Doctor Who — Series Four

Russell T. Davies' final series as showrunner of his triumphant revival of Doctor Who encapsulates the full range of his highs and lows. Its optimism is infectious, but at times its on-the-nose moralizing and weak plotting border on the insufferable, even if it is a family program. Davies looked to Joss Whedon for guidance, but he could never find a way to incorporate Whedon's thematic richness or attention to character in a children's show primarily built upon standalone episodes, partly because of his own love of preaching over subtlety.

After a rocky start, however, Davies accomplished something with his last batch of episodes for the series: he maintained an emotional arc that worked in tandem with the show's usual style. Armed with a foreknowledge of both David Tennant's and his own departure, a desire to leave one lasting imprint on the show and the Doctor's finest Companion yet, Davies overcomes his own limitations bring out the full potential of Doctor Who, using his final episodes to wistfully look back on the show he loved so much and worked so hard to bring back.

Doctor Who — Series 3

I must admit that the degree to which I enjoy Britain's campiest export, the legendary Doctor Who, completely surprises me. After all, even this rebooted version has a Star Trek sort-of feel to it, right down to showrunner Russell T. Davies' utter lack of subtlety when it comes to getting across any sort of message. But it also shares some traits with its clear inspiration Buffy the Vampire Slayer, particularly its ability to turn on a dime between comedy and tragedy. The previous series' finale, "Doomsday," was one of the most moving non-Whedon fantasy episodes I've ever seen, even if it suffered from some serious bloating. Losing Rose deeply upset the Doctor, setting up a potentially great emotional fallout for the third series.


Sadly, Davies seems to have come to the conclusion that the proper way to advance from "Doomsday" was to fall back into pure camp, which he does with vigor. Supposedly, the ballyhoo over the selection of comedienne Catherine Tate as the guest Companion in the series-bridging Christmas Special "The Runaway Bride" rivalled the uproar over Billy Piper's casting as Rose, because the internet, despite being the ultimate repository of human knowledge, never truly learns. Funnily enough, she's the only good aspect of an otherwise forgettable 45 minutes. I'm not kidding: I had to look up the wiki page for the episode to remind me of some of the plot points. Nevertheless, the final moments uncover some of the Doctor's lingering anguish over Rose, leading Tate's Donna to rightly prompt him to find another person to keep him company.

That person turns out to be Martha Jones, played by Freema Agyeman, a medical student who finds herself partnered with the Doctor when an interstellar police force illegally warps the hospital where she works to the Moon in order to search for a murderous alien. Even though she winds up on the TARDIS at the end, a moody Doctor quickly informs her that he's just taking her on one trip because he has no intention of replacing his last Companion. Of course, she sticks around, as, whether he can admit it or not, he needs someone to help him out, not just with his missions but with his grief.

These moments of interplay are, unfortunately, the only consistently rewarding aspect of the early part of the series. "The Shakespeare Code" gets points for introducing the idea of the Bard tackling a sequel -- I must admit I laughed pretty hard when he proudly announces his intention to produce "Love's Labour's Won" (apparently a genuine unfinished transcript bears this title, though whether or not Shakespeare meant it to be a sequel remains a mystery) -- but as a whole it just gets off some half-hearted references to the man's work and just sort of expects us to believe that Martha, a black woman, is treated with the same level of respect as the Doctor, despite the time period. "Gridlock" is even worse, with Davies' wretched script not so much trying to teach us about increasingly clogged motorways as bashing us about the heads like Paul Haggis with a bad case of 'roid rage.

Things pick up slightly with the first of three multi-part episode arcs, this one concerning the re-emergence of the Daleks, who just don't seem to understand the term "extinction." Their appearance offers a much-needed boost, and their plan to combine human DNA and Dalek machinery is sufficiently nefarious after the opening episodes failed to give us a standout villain. Sadly, it falls apart in the end when, as with so many of these arcs, the reach exceeds the grasp and all the fun seems to fizzle out just as you're about to reach it: the hybrid, Sec, obviously must reconcile human emotion with his Dalek coldness, but the conclusion he reaches made me wonder why I just sat through these two episodes. I suppose its airing position (in the middle of the season as opposed to the end) should have clued me in to the fact that such a seemingly grand development would actually have little impact, but it's still odd that the writers would so casually throw away such a promising story.

The jumbled end of the mini-arc sends the show right back to into its early-season morass, tossing out a horribly paced take on the Fountain of Youth and parody of the American series 24 that is so wrapped up in "satirizing" the style and tone of that show that they neither advance an interesting plot nor even send up 24 that viciously. Both "The Lazarus Experiment" and "42" (see if you can spot that reference) represent everything that grates in the series' weaker moments: laughable villains failing to personify even the obvious messages they're meant to teach us. Not even Tennant can salvage these, as both episodes box in his manic energy and his ability to turn on a dime, forcing him to simply lead the plot home.

