There are venerable traditions to uphold this time of year, none more-so than coming away from the Doctor Who Christmas Special with a warm glow of contentment at another very decent episode to find that most fans really bloody hated it. I for one wouldn’t miss this annual nerd-quake for the world.
Yes, The Time of the Doctor had its problems – was it me or was the (double) depositing of Clara back in front of of a block of flats a straight steal from Rose getting “saved” by the TARDIS in The Parting of the Ways? And those massed ranks of favorite monsters’ spaceships? That’s just The Big Bang all over again with slightly less impact. Oh, and the siege of Tranzalore was a good example of why the show should avoid attempting Hollywood-style mayhem on a Holby City budget. But none of this disabled the thing for me because I suffered through the Tennant finale and still have the scars; I know how badly wrong these things can go…
As a regeneration episode with lots of boxes to tick, this took The End of Time Part 2 round the back by the bins and beat it to a bloody, gibbering, over-emotional pulp. The dialogue was some of the sparkiest yet, especially the opening with Smith in the TARDIS with his Cyber-head (loved the Cyber-head!); the use of the ageing Doctor evoked, very effectively, an excellent episode of Star Trek: TNG called The Inner Light where Picard lives a lifetime on a planet that needs him to do a very similar heal/protect /get extremely old job of work. Matt Smith was superb in his last dash/dodder through the role, the Cyber-head was great (bring him back!) and the regeneration into Capaldi was a deliberate, comedic wrong-footing of expectations that harked back to the quick-flash Pertwee/Baker change without being crap (no mean feat). I even didn’t mind seeing Amy Pond again – it felt right and hit me exactly where it was supposed to (damn you Moffat, you manipulative git). Oh, and bring back the Cyber-head. And for those who see the over-engineered complexity of Moffat’s best work as just a reflection of a writer who is just too pleased with himself for his own good then here is another prime example of that but here’s six words for you….just six little words….
You’ll miss him when he’s gone.
But please let this be an end to all this “the question that should never be asked!” (insert awed gasp) codswallop. Because guess what? It really SHOULDN’T be asked. The Doctor’s name is NO BIG DEAL and Moffat’s constant, irksome, fetishistic obsession with it has been one of the biggest irritants in an otherwise massively enjoyable, progressive era. For a bloke who grew up on the classic era’s inherent mystification of the series title, he really misses the pan and floods the floor every time he pees out this bladderful of thematic pointlessness. Give it up, mate, no one’s interested apart from you and really, even you’re not interested really so just stop it.
Anyway, he’s probably called Adrian.
The Man in the Elegant Room 