-and-out dazzling than the preceding episode - the essentially four-handed structure makes it feel surprisingly small, and though, frankly, I prefer a bit of intimacy, it somewhat undercuts the epic threat - this final episode was nevertheless filled with numerous great moments, not least those when a chunk of the plot fell into place. There was still a touch too much exposition of the 'this is going to happen because I say this is going to happen' variety (for example, flying the Pandorica into the exploding TARDIS is in no way self-evident as a solution, rather something we have to take on trust). But, it still widdles over Davies' efforts, given that I don't immediately wish it could be purged from my mind.

I was expecting some sort of progression from the previous episode, akin to the initially baffling dream world with which Moffat's Forest of the Dead begins, so the "1,894 years later…" caption didn’t come as a massive surprise (incidentally, how satisfying must they be to write?!). The revisit of The Eleventh Hour's opening moments - the series coming full circle - was unexpected, but felt absolutely right, especially as it was actually great to see young Amelia again. Given the Doctor’s childlikeness, it seems odd this affinity hasn’t been exploited with child-companions before now (suddenly I have images of TV Comic's John and Gillian appearing on screen in the sixties...).

Similarly, I can't be the only person to have also welcomed the revisits to other previous stories, though it would have been nice if they’d been more integral. Considering how baffling this story could be though (if you didn’t pay attention), that might have been asking for trouble. Having said that, I wasn’t fully convinced that this would actually happen, on the basis of the scene where the Doctor briefly appeared to have regained his jacket in Flesh and Stone, which seemed almost too subtle to be anything besides a continuity error. However, it did appear to me that there actually was a continuity error this time round, as he seemed to have bare arms even when wearing the jacket?!

More than any of his previous series fnarg stories, this finale demonstrated the most outré elements of Moffat's imagination, as well as it arguably being here that he fully justifies his position as showrunner and head writer. Rory as a two thousand year old Auton - who'd ever have seen that coming?! That sort of unrestrained approach to storytelling is something always attributed to Davies, and which never quite worked for me - whereas here I think it does, the difference being that the story doesn’t coast on one or two elements. On the contrary, The Big Bang encompasses Roman Britain, 1996, calcified Daleks, Amy and Rory's long-awaited nuptials, a fez ("Fezzes are cool"), the TARDIS as a sun, and obviously "nonsensical time-travelling farce,” as Moffat puts it (nicely undercut by the future Doctor appearing and tumbling down the stairs).

Speaking of Daleks, it's entirely appropriate that it is one of them which forms the only sentient threat in this half of the story. I certainly can’t say I’m particularly upset that the alien alliance of The Pandorica Opens is pretty much irrelevant, simply serving as a means to put the plot into motion, so we're spared Doomsday-style interminable monster-smackdowns.

Probably unsurprisinglyly, I feel this is an episode which will repay rewatching in a big way, and already very much makes me want to return to the beginning of the season with the benefit of hindsight. I can't believe the Eleventh Doctor's first run is all over, but, gloriously, The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang has fully justified the poorer stories of the series (which, in fairness, are relatively few) – though, in light of the season's strong opening and closing, these become little more than forgivable lapses.

My only substantial reservation is probably an unfair one. That is that The Eleventh Hour formed such a perfect pilot that I feel quite cheated that Leadworth and the inhabitants we met in that episode didn't become at least semi-regular. Given the format established prior to this year, it does make Moffat's version of the series lacking in not having a central core in that way (if not in many other ways).

It’s either less… or more… than the sum of its parts – not sure which – but I loved it. A finale that I didn’t simply tolerate at best! Some of it is too easy (the Doctor and River’s escapes), but at least things don’t get overly laboured, and instead we just get on with the story. Pleasingly, both Rory and Amy are brought back without recourse to much-derided deus ex machina reset switches; the situations of their deaths were resolved rather than rescinded. Moffat’s definitely a keeper.

It doesn’t feel like a coherent, fully fleshed-out story in the way The Empty Child or Silence in the Library do – it’s too episodic for that, and maybe a bit too clever-clever for its own good. But, in dramatic terms it’s massively satisfying - even if there’s probably a billion plotholes, should one chose to enumerate them. I don’t, though. Dramatically, it works; the Silence apart, it ties up a season’s worth of adventures and enigmas, and the effortlessness with which Moffat essays the audaciousness of the plot is glorious.

Other observations…

• So was Amy not remembering Daleks (and, presumably, Cybermen) a symptom of the events here? Or something else? It didn’t seem explicitly addressed. (Oh, and the whole thing with the duck-less duck pond - I presume that was an oblique reference to the emptiness of chez Pond?)

• It’s funny how quickly we as the audience – and the Doctor – have come to take River for granted, despite (rather like Captain Jack) not knowing the first thing about her history or background. She also seems to have returned to the somewhat milder, (marginally) less arch figure of Silence in the Library, rather than the brassier portrayal of The Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone.

