It is the eve of the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary, “The Day of the Doctor.”
For those of you who are not Doctor Who fans, I understand your, “Uh huh. That’s nice,” inner dialogue.
I was once like you, free from the worries and cares of a the last of the Time Lords (I use the word last quite loosely), from the destroyed planet Gallifrey, with no known name but “The Doctor,” an understandably grey moral compass, and the need to save humanity at every waking moment.
It reminds me of the beginning of “The Incredibles,” where Mr. Incredible is talking about he wishes the world would just “stay saved” for ten minutes.
Well, now that I’ve gone off into my nerdy aside, let us get back.
Doctor Who is important to many people in the universe, including me. Currently, that importance is making me scramble in desperation. Why? Well, because I:
1. Do not have a BBC channel on the television
2. Do not have money to go to the Broadcast/Showing in Times Square
3. Am going to be at work, making the money I don’t have, during the hour of it’s showing
Doctor Who, is a British National Treasure.
While I am not a British citizen, I imagine that the average person, let alone average fictional person rarely becomes a national treasure. Then again, there is nothing average about, “The Doctor.”
I am dying to know his real name. (The hell it’s John Hurt. Real Gallifreyan. If that’s his name, my name is Meebo.)
It frightens me when I think of the lengths I might go just to obtain that information.
Doctor Who makes me want to become a better writer. The storyline is brilliant.
The show is basically an ancient (the 1960’s yo), super-powered formula.
It is a recipe that has been marinated in the perfectly assorted gourmet seasonings with smart British wit, a well rounded global appreciation, and a vast imaginative landscape. Watching Doctor Who is like watching a movie that you know the basic gist of, but it hurts and thrills you each step of the way.
If you like someone during the Christmas special, there is a high possibility they will die. Unless they don’t( like in “The Next Doctor” episode 15 in Season Four). Each adventure is new, fresh, and intricate. As a result, even with the formula, you don’t truly know what will happen.
The writers are OUT OF THEIR MINDS.
Yeah. I’m talking to you, Russell T. Davies. You’re a sick man.
There is not an Extra on the entire set of Doctor Who. Every actor, even those whose roles consist of running away from ensuing calamity, are talented in their own right.
Two of the Doctor’s main companions, Martha Jones, and Amy Pond, were originally Extras. (In fact, they both died, and I didn’t catch they were the same people until my nostalgic re-watch.*sniff sniff* David Tennant.)
The only way to understand is unfortunately to watch it. About a year ago I thought about writing a blog solely dedicated to tracking my progress through discovery Doctor Who for the first time. I was bored, curious, but sure I was above it all. Let me tell you this, fine readers:
In two weeks of watching Doctor Who, I, a writer who can produce 135 pages in a week, wrote 6.
I’ll publish that at another time. Maybe tomorrow, since I’m sure the fan base will be reminiscing. Until then, I’ll be working my magic to find a way to watch it. Who knows, maybe I can watch it during my break?
Until then, The Doctor and I have some Sontarans to defeat! Yeah, you didn’t know I was a companion did you?
No, I am not cosplaying. Yes, that is a Sonic Screwdriver. Happy 50th everybody.