Monthly Archives: July 2018

Have I Got Whos For You (Bumper Thirteenth Doctor Edition)

It’s just typical, isn’t it? You wait ages for a trailer and two come along at once.

To be fair, one’s not exactly a trailer; it’s more a teaser. Well, not even that. It’s more a bit of a publicity drive for Just Eat. There’s Tosin Cole, tucking into a full English (with sausage and mayo that the entire internet and her grandmother mistook for fish fingers and custard). Mandip Gill finds her pizza mysteriously replenished. And there’s Bradley Walsh, reading his newspaper. Then bang! There’s a bit of lightning and Jodie Whittaker appears. Look at that smile. It’s the sort of smile that says “Yay! I actually get to be the Doctor!” It sort of spreads, casually and steadily, stopping short of being the broad grin you know she’d like to be wearing; it’s understated and restrained, and it spells promise for her performance to come.

It could all have been so different.

When I put that one on Facebook it got a few laughs and also a fair share of abuse, mostly from people who thought I was actually being serious and that she’d be a better choice. It’s 2018, folks, and the irony meter is officially broken. Someone call an engineer. Frank Skinner’s probably got a window.

The full-length trailer proper, of course, launched a few days after the BBC’s World Cup teaser, and promised dingy corridors, period piece drama, sinister forests and alien beaches that look like Cornwall. Plus the Doctor visits an enormous soft play area. No, sorry, wait a moment.

Amidst the trailers: a wave of publicity, and a few photos, including a leaked shot of the new TARDIS.

(Sorry. Not sorry.)

Perhaps most notable is the one in which Jodie Whittaker and her band of merry men appear to be peering down at a glowing object. If you’re of a certain age, it conjures one particular image.

We never did find out what was in that briefcase, did we? There are various theories, mostly centred around the soul of Ving Rhames (which would make sense; nothing else explains why he did I Now Pronounce You Chuck And Larry). Tarantino sort of agreed with it, which led many people to assume that this was what he really intended all along, or that he was at the very least granting it canonical status, the way social media makes these things explode beyond all proportion. I sort of like the idea of the soul-in-the-box – it fits with the narrative, and it’s basically foreshadowing Se7en – but I can’t help thinking that it’s better if we don’t actually know for sure. The story in your head is always better than the one the writers eventually provide, and the gaps are always more interesting, but try telling that to Doctor Who fans.

Speaking of fans, someone on t’internet took umbrage at this image. “It’s upside down,” she complained. “David Tennant would be disappointed if he saw this.”

What’s upside down? I thought, and then realised she meant the screwdriver. Dagnabbit, she’s right. Truthfully I only put it in there because Tim Roth is holding a handgun and that didn’t seem very Doctor Who, somehow; removing the entire arm necessitated more time than I had so it was easier to Photoshop in a screwdriver. Unfortunately it’s pointing backwards, and I hadn’t noticed, which is the price I pay for doing it in a hurry.

But rule one: never admit that you’re wrong about these things. “What makes you think it’s upside down?” I said.

“The blue bit is supposed to face out.”
“Unless you’re pointing it the other way.”
“Why would they aim it at themselves?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen, though.”
“Maybe.”

Phew. I think I got away with it.

Anyway, you should be careful of listening too hard to what others think, particularly when it’s your own subconscious doing the talking. For example, a few weeks ago I had a dream that Ted Dewan, creator of Bing Bunny and with whom I’ve had a couple of convivial exchanges, got in touch over Facebook and told me I should redo Cliff Richard as the Thirteenth Doctor. Needless to say, the moment I woke up I went straight to the computer.

Cheers, Ted. Last time I listen to you.

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How to recognise different types of Doctor Who fans from quite a long way away

All right. I have my beret fixed and my raincoat buttoned. Lean in a little and pay attention. I implore you, just for a few minutes, to listen carefully – because, like Michelle from ‘Allo ‘Allo, I will say this only once.

Seriously, folks, this is getting silly. There is a sense of outrage: over change, and over casting decisions. At the other end of the spectrum there is a sense of outrage over people’s failure to embrace both. Doctor Who is either dead in the water or (delivered swiftly, all in one breath) thebestthingintheworldandifyoudon’tthinksoyou’reNOTAREALFAN. Meanwhile those of us occupying a sensible middle ground are shouted down by people who really need to learn to stop shouting. None of this deserves outrage. This is a TV programme, for heaven’s sake. Is this really where we are? Of all the things about the world that could upset us, this makes the top of the list?

The other day I stumbled upon a comment written by a sock puppet I have encountered more than once in a group I no longer follow simply because the people in there are bloody awful; I’d popped in to drop off a thing I’d posted. He was talking about something in Digital Spy. “At least this author acknowledges there’s a split,” he said, “unlike Baldock, who just writes fluff pieces for the Metro.”

Normally when people miss out half my CV my reaction is to bristle, but I did the polite thing and said hello. He said “Your name is considered a joke in other groups, you sad little man.” It really is the sort of thing that ought to be delivered by a suited, cut-price military bureaucrat in a Marvel movie. To emphasise the point: I do acknowledge there’s a split, of sorts. I just think the rationale behind it is absurd. I’m not saying we all have to agree, but we all have to get along, or learn to ignore each other a bit.

