Posts Tagged With: knock knock

Doctor Who series 10: the executive summaries (part one)

When I’m not blogging here (which seems to be most of the time these days), and when I’m not writing for Metro, you’ll often find me over at the hallowed halls of The Doctor Who Companion, churning out think pieces and gently poking fun at fan theory. We are a small but dedicated and also very eclectic team, and the great thing about the DWC is the sheer variety of stuff that’s on offer – we don’t just do news and reviews, there’s an awful lot of other content, and if you’re not reading it, you really should be.

But reviews are where we’ve been at for the past twelve weeks, because that’s what you do when there’s a series on. To keep things interesting, the site’s editors had a different person review each episode, and then asked for two-hundred word summaries from the rest of us, which they pasted into single documents, serving as composites of alternative views and opinions to sit alongside the main review for that week. And it occurred to me, as we reached the end of the run, that these little vignettes were actually as good a summary of how I’ve felt about particular episodes as anything else.

So I’m reproducing them here. And if you’ve been reading my series 10 reviews, you’ll probably recognise much of the text, because it’s usually lifted word for word. But I daresay there were at least some of you who simply scrolled to the end to look at the interest chart, right? And now you’ll never have to worry about what I said. So here are episodes one through six, each linked to its DWC communal write-up so you can see how my opinions compared with the rest of the team (if you want to read the stuff I published here, it’s available from the Reviews tag). I didn’t do one for ‘The Pilot’, having actually written the main review for that week, but I’ve cobbled something together, and episodes seven through twelve will follow in a day or two.

 

The Pilot

‘The best way to describe The Pilot is ‘grounded’. Because this is an episode that is anxious to root itself (to use Peter Capaldi’s own words) before you’re allowed to go anywhere. This is not a Doctor who turns up and comically integrates himself (or rather fails to) into a community, as we saw in The Caretaker or The Lodger. This is a Doctor who’s already been on the scene a long time, who cannot possibly be as young as he looks, and who is visibly offended when people fail to point this out. But there’s more to it than that: this is not another Snowmen, in which the arriving companion breaks the Time Lord out of a funk overnight. It takes time. The Doctor’s tenure may be well-established but it still takes a good few months (read: minutes) for his new companion to discover what’s really going on.

The episode’s success lies largely in the fact that it doesn’t try to do too much. The cast are a big help – Capaldi is comfortable and self-assured as the Doctor, and his support make the most of what they have – but the strength of The Pilot lies in its concept of space, in a strictly terrestrial sense. It introduces new characters and gives them breathing room – hence the Doctor and Bill are flung together not by impossible forces, but by a sense of mutual loneliness and the driving need to explore. By the time the Doctor has temporarily abandoned his plans to guard whatever it is he’s guarding in that vault and whisk Bill away to the stars (tellingly with a line that echoes Christopher Lloyd’s reckless abandonment of responsibility at the end of Back to the Future), it feels like an inevitability – and we cheer with her.’

DWC write-up

Smile

‘The last time Frank Cottrell-Boyce wrote for Doctor Who, he produced something that – for better or worse – was unlike almost anything that had preceded it. In Smile, the references come thick and fast: The Happiness Patrol-esque drive for shallow optimism; the Vardy’s childlike misunderstanding, echoing the nanogenes in The Doctor Dances, only with the appetite of the Vashta Nerada; the Seeds of Doom bit… I could go on. Had Cottrell-Boyce delivered 45 minutes of tropes and no substance, I’d be glowering, but there’s plenty of meat on the bone (which is more than you can say for many of the colonists). With the help of some thoughtful dialogue, and a narrative sparsity that mirrors the vast, almost minimalist surroundings, the episode’s real joy is the chemistry between its two leads, an ostensibly chalk and cheese pairing that is showing real promise. There’s nothing wrong with homage when it works, and Smile does.’

DWC write-up

Thin Ice

‘Perhaps the best thing about Thin Ice is the wink it makes at the audience. It is not a story that pretends to be grand or significant. It is a story in which the Doctor rewrites Dickens and gets all fanboyish over a con artist. It is a story in which an unreconstructed Nicholas Burns does the splits as the ground cracks beneath him. It is a story in which you wonder whether the thing in the Vault is actually John Simm, and whether the final ‘boom’ that accompanies the words ‘NEXT TIME’ is a simple sting for the episode 4 trailer or that crucial fourth knock.

