Have I Got Whos For You

Have I Got Whos For You (part 76)

There is no God Is In The Detail post this week, folks. I’m sorry. I really can’t spare the time.

However, here’s some alternative artwork for episode 11, ‘World Enough And Time’ – and yes, the BBC acknowledged that it was a deliberate homage to ‘Day of the Doctor’, but I wondered what would happen if you combined them:

Elsewhere, this recently discovered deleted scene from ‘Forest of the Dead’ goes a long way towards closing up some narrative loopholes.

Talking of Nardole, the inspiration for that costume, when you look at it, is obvious.

Anyway: while I was doing all this, my eight-year-old removed the front from his Yoda torch, and inadvertently turned it into Alpha Centauri.

Normal business resumes next week.

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Have I Got Whos For You (Election Special)

Friday morning? This was where we were.

Don’t get me wrong. A coalition of any sort isn’t a great result. It’s the one we deserve, but not the one we need right now. Prediction: four years of squabbling while the rest of the country sits in limbo, followed by a narrow victory for Labour in 2020, assuming their leader manages to hang on. And if he doesn’t, all bets are off. Economically, politically, ideologically, this is not a good place to be.

Nonetheless, I gained a certain satisfaction in watching a nasty, embittered party push itself to breaking point as it embarked on a series of personal attacks (“the last refuge,” writes Edmund Burke, “of the scoundrel who has nothing left to say”) on Jeremy Corbyn, while its leader became increasingly panic-stricken. It’s hard not to look at both the election and the decisions that were made in its immediate aftermath as the standard political gambit of retaining power, although you can’t blame Theresa May entirely. You have no frame of reference, and neither do I. There’s a scene in series 6 of 24 in which a weary, chastened Noah Daniels – thrown in, much as May was, at the deep end, inheriting a presidency that had suddenly become vacant – says “It’s easy to think you’ve got all the answers, when none of the ultimate responsibility lies with you, but sitting in this chair…until you sit in this chair, you don’t know anything.”

The irony is May is probably quite pleasant if you meet her in real life. But power corrupts. You don’t have to listen to your advisers. And hence we woke on Friday – in the small hours, as Emily and I scrolled through BBC news feeds at four in the morning, scarcely believing, in the wake of my rampant pessimism, what we were actually seeing – to discover a country that had hit back, and a voting populace who had surprised me. Alan Sugar insists that the Corbyn-advocating twenty-somethings were “not experienced in life” and “didn’t know what they voted for”, and there’s probably a ring of truth to that – but the same could surely be said of Brexit (of which Sugar was also not a fan, although his political allegiance has shifted towards the Conservatives in recent years).

Still, it was great to finally discover what DUP actually stands for, right?

I jest, but this is the sort of thing we’ve seen happen quite a lot in Doctor Who: humans who genuinely believe that they can ally themselves with dark forces and get what they want. The idea that said forces might betray them genuinely doesn’t occur to them. It’s the sort of Faustian pact that has you screaming at the TV – “DON’T TRUST THEM!” is the soundbite of choice, “THEY’RE DALEKS!” – but unlike us, none of these people watch Doctor Who. I watched the second Ninja Turtles movie with the boys the other week and we were pleasantly amused by the irony that Shredder utilised the talents of Baxter Stockman and promptly betrayed him, only to find himself receiving exactly the same treatment at the hands of Krang. It’s the kind of thing he really should have expected. (We don’t have time to unpack this properly, but I wrote a lengthy article on human-Dalek collaboration for the Doctor Who Companion, if anyone is interested.)

To be fair to the DUP, they’re not quite the monstrosity they’re painted as in the press. Creationist? Unfortunately. Pro-unionist? Certainly. Anti-abortionist? You bet. So is half of Ireland. This is not the same as being anti-women. Arlene Foster is a woman, for crying out loud, although I would point out that I’ve never seen her in the same room as Paul Merton. They’re also welfare-conscious: their members are right-wing Christian, but many of their supporters are on the breadline. Essentially they’re a party run by evangelicals; this may be seen as backward-thinking but they’re possibly a good deal more altruistic than many atheists. And in a best-case scenario, they’re going to be a thorn in the side of Theresa May’s benefit cuts, forcing the tempering of policy and a recognisable shift back towards the sense of compassion that all but vanished once the last coalition evaporated in the wake of 2015. Realistically this turn of events is not likely, but stranger things have happened.

