The Time of Angels / Flesh and Stone

The next great Moff-tacular and possibly the best of them all. From the cool-as-space opening in which River faces off with Simon Dutton ("Oooh, he was James Bond right?") to the coda in Amy's bedroom, this two-parter is gorgeous, full of brain-melting moments and glorious stings. Here are just a few of the many reasons why this story is so good.

1. "You might want to find something to hang on to." What an entrance, and an exit, from the brilliant River Song. Not only fabulously stylish, but (like Ginger Rogers) backwards and in heels.

2. The Smith/Kingston chemistry - perfectly triangulated by Karen Gillan. "Ooh, Doctor, you sonic-ed her!" she purrs, bullseyeing the Doctor's discomfort: he's both intrigued and beguiled by Song, but also incredibly anxious about her foreknowledge. Smith's younger Doctor excels time and again in scenes with older women and the rapport with Alex Kingston is very good indeed.

3. The Angel in the television. Moffat is brilliant at extending the threat to the audience and here he makes the very medium of Doctor Who the danger. Even on a re-watch, the boys were alarmed. "That's impossible, it can't get out!" The resolution, Amy pausing the tape on a split-second of static, is clever too.

4. They're all Angels! Ha ha, another unexpected reversal from Moffat: the problem isn't an Angel hiding in a cave full of statues, it's a cave full of Angels. Suddenly the stakes go through the roof. Which is okay, because that's where the Doctor's off to next.

5. The cliffhanger. The Doctor get's these epic speeches these days. They get repeated a little too often for my liking (the Pandorica one pops up time and again), but in context they are breath-taking. "There's one thing you should never put in a trap..." warns the Doctor, sending chills down the spine of everyone watching, as well as neatly foreshadowing the season finale. The resolution is even better. Without ever being told, we just instinctively know that's how the gravity on spaceships must work. The transition from the cave to the Byzantium's corridor is super cool, funny and so, so, clever.

6. Amy's countdown. 'Ach,' I've heard it said, 'Moffat scripts are all just tricks and gimmicks.' Hell yeah they are: brilliant tricks and incredible gimmicks that effortlessly propel the most impossible stories from one extraordinary moment to the next. This is one of them: Amy begins to randomly insert numbers into conversation - and then we realise she is counting down to something, but what? The tension is raised even further and the audience is clinging on by their knuckles.

7. The Crack - the mysterious crack from Amy's bedroom has been popping up all over time and space. But now it is suddenly big and involved and the Angels aren't the only issue. Everyone was expecting a slow thirteen episode arc for the Crack; when it turns up here, everything has to go up a gear.

8. A forest in a bottle on a spaceship in a maze. Sometimes great writing is just shifting the tone - moving from cave to ship to forest creates the sense of a journey, and allows some spooky outside scenes in an easy-to-find setting. "Have I impressed you yet?" asks the Doctor. Er, yes, yes you have.

9. The puzzle of the Angel in Amy's eye. Another wonderful bit of thinking from the Doctor as he rationalises the problem and deduces a solution. We see his cleverness when we see him think. Also, the forest is full of Angels - but Amy has to keep her eyes shut? That's suddenly blisteringly scary.

10. The Secret Throw-Forward. We didn't know at the time, and we could barely guess, that this was a future version of the Doctor talking to Amy in the Forest, begging her to remember the thing he is about to say when he next sees her seven year old self. It's not really foreshadowing, because there's no way to appreciate until we have watched The Big Bang, but it is a desperately clever bit of writing that rewards the repeat viewing and demonstrates the wonderful complexity of the Doctor's life and his incomparable intelligence: even if we aren't quite following, he instinctively knows what is going on.

11. Iain Glen's Father Octavian. A great performance from Glen is capped by a highly-memorable death scene. Doctor Who is a show that will always (hopefully) side with science over belief, but that doesn't mean that it can't show the better qualities of  people of faith. "I rather think you've seen me at my best," says Octavian and the Doctor, heavy of heart, agrees.

12. Amy's blind walk. She sets off through the forest of Angels, her eyes screwed shut. If the Doctor's explanation doesn't quite convince (the Angels don't attack because they think she's walking like someone who hasn't got their eyes shut?), then never mind because what happens next will drive it from your mind: the Angels move. It's a haunting, almost surreal moment and it looks stunning and magical, like the most perfectly executed effect shot - but the utter brilliance of it is that we have just been dazzled by a dancer in a monster suit slowly moving her arm.

