Day 787: A Town Called Mercy

Part of the joy, if I can use that word, of my final years of high school English was that in certain scenarios we were allowed to choose the texts that we would study for that topic. My text choices had been varied, ranging from an uplifting Robin Williams film to a vaguely depressing and comedic radio play. And when it came to the final chosen text, I suddenly realised that I still hadn't opted for a text to study. So, in a state of resigned panic, I wondered what would be a suitable option, eventually opting for the Doctor Who episode, A Town Called Mercy. My reasoning, as I outlined to my sceptical English teacher, was that I felt that it fitted the theme of 'Differing Perspectives' well, as well as appealing to my distinct advantage of occasionally having a near photographic memory for Doctor Who episodes. Plus, there was the added incentive that being able to study Doctor Who would cheer me up. My English teacher, perhaps wisely, decided that I should probably do something with a bit more bite to it, and instead suggested that I use it as a back-up in case it fitted the question really well. So I never got to write about A Town Called Mercy in my final exam (in the end, I opted for the poetry of Sylvia Plath, because God knows that if you need cheering up you should read some Sylvia Plath), so this blog entry has really been a long time coming.

Now, of the five episodes that make up the ending to Moffat's BIG section, I think that this one is perhaps the most thoughtful. For an episode that sets itself in a Western setting, with a clear focus on special effects and explosions, writer Toby Whithouse clearly intends for it to be something more. Indeed, it's almost written as if it could be conceived that the Doctor's character is written over the course of the episode. We go from the traditional hero, who goes forth into an adventure with a plan to stop the bad guys and free the imprisoned, to someone who realises why the imprisoned are that way and seeks to bring justice to them. There's no room for middle ground for the Doctor in the first half of the episode, as he seems to be on the verge of killing the imprisoned Kahler-Jex, a few minutes away from being on the verge of fleeing with him in the TARDIS.

It's up to Amy, then, to point out to the Doctor what sort of character he always is in these narratives. He is not seen as the man who seeks for the extreme ends of conflict, instead he wanders through the middle ground and sees both sides of the argument, opting for the peaceful alternative for as long as is possible within the constraints of the dilemma. He is the embodiment of the notion of differing perspectives in this episode, constantly arguing both for and against scenarios within juxtaposed scenes, such as him arguing for Jex to the young man which is immediately followed by him cross-examining Jex that next moment as they both ruminate on their situation. This is further emphasised by the design for Jex, which consists of a marking on the side of his face, such that he appears to be an innocent human on one side but a war-mongering alien on the other, as if to reiterate the duality of the character and the situation.

It's an interesting story, and one that I'm growing increasingly fond of the more that I think about it. But, of course, there's one shadow that hangs over me with regards to this episode, where a mad scientist creates a monster then has to face the consequences of his actions. A text suitable for comparison with the poetry of Ted Hughes? Good God no, it would have been far better suited for one of the other English topics I did: Frankenstein.