Day 798: The Name of the Doctor

The Name of the Doctor is actually really good. I wasn't expecting it to be as good as it was; I think it left me feeling a bit cold on first viewing and so I was fully expecting to be disappointed by it on a re-watch. But, as I say, I was rather pleased with it, and it's mainly because of the new context that I watched it in.

The Name of the Doctor is unlike every other series finale that we've had so far in the new series. It's not a big celebration where we get to see the Doctor triumph over evil, but at some sort of cost, instead it's a quiet, dark tale where we see the Doctor come face to face with his final days. There's so much finality and grimness surrounding the episode, from the fact that essentially every one of the main parts except for Madame Vastra gets killed off at some point in the episode to the darker shadows and tones that director Saul Metzstein paints the episode with, giving the impression that this is not the usual end of series romp that we've come to expect. And that's good, because it fits with what the story is aiming to be about: the Doctor coming face to face with his own mortality as the vast majority of the action is set around his grave. You wouldn't expect it to be a particularly rompy episode; it should be relatively serious and dark. But that's really just half the story of what this episode truly represents.

Although this was not known at the time, The Name of the Doctor was Matt Smith's last regular episode of Doctor Who. He's got two more episodes, both of which are 'special' episodes that stand relatively separate from the rest of the series. And over the course of those specials, we learn that Matt Smith's incarnation of the Doctor is technically the final incarnation of the Doctor, having used up all 12 of his regenerations. So read in all of that context, The Name of the Doctor feels like a farewell to Doctor Who itself, a quiet moment when we face the inevitable end of the programme and reflect on its power. When we dash through the Doctor's past in the time stream, we can now read this as one last look in the memory box before we put it away in a distant cupboard. Similarly, whilst it's a relatively brief and un-remarked upon scene within the story, the moment when the Paternoster Gang looks out at the night sky turning itself off because the Doctor wasn't there to save them speaks wonders as to the greater impact that the programme has had on the lives of millions, although the moment works far better on the smaller scale as we see the Paternoster Gang torn apart because of the Doctor's interference with them is removed, killing Jenny and making Strax into a monster, instead of the character that we know and love.

Read in all of that context, The Name of the Doctor becomes a sad and beautiful coda to the history of Doctor Who, before it goes forth into the great 50th anniversary celebrations that await us tomorrow. But before we do that, I just want to make a quick wrap up of something else.

The Purple Period of Steven Moffat's time as show-runner kind of ends here, with a bit of a run-on through the rest of Matt Smith's tenure before Capaldi takes the reigns as the Doctor, bringing with him a new approach to the programme. And watching it all again, I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. The Purple Period is an era of variety, where each episode is wildly different from the next. Consider that within the 9 episode stretch from The Snowmen to The Name of the Doctor, we have 3 writers who do multiple episodes, each of which is completely and utterly different to their other stories for the same era. It feels good to see so much variety within the programme, an ability to really get a grip on the sheer breadth of travelling in time and space. But, alongside that, there's also a strong lack of consistency throughout the series.

Whilst the variety is good, it also means that there's no sense that each episode works in the same universe as the one before or after it - there's no real sense that Moffat is looking over the programme and keeping control of how everything will look at the end of the day. That's how we end up with relatively weaker stories like Nightmare in Silver or Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS; they could have been good stories had a little bit more attention been paid to them before they went to screen. It means that The Purple Period is unfortunately a bit of a failure, a time when Doctor Who should have been spectacular but it simply wasn't. It doesn't bode well for the final two episodes in this section, but oddly enough, I've got a feeling that everything will turn out just fine.

Day 796: The Crimson Horror

The surprise break-out stars of the second section to Steven Moffat's era of Doctor Who - the BIG section, were the characters of Madame Vastra, Jenny and Strax, all of whom were introduced in A Good Man Goes to War. They worked because they were all based on strong concepts, be they Sontaran nurses or a Victorian Silurian/human couple who solve mysteries which gleefully enticed the viewer to want to see more of these characters at a future point, something that was helped by the strong performances from the actors who play them. So it's no surprise that they were called upon to return to the worlds of Doctor Who, which they first did in 2012's beautiful Christmas special The Snowmen, and then later in the rather more distinct episode that is The Crimson Horror.