13. The gravity of the situation. It's a great final reversal of fortunes for the Weeping Angels as the ship's gravity gives up and the floor becomes a wall. The cleverness of it lies in having orientated the audience at the top of the episode so that this switcheroo feels instinctively right - but it would be slightly improved if it was the Doctor turning off the gravity rather than it just happening to fail at the right time.

Then it's just spoilers and goodbyes on the beach (with that lovely transmat effect that swirls River away in a little tornado, like a witch) and then - ooh, Amy launches herself at the Doctor. This caused some fan consternation I can tell you, with many voices engaging in some dour moralising and castigating Amy for her behaviour, or Moffat for his sexism in having written a female character that was in charge of her own sexual agency. (The wonderfully erudite Elizabeth Sandifer has written a very good piece on Moffat and sexism here and I urge you to read it.) Well, it didn't ruffle my feathers - if nothing else it's superbly funny although Amy's behaviour does, now, seem a little aberrant. But the reason it seems so odd now is because of what the Doctor does next: he goes and gets Rory. And as we shall see, Rory is lovely and rather wonderful, so hooray.

Most extraordinary of all, this is Matt Smith's first day on the job as the Doctor (apart from the regeneration): these episodes were filmed before any others. From the very first moment it is an astonishing performance and he is absolutely perfect as the Doctor. It's a staggering achievement.


NEXT TIME...

Victory of the Daleks

This one got a bit of a panning at the time, partly because expectations were high, and partly because nobody seemed to like the redesigned Daleks. The criticism went that they were too bright, too fat, and had more than a whiff of a revenue-generating merchandise opportunity about them. Since this first appearance they have shown up only very fleetingly and seem to have been gently pushed to one side.

I think this is a terrible shame. I really rather liked them and never understood why they provoked such an outcry. The size of them is simply terrifying and the colours make me think not so much of iPhones as of the Technicolour retro-futurism of the Sixties Dalek movies, or TV21 comic strips.  Also, the new colours give a sense of hierarchy and roles, and this allows the possibility of characterisation, something the Daleks often lack and desperately need in order to talk amongst themselves in an intelligible way.  

My problem with this episode is that these smashing new Daleks aren't in it enough. The Ironsides' cover version of Power of the Daleks is pleasing enough ("WOULD YOU CARE FOR SOME TEEEEEEA?") and when the New Paradigm trundle from the smoke it feels like something amazing is going to happen - but it turns out that instead we spend a long time watching the Doctor and Amy find a way to talk a robot out of exploding. It's unsatisfying and, worse, doesn't ring true (the Daleks invented Bracewell, didn't they? In which case, his lovely memories of the Paisley girl are a fiction too?). After Dickens and Christie, Churchill is not much more than a caricature, but perhaps this is the only version of the man that's appropriate for a Saturday tea time.

"Weird how the Daleks magically escaped last time," says the ever-cynical William. "But at least they properly get away here. I like the new Daleks too, but isn't it funny how the most evil beings in the Universe come in yellow, orange and other collectible colours? They do scheme though, using the Doctor's weakness against him."

"I feel sad for the red one," says Chris. "He must think he's invisible because Dalek's can't see red, but he's not."

Never mind that, how did Jast ever spell his own name?


NEXT TIME...

The Beast Below

Oh dear oh dear, I've fallen so far behind. I'm going to have to be more brief. Perhaps sometimes very brief, which is a shame because Series Five is, I've just realised, far and away the best so far. But before the next stone cold classic pops up, here's something different: a Moffat script which isn't a showpiece, twelve out of ten episode. But we shouldn't underestimate The Beast Below. It may not be one of the tent poles of Series Five, but it is an extraordinary, perhaps even revolutionary, piece of Doctor Who.

Airing four days into the 2010 General Election, The Beast Below is an unprecedented intervention into British politics. At first it appears to be a satire on the electoral process: every five years voters are given certain information about their society, information that they hurriedly choose to forget in order to maintain their own personal comfort and the status quo. It's far from being a useful democratic process: the voters are only offered the illusion of choice and nothing ever changes.