Still, it’s hard not to come to the conclusion that this may end up breaking the Tories: I’m no political pundit but surely they run the risk of losing the support of the moderates by getting into bed with the fundamentalists? However you look at it, this is a simple power grab, just as it was for Labour – and people seem to be waking up to that. And hence, this.

May retained her own seat, of course – although it wasn’t without stiff opposition from Pat McDonald, Tony Hill, and…well, a man with unusual headgear. This is the sort of thing that benefits from a man in Havana; luckily my brother lives in Maidenhead.

“Admit it,” I said to him, by text. “You’re one of the two hundred and fifty who voted for Lord Buckethead, aren’t you?”
“Got me,” he replied.
“I knew it.”

Anyway, I spent much of Saturday trying to work out Lord Buckethead’s cosplay lineage, and –

Sutekh. Definitely Sutekh.

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Have I Got Whos For You (part 65536)

In this week’s edition: the Bank Holiday celebrations continue inside the Pyramid, although not everyone is keen.

The influence of Game of Thrones on the current series of Doctor Who becomes more and more apparent.

And elsewhere, the Bride catches up with her final target.

Toodle-pipski!

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Have I Got Whos For You (part 90001)

Today’s Who roundup: first, an exclusive BBC production still of the contents of the Vault.

Meanwhile there is chaos over at Bagpuss & Co when Emily brings in her latest Lost Thing for repair.

In fact, just, you know, this in general.

Sorry.

 

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Have I got Whos for you (part 3000)

It’s all about the deleted scenes this week, as we reveal some abandoned concept art for ‘Oxygen’.

Elsewhere: that deleted scene from ‘Thin Ice’, cast into new light:

And the Doctor regrets not renewing the security option on his TARDIS console.

And yes, the TARDIS does have Windows. They’re just the wrong size.

 

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Have I Got Whos For You (part 400)

God Is In The Detail is returning! And it will be with you later in the week. But in the meantime, here are the headlines from across the Whoniverse.

First and foremost, the fallout from the forced removal of a doctor from an American flight has drastic repercussions.

Fan reaction to the imminent return of John Simm continues to ignite the internet.

In fact this is Steven Moffat’s week, generally.

And an artist’s rendition of Kris Marshall in the TARDIS goes somewhat awry.

He’s just on the wrong planet, that’s all.

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Have I got Whos for you (part 468)

This week in Whoverville: Peter Capaldi’s magazine collection.

A new deleted scene emerges from The BFG.

Speculation mounts as a new trailer for the upcoming series 10 appears to show footage from an upcoming regeneration.

And there’s a lot of fuss over the identity of that woman in the photo the Doctor keeps on his desk.

Enjoy your day. I’m off to London: I could tell you why, but I’d have to exterminate you.

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Have I Got Whos For You (part 103)

I will at some point write something sensible about Peter Capaldi’s not-entirely-unexpected departure at the end of 2017, but I was fighting general fatigue yesterday and insomnia last night. Today is thus not that day.

Tomorrow doesn’t look good either. After that, things will hopefully start looking Up.

cone_of_shame

Meanwhile, over in Trumpwatch, the BBC makes a colossal boo-boo when programming its subtitles for the new President’s inauguration speech.

trump_sub

And back in the TARDIS, the Twelfth Doctor is gobsmacked to find a couple of stowaways hanging out on the console room.

capaldis_tardis

Enjoy your Tuesday. I may go back to bed.

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Have I Got Whos For You (part 46)

It was a little after one in the afternoon and the six of us were gathered round the dining table. The conversation had – for reasons I now can’t recall – turned to the subject of boobs.

I mean, what is it with young boys and inappropriate table talk? If it’s not boobs or bottoms it’s fecal deposit, the colour and texture of vomit or the ins and outs (quite literally) of sex. We have a set of dining rules stuck on the wall, and number ten – the one I call them out on most frequently – is “Don’t talk about anything unsuitable for mealtimes.” Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps it’s like a magnet, an invitation to see how far they can push us before we inevitably snap.