The Crimson Horror doesn't necessarily feel like a Doctor Who episode, instead it feels more like a theoretical episode of the spin-off series 'The Paternoster Gang', starring Madame Vastra, Jenny and Strax, with the Doctor and Clara making a guest appearance. The writing, for instance, feels more overtly comical than what you'd normally expect from a Doctor Who episode, such as one of the greatest exchanges in Doctor Who history:
"In the wrong hands that venom could wipe out all life on this planet"
"You know what these are? The wrong hands!"
It's that comedic approach to this episode, where almost every scene should contain some form of joke that makes this episode feel completely unlike an episode of Doctor Who, where the focus is clearly on story first - jokes to be inserted if and when they are needed.

And you get a certain feeling of oddness from the design as well. Previous historical adventures in the Moffat era have at least made an attempt to give the feeling of living in that era, from the low lighting and uniforms in the Russian submarine in the 1980's that we see in Cold War to the fog and murkiness of a pirate ship on the high seas that we see in The Curse of the Black Spot. The Crimson Horror, on the other hand, doesn't feel like a Victorian story, instead it feels like an artist's impression of a Victorian story - steampunk-esque rocket controls and old fashioned and over-large gramophones. It makes the story feel just that little bit more odd; lending to the impression that it's a Doctor Who story where the Doctor's intruding on another television programme.

And, weirdly, it all works amazingly well. I keep on being drawn to this episode as something truly splendid and odd and I love every moment of it (even the Thomas Thomas joke - any story that has an entire scene devoted to a single bad pun gets a thumbs up in my book). It's one of the great disappointments in Doctor Who that the idea of The Paternoster Gang has seemed to have died out; they've made one more appearance in Capaldi's first story and haven't appeared since. Hopefully we'll get to see them again in the coming series though, they're probably one of the greatest things to come out of Moffat's era of the programme.

Day 790: The Snowmen

Steven Moffat's Purple Period is not named that way to sum up the overall storytelling ethos behind the episodes from The Snowmen to The Time of the Doctor, instead it's named that way because the Eleventh Doctor tends to wear a purple coat in these adventures. I know, it's awfully imaginative of me to call it that. But, to be honest, there's not really that much that connects these stories together. The stories range wildly in terms of theme, as well as quality, creating a feeling of inconsistency that means that this period isn't looked on too fondly. We'll look into more of the reasons why it's difficult to love the Purple Period as it fully progresses, but I will just remark for now that, even though it's difficult to love as a whole, the individual episodes can actually be rather excellent. I would personally say that two of the episodes in the Purple Period are some of the best episodes ever produced in the history of Doctor Who, and there are a few others that I have a bit of a soft spot for. And chief amongst those episodes is The Snowmen.

I didn't get to see The Snowmen when it was first broadcast in Australia. This was because two of the four members of my family are reasonably large Tolkien fans, and instead wanted to go and see 'The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey', so we went as a family to see that instead. Returning home from that disappointing experience, it was near midnight and everyone else in the house decided to go to bed whilst I watched the recording that I'd made of the episode. The house was dark, and silent, which added to the mood of the story immeasurably.  The Snowmen is a story that feels wintry, particularly in terms of the lighting where it's kept down, allowing that darkness to contribute to the overall feel of the story.

The lighting also allows for contrast to be made when the story requires it, such as the flash-forward to present day Clara at the end of the episode, which feels completely and utterly different to the previous 56 minutes, further creating this mystery of the impossible girl. Similarly, the office of Madame Vastra is also brightly lit, although that is moreover done to establish a feeling of comfort. The outside Victorian streets all look dark and grey, which makes Clara's situation with respect to finding the Doctor feel slightly hopeless. But then, when she enters into the world of the Paternoster Gang, she's greeted with a miniature jungle, portraying a sense of warmth and friendliness that says that Vastra may actually be ready to listen. Then again, the more exotic set dressing, as well as the indication that Vastra is drinking something that looks suspiciously like red wine (my money's on the obscure and beautiful Australian drink: Portello), indicates that Vastra is still a character who is dangerous and that Clara will still have to work to earn her respect.