But this isn't merely satire - the last lines reveal that this episode is actually a manifesto: "we all depend on the beast below". The society of Starship UK is literally built on the back of the Star Whale, it is the source of all progress on this journey; yet it has no voice, no representation. What's more, the politicians regretfully inflict pain on the beast, trying to stimulate the creature into greater productivity, never realising there might be a better way.

I don't know Moffat's politics, but you don't have to be Malcolm Tucker to see that this episode is actually a forthright rejection of austerity and of 'cruel to be kind' policies, like 'stimulating' the unemployed to find jobs by removing their benefits.

Unusually, the Doctor is frozen, unable to manufacture a solution better than lobotomising the working class into carrying on as painlessly as possible. It's Amy's compassion, her ability to humanise the Star Whale, that redefines the situation - but, in a very British twist, the power to cut through this mess comes from above.

Sophie Okonedo's Liz 10, or Elizabeth X, could be seen as an attempt to create modern monarchical perfection. She is down to Earth, even a bit street, and she is approachable and deeply concerned for the well-being of both her realm and her subjects. She even disguises herself to mingle with the people, a trope of good kings and queens since Saxon times. But for all that, she is still part of the system and therefore part of the problem: her royal powers are only as good as the ministers who get to exercise them. Once Amy seizes those powers, change can begin - but this is a top-down revolution.

William volunteered an eight for this one. "Amy solved it. She really proves she's a good companion here because she's the one that sees how the Doctor and the Star Whale are the same, and saves everyone."


NEXT TIME...

The Eleventh Hour

I'm really glad I have done this. Watching all these episodes through has been a lot of fun and I've enjoyed seeing older stories afresh. Now, as we move through more recent adventures towards The Day of the Doctor, connections are starting to build in a most satisfying way. More than anything though, it has given me the chance to clarify my thoughts: I realise now, in a way that I hadn't properly appreciated before, what a Moffat Fan Boy I am.

I like all of Doctor Who, of course. Even the Pertwee era. And I think the Eccleston/Tennant episodes are wonderful, even if I roll my eyes at the occasional bit of nonsense. But the standout stories are, without a shadow of a doubt, The Empty Child, Blink, and Silence in the Library. (Closely followed by The Girl in the Fireplace and, to be fair, Dalek, The Impossible Planet, Human Nature, Utopia, and The Fires of Pompeii.)

In The Eleventh Hour Moffat shows again that he writes the sort of Doctor Who I really like; but as his own era begins, he also proves that he can choose the right sort of Doctor. From the very first moment he opens his mouth Matt Smith's Eleventh Doctor is a marvel. That's his base level, his starting point. That he improves from there - continuously, throughout his first series and, arguably, beyond - is just bewilderingly brilliant.

And if I worried about those last few seconds of The End of Time, I was an idiot because The Eleventh Hour is the best introduction a new Doctor could have. As with all of Moffat's writing, it is fiendishly clever. To outflank audience anxiety about Smith's tender years, we are instantly pitched into a child's eye view of this new Doctor. The Fish Fingers and Custard scene is traditional storybook stuff, part Roald Dahl, part The Tiger Who Came to Tea, and it's utterly charming, engaging and hilarious (we all still laugh out loud, even after many viewings). It's impossible not to be won over by this opening, and the newness, the strangeness of the new man is inextricably woven into its charm.

This episode is really a cleverly handled transitional state, almost between Doctors. By keeping Tennant's suit, but losing the jacket, we end up with a distinct new look that nonetheless seems familiar. It's not until the very end that the new Doctor finally appears, brought into being by the adoption of his new outfit. The accent develops too - compare "Can I have an apple?" with "Turn our back if it offends you!" and it becomes clear that the previous persona is gradually being replaced by the new.

And the Doctor that emerges is such an improvement. No longer wearing his broken hearts on his sleeves, he has become quirky, quick-witted and inspirational. Best of all, the Doctor finally seems to be as clever as he has always claimed. Throughout this episode he is continually thinking, rationalising and working things out: examining the crack in the wall; persuading Prisoner Zero that he and Amy are safe because they do (or do not) have back up; finding Rory on the green; debunking Zero's assertion that Amy is dreaming of him, "No, it's because she can hear me...". And his plan, when it is revealed, is properly clever and (be still my beating heart) actually makes sense! This wonderful show, which has always had courage and (since 2005) heart, has at last been given some brains as well.