Ergo, it should come as little surprise that, when they let Tennant have an entire mini-arc to play more or less an entirely different character, Doctor Who leaps back up to the level it enjoyed with its previous series. In the opening moments of "Human Nature," Martha and the Doctor escape an attack by the incorporeal, telepathic Family of Blood, who require the Doctor's Time Lord life force to save themselves. To protect himself, he places his force inside a watch he entrusts to Martha and must live as a human for three months. The TARDIS lands in 1913 England, and the Doctor lives as John Smith, a teacher for a military school while Martha works as his maid. Completely unaware of his true identity, Smith has a spark of the Doctor's affability, but as filtered through the mindset of old England: he gives his consent to several prefects to beat a young boy -- who has ESP and sees his future involvement in World War I when he touches a gun -- for freezing up in a shooting exercise, and his interactions with Martha have more than a little tinge of the casual racism permitted by society.

Smith falls for the school's nurse, Joan, played by Spaced's very own nerd goddess Jessica Hynes. Hynes plays Joan as a proper matron, but she brings a warmth to the role that makes you care about her despite the fact that she only just appeared. When the Family of Blood tracks the Doctor down, Martha must convince Smith that he must give up Joan and even life as he knows it to become the Doctor again. Tennant's acting in these moments is downright incredible, turning what could easily have been a mere plot point into an agonizing decision: when he asks Martha "Why can't I just be John Smith? Isn't he a good man?," it's heartbreaking, and the moment when Tennant switches back into the Doctor's mannerisms ranks as one of the more impressive 180s this side of Jossverse personality shifts. Collectively, the Family of Blood two-parter represents some of the strongest writing and acting to grace the series, with the kind of emotion that previously only graced finales.

And it's not even the strongest part of the third series. If Russell T. Davies serves as Joss Whedon's British counterpart -- I'm speaking in terms of aspiration, certainly not skill -- then Steven Moffat is his Tim Minear. But where the Davies-Whedon connection falls down when the issue of quality and skill arises, Moffat might just live up to the comparison. Outside of Who, he penned the "British Friends" hit Coupling (I can only pray that, when I get around to that series, it really isn't like that ghastly program) and the acclaimed miniseries Jekyll. But it's his work on Doctor Who that'll win him a special place in the heart of the internet for generations to come. His previous offerings, the astounding two-parter "The Empty Child"/"The Doctor Dances" and the bittersweet "The Girl in the Fireplace," each won Hugo awards and remain high points of the series.


This season's offering, "Blink," might just be his best yet, despite the fact that the Doctor barely features at all. Instead, we follow Sally Sparrow, a young woman who receives strange warnings about some creatures known as the Weeping Angels in the form of pre-recorded messages from the Doctor hidden away as DVD Easter eggs. Whenever Sally attempts to solicit help from someone, they disappear only to write her a letter from the past talking about the Doctor and their new life. One police officer even meets her again, albeit as an old man with a fulfilled life. It's a masterpiece of disorientation that is nevertheless not quite as impressive as the fact that Moffat makes the villains of the episode, which are statues that can only move when nothing can see them, truly terrifying. The strange messages work in the early bits, but when we see just how the Doctor's message came to be recorded, the explanation only makes the previous stuff even better. "Blink" won Moffat his third Hugo for the episode, but honestly, I just feel sorry for the people who were in his category.

The third series ends with a three-part episode that brings back the Doctor's arch-foe, The Master. The first two episodes of the arc, "Utopia" and "The Sound of Drums," continue the momentum of the previous episodes; the former features Derek Jacobi as a Professor in the far future attempting to save mankind, only to reveal himself as the Master when the Doctor's presence reawakens his true self, hidden in a watch of his own. The Master, now played by John Simm, steals the TARDIS and, by the time the Doctor and Martha make it back to the present via a returned Captain Jack Harkness' Vortex Generator, he's Prime Minister of England -- something hinted at in brief moments throughout the series.

He's even got a better laser tool.

Sadly, it all falls apart at then end, despite a climactic and revealing showdown between the Doctor and the Master. A battle of wits over brute strength, it manages to be funny, insightful and gripping, culminating in wonderful moment of clemency that, in its own way, is harsher than the bloodiest revenge. Then the writers, by sheer necessity of the hole they placed themselves into, must literally hit a 'reset' button at the end. An unfortunate way to cap off a strong second half.

