Day 793: Cold War

Cold War is actually quite an interesting story that I can appreciate very much. Writer Mark Gatiss wished to bring back the Ice Warriors for a new generation, making them genuinely threatening creatures again. The way in which he did this was to riff on 'Dalek', the brilliant 2005 episode, by presenting a scenario with one single Ice Warrior in a confined space, and putting it in the situation where it could destroy the entire planet.

Granted, it doesn't work as well as 'Dalek' because the Ice Warriors are entirely different beasts to Daleks. Unlike the Daleks, the Ice Warriors are not constructed to be purely evil, instead they have their own agenda and their own creed that, whilst different to that of humanity, is still recognisable enough as being able to speak common sense. That leads to the conclusion of Cold War, which isn't able to be as fundamentally powerful as the ending to 'Dalek' because the Ice Warrior is someone that can be talked with and reasoned with, meaning that he chooses not to blow up the world and leave humanity be for the time being, showing mercy on his prey. And whilst this makes for an interesting character decision, and I'm sure that it could have been used as an excellent jumping off point to any future Ice Warrior stories of a similar vein, it just lacks bite, which is what you'd kind of want after what has been a reasonably tense story.

Looking at it positively though, there's some excellent foundation for Clara's character which will become very noteworthy later on in the series. So much of the episode is dedicated to putting her into a situation where she's allowed to be afraid, so we can see how the character copes under that sort of pressure. And whilst that's fairly good in it's own right, I far prefer a brief exchange of dialogue that she has with the Doctor after she gets out of a sticky situation with an Ice Warrior. She asks the Doctor "How did I do. Was I OK?" and the Doctor responds by saying "This wasn't a test, Clara". It hints at this whole idea of Clara, subconsciously or not, attempting to emulate the Doctor, which will become more overt in later episodes. But that's a character arc for another time, for the moment we're just meandering through time and space from one adventure to another, and we'll see that next one tomorrow.

Day 792: The Rings of Akhaten

When I first watched this episode, I turned to my family and said "Well, that was lovely". The Rings of Akhaten, in my opinion, is not a story that's high in terms of quality, and it doesn't necessarily work in the framework of the series, but as a standalone piece of television, it's quite enjoyable to watch. The story, whilst a little bit fragmented, still manages to succeed by giving an episode that's quite heart-warming. Also, the script appears to have been written with the intention of giving Matt Smith plenty of speeches, which plays to Smith's strengths as an actor, giving plenty of moments for his Doctor to excel. Murray Gold's music is excellent, with 'The Long Song' being one of his most beautiful pieces of music that he's produced for the programme. But, all of that said, there's still something that doesn't quite work for me with regards to this episode.

I think that it might begin with the design of the aliens. The background aliens in this episode just don't quite work for me; they look a little bit too normal - like generic alien costumes that you'd find in a low budget rip-off of the cantina scene from A New Hope, not the more bizzare and wonderful alien costumes that I've come to expect from Doctor Who. And I think that that begins to reach towards my bigger problem for the episode, which is that it doesn't quite feel like it's reaching to be big, instead settling at normality. The story doesn't feel like it's changed the character's lives, the action moments don't feel particularly epic, even Matt Smith's brilliant speech ends up feeling like it was added in when writer Neil Cross realised he still had five minutes left to fill in the episode. And so I'm left looking at an episode that just feels average instead of leaving me excited about what I've just seen.

But I still enjoy this episode. It's not brilliant, but it's enjoyable. The only other problem that I can think about this episode is that it doesn't quite match up with the programme that we saw last week in The Bells of Saint John. It's beginning to point me towards this whole idea that maybe The Purple Period should really be called something else. Maybe I was wrong when I said that nothing connected these stories, we'll have to delve a little bit deeper into that as we progress further into the series.

Day 791: The Bells of Saint John

With The Bells of Saint John, we get our new companion in the form of Clara. We've previously seen versions of her in Asylum of the Daleks and The Snowmen, but here we get to meet her as she should be - the clever young woman who represents something new for the programme, and something new for the Doctor. And this is brought forth in the episode, providing something entirely different to what we've seen before.

I think that the best thing about Clara, as she's introduced in this episode, is that she's clearly meant to be the Doctor's equal. Now, it's not exactly spelt out for the audience that this is the way in which Moffat intends for her to be seen - and indeed will be seen in the Capaldi era of the programme - but the foundation is still there for her to be a woman worth noticing. Take, for instance, the scene in the café, where she wins the argument with the Doctor about who should hack into the villain's database. She wins the argument, and later finishes her task, not just because she has the technical skills required, but she also has the creativity and intelligence required to solve the problem - opting to look up the staff members on Facebook in what I think is the episode's best moment. It's this combination of skill and wit that goes towards making the Doctor what he is, or at the very least act as the framework for someone to be considered his equal. And this all feels relatively new and exciting, a new take on the role of the companion that we haven't seen in a while.

And so we get something new for the series, a soft re-boot if you will. It brings The Purple Period off to a good start, providing us with an interesting companion, as well as an exciting Doctor/companion relationship (how many other people get to travel in the TARDIS on their own terms!). But there's a small problem with this episode, one that shall become apparent tomorrow. You see, whilst the episode is enjoyable, and presents a new way to go forward for the series, it doesn't indicate the overall tone of the programme. And that is the flaw of The Purple Period.