NEXT TIME...

The End of Time

I forgot something. I live in America. It slips my mind more often than you might think. In 2008, just a few weeks after Journey's End aired, we left Cardiff and moved to Texas, swapping the centre of Who on Earth for a strange new city where it was always summer and I couldn't ever find the BBC on the dial. It took some adjustment (I'm still adjusting, five years later), but I was quite relieved that there wasn't going to be a regular series in 2009: I simply had no idea how I would be able to watch it. Although in Britain Doctor Who had been transformed from rubbish old show into all-conquering primetime smash, America was so far uninterested. When I started investigating, I found only a few hazy memories of Tom Baker on PBS, the occasional Eccleston DVD in Best Buy, and some confused souls who had accidentally seen a strange kids' show on the SyFy channel.

Luckily we went home that first Christmas so I did see The Next Doctor, and we stayed long enough that I was able to watch Matt Smith's unveiling too. And then I flew back to Texas, excited, but feeling a little bereft. But something happened over the course of 2009 and some of it must be down to me (obviously) because, feeling a bit lost without my native culture and suddenly completely unencumbered by decades of British fan-embarrassment, I started to proselytise. When talking to Americans about my homesickness, or explaining to them what was wrong with their country, I would mention Doctor Who. And slowly I started to notice a response as America began to catch up. Soon BBC America acquired the rights to the show (SyFy having not got any traction) and broadcast the Christmas special (in July, but hey), followed by Planet of the Dead. Earlier episodes appeared on Netflix and I soon found myself talking to children who loved the Doctor and, let's face it, moms who loved David Tennant. I started to see t-shirts around town emblazoned with Weeping Angels and TARDISes as America's teenagers discovered a show which, being British, weird and obscure, offered them a mother lode of purest cool. By the following Christmas the transmission delay between BBC One and BBC America had been reduced to around thirty hours; there was a sense that Doctor Who was becoming an underground phenomenon, and those in the know were buzzing with pre-regeneration excitement.

And in the first few days of January 2010, I found Radio Free Skaro. The fan podcast is one of those modern inventions, like Twitter, that will irritate many and delight others. I think it depends on the content -  I have tried other podcasts and I have found them either to be too irreverent (or not irreverent enough), or too preachy or politicised, or (worst of all) not very interesting. But RFS (Steve Schapansky, Warren Frey and Chris Burgess, three Canadians who have been serving up weekly episodes of news, interviews and comment since 2006) get it spot on. It helps that they are men about my own age, and that between them they offer a range of opinions on Doctor Who. What hooked me though, was the total shoeing they gave The End of Time when they reviewed it in January 2010.

At that point, it was what I needed to hear. I had been left slightly disgruntled by the two festive specials and anxious about whether Smith had been given the best possible start. Listening to RFS excoriate those episodes was cathartic and funny and afterwards I was still impatiently looking forward to Series Five, just as they were.

Having just watched The End of Time again, I have to admit it is better than I remembered, and probably a lot more enjoyable than we were prepared to admit at the time. I can't help but wonder if that impatience affected my viewing experience. As I've mentioned previously, thanks to a combination of factors both on and off-screen, it had come to feel like Tennant had been regenerating since The Stolen Earth. And now, watching the final story, it felt as if the Tenth Doctor's last moments were being stretched out as much as possible. Firstly, the combined running time of both episodes was over two hours, making it the longest story since 1979's The Armageddon Factor (or 1986's The Trial of a Time Lord, if you must). Secondly, even once he had been killed, the Tenth Doctor somehow managed to stagger on for another twenty minutes before he finally gave way to the new guy. I could just about cope with him hunting down Rose, Martha and Donna, but Jessica Hynes? Was it really necessary? "I don't want to go!" he says. Yes, I did get that impression, actually. If he put this off any longer he'd be tracking down Dodo Chaplet. At the time this all felt indulgent and treacle-slow but, after a year and a half, I was desperate for the new era to start.

