Doctor Who Season 1

The fans might track me down and kill me for this.

Not being much of a Whovian (yet), I'm ideally placed to approach it in a cold, calloused manner. For those of you who do not watch Doctor Who, I shall be your pioneer, striding fearlessly through nonsense, disorder, and the truly abominable work of Russell T. Davies in order to bring you news about what is and isn't worth watching.

What We Know Going In:

Dr. Who is a British sci-fi series and the longest-running sci-fi series in the history of anything ever. It chronicles the adventures of the Doctor (whose name we don't know), as he journeys through space and time in his blue telephone booth. He's always accompanied by a human companion, who serves as a conscience, a friend, and (always important) an audience stand-in so the Doctor can exposit about the exotic locales he's visiting. From the general opinion, we can confidently assume it will be full of corniness and cheesiness, but that may be redeemable.

What We Found Out:

Most of our preconceived suspicions are, in fact, correct.

In the first season of Doctor Who, the eponymous Doctor is played by Christopher Eccleston, who is brooding and fond of the word "fanTASTic." His superfluous human companion is Rose Tyler (Billie Piper), possibly the most obnoxious character I have ever encountered. 

I've compiled a list, summary, and general grading of all 13 episodes. They're graded on a 5 scale, rather than my normal 10, since I'm doing 13 episodes at once. Also, Doctor Who is its own grading scale, and general consensus is that the first season is "not half as good as the others." Here's the skinny (and the spoilers): 

1.01, Rose: The Doctor appears in London to combat an alien race who are...mannequins, whom he defeats by dropping a potion (which was specifically designed to destroy them) onto their leader's head. He meets Rose Tyler, takes an inexplicable liking to her, and invites her to join him on his adventures throughout time and space. Because she's got nothing better to do and wants nothing out of life but a buzz, she hops aboard. 1/5.

1.02, The End of the World: The Doctor and Rose jet off to the year 5 billion to watch the Earth get destroyed. The villain of the week tries to murder everyone aboard the viewing ship, and the Doctor stops her—this time by sacrificing the life of a background character who (again, inexplicably) fell in love with the Doctor in about five minutes flat. 1/5.

1.03, The Unquiet Dead: The TARDIS lands in Nineteenth Century London, where the populace are being threatened by zombies. Once again, the problem is solved by a background character sacrificing herself. This time, at least, she does it because she feels a responsibility to do so, rather than because the Doctor made her feel like a woman. Notably, this is the first episode not written by Davies, and it's the first episode that did not, in my estimation, unapologetically suck. 4/5

1.04, Aliens of London: London is taken over by farting body-snatchers. 0/5

1.05, World War Three: A continuation of last episode (with—I cannot emphasize this enough—farting body-snatchers). To no one's surprise, the Doctor saves the day with almost no effort on his part...again. For no stated reason, he knows the master passcode to the world's nuclear programs. And it's always the same password. And it's buffalo. And if you're ever threatened with a bomb, just hide underneath the cupboards! It's perfectly safe! 

The face does not exist that is large enough for the palm I wish to slap against it. Even the appearance by Penelope Wilton can't rescue this heap. 0/5

1.06, Dalek: The Doctor encounters one of his old enemies, and one of the most iconic DW villains. Uninitiated as I am, I still cannot respect Daleks as a threat. It's all very well that they have such efficient guns, but my goodness, they're on wheels! They cannot properly handle stairs! The only things they ever kill are redshirts! STUPID redshirts! Anyway, the Doctor wins the day again, this time because the Dalek has been redeemed by Rose Tyler. Admittedly, this episode is not irredeemable; it shows a whole lot about the Doctor's character, particularly that he's a ruthless, unrepentant war criminal who's not so different from the things he fights. 4/5

