Midnight Musings

So, we've nearly reached the end of Eleven's run.  The boy's had enough.  Oddly, I'm ok with that.  I came to the party after Nine had long since gone and Ten had been recently replaced, so Eleven should logically be the one I felt most attached to.  Somehow that isn't the case at all.

There have since been special episodes reflecting back on the early Doctors and I feel more connected, now.  I've also come to the conclusion that nostalgia plays a huge role in one's affection for these early Doctors.  I think back on my own childhood with affection towards The Monkees, Batman, Bugs Bunny, Star Trek, Rocky and Bullwinkle, Lost in Space.  When I tried to share some of that with my own children, they didn't get it.  They couldn't look past the outdated silliness, and I think that's my problem with the first generation of Doctors.  Their episodes were certainly no more cheesy than the scifi I watched as a child, but I didn't watch them then.  The affection factor is missing and, try as I might, I just can't get into the original go-round.

That said, I watched the episodes with Christopher Eccleston's Doctor Number Nine with no expectations and found him to be tough, funny and ingenious.  David Tennant's Number Ten was charming, brilliant, easily flustered and usually just as easily able to pull himself together and save the day.  Matt Smith's Number Eleven never really struck me as entirely competent.  He was someone who hadn't quite come into his own.  He certainly had his moments but for the most part, he seemed goofy and haphazard - less like 900 years old and more like 9, a hero who stumbled onto more resolutions than he actually reasoned out.  That seeming lack of maturity and intelligence didn't inspire the same kind of confidence in me that the others did - even some of the old, corny ones.

Many enjoyed this Doctor's run and found him to be creative and heroic.  Sorry, Matt, I wish you well and look forward to the next incarnation.

'night.