All very uncharitable of me. Now, after nearly four years of Matt Smith, I much more relaxed about RTD taking his time over the end of Tennant (it is still indulgent though), and The End of Time has got some stunning moments, worthy of the end of an era. Sadly, some elements were terrible then, and still are today. There's a lot to get through so it's back to the time-saving bullet points.

The Terrible

• Magic. I like Harry Potter, and so does RTD. It's a subtle but definite influence on his time on Doctor Who and it peeps through in odd moments and episode titles (The Parting of the Ways anyone?). It's never more obvious than here where the Master's resurrection is - well, hang on, I'll let William explain. "This is just like when Voldemort came back," he says perspicaciously, "except Mrs Saxon is Harry." Yes, it is, isn't it? Of course Doctor Who should be full of implausible and ridiculous events that are beyond modern human comprehension, but I'd like them to at least be garnished with the fig leaf of science. The Master is brought back to life by witches with magic potions who have read magic books, and the process is almost derailed by Lucy Saxon's magic 'anti-potion'. That she happened to have handy. The only thing missing is for the Governess to say "Izzy Wizzy Let's Get Bizzy" before she starts. 
• Remember all that incredible Doctor-changing drama at the end of The Waters of Mars? I bet that will need to be addressed, eh? No, instead let's have some feeble jokes about the Doctor locking the TARDIS remotely like a car, and shagging Elizabeth I. Is this supposed to be Christmas knockabout humour? Because I've had funnier jokes inside crackers. 
• The Silver Cloak. Don't get me wrong, it's a joy to have June Whitfield in Doctor Who - she's a legend. And crikey, that's Barry from Hi-De-Hi!, hello! It's like This is Your Life. In fact I like the oldies working together as a sort of elderly Red Hand Gang, using their ancient networking skills to locate that nice young man with the spiky hair. What annoys me is that they call themselves 'The Silver Cloak', because that is a stupid thing to do. Old people, who are - despite their bum-pinching antics - really grown-up, do not give their social circles grand and mysterious names. Unless they are the Knights of Columbus or something. Okay so some old people are self-aggrandising, but Bernard Cribbins and June Whitfield are not. It is cool, poetic and rather lovely for RTD to think of them as The Silver Cloak - but it ruins it if we hear them take this title for themselves. 
• The Time Lords' escape. That whole business with the diamond and the signal... it feels like the paint is still wet on these ideas, and that the paint is covering up something rather Heath-Robinson. If it's possible to send a jewel through the Time Lock, then why not anything else? It's not as if the barrier is a physical one, like cell bars, with gaps through which it is possible to poke a tiny thing when a whole planet won't fit.
• The Master. Before I launch into this, bear in mind that there are some good things about the Master coming up in a minute. But. The problem last time was that he was presented as some sort of demented clown, like The Joker, only he fell into the Untempered Schism rather than a vat of chemicals. This is rightly toned down in this story - until he starts flying like Iron Man,  takes over all the humans, and then starts to squee and grin and bounce around like a bunch of idiots. The Master Race - it's a grand visual idea that brilliantly masks the approach of the true cliffhanger. But unfortunately it is also the biggest load of unthought-through bobbins. Everyone is the Master. Everyone on Earth has been transformed into a physical and mental copy of the most self-serving, devious, ego-maniacal villain in the Universe. So how in the name of Rassilon do they co-operate? It should be instant chaos, like being stuck in a lift full of cats. They surely should be fighting, racing off-world, each trying to trick the others, to seize control? And yet there is an obvious and boggling hierarchy to this new society. The Master accepts subservient positions, he's a lowly guard, a scientist; he mans radar consoles; thousands of him patiently stand on duty in Chinese parade grounds. If we are in a situation where The Master is happily taking orders from anyone, even himself, someone has not thought this through. As a result, it doesn't feel like a planetful of Masters at all. What we get, complete with CGI-facilitated antics, is a load of Despicable Me Minions, all with John Simm's face. 