1.07, The Long Game: The Doctor, Rose, and their new hitchhiker land in the year 200,000, where they're supposed to find the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire. Instead they find things being run by a newspaper. After an intensely forgettable episode (but a surprise appearance by Simon Pegg!), the Doctor wins again, and ditches his lame hitchhiker companion. 2/5

1.08, Father's Day: Rose and the Doctor return to the day Rose's father died. In a twist that surprises no one, Rose commits the Great Time Travel Crime and prevents a Major Incident from occurring. This summons demon-bats from the cracks in time (because nothing the Doctor has done so far has required paradox police, no sir). Apart from the transgression against consistency, it's an emotional episode. 4/5

1.09, The Empty Child: The TARDIS arrives in 1941 London. We meet Captain Jack Harkness (just amusing enough not to be irredeemable), a female Peter Pan (sort of), and an intensely creepy child who just wants to know if you're his mommy. Also marks the first Moffat episode this season, and I don't think it's coincidence that it's the first of its kind with a perfect score. 5/5

1.10, The Doctor Dances: A continuation of last episode. Emotional, complex, and indicative of Moffat's style. There's almost no Deus Ex Doctorus, which makes these two episodes unique among their fellows. 5/5

1.11, Boom Town: An extra sequel in the Farting Bodysnatchers plot-line (WHY MUST THIS THING EXIST?), and sets up the denouement of the final episodes. 2/5

1.12, Bad Wolf: The Doctor, Rose, and Captain Jack get yanked into a massive, deadly reality TV show. It turns out the whole thing is a scheme by the same person who was running the newspaper company in The Long Game, who was himself being manipulated by—wait for it—the Daleks. 3/5

1.13, The Parting of the Ways: In a Deus Ex Doctorus to be truly admired, Rose Tyler ascends to godhood by communing with the heart of the TARDIS, which turns out to be the heart of a time vortex, which is...whatever, just go with it. Using her newly-acquired power over life and death, Rose saves the Doctor, resurrects Cap'n Jack, and defeats the bad guys. This causes her such devastating physical damage that she's sure to die, except the Doctor fixes it by kissing her and sucking out the time vortex. This would be bad news...if one of the Doctor's innumerable magical abilities (apart from plot-sensing and perfect intuitive leaps) did not happen to be regenerating. So long, Christopher Eccleston, we hardly knew you. Despite the Deus Ex Doctorus, 4/5

What's Good?

Christopher Eccleston, full stop. Recognizing that he will consistently receive scripts with less lucidity than daytime soap operas, Eccleston flies into his performance, Large-Ham style. There's no shame, and his tongue is distinctly not lodged in his cheek. The performance is, in short, utterly fearless, and it's the most redeeming factor for this season.

What's Bad?

I'll try to hit only the major ones.

Inconsistent magic system. By this I mean any kind of technology that can do extraordinary things, from flying through space and time to generating an impenetrable force field. Doctor Who makes up its rules on the fly, generally pulling the solution to a particular episode's problem out of the Doctor's ear. 

This comes out most egregiously in...

Deus Ex Doctorus. No problem cannot be solved by the Doctor's sudden bursts of ingenuity or his infallible gift for making neutral characters his allies/servants/worshipers/whatever. He almost never fails. This would be acceptable except for the fact that it never costs him anything. He just does stuff and it succeeds. There's no actual struggle involved when the climax shows up; the Doctor magically has everything he needs. This method of resolution is, baldly stated, lazy writing, and it's due in large part to...

Russell T. Davies, who is an abominable screenwriter. The episodes he writes are consistently disappointing, with thoroughly unimpressive villains and even more thoroughly unimpressive resolutions. But even Russell T. Davies cannot compare to...

Rose Tyler. I cannot for the life of me figure out why she exists. She's obnoxious, callous, and generally useless, due in large part to the fact that she does not want anything. All she does is flit around the universe, doing whatever confronts her at the moment and not really worrying about anything else. She has no desires, no skills, and no development. Her sole purpose in life is to orbit the Doctor, get captured, and whine. Even when she's proactive, she's useless. I don't understand what the Doctor sees in her.