Despite its late-series upswing, the third installment of New Who lacks, especially when compared to the previous two series. Agyeman pulls off the agony of Martha's unrequited love for the Doctor with aplomb, but she never has the independent strength of Rose, and her family certainly never grows as Rose's did. I know that she's meant to be filler as the Doctor never considered her more than a replacement for the Companion he came close to loving, but the role still confines an actress who seemed aching to bring something more to the table.

Because Martha is so under-written, Tennant must pick up the slack, which he of course deftly manages. Strange then, that the best episodes are the ones where the Doctor plays little role. Tennant may be on the screen in 1913, but he's John Smith, through and through. And he's at his most interesting (this season, at least) with his pre-recorded dialogue in "Blink," set to a drab background that made me think of the trigger video from Videodrome. If the first series of the reboot focused on the big heroes, and the second on those who accompany them, I don't quite know what the focus of this set of episodes is. Perhaps it's the villains; despite the weakness of most of the enemies in terms of being memorable, but the villains call the shots throughout the series. The Family of Blood forces the Doctor into hiding, the Weeping Angels strand the Doctor in 1969 after stealing the TARDIS and The Master leaves him in the distant future.

Yet, even if the villains form the nucleus of this series, it lacks the focus to flesh out this core. It's still an enjoyable season, but no longer one that flirts with greatness, as the last two series did. I've heard good things about the subsequent series -- at the very least, Moffat scored yet another Hugo nomination, though the competition looks pretty fierce this time around so his streak may end come August -- so hopefully it rebounds back to previous heights.

Doctor Who — Series 2

Russel T. Davies' reboot of "Doctor Who" hooked me from the start when I finally sat down and watched the first series of the revival. I've never seen any of the old series but it always looked rather camp to me, a feeling that didn't exactly go away when I saw Davies' version. Yet I was bowled over by Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper, two people I'd never heard of before and one of whom, Piper, was evidently cursed to Hell and back when she was announced. Nevertheless, she played the Doctor's companion Rose perfectly, moving from a borderline-annoying, hapless twit into the Doctor's intellectual- well, certainly not equal, but she could at least go toe-to-toe with him in a conversation. After a series of killer episodes, Eccleston's time was up and thus a new Doctor was born in a bloated yet still incredible finale. After Eccleston's portrayal, David Tennant had a lot to live up to and I wondered if he could grab me as much as his predecessor.

The answer was a resounding 'yes.' Tennant establishes himself, as Eccleston did, before the end of his first episode as a quirky, hilarious, contemplative, and endlessly fascinating character. He debuts in the superb Christmas special "The Christmas Invasion," in which once again aliens arrive over London. Harriet Jones returns, now the Prime Minister, just as the Doctor predicted. But the real intrigue of the episode, even above Tennant picking up the ball with utmost confidence, is how Jones has changed. The Doctor manages to make defeat the aliens and send them heading back into the cosmos, only for Jones to order a laser strike on their ship with the help of the mysterious Torchwood Institute.

Meet the new Doctor, not quite same as the old Doctor.

When we met her, Harriet Jones quickly proved a capable, intelligent, and intensely strong character; you knew she was destined for greatness before the Doctor told us. But here she has become an ordinary politician; she says that destroying the fleeing ship sends a message to any other aliens out there that Earth won't stand for invasion, but really you can tell it's so she can win support amongst the people. It's one of the few moments of subtlety in a Russell Davies script, and an auspicious start to Tennant's tenure.

However, like the last series, the episodes veer wildly in quality. "New Earth" brings back Cassandra, the insufferable "Last Human" from "The End of the World" and simply rehashes what she brought to that episode. The only difference is that this time she somehow manages to possess Rose and the Doctor, which makes just about no sense since she's pure human kept alive solely through horrific plastic surgeries. She worked then as a multi-layered metaphor, not only for actors' destructive desire to stay young forever but as a classist and perhaps racist who views any evolved human as inferior. Here, she's a caricature of that person, and Davies' attempt to make her exit at the end poignant rings false.

The return of Sarah Jane, an old Companion, is a big highlight of the early episodes.

Another weak episode, "The Idiot's Lantern" is a blatant attack on the "idiot box," even though "Doctor Who" is inoffensive family entertainment. Also, there's a sub-theme about parents needing to accept the homosexuality of their children which is just forced. Some people say that Davies tried to insert a "gay agenda" into the show during his run, which is a terribly stupid thing to say; however, cramming in a message into an episode and letting it just stick out far away from anything relevant is a problem.

But the worst is hands down "Fear Her," an Olympics episode which acts like the Olympics is the one thing holding this planet together (hint: it's actually gravity). In it, an alien child draws people out of existence...because she's lonely. I don't know either. And I thought I was going to die laughing at the moronic Olympian commentator who acted like a dropped torch meant the end of civilization. It's easily the worst of the first two series.