The Alright

• Suddenly the mild anti-Americanism of World War Three and The Sound of Drums is replaced by sunny optimism. It's no secret that the election of Barack Obama was cheered to the rafters in Britain, but I'm still surprised to see that afterglow percolate through into Doctor Who. The painfully high expectations we all had in 2008 are on display here as RTD has Obama prepare to deliver a speech (on Christmas Day FFS) that will magically fix the world economy. No pressure, Mr President. 
• I can't get my head around this one. For what earthly reason are the Nobles opening their Christmas presents while standing around in the kitchen? Each to their own, of course, but is this really something people do? Tell me you sit on the sofa by the tree or I won't be able to sleep at night. 
• Having Donna in this episode could have been awful. But it's nicely done and her level of involvement feels entirely appropriate. It's masterful restraint on RTD's part and it preserves the horrible beauty of her exit in Journey's End. 
• The Mysterious Woman. Claire Bloom is very good, dignified and sad, a bit regal, and I quite like that she is a mystery... But, hang on. If she's a Time Lord, how come she's not locked inside the Time War? If she can project her way out or something to appear to Wilf, how come Rassilon can't do the same? And, if she is the Doctor's mother (and the hints are there that she might be), then this is a pretty subdued reaction from her son. Considering how much he blubbed over Rose (twice) and Jenny, he might as well be flicking v-signs at this nice old lady as he consigns her back to Time Lord hell. Hey, maybe she's Dodo? It would explain why he's not too bothered to see her go.

The Brilliant

• Cribbins. Matchless. Superlatives can't do him justice. From beginning to end he is perfect and every mood and utterance is undershot with a beautiful poignancy: funny, sad, bemused, shocked, reflective, just everything. Highlights include him reminiscing about his National Service, entering the TARDIS ("I thought it would be cleaner."), every scene with Tennant where the two old men get to talk things over, and digging out his service revolver from under the bed... Wilf is one of the best things in Doctor Who. 
• Dalton. Timothy flipping Dalton in Doctor Who. Unbelievable. And he's Rassilon? Okay then! The Time Lords in general here are a delight: entitled, privileged, sick to the core and determined to exert their will over the rest of the universe. But Dalton sets the tone - his Rassilon is completely believable, a force of nature, a man who has tamed gravity and time and refuses to face his own demise. I know I complain about excess sometimes, but there is nothing over-the-top about bringing back the Time Lords for this story. It is exactly the right thing to do and Dalton underpins it all. His narration is spellbinding, his reveal to camera, half-way through part one is electrifying, but the cliffhanger in which the Time Lords announce their return, is total heart-stopping genius. 
• The Master is greatly improved from Last of the Timelords. Simms still doesn't get the opportunity to demonstrate the devilish sophistication of his predecessors, but this is a darker and more subdued performance that does much to suggest the Master's intelligence. My favourite parts are those scenes where he gleefully lacerates the spirit of Christmas and transforms our own full bellies into an act of complicity. "That's human Christmas out there. They eat so much. All that roasting meat, cakes and red wine. Hot fat blood food. Pots, plates of meat and flesh, and grease, and juice, and baking, burnt, sticky hot skin."  
• Matt Smith. At last, it's the Eleventh Doctor! Oh, but I was so nervous after that last scene. I felt it had been handled quite badly. I think I based this idea on Tennant's first appearance at the end of The Parting of the Ways, which was utterly perfect: that final "Barcelona!" convinced the entire country that the TARDIS was in good hands. I needed these opening lines to deliver the same sting of anticipation and I didn't think it quite worked. Of course, I had no need to worry at all. 

The boys are a bit dumbstruck by all this ("it can't be put into words!" one protests), but what do they think of the Tenth Doctor now he's finally shuffled off?

"He was a very good Doctor," says William. "I liked how he was so upset and emotional, especially at the end here. And he could be deadly serious or silly and funny."

"He was funny, and he could have always been funny," adds Chris, "but it was clever how sad he was sometimes. It made him better." 

Their favourite stories are Voyage of the Damned ("or Planet of the Dead") for William and Tooth and Claw ("no, wait, The End of Time! No, I can't decide!") for Chris. But what about the Tenth Doctor's companions? Who's their favourite and who do they think worked best with him?

"Christina was my favourite," says William, "because she could take control and tell him what to do, I liked that. But Rose was best for him I think."

Rose is Christopher's favourite. "She was as clever as the Doctor, and she stayed around the longest: there was an obvious attachment. The best for him though was Donna. They were a great team."

Tennant is a great actor and he has undoubtedly taken the chance to show this during his time as the Doctor. But the tenth incarnation is too human, too accessible for my taste, although I realise this is an important reason why he was so successful with the wider audience. Both he, and RTD - who brought this show back with steely discipline, shining wit and much love - have my unending gratitude.