But at its heart, it’s a story about the necessity of exploration: to scratch and forage, to find both the joys and the darkness therein, the frozen river serving as metaphor for Bill’s discovery of her mentor’s darker side. The path to enlightenment, it is implied, lies not in the certainty of tradition but the willingness to think sideways, whatever the risk. “Only idiots know the answers,” the Doctor insists, in the episode’s latter third. “But if your future is built on the suffering of that creature, what’s your future worth?” Ultimately, Thin Ice speaks to us of the dangers of venturing deeper – the perils that lurk in the darkness and the fear of the unknown – but also of the unexpected clarity that results when you come back up to the surface.’

DWC write-up

Knock Knock

‘The central problem with Knock Knock is that it simply isn’t very frightening. There’s nothing wrong with the set-up: six people in an overly large house with dodgy electrics and a seemingly inaccessible tower, presided over by a sinister, seemingly omnipresent figure with the ability to suddenly pop into existence as if from nowhere, like a podgy Q from Star Trek. The contract is signed with nary a second glance at the small print – if anything, Bartlett has written a morality fable for the EULA generation that emphasises the importance of reading the terms and conditions. Only Bill remains wary – but even she is keen to avoid discussing the obvious problems lurking in the house, clearly seeing it as a means of escape. The students’ nonchalance is the sort of behaviour that usually has the audience screaming at the TV, but it’s very easy to do that when you’ve already heard the screams of the house’s first victim, and a seemingly blasé attitude is at least consistent with the jumping in feet first attitude that Doctor Who typically seems to espouse. If something seems too good to be true, it usually is – but how might we apply that logic to ‘the gateway to everything that ever was, or ever can be’?

What the episode needs is a little more of the scare factor that drips through in the much-improved second half, and a little less of the mundanity that punctuates the earlier scenes: conversations about Bill’s sexuality spring to mind, as does the rather tedious question of whether the Doctor is her father or grandfather. This was clearly an experiment, and while the list of gripes (the occasional fall-back on conventional horror tropes; the Doctor’s effective relegation to sidekick status; the Freudian thing) is plentiful: they don’t make for an experience that is unilaterally bad, just one that feels like a disappointment after the last three weeks. But perhaps it’s not a bad thing that the bubble has burst. If this is the first time in the series we’ve had call to say ‘Meh’, then that’s a sure-fire indication that on the whole, they’re getting it right.’

DWC write-up

Oxygen

‘Oxygen is one of those ‘worthy’ episodes. You know, the sort where everyone talks about the message. It happens a lot, and it’s a problem. It’s nice that people care about things, but the earnestness with which throwaway lines of dialogue and supposedly grand speeches are adopted as profile signatures and – just occasionally – life mantras is something that puzzles me immensely. It’s as if Doctor Who is no longer allowed to be important unless it means something. Robert Holmes showed you can be political, and thus this is something you ought to do at every conceivable opportunity, with episodes that say Important Things left on a pedestal, while the more superficial, disposable stories (sit down, Planet of the Dead, your chops and gravy are in the microwave) are critically lambasted for being disposable candy floss. There is bugger all social commentary in The Invasion; it’s Cybermen running around London. It is also tremendous fun. That really ought to be enough.

Thankfully, Oxygen has the fun factor in spades, whether it’s the Doctor effectively kidnapping Nardole in the opening scene, or the mesmerising, wordless spacewalk (when people say things like “You’re about to be exposed to the vacuum of space!” in Hollywood blockbusters it sounds corny as hell; Capaldi pulls it off); or the moment, just a short time later, when the Doctor abandons Bill in a corridor. It manages this despite a dearth of interesting supporting characters (indeed, the only one you notice is memorable precisely because he shouldn’t be) and a rather clumsy, overstated semi-cliffhanger. None of this matters when the rest of it is as good as it got this week. A triumph, from start to not-quite finish.’

DWC write-up

Extremis

‘I called this. I just want that noted for the record. I called it months ago and said that the idea of an unreliable Doctor – one who thought he was the Doctor, but wasn’t – was something the show hadn’t really done yet and that I wished it would. I know the overlap is all wrong, but I’m just going to leave that there. And yes, I know that you don’t have to be real to be the Doctor. But still.