So, then...

Is it quality? No. Not consistently.

Is it family-friendly? Again, no, not consistently, if only because it would be criminal to subject minors to the works of Davies. Sorry, that's a vague thought. It should be criminal to subject anyone to the works of Russell T. Davies.

Is it daring? Not really. Doctor Who doesn't really push the boundaries of storytelling in any noticeable or meaningful direction.

What's the rating? For the first season, a very solid 2/10. Would not watch again even under duress. Let us hope the next season redeems its brother, eh? 

Fantastic.

Downton Abbey #1.1

Look at them...so British.

What We Know Going In:

Downton Abbey is British. Very very very British. Most critics drool over it for reasons not yet understood (because, of course, we only just got here). From groundswell, I'm pretty sure it's a show about a bunch of snobby British folks being snobby and British. Oh, also, they're in the early 1900's and Dame Minerva McGonagall is Granny Downton.

The Recap:

Here there be spoilers. If you'd rather skip it, scroll to the Review section. It's quite brief.

Act I: We open with someone typing what I assume to be Morse code over a telegraph (that's how that works, right?). It's a neat trick: we're aware that the time period is way-back-when almost instantaneously. We watch a train moving through some truly gorgeous English countryside, while pretty music plays in the background and the credits of our three-dozen British actors are splayed across the screen. As a filthy Yank, the only name that matters to me is Maggie Smith. One hundred points to Gryffindor!

We're in April 1912, and the telegraph is bad news. (Not being a history buff, I needed Google to make the connection: April 1912 is the month the Titanic sank.) We meet Anna and As-Yet-Nameless Redhead, who look like servants, but are Pretty, so we can assume they'll be Fairly Important. Via a single, long-running shot (a darn impressive feat to filmmakers, I hear), we also meet Mrs. Patmore (the wonderfully curt cook), Daisy (who just can't get anything right to save her soul), Thomas (smooth as snake scales, and just as unsettling), Miss O'Brien (bitter as black coffee), William (who really does try), Mr. Carson the Butler (who Does Not Have Time For Your Nonsense) and Mrs. Hughes (the Distaff Counterpart to Mr. Carson).

That's eight speaking characters just in the opening scene, and not even one of them is of the Family Downton. If the picture didn't get the message across, this is a show with Loads and Loads of Characters.

Finally, seven minutes in, we meet the straight-backed lord of the manor. He talks to Carson about the sinking of the Titanic, and we immediately get a sense for his character with this exchange:

Carson the Butler: "I understand most of the ladies were taken off in time."
Milord: "You mean the ladies in first class? God help the poor devils belowdecks."

It's wonderfully efficient. Seconds after meeting him, we already like this guy, because he cares about the people beneath him.

Next we encounter the Esteemed Ladies of the house: Mary, Blonde Daughter, Concerned Daughter, and Mama Downton (whose accent is distinctly American, albeit 1912 American). We'll cover them later.

Apparently, the telegram brings news that Someone Important died aboard the Titanic. O'Brien takes the time to explain the situation to Pretty Redhead, and (by extension) us.

O'Bitter: "It's worse than a shame. It's a complication.... Mr. Crawley was his lordship's cousin, and heir to the title.... But now Mr. Crawley's dead, and Mr. Patrick was his only son."

There it is, folks: the Inciting Incident. Every story needs a catastrophe to start it off, and this is Downton's. For some reason, this particular death means something bad to everyone in the cast.

Finally, as if we didn't have enough characters, we meet John Bates. He introduces himself as the new valet. If it's anything like my understanding of the word, that could be a problem, because he needs a cane.

