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Posts Tagged ‘Doctor Who’

New profile picture, don'cha think?  Go ahead, do the duck face.

New profile picture, don’cha think? Go ahead, do the duck face.

I know, this is way late. Life, ya know. So by this time, the season finale is ground well-covered, so I won’t drone on too long about it. I did really enjoy it, though. I was concerned that Missy’s accent seemed all over the place, meandering between English, Scottish, and American, but I eventually chalked it up to The Master/Mistress being certifiably insane and moved on. John Simm did a fantastic job establishing that fact several years ago.

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Oh, Doctor, you are in for multiple shocks.  That ain't Mary Poppins.

Oh, Doctor, you are in for multiple shocks. That ain’t Mary Poppins.

I must say, I really enjoyed the last two episodes, but this week’s was at a whole other level, and I’m eager to discuss it. Okay, okay, quick recap. “Flatline” was fascinating, with intriguing new aliens from a two-dimensional dimension that were a good kind of creepy. By that, I mean I wouldn’t mind seeing them turn up again down the road. The concept of two-dimensional creatures from a previously unknown universe is something I wouldn’t mind exploring further. They have the potential to become the next Weeping Angels. The special effects were incredible, including seeing the Doctor’s full-size face peering out of a toaster-sized Tardis. It also included the never-not-entertaining bit of the Doctor’s hand creeping over the subway tracks ala Thing from The Addams Family, wearing the Tardis like a seashell.

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If you're going to walk amongst the stars, it's best to take the proper precautions. Lack of oxygen, spider germs, space whales...you never know what you'll run into.

If you’re going to walk amongst the stars, it’s best to take the proper precautions. Lack of oxygen, spider germs, space whales…you never know what you’ll run into.

I don’t know what it says about me that I seem to be developing a favoritism for grumpy characters who aren’t terribly likable most of the time. Between The Doctor and David Tennant’s characters on Broadchurch and Gracepoint, I think a pattern is developing. Or, it could just be a fondness for talented Scottish actors, but that makes me sound rather shallow, doesn’t it? Besides, that fondness was already in existence.

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To break into the most secure bank in the universe, they'll need confidence, style, and a whole lot of luck.  Oh, and some memory worms.

To break into the most secure bank in the universe, they’ll need confidence, style, and a whole lot of luck. Oh, and some memory worms.

Due to a recording error, which I still haven’t figured out, I didn’t get to see “Time Heist” until it repeated ahead of “The Caretaker”, so it’s another double bill this time around.

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DW_Robot of Sherwood

Doctor Who: Robots of Sherwood

Pretty sure I liked this one significantly more than Gail at scifichicks did. She found it a bit tiresome; I, however, thought it was a fun romp through history. Basically, Clara wants to meet Robin Hood, and the Doctor begrudgingly takes her to twelfth century England to prove the guy doesn’t exist.

However, not only do Robin and his Merry Men exist(in all their upbeat Errol Flynn/Disney glory–“Ha HA!”), Sherwood is being harvested of all its gold by the evil Sheriff(Boo! Hiss!) for the benefit of some robot race who have crash-landed and need to repair their ship. But the real story here is about heroes. How heroes don’t necessarily consider themselves heroes. How heroes don’t have to be real to be inspiring.

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Ah, the Matt Smith years. Coming off the emotional epicness of the David Tennant years(your mileage may vary), it took me a while to change gears. I admit, during the first few episodes, I could still feature Tennant’s delivery and mannerisms, and how he might play certain scenes. Matt Smith’s Doctor was a bit flail-y and ramble-y and I couldn’t quite get a grasp on this Doctor. Even despite taking a giant wrench to a Dalek in a bout of rage-fueled violence, he had this air of the flibbertigibbet about him. Then, at the end of his first season, he took a seat next to the bed of a sleeping Amelia Pond, and started talking. And in that speech, I finally saw the tired old man in a twenty-something body. I could see the weight of the universe on his shoulders, hear it in his voice, read it on his face. From that moment on, he was well and truly the Eleventh Doctor; I no longer saw nor looked for Ten-isms.(Except for an “Allons-y” once or twice.) And the more I watched, the more he became the Doctor.

 

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