Extremis is a story in which the dramatic climax is someone sending an email. On paper, it must have seemed ludicrous. In practice, it is stunningly effective: it is, like Let’s Kill Hitler, one of those stories where everything works because nothing works, full of crazy ideas and head-scratching nonsense. The action moves from the Vatican to the Pentagon to CERN for no reason other than it can, with a global conspiracy that is almost as needlessly elaborate as the Cyberman’s convoluted plot in The Wheel In Space. It is likely to be divisive. Some people will love it, others will hate it. On its own, it does not easily stand up: as part of a trilogy, history may judge it more kindly. Some will rail against its supposed cleverness; others (like me) will see this as an example of Moffat pushing things as far as he can, and perhaps not quite as far as he wanted (how more daring might it have been had we discovered that every previous episode, and not just this one, had been a simulation, and that it turned out that David Bradley was guarding the vault?). Some will cheer at the audacity of actually killing the Doctor; others will produce a Series 6 box set and cough gently. This is not one for the ‘generally good’ or ‘generally bad’ pile: it will tread the uneasy tightrope between the two, with fans and critics either side, anxious to give it a push one way or the other. In the grand scheme of things, it’s Marmite. But that’s OK. I happen to like Marmite.’

DWC write-up

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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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God is in the detail (10-04)

It’s all about the Eleventh Doctor again this week, folks. They invited us to ‘Knock Knock’ – and we did, but when the door opened it revealed not an army of carnivorous insects but a plethora of secrets and revelations about the hidden details in this week’s episodes. Let’s unpack them, shall we?

Consider this view of the second property Bill and her friends visit:

The three visible towers refer explicitly to the trilateral Time Lord group formed at the conclusion of ‘Journey’s End’, whereby the Doctor, the Human Doctor and the Doctor-Donna work together to defeat the Daleks. (The one at the back is Jack, but I really can’t tell you what he’s thinking right now.)

However, there are numerous references to the Eleventh Doctor. Note the fez-coloured comfy chair that sits in front of the skip, as well as the two upturned traffic cones, a CLEAR AND UNAMBIGUOUS REFERENCE to ‘The Lodger’ – an episode already referenced earlier with the undersized house that Bill’s posse rejects earlier in the opening montage. Lastly note the partially visible ‘TO LET’ sign, bottom left: read backwards, ‘TELO’ clearly translates into ‘The ELeventh hOur’.

Let’s move on and examine the kitchen.

There are eleven visible plates: note, however, that the last one is only partially shown. Hence it does not apply to the Eleventh Doctor, but rather the half-human metacrisis Doctor mentioned earlier. Meanwhile, the teacups hanging above refer to UNIT: the group of three collected together recalls the scene at the end of ‘Day of the Doctor’ where the three Doctors (and Clara, just off to the right) gather in the Under-Gallery for a cup of tea before disappearing in their respective TARDISes; note, however, that they are situated between the second and fourth mugs, thereby referring to the period of the show in which UNIT played its biggest role.

Things get even more interesting when we look at Harry’s T-shirt: it’s already well-documented that he is the grandson of UNIT doctor Harry Sullivan (although the explicitness of the connection was deleted from the episode), but it is clear that the black patch on his t-shirt refers to the Black Archive, while the silver around his neck refers to the failed Cyber invasion of 1968. But the Cybermen references are more specific than this: the silver hangs equidistant between Harry’s blue and black wristbands, which stand as a reference to this news story from early 2015:

The colour of the dress was, you will recall, frequently mistaken for white and gold, thus referring both to the snow featured in the Cybermen’s first story and the allergy to gold that would kill them later. You can’t argue with the facts – it’s there in black and white / gold / blue.

You’re all good at counting shadows: count the woodlice.

There are 24, all told – a number bathed in significance, given that it’s 11 (11!) shy of the 35 species native to the British Isles. However, the question of whether there are 24 is actually rather ambiguous: a second count reveals 23, and it’s then that things become interesting. In order to explain why, we need to examine taxonomy: specifically, the taxonomy of Trichoniscoides saeroeensis in 1923 – a distinctively coloured woodlouse distributed around the British and Irish coasts (although it may also be found in France and parts of Scandinavia). Crucially, Trichoniscoides saeroeensis can be rearranged to form ‘ethions ironside accessories’, WHICH CLEARLY REFERS TO ‘VICTORY OF THE DALEKS’.

Also note the use of a Polaroid camera: ‘The Tenth Planet’, the first story to feature the Cybermen, was set at the South Pole. The Doctor can be seen to be gripping the picture with the index fingers of both hands, but note that the middle finger on his left hand is centred on the exact middle, implying an initial split and eventual reconciliation of…two poles? No, two planets – specifically Mondas, Earth’s twin, the imminent reappearance of which was a key theme of ‘The Tenth Planet’. If you think this is too much of a stretch, consider the facts: Polaroid was founded by Edwin H. Land, born in Bridgeport, Connecticut (both words synonymous with joining together), and was the son of a scrap metal merchant named Harry.

