Doctor Who: Series Four Review

As Siol nan Gaidheal’s resident sci-fi geek, it behoves me to point out that the little police box which could remains the sole example of British Imperialism still policing the world. Despite being a fan of the series, it remains a barometer for British Imperialism, British Pop-culture and what fears alienate Essexana that particular week.

The programme has good points, though, in that Russell T Davis has an atheist agenda which remains commendable. His lonely god traverses time and space with aplomb which thumb’s its nose at the rest of the universe.

This is, of course, in spite of Lawrence Miles extraordinary manipulation of the programme’s fan base. LM was a Doctor Who writer before the new series started who was jipped by the current outfit of writers and who found himself selling Rudyard Kipling’s “IF” philosophy to a generation of fans who wanted to believe David Tennant’s Bambi portrayal of the Lonely God. RTD found himself cast as Brutus and Cassius while LM found himself in the role of Dante.

My problem with the Little Police Box which could stems from the unkempt metaphor that the British Police are still policing the world on all our behalves. Where there is a wrong to be righted, Dixon of Sonic Screwdriver Green will be there to make sure we all go to bed happy, loved and protected. We’ve had this Shinto much more bluntly from Spooks where British Agents would happily dispense with a number of our Urban Myth fears about Islamic terriorism on our behalf despite the odd intrusion of one of Martin McGuinness’s cronies or the Welsh getting wired into the cast that season. TV reassured us that we were protected. We were… safe.

Aye dot dot dot right. The outcome of the 1707 fiasco and the 1745 rebellion were all okay because the Doe-eyed David Tennant was in charge of the Doctor this season. Thanks for that… I dunno what I’d have done otherwise…

But DT’s Estuary English is a sacrifice, isn’t it? He had to take on that Sewshalist Wurker drawl for the duration. This, obviously, is because the London-media will only accept an Estuary-accented Doctor in the lead role. When Sylvester McCoy took the role, it was a disaster, likesay. Let’s dispense with how successful Trainspotting was, or the fact that Cracker deserved an American remake or that Gregory’s Girl and Comfort and Joy were amongst the best exports Scottish Cinema has ever had. We remain, as James D Young quoted, the very bastards of creation. We, as a nation and a people, are not to be taken seriously because we represent the antithesis of what our masters’ decree we should represent as “Brits”.

Take a look at Margaret Curran, the Labour MSP now seeking to break her ain parties’ rules over who stands for the Westminster Parly. N.B, they brought in those rules because Alex Salmond. And they ignored those rules because of the SNP chances of winning Glasgow East. But it’s okay… Margaret Curran and her very British shoes will protect Scotland from herself. Yes… that was a dubious aside, but well granted I’d argue.

Sci-fi monsters ALWAYS represent the fears of their target population. Or at least they should. As LM pointed out, the Daleks in Doctor Who, crucial to three out of four season storylines have NEVER been scary. Granted, they’re iconic, and we all know we’re SUPPOSED to be scary, and probably naively assume that the kids are, so that’s alright then… but what IS a Dalek, outside of Doctor Who? What is a Cyberman? Both of the Big Bads represent a fear of being trapped inside technology; and we as humans are saved by a lonely god with a magic wand travelling the world in a British Police Box. Empire… steeling itself against the hoards of the future and keeping England’s green and pleasant lands… er green and pleasant.

That’s what Doctor Who IS and remains: a barometer of Imperialism. Doctor Who, in his current incarnation remains this, and even the writers tacitly acknowledge this. In the present Incarnation, Doctor Who is the last of the Gallifreyans, the species Doctor Who comes from. He is the last man in the universe capable of protecting London from the hoards of evil emanating from the darkest depths of the universe. And only a South London accent can save humanity. Yes… God is an Englishman in a brown suit. Or if you preferred Christopher Eccleston, a battered black leather jacket. Those of you who know my Jacket preferences will know which Doctor *I* preferred.

The formulaic Brit references are telling: Series one, London Blitz (“Aliens of London” and “World War Three”) and Charles Dickens (“The Unquiet Dead”); Series two, Queen Victoria (“Tooth and Claw”); Series Three, William Shakespeare (“The Shakespeare Code”) and Series Four, Agatha Christie (“The Unicorn and the Wasp”). This, naturally, is why Americans love Doctor Who. It shows their allies as they want to see them, not as they truly are. Through BBC Wales they see a British Empire standing against the forces of darkness.

What they fail to witness is the truth: a fragmented country, tearing itself apart since it had forged through lies, betrayal and blood and which is in the final stages of divorce from a shotgun marriage involving domestic violence, rape, murder, assassination, dirty tricks and a supremacist ideology that even the most rabid of Brits couldn’t possibly believe, although the more Neanderthal elements of the Brutish Far Right continue to aspire to.

In Doctor Who the British Empire can live forever, and to quote the Ninth Doctor: “Everybody lives, Rose, Everybody LIVES!” But those of us who have to live in the real world, and have done for three hundred years can only bear witness to the oppression and knowledge that the only thing which lives is the desire to assassination all four beautiful cultures in these Islands.

Last season, they had an episode (Series 3, Episode 10) called Blink. It was the best drama episode on BBC television in ten years, in my opinion. The premise was that every statue is a monster that only moves when no-one is looking. THAT was a scary idea, and no-one needed a mutant bloody pepperpot. The guy who wrote this, also gave us the sequel to RLS “Jekyll and Hyde”: the holistic and inspired: Jekyll. The writer happens to be Scottish, but that’s not why it was brilliant. And they gave him the Doc Who top job as Supremo Writer Dude.

And aye, I will be watching every series the BBC throws at me, not because I have to, not because it’s a barometer for imperialism and not because of those fucking god-awful Daleks, but because it’s still better than River-fucking-City. And it’s the only quality Sci-fi programme on the box. But like everything else on the EBC, it comes as a price, and that’s being force-fed a British ideology which doesn’t exist and paying for it through the license fee.

Addendum: Whilst I was preparing this post, I thought it pertinent to point out one of the formulaic features of the Doctor. Writer Terry Nation, who came up with the Daleks, conceived a series called Blakes Seven, which he claimed was "Robin Hood in Space." The Lonely God with his magic Sonic Screwdriver is, inevitably, Merlin transported into modern Whitechapel with the ability to foil Jack the Ripper's schemes...