Season 10 is an interesting time for Doctor Who to
be introspective. For all that Patrick Troughton's era has a different emphasis
to William Hartnell's, superficially it's still just, 'But Doctor, where have
we landed this week...?' It was noticeable as early as Spearhead in Space that the producers were courting a new audience,
and we've made it through three seasons with no glancing back, no references to
successes of recent memory (Yeti, Cybermen, Jamie's hairy legs). There was one
encounter with the dreaded Daleks, and the one with the Ice Warriors saw them
in a new light.
The format of the show has changed, of course ('But Doctor, who is it that's landed where we are this week...?'), but the much bigger difference is the complete reimagining of Doctor Who into Doctor Time Lord; the man of mystery becoming the man who ran away from Shangri-la, who grew up on a mountainside, talking to hermits, went to school with a kid who grew up to be the universe's most dedicated moustache-twirler, and now lives in exile, doing occasional cosmic courier work and driving vintage cars down country lanes at twice the speed of sound.
Quite strikingly, while it celebrates the past, this is a story it would be impossible for the show to have told in any previous era.
The result has been a new version of our hero with
wants and cares. The First Doctor, for example, was never seen to think
particularly of redemption of the Monk, as the Third does of the Master.
The Third Doctor is pained by Omega's impossible yearning to be free: for only
a second, but a second longer than the Second Doctor ever considered his
adversaries.
There is a case for saying that these ideas remain under-developed in favour of daring escapes to inevitable dangers, and it's a strong case. I must say it would be good to see the Third Doctor envying his younger self's cavalier attitude to time travel, to see Jo disputing with the President of the High Council, or have the Brigadier say goodbye to his scientific adviser as if he means it ('Wonderful chap - both of him,' being more than adequate, I suppose). But equally, the show's treatment of all these ideas would be nothing without the lightness and irreverence they receive here. Troughton's performance is emblematic, but Manning and Courtney know their stuff too, and the whole shebang has genuine charm. Even Hartnell, perhaps my favourite Doctor, is included in the warm glow. I love the way he calls everyone into the Tardis at the end, sounding more 1970s grandad than 1890s grandfather: 'Everything okay?'
And then, in one tiny scene, the story arc of three seasons is resolved. The Doctor is given his Tardis back. Even though the script is rather awkward about it, Jon Pertwee knows what this means to his Doctor, and Katy Manning is on the same page. The show has been entirely rewritten, and the reward is a feeling of narrative progression, expansion of the Doctor's character along with his universe, and all in what could have been the most self-indulgent, self-regarding story of the series.
But Doctor, the question is, where next...?
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