NEXT TIME...

The Waters of Mars

Why isn't this the regeneration story? Much as I like it, I am always mildly disappointed at the end of this one because it feels as if something is missing. It's a really strong episode and a great story: thrilling and powerful, it deals with all sorts of issues of Time and time travel, and aspects of the Doctor's character. In those final moments they come together and it seems as if we really are about to surge over the edge into new territory - but the story suddenly stalls, teetering on the brink.

It's frustrating because we nearly get a proper Shakespearean tragedy, with the Doctor himself fashioned into a tragic hero. A.C. Bradley defined such a character as being a man of high estate or good nature who, through his own nature and actions, causes a catastrophe that destroys him. Until the very end, this is exactly what seems to be happening to the Doctor in this adventure, but instead he swans off, the pay-off deferred.

It is his irresponsible wandering that leads him to Mars in the first place. When Adelaide Brooks asks him what he is doing there, he replies, without much flippancy, "fun." Once he realises where and when he is, he knows that should leave but he does not - partly through coercion from Brooks, but primarily because of his curiosity, his original and signature flaw ever since he sabotaged the fluid links on Skaro. Time and again it has been his undoing, most significantly in The Caves of Androzani. Here on Mars it prevents him from extricating himself in good time.

Finally comes the crucial moment: he does try to leave, but cannot bring himself to abandon the astronauts to their deaths. It is a fantastic, thrilling scene that culminates in his return to the base, his full powers revealed to the terrified humans, and it is this decision that changes everything. Why does he do it? Partly through compassion - he is the hero, the doctor who tries to alleviate suffering, and we want him to save Brooks and the others. But he is also a Time Lord. As he agonises over whether or not he should intervene, we must remember that this is a conflict he must also have experienced long ago, before he left Gallifrey for the first time.

At his first trial, in The War Games, he is accused of by the Time Lords of repeatedly breaking "the most important law of non-interference in the affairs of other planets" but he has never accepted their judgement or repented. Here he restages his original act of rebellion: he cannot merely observe, he must become involved. The difference now is that the Time Lords are no more - destroyed perhaps by their failure to remain above the fray - and so the trauma the Doctor has suffered affects his decision and he rages against not just the laws of Gallifrey but the forces of causality itself. As a result he does change history and save three of the crew, but in the process another of his major flaws comes to the fore: his arrogance.

ADELAIDE: You should have left us there.
THE DOCTOR: Adelaide, I've done this sort of thing before. In small ways, saved some little people, but never someone as important as you. Oh, I'm good!
ADELAIDE: Little people? What, like Mia and Yuri? Who decides they're so unimportant? You?
THE DOCTOR: For a long time now I thought I was just a survivor, but I'm not. I'm the winner. That's who I am. The Time Lord Victorious.
ADELAIDE: And there's no one to stop you.
THE DOCTOR: No.
ADELAIDE: This is wrong, Doctor. I don't care who you are. The Time Lord Victorious is wrong.
THE DOCTOR: That's for me to decide. […]
ADELAIDE: Is there nothing you can't do?
THE DOCTOR: Not any more.

It's chilling and fascinating: this wonderful and caring incarnation of the Doctor is going bad before our eyes. Brooks does the only thing she can and reasserts control (and the 'proper' timeline) by killing herself, robbing the Doctor of his achievement. Stunned by what he has done, he flees. At the time it was a deeply unsettling ending but it felt as if it was building to an incredible resolution. Surely the Doctor's final story would concern the consequences of this failure and end in his ultimate redemption? Well, to be fair, that is sort of what happens in The End of Time except that none of the events in that story occur because of what happens on Mars - there is no consequence other than that the Doctor be mildly shaken. Other than that he seems entirely unaffected by this monumental failure and The End of Time is categorically not about the Time Lord Victorious suffering the consequences of his transgression. Instead the Doctor goes on the run from all of this and when he does get his comeuppance, it happens in such a way that he becomes the victim rather than the perpetrator and there is little sense that he has brought this upon himself.