We move next to this shot of the exterior of the Estate Agent.

Geography is the thing here. Redcliffe Lettings is the name of the company that Bill and her friends visit – but the scene was actually filmed at Moginie James, 12 Sneyd Street, Cardiff CF11 9DL. From this we derive the Twelfth Doctor (address), who will shortly be joining forces with the Eleventh (postcode). The clue for this is in the letters DL, which stand for Dimension Lengthwise – an ISO paper size that is typically used for envelopes, but which in this instance involves the Doctor travelling backwards along his own timeline (or forwards, depending on where you start).

A history lesson: Tunstall is a parish in Shropshire, and it was from the nearby hamlet of Sneyd that the family Sneyd took its name. Doctor Who was filmed in Shropshire in 1985’s ‘The Mark of the Rani’, which saw the Master and Rani team up for the first time. Conclusions? MISSY IS NOT THE MASTER, AND SHE WILL BE TEAMING UP WITH JOHN SIMM IN A STORY ABOUT CO-PARENTING A BABY DINOSAUR.

Oh, and just as an aside? Moginie James can be arranged to form ‘JEAN, MI EGOISM’, which is as straight up a reference to John Simm’s Master as you’re likely to get in mangled French.

But there’s more. The use of this location is actually a reference to stars and constellations – a key theme both of the aforementioned human metacrisis episodes (‘The Stolen Earth’, in which they were going out) and an important story for the Eleventh Doctor (‘The Big Bang’, in which they supposedly never existed). Hence we can UNAMBIGUOUSLY CONCLUDE that stars will be the theme of this year’s series finale.

To explain this we must look at another t-shirt, Bill’s this time – which, as you’ll see (scroll up. I’ll wait), has French fries on the front. In order to obtain French Fries, one must visit McDonald’s (other fast food outlets are available, but McDonald’s is Scottish, as is Peter Capaldi) – and there are two optimum routes to the nearest McDonald’s, marked on this map:

Et voila.

See you next week, folks. Count the woodlice.

Categories: God is in the Detail | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Here’s who’s really in the vault (part two)

More deleted scenes. This time from ‘Knock Knock’.

This was really, really fiddly, so excuse the rough edges. When I get an unscored version I may be able to remaster it. Until then, you get the idea.

(If you missed the first one, it’s here.)

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Review: Knock Knock

Seriously, why didn’t they run with this title years ago? Is it one of those things the BBC always vetoed, on the grounds that you wouldn’t be able to take it seriously? The sort of title that you embargo because it’s loaded with playground gags? Is that why they went with the horror angle, as if to suggest that yes, there’s an obvious joke, but this story is about sentient woodlice swarms and a woman who looks like the love child of Pinocchio and Medusa? And Poirot is guest-starring?

(As an aside, I should mention that Edward has clearly been watching too much Doctor Who, because the other day we had this:

EDWARD: Knock Knock.
EMILY: Who’s there?
EDWARD: Doctor.
EMILY: Doctor…what?
EDWARD: I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS!

He’s three, for crying out loud. Three.)

‘Knock Knock’ opens with a montage. Bill and her friends are exploring properties for a house share – one of them, enthusiasts will note, is comically undersized and about half the height of its immediate neighbours, calling to mind the ‘transformed’ flat that appears briefly at the end of ‘The Lodger’. It seems that no six-bedroomed residence is big enough, so rather than do the sensible thing and siphon off a couple of the less desirable members of the group so they can afford to be less picky, the gang consigns itself to defeat – until salvation arrives in the form of the rather sinister Landlord, who apparently has no name to speak of. Alarm bells ought to be ringing, perhaps, except that one of the unwritten laws of Who states that week on week everyone is supposed to put their trust in a mysterious stranger who won’t tell anyone his name, so to a certain extent it’s business as usual.

The concept explored here is that of separation: the Doctor struggles to bridge the generation gap that suddenly appears when Bill spends time with her peer group. It’s not unlike the episode of Friends when Ross witnesses his student girlfriend caught up in a water balloon fight and realises the relationship isn’t going anywhere. Bill’s desire for a quiet night in is a hybrid of two different sorts of trepidation – her realisation that the Doctor is a magnet for trouble, fused with her need to be a whole and independent person in a way that Rose could never manage. It makes for some awkward moments (the sight of the Doctor dancing to Little Mix is amusing, but the episode would have worked better without it); nonetheless Bill’s desire to keep work and home separate is commendable in an always-on digital age, and it’s kind of sweet that she’s willing to keep the Doctor within grabbing distance but without letting him dominate it the way that Rose and Martha did. “This,” she tells him gently, “is the part of my life you’re not in.”