Here’s a summary.

1. There are Doctor Who fans who wholeheartedly embrace the new Doctor and the direction the show has taken. This is fine.

2. There are fans who wholeheartedly embrace the new Doctor and the direction the show has taken, to the point of conviction that Whittaker will be the best Doctor ever and the show is about to enter a new golden age. This is naive but ultimately harmless, so long as such opinions are publicly tempered.

3. There are fans who believe that the act of not instantly falling for the new Doctor is tantamount to an act of betrayal. This is unacceptable. Many of us need time to warm up to these things and not everyone is on the same page as you; this does not make them wrong, nor does it mean you are empirically correct.

4. There are fans who believe that ‘true fans’ back the Doctor irrespective of who is playing him or her. This is poisonous gatekeeping and should be actively discouraged. The words ‘true fan’ should not be uttered at any point by any person, irrespective of their age, gender, rank, or connection with or adulation for the show.

5. There are fans who believe that any opposition to a female Doctor must stem from an inherent bigotry, and that it is impossible to oppose Whittaker’s casting without being on some level sexist. This demonstrates an astounding level of psychoanalysis, and if they’re truly on the ball these people deserve their own talk shows. What’s more likely is that they’re simply toxic; they are best avoided, particularly when they start to gloat.

6. There are fans who are worried about how the show will fare under a female Doctor. Believe it or not, this is fine. We’re in uncharted waters and filling in the blanks is the most human reaction in the world.

7. There are fans who are inclined to be sceptical of what they consider the BBC’s ‘stunt casting’. This is also perfectly valid, so long as such fans maintain an open mind and are willing to at least consider the possibility that Chibnall made this choice because he thought it might be fun, rather than because certain people were leaning on him.

8. There are fans who do not rate Chibnall’s skills as a writer, nor Whittaker’s skills as an actress. This is also acceptable. These things are always going to be subjective. (Personally I think she’s rather lovely, but I am probably not the best judge of these things.)

9. There are fans who refuse to give the new Doctor even the briefest chance, purely out of principle. This is sad, but it’s their loss, and not ours.

10. There are fans who have already abandoned the show and don’t talk about it anymore. This is all right. Leave them be.

11. There are fans who know that the new series will be dreadful before it has aired. The government would like to talk to them about whatever time travel technology they happen to have down in the basement.

12. There are fans who are angry that a ‘traditionally male’ role has become female, and complain of ruined childhoods. This is a human reaction but it is patently absurd. No one has overwritten the old episodes or told you that you can no longer watch them. You are still welcome to enjoy the likes of ‘Fear Her’, ‘Timelash’ and ‘The Twin Dilemma’, just as you can still enjoy Bill Murray in Ghostbusters, and Frank Sinatra in Ocean’s Eleven.

13. There are fans who approach the whole saga from the perspective of bigotry and intolerance. These are unpleasant, obnoxious people who will post links to lengthy YouTube rants and skewed survey data in an attempt to back up their own ideology. The best thing you can do is hit the block button without even talking to them, but be wary that you do not wind up ensconced in the echo chamber without an exit.

14. There are fans who are simply out to troll you. Do not feed them. Seriously, it’s not worth your while.

15. Lastly, there are fans who think they know fandom, and will consider it their life’s mission to tell other fans what to think, as often as possible. These people are usually quite full of themselves. Sometimes they’re right. Sometimes they’re not. Don’t dismiss them out of hand, but be wary of quoting them verbatim. Stopped clocks twice a day and all that.

I will let that last one sink in for a moment.

There is a nasty air about the internet this week. A single trailer and a couple of interviews and it’s the apocalypse. Everyone knows how it’s coming out, it seems, except me. There are days when I wonder whether it really was the internet who turned us into opinionated idiots, or whether we were like this all along. There are days when I weep because people are so fricking stupid. There are people who watch the panel discussion and genuinely think that Chibnall’s comments about a soft reboot and all-new monsters are a sign that he’s chucking out the continuity. These are the same people who presumably believed that John Barrowman had signed the ink on the deal, not because of any evidence, but because it suited them. Of course it’ll still be Doctor Who. It just won’t have Daleks. You can live without Daleks; they haven’t been interesting since 2005.

Listen: this is an old, old analogy, but opinions are like arseholes. Everyone has one, but there are times when it is not appropriate to air it. In the bath or shower is fine. Or in the presence of a trusted loved one. On other occasions…seriously, why would you put controversial views on display and then complain about the reaction? That’s like poking a wasp’s nest with a stick and then standing there, agape and open-mouthed, when they come out stinging. What’s the point? How many times do we have to read the words “Unpopular opinion I know, but…” before people cotton on to the fact that it is a terrible way to begin a sentence?