Having her make a Dalek beg for mercy is an interesting development – though heavy-handed; yes, we get that she’s not necessarily that ‘nice’ – even if it does smack of yet more fan-teasing. Given that we have Moffat’s assurance that the next series will reveal more about her, I can live with that; I particularly can’t wait to see their first encounter (from her PoV).

• Matt Smith's evening wear is better than David Tennant's Paul Smith tux. Exciting that his costume is apparently being souped-up for future outings, but I’d be happy to see him retain his Edwardian spiv look, for a while at least.

In terms of this series at large, overall, Moffat hasn’t reinvented anything as such – rather added a fairytale/childlike veneer to the format he’s appropriated from Davies. Fortunately the format itself, since the show came back, is a strong one, and given that I prefer the slightly more magical approach Moffat has brought to the series, these are Good Things.

Perhaps my main overall criticism would be that Amy hasn't been given much chance to respond to what she experiences; there's been a slightly disappointing old series-style assumption that her thoughts should be implicit with the audience, whereas Davies brought the wonderment of the situation to the surface. This needn't be a constant, but it would be nice to see some acknowledgment that she has at least some self-awareness. Similarly, I don't really want to see a return to the domestic milieu of the companions' families (somehow I can’t imagine Augustus and her mum becoming major presences?), but at least glimpses of it throughout the next run might make her seem more rounded.

To be frank though, I’ve enjoyed the underlying tenets of this approach to Doctor Who so much more than the Davies era that any criticism is pretty much superfluous. The highest praise I can possibly give is that I am looking forward to Christmas and series six with excitement rather than apprehension.


Next Time: WHO KILLED KENNEDY

Reaction: THE PANDORICA OPENS

Written by Steven Moffat, directed by Toby Haynes, 2010

I hate season finales. Tediously overblown, messy, self-indulgent things. But maybe I should put that into the past tense.

Russell T Davies is the only writer to have previously tackled the slot designed to bring a season’s worth of stories to a climax. Therefore, more than any other element of this second era of revived Doctor Who, it’s impossible to discuss this series’ finale without comparing it to those of the previous showrunner.

In my Lodger review, I pondered whether Moffat would take a different route from his predecessor’s overblown approach, or instead try to out-Davies Russell with more of the same. The appearance of multiple alien races would appear to point to the latter – an escalation of Army of Ghosts/Doomsday’s Daleks versus Cybermen more-is-more principle. In practice though, that Moffat undercuts this expectation is representative of the previously un-furrowed direction in which he takes The Pandorica Opens.

Despite the scale deriving from its culmination of various season-long strands, there’s a surprisingly restrained – and in that sense, decidedly un-Davies approach to this story. Which is not to say that it is restrained, but by comparison to the previous new series finales at least there’s time to breathe.

Inevitably, this episode will be described as something of a synthesis of Davies and Moffat’s approaches, with the often ultimately hollow spectacle of the former reinforced by the latter’s more assured way with a complex plot. And it works. For once, I was as excited about a finale as I evidently was always intended to be, a possibility which was always destroyed by the looseness and lazy crowd-pleasing of the previous stories in this slot - to say nothing of the excruciating celebrity cameos.

Most telling, perhaps, is the evident comparison between the mysterious Sphere in Army of Ghosts and the mysterious Pandorica: one is in a deeply dull research facility, and has some Daleks in it. The other is under Stonehenge! In a creepy gothic vault! It might be massively clichéd, but at least it has atmosphere. I know what I prefer. Oh, and, it doesn’t have some Daleks in it.

It’s nigh-on impossible to accurately judge a two-parter on the basis of one episode, and in fact, The Pandorica Opens feels rather more like the pulling together of various strands than a coherent story in its own right. However, it performs its function rather gloriously, and if making the narrative itself rather disjointed is the only end-of-season concession we’re going to get under Moffat, then - ehh, I can live with that.

The cracks, the TARDIS explosion, the Pandorica, Rory’s return (which, miraculously, doesn't actually renege on his death in Cold Blood with a direct reset-switch), Amy’s past – obviously, all these things aren’t fully resolved here, but for once it’s actually exciting seeing them coming together, rather than tiring, and makes the Bad Wolf and Saxon memes seem even more inadequate. Where those seasons literally led toward an answer to ‘What/Who is it?’, there are multiple elements at work here, making both trying to predict what will happen - and enjoying the revelations as they come - far more rewarding.