“Anyway,” I eventually said, not entirely seriously but with an attempt to restore a modicum of decorum to proceedings. “You really shouldn’t say ‘boobs’. You should say ‘bosoms’.”
“Oh,” said Josh. “I thought that was that religion.”
“That’s Buddhism.”

Honestly? It’s easy to mishear things. Particularly if there’s one word that you’re accustomed to, and another less-used word sort of sounds a bit like it.

torch_bacon

Is it a coincidence that I started to eat a lot of Brie right around the time I last saw ‘Fear Her’? I genuinely don’t think so.

My father grew up in Tunbridge Wells, and while my grandparents were alive we often went back there. You spend enough time hanging around Royal Victoria Place, certain things stick. I can still remember the grubbiness of the local Our Price, the semi-organised clutter of the small independent video game shop that was – as was so often the case with such things – there and then not there, like something from Terry Pratchett. And I can remember Fenwick, the department store that my grandmother insisted we visit one Saturday morning to have lunch, planning the whole thing with military precision and presenting, perhaps for the first time, an indication that her mental faculties were not what they were.

So in years to come, when I would familiarise myself with old Doctor Who stories, it was easy to misread ‘The Curse of Fenric’ as something entirely different.

curse_fenwick

Anyway: the whole thing with Buddhism reminded me of a conversation I’d had with Daniel a year or so ago in which we’d discussed watching New Who: I was at that stage still trying to pick out random episodes I thought he’d like, before we eventually made the decision to watch them all.

“I think you’d enjoy The Fires of Pompeii, actually.”
“What’s Pompeii?” he asked.
“It’s an ancient Roman city. They had a volcano.”
“Oh. I thought it was those crisps.”
“That’s Pom-Bear.”

fires_pombear

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Have I got Whos for you: bumper TV edition

We’ve got a meme backlog here at Brian of Morbius, so let’s take a look at what’s new in the wonderful world of the moving image.

First, I was looking at Jenna Coleman’s role in Victoria, and thought about the bit in ‘The Name of the Doctor’ where Clara got splintered all across time, and – well, one thing sort of led to another…

I’m not a costume drama fan, in general. I’ve never seen a single episode of Downton Abbey, although I rather enjoyed Dickensian. I have been enjoying Preacher tremendously: a show to which we’ll return, although I have given it a decent write up over at The Doctor Who Companion. If you’ve seen it, you’ll understand this. If you haven’t, it’d take too long to explain, but rest assured that it’s a programme worthy of your investment. It’s so…quirky!

preacher_phone

Too much TV is bad for you, of course, as this recent image from the Island of Sodor demonstrates.

wire_engines

(Oh, I was bored.)

This week’s big news is The Great British Bake Off, a show that started from comparative obscurity and – thanks to a succession of great producers, some wonderful presenters and not a little scandal – became one of the BBC’s stalwart exports. At least it was, until Love Productions, who make the show, decided to move it to Channel 4, who were prepared to pay the £75 million that the BBC couldn’t find when it came to contract renewals.

Things you may not know: Love Productions allegedly had a number of out-of-court settlements with the Beeb over similar shows they later did (Hair, The Great Painting Challenge); programmes that (according to the obligatory ‘insider’) were stunningly similar in tone and format. Also: since 2014, Sky has had a 70% stake in the company. Go figure. Meanwhile, current hosts Mel and Sue have decided not to migrate with the show, and Mary Berry followed suit not long after. This leaves Channel 4 without three of the people who arguably made Bake Off the massive success it was, and while reinventions have worked in the past, alarm bells must surely be ringing in the Westminster boardrooms.

In any event, I think I have solved the problem: I therefore propose The Great British Baker Off.

baker-off

With the news that Channel 4 have effectively paid 25 million for a tent, some flour and Paul Hollywood (not my joke, but I’m stealing it), and the overwhelming probability that this will sink faster than the new series of Top Gear, speculation mounts as to who’s going to be at the helm when it goes down. I suspect that Davina McCall is already checking her diary. I can’t think of any show that’s completely replaced its core cast and managed to keep going. Can you?

eccleston_regen

Well, stranger things have happened.

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