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 789: The Angels Take Manhattan

The Angels Take Manhattan is all about endings. Not only is it the ending of the first stretch of five episodes that make up Series 7 (which I refer to as 'The Snuggie Season', for personal reasons), but it is also the ending of Amy and Rory's time in the TARDIS and the ending of Moffat's BIG section of episodes. The BIG section, you will recall, took to having massive concepts for episodes that all aimed to stretch what could be possible on television. If the stories of Series 5 could feasibly form an odd fairy tale to read to a child, the stories of the rest of the time with Amy and Rory feel like they wouldn't look out of place in a cinema. From a story that spans the whole of America to the whole of history happening at once, not forgetting the entire concept of Dinosaurs on a Spaceship, the BIG section stretched boundaries and provided some amazing moments. But, it must come to an end and The Angels Take Manhattan represents a symbolic winding down of that whole saga.

The ending to The Angels Take Manhattan, quite notably, happens at the twelve minute mark of the episode. It's at that point that we, as the audience, see Rory's grave and so we know that his future is set in stone, if you'll excuse the pun. The rest of the episode, then, is padding until we finally reach that point where Rory dies once and for all, perhaps with Amy in tow as well. But unlike other forms of padding where it stretches out an episode because the writer has more time to fill, this padding is quite cleverly used by Steven Moffat. It's padding because the characters want to avoid the ending; they continually see hints and indications that this is how the story will end and yet they fight to keep it being written, one scene at a time. For instance, they break the rules of the story, bringing in a time paradox to destroy the Angels by preventing the entire adventure from ever happening.

It's all fascinating to look at structurally, because the story constantly reminds you that this is probably the end for Amy and Rory, and seems to rush through all of the plot, leaving Amy and Rory atop Winter Quay at around the 30 minute mark, with the remaining 15 minutes dedicated to the characters saying goodbye. This ensures that the very nature of concluding this era of the programme is intertwined with the episode itself. Compare this to, say, RTD's companion departures, The God Complex or Face the Raven, where the departure of the companion happens suddenly towards the end of the episode, as if there's always the get-out clause that the companion could still be with the Doctor at the end. Here, the ending is always going to happen, so the only thing that can be done is to delay it and hope that something will happen to save the day.

But, of course, everything must come to an end. Amy and Rory go back in time to New York, with their characters leaving the series forever. It's a strong ending for them, allowing them to live that life that they'd begun to settle into without the Doctor without having to worry about him dashing in at inopportune moments and whisk them away with the temptation to travel through time and space. And this whole idea of the companions being tempted by the Doctor, and even getting addicted to this travel, will be explored by Moffat at a later date in what I think is perhaps some of his strongest work as a writer. But, unfortunately, that's at a later date. For now, we have to look at what may be his weakest. Say goodbye to the BIG section, and say hello to what tomorrow will bring, with the purple section.

Day 788: The Power of Three

Chris Chibnall, show-runner designate, has written four stories for Doctor Who. The first, 42, doesn't reach that highly but is still reasonably enjoyable. The second, The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood, is a bit better but suffers from some slight pacing issues. His third, Dinosaurs on a Spaceship, is one of the most beautiful Doctor Who stories ever created and I completely and utterly love it. But despite that, and looking at the other two stories that he'd written up until that point, he doesn't really come across as a person who could feasibly take the reigns from Steven Moffat and start running Doctor Who in one of its most critically acclaimed periods. That is, however, until you consider The Power of Three. I think that this is perhaps where you get the best idea of what a Chris Chibnall era of Doctor Who would look like.

I think that The Power of Three is all about taking another look at the Doctor/companion relationship, and examining when it needs to stop. Or perhaps 'stop' wouldn't be the right word and 'wind down' would be more appropriate. We see that Rory and Amy are beginning to enjoy relaxing away from the Doctor, but they still can't quite resist that urge to travel with him again. You can see this both in the ending, where they abandon their happy life eating dinner with Rory's father to go off with the Doctor for more adventuring, as well as the scenes at Amy and Rory's anniversary where they go from being happy with their lives and both of them slightly complaining that the Doctor brought them along to yet more adventures, to them having spent seven weeks with the Doctor, presumably having a good time. It all gives the impression of that struggle with normality, that idea that people should perhaps learn to let go and be happy. It's why the ending feels forced, because Chibnall's written such a strong case as to why the Doctor and companions should let go of each other that you can't help but think that they should. Let them have a happy ending without too much sorrow.

And that's what I think a Chris Chibnall era of Doctor Who would be about. Instead of having big moments and letting us see the Doctor as something dark and evil, I think that it's generally going to be happy, allowing us to see the fun of travelling with the Doctor once more. And, when that time needs to come to an end, it should, and both parties leave happily. Consider that, in all of the new series, only two companions have left the series on their own terms: Martha and Mickey. All the rest have been abandoned, or killed, or something worse. There's no room for the happy ending any more. Perhaps that's what Chibnall will bring: a desire for Doctor Who to be fun and happy - something different from what's been seen before, but still worth watching in my opinion.

Of course, I could be completely wrong, but I don't care; the Chibnall era is years away and I'm not going to cover it one bit on this blog. Because everything must end sometimes. This Blog for one, but also something else as we'll see tomorrow.

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.