But of course, the biggest reason why things like lighting and special effects make an impact in this story is because of the magic trick that it pulls two-thirds into the episode. Clearly, Steven Moffat wanted to bring the feeling of a fairy tale back to Doctor Who, at least initially, and so the episode features strong magical imagery as the key memorable points, such as the invisible ladder leading to a spiral staircase, on top of which is a police box on a cloud. It's all rather beautiful, but it's not quite the most magical moment in the entire episode.

In one single shot, we see the Doctor walk into the TARDIS in one take. Then, turning on the lights, he not only reveals the new control room to the audience, but he also reveals to Clara that it's smaller on the outside. And, just for a moment, when I watched this at the dead of night, in a silent house, I believed that it was smaller on the outside as well. It's a beautiful magic trick, presenting an impossible illusion that not only can you not quite figure out how it was done on first glance, you almost don't want to figure out how it was done. It's because the TARDIS being bigger on the inside is such an every day part of Doctor Who that you forget that it's simply extraordinary, particularly as every other TARDIS entrance up until this point is obviously cutting from one scene to the other. But by doing the TARDIS entrance in such a unique way, it genuinely makes The Snowmen feel extraordinary.

And there's so much else to talk about in The Snowmen that just adds to the magic of the story. There's the Doctor's bow tie, the Paternoster Gang as a whole, the entire character of Clara, Murray Gold's beautiful score, and even the title sequence, which, whilst not fantastic, at least has one of the best endings to a title sequence in the history of Doctor Who. But I've unfortunately run out of time to talk about the episode (I've gone around half an hour over my self-imposed deadline for the entry), so maybe I'll get to talk about them some other time. For now, though, I'll leave you with this piece of advice: watch The Snowmen in the dark. Because, at the very least, some magic tricks work better when you can't see all that's happening in the background.

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.

Day 786: Dinosaurs on a Spaceship

I wasn't a particularly happy person in 2012. It was my final year of high school and I wasn't doing too well in most of my courses, and with my school failing to provide any form of meaningful help to me at this time, I was left desperately seeking for those few and far between moments of pure joy in my life. And that's the probably the reason why I look so fondly on Dinosaurs on a Spaceship, because it's an episode that's completely and utterly joyful.

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship, from the moment when Matt Smith's Doctor gleefully drops the title of the episode, promises to be an episode that just wants to be fun. I can't stop smiling at the climax of the story, where the Doctor easily enacts a plan to save the day, that also focuses on giving his fellow travellers an experience that they want as well. We get Rory and Brian, flying a spaceship - not in any sort of way that would imply danger or stress, but in such a way that we get to see the joy on Brian's face as the adventure begins to sink in for him. Similarly, there's joy for Riddell and Amy who take down raptors left, right and centre in a splendidly choreographed sequence that gives the impression that they are perfectly in control of the situation and thus are allowed to have fun (and, perhaps most importantly, they're taking down raptors, which is such a joyful thing to this young person who screams regularly at the Jurassic Park films). Even Nefertiti, who in theory should play the role of damsel in distress in this plan, uses the Doctor as a distraction to take control of the ruthlessly evil Solomon and save the day. It's an all-round happy ending, without any real need to go into depth about darker elements of the story and to be at all serious.

That's not to say that there aren't darker elements there. The Doctor quite obviously murders Solomon at the end, as part of revenge for Solomon killing the Silurians because they got in his way. It sits oddly with the rest of the story, a moment that could have been focussed on but is ignored in favour of glee. And I'm not sure how I feel about that, because on the one hand I'd prefer a story that dealt with the ramifications of the Doctor's actions and how he copes with the blood on his hands, but on the other I know that sometimes I just need a story that's purely joyful without any need for darkness. 

But whenever I consider this question, I also consider my mindset when I watched this for the first time. Desperate for something to cheer me up, I looked to this episode for inspiration, and it provided it in spades, becoming at one point my favourite Doctor Who episode of all time. And maybe, in one small section of my heart, it still is, because I couldn't stop smiling whilst watching this fantastic episode.