The central problem with ‘Knock Knock’ is that it simply isn’t very frightening. There’s nothing wrong with the setup: six people in an overly large house with dodgy electrics and a seemingly inaccessible tower, presided over by a sinister, seemingly omnipresent figure with the ability to suddenly pop into existence as if from nowhere, like a podgy Q from Star Trek. The contract is signed with nary a second glance at the small print – if anything, Bartlett has written a morality fable for the EULA generation that emphasises the importance of reading the terms and conditions. Only Bill remains wary – but even she is keen to avoid discussing the obvious problems lurking in the house, clearly seeing it as a means of escape. The students’ nonchalance is the sort of behaviour that usually has the audience screaming at the TV, but it’s very easy to do that when you’ve already heard the screams of the house’s first victim, and a seemingly blasé attitude is at least consistent with the jumping in feet first attitude that Doctor Who typically seems to espouse. If something seems too good to be true, it usually is – but how might we apply that logic to ‘the gateway to everything that ever was, or ever can be’?

Even before the credits have rolled the house has already claimed its first victim – Pavel, sucked into a wall as his record player catches in the background (a stylistic conceit that turns out to be a minor plot point) – but the students treat his apparent self-imposed isolation as a trademark characteristic, and it is left to the Doctor to point out, quite late on, that ‘no one does that’. What ‘Knock Knock’ needs is a little more of this and a little less of the mundanity that punctuates the earlier scenes: conversations about Bill’s sexuality spring to mind, as does the question of whether the Doctor is her father or grandfather…actually, can we just deal with that? Because it’s basically the sort of thing that gets shoehorned in to serve as workable fan theory, hearkening back as it does to the moment the Doctor glances both at the photograph of Susan and at his new pupil, as if to draw some sort of connection. It’s obvious where we’re supposed to think this is going, and while I wouldn’t want to hedge my bets as to whether it actually was, I did rather hope that it was the sort of thing they were leaving behind.

The episode improves. If the first half is a series of awkward social encounters, the second half is an old-fashioned ghost story, all shifting walls, banging shutters and things crawling out of the woodwork – in both a literal and metaphorical sense, as family revelations cast the horrific events of the last few minutes into a new light. It’s easy to scorn the Landlord’s behaviour until his relationship with Eliza is flipped on its head, and the new information we receive as a result of Bill’s deduction grants him unexpected sympathy. “There isn’t a little boy alive that wouldn’t tear the world apart to save his mummy,” the Doctor muses in ‘The Doctor Dances’, “and this little boy can.”

The set works well enough – Fields House in Newport, first seen in ‘Blink’, providing exactly the sort of gothic scare that ‘Knock Knock’ needs – and Bill Anderson brings the same sort of directorial flair he brought to ‘Thin Ice’, albeit with rather less success. The supporting cast really don’t have much to do except complain about the phone reception and then get eaten, but Suchet is reasonably watchable, alternating for the most part between Kindly Grandfather and Psychotic Bookshop Owner – at least until the final reveal, when his voice jumps an octave. Indeed, music figures prominently, from the Bach that opens the episode (stuttering and repeating odd bars, like a DJ’s loop) to the Beethoven that concludes it. Quite why the Master / Rani / Next Doctor / whoever the hell is in that vault decides to follow ‘Fur Elise’ with ‘Pop Goes The Weasel’ is anyone’s guess, but even if it doesn’t mean anything yet, it will by the time the fans have finished with it.

It would be churlish to call ‘Knock Knock’ a bad story: rather it’s a good story with less-than-perfect execution, wobbly and uneven and occasionally tiresome. That it is somehow less than the sum of its parts is partly down to the writing, which is sub-par, and partly the BBC’s heavy emphasis on the horror angle – but without the gumption that, say, Robert Eggers (The Witch) might have mustered. This was clearly an experiment, and while the list of gripes (the fallback on conventional horror tropes; the Doctor’s effective relegation to sidekick status; the Freudian thing) is plentiful, they don’t make for an experience that is unilaterally bad, just one that feels like a disappointment after the last three weeks. But perhaps it’s not a bad thing that the bubble has burst. If this is the first time in the series we’ve had call to say ‘Meh’, then that’s a surefire indication that on the whole, they’re getting it right.

Categories: Reviews | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

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