O.K., there's the bad out of the way, now let's focus on why this show rises above these crap episodes and into the stratosphere. First, there's Steven Moffat's absolutely outstanding entry, "The Girl in the Fireplace." The concept? The Doctor discovers a direct portal through time that leads into the bedroom of Reinette, who grows up to become Madame de Pompadour. The catch? Time passes much faster in Reinette's world, to the point that years go by when the Doctor spends merely a minute or two on the other side. Yes, there are monsters to deal with, but the real focus of the episode is the Doctor's loneliness and his relationship with the companions; for those who travel with the Doctor, they devote their entire lives to their adventures. But for a 900 year old Time Lord, the few years they spend with him pass all too quickly.

Other highlights include "Love & Monsters," a wonderful look at obsessive fandom and how it ruins it for people who just want to have fun, and that people who focus on continuity tend to miss out on that which actually matters: plot and character development. Funnily enough, it was written by Davies, the most continuity-obsessed writer on the show. Maybe he knows he cares too much but can't do anything about it. Additionally, the two-parter "The Impossible Planet"/"Satan's Pit" is dark and intelligent, until it gets to the last third and just ends up focusing on the cool-looking Beast.

O.K. I admit it: it killed the depth of the episode, but this thing is awesome.

But the best episode of the season, and of the show I've seen thus far, is Davies' "Doomsday." Picking up on one hell of a cliffhanger (both Daleks and Cybermen show up on Earth), it proves to be both a killer action climax and a emotionally devastating hour. I cannot go into why the episode is so good without mentioning spoilers, so if you haven't seen the series, you should really stop reading now because you'll rob yourself of something big.


The showdown between the Daleks and the Cybermen is brilliant; both should focus on the Doctor, but they have such superiority complexes that they turn on each other at the very mention of cooperation. But the battle isn't why the episode is transcendent. No, it's the lauded end of Rose's time as the Doctor's companion. When the Doctor seals the portal that allows the Cybermen and Daleks to invade Earth, Rose winds up sealed off in the parallel universe visited in "Rise of the Cybermen"/"The Age of Steel." The short, tearful goodbye on the beach between Rose and the Doctor is simple and heartbreaking. Rose gets to be with her family and Mickey (who really grew this series into a person and not just a one-note ponce), but her adventures are over, and it crushes her.

Probably the most poignant scene in sci-fi outside of a Whedon production.

The first series was all about heroism, about the Doctor, Rose, and the people they meet standing up to beat the bad guys, whomever they may be. In contrast, the second series focused on the companions themselves; if the first series showed people rallying behind the Doctor, this series showed why. An old companion, Sarah Jane Smith returns in "School Reunion," and you can see the pure, unadulterated elation on her face when she realizes she's reunited with the Doctor. Davies and Tennant move away from the asexual Doctor by showing just how much he cares for his Companions. His joy at seeing Sarah is almost as boundless as Sarah's.

Even the more minor players grow because of their experiences with the Doctor. Mickey started out a whiny, self-centered fool with an IQ just above grapefruit, yet by the end of this series he's capable and strong, as is Jackie, who becomes a surprisingly sympathetic character. Even Reinette serves the overall theme of the series; she is so completely taken by this mysterious man who came out of her fireplace that she waits for years in her world waiting for him to come.

Of course, it all comes down to the Doctor and Rose. Rose proved to be a hero in her own right the start, and certainly by the finale of the first series. The second series expands upon their relationship, creating a level of sexual tension that remains ever-present but never beats us over the head with it. Watching her grow even more this season was an absolute delight, and it made her departure all the more poignant.

Ultimately, most of the flaws of the season relate to the individual episode plots, particularly Davies'. He has a tendency to throw in much too much to make sure everyone's been paying attention, and it chokes the actual story. His scripts overflow with humor and emotion, but he can't seem to put them into a coherent story, and he often highlights the message of his episodes in neon lighting and spends the episode pointing at it frantically. But he has a gift for serialized character development a la Joss Whedon; while individual episodes often fail because of its increasingly formulaic setup (Doctor and Rose go somewhere, lose TARDIS, get into trouble, nearly die, then find TARDIS in last five minutes), many overcome these problems with telling looks into the Doctor's loneliness or the lives of those who come into contact with him. It's certainly not perfect, but it's compelling character drama that is funnily enough limited by its science fiction constraints.

Perhaps it's cheating to look beyond the actual episodes and rate this so highly based on the overall impact; indeed, working through the episodes I found myself wondering more than once what all the fuss was about. Yet it all clicked in retrospect; a truly perfect show would work on a surface level and a deeper one, but "Doctor Who" is only truly rewarding when you pay attention.