Without naming names, there are people in my extended family who need to learn a valuable lesson: just because you can say a thing, it doesn’t automatically follow that you should. It applies equally to fandom: as my father puts it, “Always speak the truth, but remember that the truth need not always be spoken”. Your views are your own, but they are probably less important to everyone else than you think they are, so be wary of what you share. Quality over quantity: consider whether you’re adding anything to the discussion, and consider whether you can say more with silence. And don’t give me that gubbins about free speech or your right to an opinion or how you’re sick of all the pro-Thirteen propaganda from the BBC and SJWs. You can easily avoid this stuff if you try. Get off Twitter. Unsubscribe from the Facebook feeds. But for god’s sake, just be a bloody grown-up about it.

The worst part about all this is that I opened this post with the words “I will say this only once”. But you and I both know that’s not true. Of course I’ll have to say it again, and again, until we’re all sick of it. You never listen.

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Have I Got Whos For You (World Cup Edition)

First and foremost:

I mean, it’s not, sadly. I missed a trick; I ought to have got this lot out yesterday, while we still had a chance. But that’s the way it works: if your timing is off, then things go awry, and you miss the train, get hit by the car, or land the TARDIS a year and a day after you left, instead of the morning after.

Veterans among you will remember that – at least in this country – the very first broadcast of ‘Rose’ clashed with the England vs. Northern Ireland match on ITV; a match we eventually won 4-0, after a slow start and an eventual flurry of second half goals. The following day was Sunday, and we were in church. “I don’t know if you watched any TV last night,” said the visiting preacher. “But if you did, you may have witnessed a bunch of lifeless wax figures suddenly wake up and parade menacingly around, causing terror and fear. Or you might have turned off the football and watched Doctor Who instead.”

Anyway, I made this. It took, I don’t know, an hour?

Disclaimer: there is a better version of this idea on the BBC Doctor Who Facebook page somewhere. It’s cleverly edited but sadly unwatchable now, focusing as it does on the idea that we might have actually had a chance at this thing; in the cold grey light of the morning after, the look of ecstatic joy on the face of Jodie Whittaker (who is, in reality, simply staring at her tits) is almost heartbreaking.

There’s a curious irony in some of the fan responses. It’s as if you’re allowed to be obsessed about one thing but not the other. “Ha!” says the Doctor Who fan. “Your fixation with kicking an inflated pigskin around a muddy field is preposterous, unlike my own fixation with a silly science fiction programme about a man in a flying police box.” To which the football fan grunts, or delivers a Glasgow kiss. That’s what they’re like, isn’t it? Violent and monosyllabic, the missing link alive and well and wearing an England shirt?

Look, it’s possible to like both (Gareth Roberts does, and Frank Skinner’s not doing a bad job either) and neither. The nation’s become briefly obsessed with football over the past few weeks because there was a chance there – a slim chance, mind you, but a chance nonetheless – that we might actually make it. It’s the sort of straw you clutch at until it shreds in your hand. Now it’s gone, and we’ll get back to normal. And for those of you who think it’s all pointless and silly, there was a time when we had the same sense of hopelessness about Doctor Who, during the wilderness years when it was off the air. We delude ourselves if we claim to be any different to the Chelsea mob: and no, we don’t stand on top of ambulances, but some of us have sent death threats to the writers, which isn’t so far off. Thirteen years of more or Nu Who has made us remarkably complacent, and we forget that there was a time when we were similarly despairing of the future of the thing we loved, and where the only morsel on offer at a very meagre feast (at least until Big Finish came along) were the odd little sketches, offering laughs, but also glimmers of hope for a revival. Well, except for ‘Dimensions In Time’. That was shit.

Here’s a forfeit: you have to share this post on social media if you, like me, have had a two-week ‘Three Lions’ earworm. I know perfectly well that shake of a head is a lie, by the way. It’s been all over the shop and unless you unplug from the internet (the TV, the radio, British society in general) you have no hopes of avoiding it. It’s even haunted my sleep – although that was probably because a few minutes earlier, Emily had suggested this one.

Sorry. We’ll stop now.

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Have I Got Whos For You (July Edition)

Howdy, peeps. How are we all coping with the hot weather? Anyone fancy an ice cream?

What’s been happening? Well, there’s leaked footage doing the rounds – I’ve seen it, although you will not see a link to it in here – and it’s all very…generic, isn’t it? Whittaker still doesn’t seem to quite inhabit the part yet, at least based on what’s out there – but it is the moment she meets her companions, very much post-regeneration, so it’s all going to be a bit weird. It’s a strange clip to show, in a way, because it won’t silence the haters – although I suspect the only thing that will is gag-shaped.

Anyway, in the absence of a new Doctor Who trailer, I sort of made my own.

 

For some reason or another, news broke of Who North America, situated just outside Indianapolis, and catering to all your Doctor Who merchandising needs, large and small. (They also have a Voyager arcade game, joy of joys.)

They acquired the property back in 2016, but last week that photos began circulating in earnest round social media, so perhaps they’ve only just opened their doors. Of course, it wasn’t long before this happened.

Elsewhere: National Selfie Day came and went.

And finally, news emerges of a brand new spin-off.

Bounce!

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