But what a regeneration it would have been if it had come at the end of  The Waters of Mars? The Doctor, arrogant and unbound, suddenly sees what he has become and that his death is the only thing that can fix the mess he has created. We would have a proper tragedy with a truly tragic hero, brought to catastrophe by his own mistakes and flaws, brought low by his own greatness. Except that with this hero, death is also a new beginning. It would have been an astounding end for a Doctor.

Well, yes, that would have been good, but then we wouldn't get Wilf in the TARDIS or Timothy Dalton, and there are so many regenerations yet to come! One of them will turn out like this eventually.

There were lots of other things I wanted to mention - the excellent Lindsay Duncan, the rather lovely views across the Martian landscape where "the only straight line is the sunlight", the effective callbacks to Pompeii and The Stolen Earth, and the omens of the future - but I have run out of time. The boys were both gobsmacked (10/10) and a little tremulous by the end and fair enough - regardless of the non-regeneration, it's a fabulous ending that creates much anticipation for The End of Time. Chris summed it up best: "He knows his time is almost up."


NEXT TIME...

Planet of the Dead

There is absolutely nothing wrong with Planet of the Dead, except that in the spring of 2009 it was the only new episode of Doctor Who available, bridging the long gap between Christmas and November. It can't quite support the weight of our expectations.

After the familiar scheduling of The Next Doctor, this is the first of the extra Specials and it has much the hardest job: offered in lieu of an entire series. If this was part of a small season of two or even three episodes I think it would be really very good. As a traditional series opener, it would be spectacular. But, devoid of reinforcements, it feels like a lone sentry asked to guard home territory while the entire army is fighting somewhere else. Perhaps it's no surprise that thoughts turn to Beau Geste - in more ways than one Planet of the Dead is a lone outpost in the desert.

Maybe if there was some actual fight in this episode it would feel stronger. Without a proper antagonist, there's very little conflict and nobody for the Doctor to confront. Instead we get the brief face-off between Captain Magambo and Malcolm, a few seconds of quickly-dispelled tension when the Tritovores turn up and the occasional barbed comment from Lady Christina de Souza. The Swarm, although powerful and rather nicely realised, are not a credible threat. Without a voice or an argument to make, their menace is reduced to that of some heavy weather; we know Earth will be saved and that everyone will survive their approach.

So what's special about this Special? If nothing else, the desert vistas are enough, all by themselves, to justify the label. The location shooting is wonderful, and well worth all the extraordinary effort that was required to bring it to the screen. And the guest cast is lovely - once again modern Doctor Who celebrates ordinary real people, determined to show us that they have worth, abilities and personality that might be undervalued by society and even by themselves. Daniel Kaluuya is especially good as Barclay, but everyone on the bus gives us a reason to like them and to want them to get home.

Yes, even Lady Christina. Some of the original reviewers didn't like her (one was filled with 'revulsion' by her, another described her as a 'shameless Lara Croft rip-off''), but I think she's rather good fun. The boys were rather sad to see her go and suggested she would have made a good proper companion. I'd agree. She feels like a bit of a throwback, and there's something inherently ridiculous about being an upper-class adventuress who dabbles in high-class burglary for thrills, but her class and privilege remind us of the Doctor's aristocratic origins whilst simultaneously making him feel more grounded. After Rose and Donna (there was always something a little classier about Martha), Lady Christina's poshness feels fresh and the dynamic between her and the Doctor is a new one for the revitalised series: competitive, charged and exciting. Certainly, over the course of a full series, she would have had the chance to develop, change and win over those critics.

Chris, completely transfixed as usual, gave this a nine ("one off for the Fly Men") but liked Malcolm and his silliness, particularly the bit with the fire extinguisher. William, perhaps rather spoiled by Series Four, could only go as high as six. He liked Christina, but thought there was too much techno-babble ("computer gibberish"), hinting darkly that if they hadn't had to say it all, maybe they could have got on and closed the rift more quickly. So young and yet so cynical.

Much more exciting than all of this was the eventual revelation, after days of rumours, that the lost Troughton stories The Enemy of the World and The Web of Fear had been recovered. William and I (Chris's not keen on black and white TV) watched part one of Enemy and were enthralled.

It just goes to show that you don't have to go to Dubai, or even Australia, to make brilliant Doctor Who, although it may be necessary to go to Nigeria in order to watch it.


NEXT TIME...