What’s most satisfying is the dexterity with which Moffat handles these various threats: the Pandorica itself being the ultimate case in point, the revelation of its function seeming immediately obvious, in the most gratifying way; it had to be linked to the Doctor, but…

Similarly, the various races’ relationship to one another, again undercutting the Doomsday-on-acid thing, is a similarly simple but effective bit of sleight of hand. It made me think of Jonathan Morris’ DWM strip Death to the Doctor!. It fact, the monster axis of evil has a very comic book feel, albeit located within a contrastingly complex situation. If the story had been merely what it appeared to be - Monster Smackdown, or even Monsters versus Romans – it would have been severely naff. It’s also a bonus that this isn't 'just' a Dalek story or a cyber-story, cos, really, we don’t need that, and it wouldn’t be anything special for a finale.

That all this is going on alongside Auton Romans (who saw that coming?), the return of Rory (with another major nod to Mickey), and Amy’s apparent death, is fantastic – none of these would have been so thrilling individually (whereas any one of these things might have been a major element of a Davies finale), but have a cumulative power that left me literally jaw-dropped – something I cant say happens very often. And in the best way – thrilled, slightly overwhelmed, and amused at the script’s audacity, and at my own complicity in not seeing any of this coming.

There is also what seems like a very deliberate attempt to do a Stolen Earth early on, and cement this season’s status as a self-contained era in its own right with the appearance of various characters from earlier stories. It’s funny, I’d already found myself musing, earlier in the run, on the idea of situation where characters like Churchill and Liz Ten might return en masse – like the celebratory New Adventure Happy Endings - and it’s brilliant (and unexpected!) to actually see something akin to that. There have been a number of particularly brilliant pre-titles sequences this season, a damn-sight less perfunctory than in previous years, and the appearance of van Gogh, Churchill, and only bloody Liz Ten (meeting River!*) is massively impressive – in delivering a really obvious bit of audience-pleasing, without it seeming offensively unnecessary.

At various points during the writing of these reviews, I’ve wondered how unfairly biased I am toward series fnarg. I really don’t like Davies’ general approach, whereas I really like Moffat’s stories and mentality: I was probably always going to cut him some pretty substantial slack. But this run of recurring characters is the sort of thing I hated The Stolen Earth or The End of Time for, yet here… Perhaps it’s because it’s genuinely woven into the narrative. Not the overall story, perhaps, but part of the set-up, a chain of events, in a way that that Sarah or the Torchwood team’s arbitrary involvement, or the Tenth Doctor’s dying rounds, didn’t.

Quite apart from the characters, in this case I loved seeing such varied settings – Provence, the war rooms, the Stormcage (even if it was another one of those over-used Cardiff locations), the cartoony jungle planet, Liz Ten’s gallery (love that she provides the security herself…) - even the Star Wars-y bar where River does her dirty deal. All those situations add to an impression of the expansiveness of the Doctor’s universe, whereas a role-call of former companions only emphasised the insularity of the Tenth Doctor’s world.

Okay, so, this story wasn’t without its flaws. I think the Pandorica prop wobbled at one point, for example. Ooh, that’s not going to be pretty in HD! And then there’s all the little niggly points – who woke the Silurians up to be part of the alliance when they won’t even meet the Doctor for a couple of thousand years? (That we know of, admittedly – but I’ve got my Outraged Ming-Mong hat on. It has a bobble.) How comes the Cybus Cybermen have a fleet? How does Rory nobble a Cyberman (even a battered one) with a sword? Hmm? More importantly, do we care…? Well, no.

Flagrant disregard for continuity bugs me; what can I say – I’m a fan. But, for once, I really get the immediacy of the big, fast, shocking, involving finale. And I say finale like it’s separate from any other type of story, because I think it is. It’s a different format, where the story is drawing on things that have been established over several weeks, and has to bear the extra weight of those snowballing expectations. And, previously, the series has always flunked for me, and failed totally to deliver on those expectations. The series two and three finales are among the most hateful of new Who stories for me, the moments where phrases like ‘dumbed down’ and ‘lowest common denominator’ really come in handy.

But, I actually – can I say it? – kinda loved this. I’m writing immediately after watching, which I don’t usually do, so it’s probably not the most balanced of reactions - but that’s sort of part of the fun. It was invigorating and actually shocking, mainly because it didn’t entirely jettison the intelligence and little twists of Moffat’s mindset.

There is always that worry of how enjoyable something’ll be when you know all its secrets – how much will be left? – but let’s ignore that for once. What’s perhaps most exciting is not having a clue what to expect from episode thirteen. I imagine it’s unlikely to hang around the under-henge for too long, and hopefully it’ll end with Rory and Amy finally tying the knot. But whose is that voice? Next week I’ll probably sound as stupid as those people who thought Omega might be in the Pandorica, but – the Dream Lord…?

If this series had ended on a damp squib (…and I do realise there is still time for that), I might’ve found it hard to overlook my disappointed with fairly hefty swathes of the year’s stories. But it looks set to go out with a (big) bang, and in that case, I’m happy to overlook the saggy middle.


*Something The Guardian suggested back in week two, although it – and I - hoped for more of a bitch-off.