Midnight Musings

I have a friend. Well, more than one friend. Four friends, actually. Well, four friends and a lizard. If you already know what I'm talking about, you are way ahead of today's game. She (my friend, not the lizard, which is really only a figurative lizard. I'm very proud of my figurative lizard.) is completely addicted to Doctor Who, which I had never seen in my entire life as recently as last year. (In all fairness, this friend is an intelligent, well-rounded individual with many interests. Doctor Who happens to be primary.) She said I had to watch her favorite episode with her favorite Doctor (Number Ten, played by the astoundingly talented David Tennant) and her favorite companion (Donna Noble, played by the unexpected and versatile Catherine Tate), and set it up on her tv while I was at her house to make sure I did just that (Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead, for anyone curious). I was fairly confused, not having any prior knowledge of the backstory of any of the characters. So, I checked the On-Demand section of my cable service when I got home and found that I had access to the entire previous season. And that was the beginning.

I am now infected. I've decided that is what it is - an insidious infection. Random lines from the show now infiltrate my daily thoughts and conversation. I suspect that the infiltration goes deeper than that of other shows, movie lines, commercial taglines, prose and song lyrics but I could be wrong. Any stream of consciousness seems to include some reference to Doctor Who somewhere along the line. But that's not what is annoying me at the moment.

What is annoying to me is the Tenth Doctor's final episode. I hated The End of Time. Absolutely hated it, even seeing it for the first time more than two years after its original broadcast. There had been so much ominous foreshadowing, such a sense of foreboding and impending doom that, although I was sad to see this incarnation end, I was morbidly excited to see how it played out. I felt entirely let down because the end was so cruelly anti-climactic and didn't even attempt to live up to its promise. There were mitigating factors, certainly - it had suspense, a scenery-chomping Timothy Dalton, John Simm in a dress - always lovely - an absolutely perfect performance by Bernard Cribbins, and cameo appearances by almost everyone Number Ten ever cared about. Not to mention my personal favorite, a ridiculous scene in which the Doctor is ostensibly being propelled to safety while tied to a wheelchair, shouting, "No, no, no! Not the stairs!" which put me in mind of a not-at-all-humorous scene from the movie Conspiracy Theory. I suppose that doesn't explain why it would be my favorite. It has more to do with the following scene of the movie where Mel Gibson tells Julia Roberts that he escaped from the bad guy by stabbing him with the wheelchair. It isn't often that you get an opportunity to say that. And I so wanted the Doctor to stab the Master with the wheelchair. Now that I think about it, that doesn't necessarily explain it, either. But all this pales in the face of an hour of listening to the Doctor whine about not wanting to die. (Don't *even* get me started on Donna's fireproof brain...)

He knows he's about to die and is unhappy about it. That's perfectly valid and completely understandable. But really, an hour of this? "I don't want to die. I thought I'd be better off without a companion but I was wrong. I'm miserable. Maybe Time Lords live too long. Maybe they should die. But I don't want to die. It's not fair!" Good heavens, we get it! So, after deciding that thoroughly depressing the entire viewing audience wasn't enough, the Doctor goes on a farewell tour, depressing everyone he's ever known except one that already looked suicidal upon the Doctor's arrival and one other. He couldn't really say goodbye to her for reasons fans will understand, so he just mopes pathetically at her. And then, after all that misery, his very last line at the point of death is a tearful, "But I don't want to go." Are you kidding me?? I stared at the screen, cringing at the prolonged agony, thinking, Please die, already. I'll help you. Just go. He really should have died an episode earlier - or maybe even an entire storyline sooner.

My friend, still grieving the departure of Number Ten well into the tenure of Number
Eleven, had no reply to my rant (which was, at the time, abbreviated out of respect for her feelings). And so, dear reader, I rant to you. And I apologize for...anything I may need to apologize for. I'm sorry. So very, very sorry.

'night.