Immediately, Bates and Snaky Thomas are at odds, and they're both aware of it even if no one in the house notices. If you watch closely, you'll notice it the second they're introduced, but it's teased out more explicitly later: Bates is taking the job Snaky Thomas wanted. This irritates Snaky Thomas to no end, particularly because of Bates's disability (and because Snaky Thomas is a jerk of truly epic proportions). Of course, Bates's disability gives us little twinges of sympathy, as he's been scarred by the cat.

Next we move to a scene between Milord Robert and Daughter Mary. Once again, the writing in this show is incredibly tight: Mary's first major line is "Does this mean I'll have to go into full mourning?" She was engaged to Mr. Patrick, and now he's dead, and the first thing on her mind is whether she'll have to wear black for a few weeks. Artfully done.

Snaky Thomas shows Gimpy Bates the ropes of the valet job, and Bates takes the time to repeat Downton's thesis: the servants live with "a pirate's hoard within our reach...and none of it's ours, is it?" It neatly reveals Gimpy Bates's philosophical tendencies, while contrasting them to Snaky Thomas's very curt, irritable nature.

Mr. and Mrs. Downton (is that their name? Can I call them that? Wikipedia says that I'm supposed to call them Lord and Lady Grantham, or possibly Mr. and Mrs. Crawley. Can't they just be King Downton and Queen Downton? Silly British titles!) take a stroll across the grounds. Incidentally, "stroll across the grounds" is one of the most innately boring phrases in the history of modern English, so it's to Downton's credit that this scene isn't flat as a board. The Granthams (I suppose I must call them that) discuss the implications of the sunken Titanic. The implication seems to be that the next generation of Granthams won't inherit the house, which is clearly a Big Stinking Deal. But in order to communicate the gravity of the situation, we must bring in

DAME MAGGE SMITH, everybody!

Granny McGonagall hits the ground running with a curmudgeonly, prim-and-proper Dame character. She's blunt, better than everyone in the room, and utterly glorious. There's no doubt anywhere that she will get every single one of the great lines and she will kill them every. single. time.

The interplay between Granny Downton and Mama Cora is wonderful mother-in-law vs. wife stuff—sort of a incredibly high-class version of Debra vs. Marie. It's immediately clear from the way the actresses carry themselves that, in another context, Granny Downton would be criticizing Mama's cooking and the way she raises her kids. As it is, they just continue the expo-speak so that we all get the message: because of the deaths aboard the Titanic, a newcomer is eligible to take over Downton Abbey. They're very clear about the fact that they've been backed into a hole: any attempted solutions would break up the estate and "destroy everything Robert's given his life to." Any attempted solutions, that is, except for "smashing the entail."

Here we encounter one of the difficulties in engaging Downton Abbey as a filthy Yank: I have no idea what "smashing the entail" means. It seems that there are three things inherent in being Lord Grantham: his title, his estate, and his money. Smashing the entail would grant Mary the estate and the money, but would lose the title. I'm still not sure why, but it seems an unsavory option. (But it would cut down on the number of names we need to memorize!)

The servants have lunch and Lord Robert interrupts to say hello to Bates, his old comrade-in-arms. When Lord Robert leaves, and the servants stare at Bates in utter disbelief, all Bates says is, "You never asked." Great line, and a great insight into the character.

Act II: We glimpse a quick scene with Mrs. Patmore and Daisy. As far as I can see, the only reason this scene is included is to show Daisy making eyes at Snaky Thomas and that Mrs. Patmore's not as efficient as she'd like (somebody left poisonous salt on her cooking table, which is shaped just like a Chekhov's Gun: Daisy nearly sends it upstairs to be sprinkled on the chicken). We move straight to Lord Robert being informed about Matthew Crawley, the new heir apparent to Downton Abbey. He's a solicitor ("lawyer" in American) and lives with his mother. Lord Robert looks positively shocked, although it turns out to be because Matthew has a job, not because he lives with his mother.

