Dr. Whom?

Hello, I'm the Doctor. What I need right now is a script doctor.

I’ve been a Dr. Who fan since I first viddied shit-quality broadcasts on WEDU in 1989, and filled in the gaps via VHS tapes from Video Renaissance. The show's flaws were dead obvious. But I loved its panache, its imagination, its cheek, and its unabashed intelligence, so I kept watching. The 2005 reboot was a dream devoutly to be wished. You'd best believe my fanboy eyes stayed glued.

But ...

But the latest season has pissed on the fire of my love. I’ll keep watching, sure. But something’s off. Something's wrong. Something’s missing. Or someone.

Why is the new Dr. Who not quite Dr. Who?

Tough question.

The new show looks like Dr. Who. There’s inventive set design, great cinematography, decent dialog, heartfelt acting. But it misses the mark. Somehow. The Tardis is out of gas. Dr. Who is out to lunch. The show has the energy of a wet noodle in a vat of molasses. It sags, it bores, it fails to grip. Why?

What the hell is wrong?

Glad you asked that question, me.

First, the flaw is not the bloody fact that Dr. Who’s latest incarnation happens to be a woman. How dare you suggest that, sir! I’m not some shithead misogynist, you sniveling PC bastard. I don’t give a flying fig if Dr. Who is a man, a woman, a Smurf or a wedge of cheese!

Oh wait, I’m me. Sorry.

Anyway. Ah. Now that we’ve cleared the air, here’s a short list of what’s wrong.

First and worst. This latest incarnation is clueless about Dr. Who's character.

Dr. Who has many virtues. Humility isn't one of them. With Dr. Who, hubris isn't a flaw, just an accurate self-image. Based on their track record, the Doctor's overweening pride is justified. The real Dr. Who is the best and brightest and doesn't give a shit about your opinions. Dr. Who puts his/her bet on Number One. And it comes up every time. He/she puts his companions at risk of Lovecraftian cosmic horrors on the basis of nothing more than, "I'm Doctor Who. I'll think of something." This godlike, Gallifreyan gadabout is absolutely benevolent and loveably arrogant. The real Doctor Who, anyway. The latest Doctor Who would never say something like this ...

Basically, run.

The second flaw? Storytelling stupidity.

Dr. Who (the show) has always been a narrative hybrid. Aside from the unscientific science fiction, it’s part detective story, part horror story. Dr. Who tries to solve a mystery in a race against time. Simultaneously, Dr. Who and his/her companion(s) are being chased by scary monsters.

This only works if there’s actual tension—a real sense of threat.

But the new show is too lovey-dovey and cuddly. Dr. Who and his/her solitary companion (and occasional duo) have now expanded to a trio, precisely balanced in terms of age, gender and ethnic origin. The show loves them all. You know it’s not going to kill them. The scary monsters won’t win; no heads will roll. This isn’t Game of Thrones. 

Next? 

Well, at some point, Chris Chibnall and the current writers decided to make this an ensemble show. Hugs! Kisses! No more egomania! Every companion gets equal weight. Dr. Who doesn’t hog the screen time. Not anymore. No, no, no. We’re all important.

That earnest, egalitarian teamwork dilutes the power of Dr. Who’s manic character. You don’t get a sense of her furious mind sinking its teeth into an impossible paradox. You see glimpses of her mind at work, sure. But these alternate with shots of the companions and the latest guest star. The show cuts up screen time like a parent slicing up a pie for bickering children. We all get an equal share!

When you do glimpse the latest Dr. Who’s powers of ratiocination, they’re really not that good. And it's not that surprising.

Steven Moffat (the anointed apostle of Russell T. Davies, the 2005 reboot’s messiah) went on to do Sherlock—a circus act of logical contortions that defied the imagination. Davies and Moffat were good. Chris Chibnall isn’t. He isn’t that smart, either.

Along with Chibnall’s lousy grasp of logic, he has a moronic notion of military strategy and tactics. By way of example, in the first episode of the 13th season, Dr. Who hides out from the Big Bad in a mad scientist’s cottage in the Australian outback. Two human soldiers (with pitiful human firearms) guard the perimeter—against evil aliens with particle beam weapons who could strike at any time from any direction in the darkness. Instead of sensibly running inside, they keep walking around, fully exposed, just waiting to die. And they do. Then the evil aliens appear! Dr. Who responds to this challenge by strolling outside. Rudely, she doesn’t bother slapping a target on her forehead.

Expendable characters die. The lovable characters don’t. The Big Bad is never all that bad, the threat is never threatening.

Dr. Who isn’t the mad savior who’ll pull us through. Nah.

We’re all in this together.

Teamwork is what matters. That’s the big lesson—or one of them. And that points to the big problem.

When forced to choose between story and lesson, this iteration of Dr. Who kills the story every time.

Dr. Who (the story) bends over and says “Yes, sir! May I please have another!” Dr. Who (the character) takes a backseat to valuable lessons about peace, love, understanding and teamwork. Didactic diddling aside, the show has scary stuff. But not that scary. No nightmare fuel for viewers 14-years-old and younger. They’re the target, of course. And now we reach the awful truth.

It's a kid’s show, folks.

That’s what’s wrong.