Lord Robert's friend, Mr. Mustache, continues telling Robert(/us) things he already knows. (You can tell because he prefaces his monologue with "as you know." As you know, you should always be on the lookout for "as you know" in dialogue. With almost no exceptions, it's used to shoehorn exposition into dialogue purely for the audience's benefit. The protagonist really doesn't need it—that's why it's "as you know." The only reason it's been included is for the audience. It may be the first instance of anything less than extraordinary writing, and it's not even a major faux-pas.) It's a pretty rough situation for Lord Robert and his family: they're probably going to lose all their money. Meanwhile, Mary, Edith, and the as-yet-unnamed Third Crawley Daughter argue over proper expression of feelings, a common British issue (zing!). Mary's a regular Ice Queen, Edith hates her for it, and Unnamed Daughter comes across as empathic, if nothing else.

The rest of Act II is largely displaying the various reactions and politics within the house. Thomas and O'Bitter are allied against Bates; Lord Robert and Bates are old pals; Mary's emotionless while Edith hates playing second fiddle to a sister who clearly couldn't care less; and everybody's very involved in the two major events (the loss of the heir and the arrival of the crippled valet). The scenes that stand out are the ones near the end of Act II, and it's precisely because they sharpen the issues at hand.

First, Robert states in no uncertain terms why losing Downton Abbey is an unacceptable loss. It is his third parent and his fourth child. He has no career except caring for the estate. The audience is thrust right into his pathos, finally moving the threat of losing Downton from "vaguely worrying to all the characters" to "an actual, serious problem."

Second, we see Bates overturn a tray. In any other context, that wouldn't be that big a deal, but Brendan Coyle sells Bates's shame over his affliction. Furthermore, it vindicates everyone who's saying that Bates shouldn't be allowed to work at Downton: he can't even pick up a tray.

Act III opens with the impending arrival of some pompous duke who "thinks Mary's prospects have changed." It's stated in no uncertain terms that he's interested in Mary's money—which, again, turns Edith utterly shrew-like. Meanwhile, the whole staff prepares to turn out and welcome the man (except Daisy. Daisy never gets to have any fun). Bates insists upon being there.

The duke shows up, everyone comes out in their best, and SYBIL GETS A NAME! This should not be as big a deal as it felt, but it's good not to have to call her Unnamed Daughter. The duke needs someone to carry his bags, and picks Thomas. Does this feel too convenient? This feels too convenient. The duke lands instantly on Thomas. He even remembers his face. This is very strange, because Duke Pompous does not seem like the sort of man who remembers the faces of servants.

Just before the family goes inside, O'Bitter kicks out Bates's stick. OH NO YOU DIDN'T. Sarah O'Bitter, you are the worst sort of person. In contrast, Anna stays behind to help Mr. Bates to his feet, and they have a short, adorable moment together. (Mark this down as the moment I jumped on the AnBates Ship.)

Duke Pompous and Mary explore the house, and the way Duke Pompous suggests it is chock-full of skeevy. They go upstairs...alone...and the music is going...this is all sorts of bad news. Duke Pompous gives off a vibe like he's looking for a place to be even more alone, which is bad news. Bates shows up and, through humble silence, so unsettles Mary that she leaves skidmarks on her way out.

Sun Room of Lordly Influence. Carson indicates to Lord Robert that maybe Bates is unsuited to the job. He's irritated by Bates's undignified fall earlier that day, as is Mama Cora. Lord Robert hates the idea of flinging his friend out, but it's clear he's being worn down.

Personal Room of Lordly Influence. Lord Robert tells Bates that it's not really up to him anymore; Bates needs to figure something out. He offers Bates a monthly stipend, an offer which Bates shoots down immediately. He will accept wages for a job done, nothing else. The scene becomes unexpectedly gut-wrenching when they both realize there's no other solution but for Bates to leave Downton.

Dinner Table of Awkward Revelations. Edith blabs about the fact that Mary and Duke Pompous were alone in the attics, which causes an instant stir. Granny Downton tries to settle things down, but even her momentous presence can't calm everything. The dinner ends with everyone bustling off in imperious silence. (In American, that's the equivalent of a family shouting match.)

Anna brings dinner to Mr. Bates, who is weeping in his room. It's a stirring scene, one that can only reinforce the shipping between Anna and Bates. If Bates does end up leaving, then this scene is superfluous, so we can conclude safely that Bates will be back later. He's too cathartic to lose.

Dinner Table of Awkward Revelations again, and Lord Robert tells Duke Pompous that he "won't fight the entail," which is code for "Mary's not worth millions anymore." He goes on to explain that when Duke Pompous marries her, though, her wedding settlement will be respectable, and Duke Pompous backtracks, saying, "I hope I haven't given the wrong impression." Lord Robert fixes him in a thousand-yard stare and says "You know very well what you were doing when you came here," and I swear I hear thunder rolling in the background as he speaks. (I can only conclude that Lord Robert is the god of thunder.)

Duke Pompous disentangles himself from any intention of marriage, which only further enrages Lord Robert (and the thunderstorm he has unconsciously summoned). Mary the Ice Princess gets the news directly from Duke Pompous that he's not interested anymore, and Edith appears from nowhere to mock her.

Edith: "Looks like he slipped the hook."
Mary: "At least I'm not fishing with no bait."

Wow. Right for the jugular, eh, Icy?

Thomas helps Duke Pompous undress, and finally everything comes to light. Thomas was telegraphing Duke Pompous, intending for him to wed Mary and take the inheritance. It would have the added benefit of allowing Thomas and Duke Pompous to be in the same house—a benefit, since they're romantically involved. Duke Pompous was planning to give Thomas a swanky new position, but he's having second thoughts about their relationship. Thomas becomes darkly angry, threatening to expose Duke Pompous as actually being Duke FABULOUS. Duke Fabulous gets a very knowing smile and pulls out Thomas's blackmail, which he must have procured during his attic field trip with Mary. He throws it into the fire, and THOMAS FINALLY LOSES AT SOMETHING. Duke Fabulous gets MVP for this episode, purely for putting Snaky Thomas back in his place.

Sunrise the next morning, Bates and Duke Fabulous are headed out of Downton. Duke Fabulous's lines suggest to me that his first concern was always Thomas's letters; Mary was just a potential bonus. For him, the trip was a success. For all that he's such a winner, he's also a despicable human being.

The car starts to pull away, and then Lord Robert yells, "Wait!" And he runs. He runs. Only for like three feet, but he moved suddenly, and with intent. That's basically a tearful reunion, translated into American. Appropriately, Lord Robert's last line in this episode is, "It wasn't right, Carson. I just didn't think it was right." There he is, folks: the Hero of the story. When the world is suddenly saved from catastrophe, everyone's going to look behind them and see Robert Crawley wrestling the world's demons on his own.

The episode closes with Matthew Crawley receiving mail from Lord Robert, who "wants to change our lives."

The Review: 

This is an utterly outstanding piece of television, at least from the lowly perspective I can bring. The writing is tight and efficient, the characters sharply drawn out, and the drama effectively communicated.

If Downton has a flaw, it's in the translation from British to American. There's quite a lot of friction while getting across the pond. Yanks may have difficulty understanding why Robert is so distinctly opposed to losing the title and/or the estate, since, frankly, the dude has more names than he can feasibly handle anyway. Added to that is the fact that not much American television incorporates 20 main characters.

So, then....

Is it quality? YES
Is it family-friendly? For this first episode, not quite. Skip that last scene, though, and everything comes up roses.
Is it daring? Yes. This show is proof-positive that the high concept really doesn't matter, as long as it's carried out powerfully. "Let's watch some snobby Brits be British and snobby in the early 1900s" does not strike me as a million-dollar idea, but it's clearly being done well.
What's the rating? 9.8/10. Would watch, again and again and again.