Doctor Who: Eleventh Doctor Episodes I Thought Were Solid

I am a fan of Matt Smith's Doctor.  In essence.  I enjoyed the way his Doctor was, he was great interacting with other characters, although some of his more monologuey moments didn't always work for me.  My other personal opinion is that many scripts were based on a decent enough premise, but between conception and the cutting room, it felt as if vital turning points had been edited out owing to time constraints (this became less of a problem toward the end of his tenure).

Anyway, for Who fans among you, here's a run-down of my favourite episodes:

The Eleventh Hour

Some good comedy moments, and the stillness of The Doctor eating fish fingers & custard after crashing the TARDIS was a lovely little scene.

Vincent And The Doctor

I'm not saying the episodes between that & this weren't good, but this, for me, was a proper tour de force, coupled with what could be described as a child-friendly exploration of depression.

The Impossible Astronaut/Day Of The Moon

A decent two-parter, some clever twists, and I enjoyed the introduction to The Silence, along with the novel method of bringing about their downfall.  A great way to set up the series arc, too.

The Doctor's Wife

This was a beautiful episode.  Solid plot, clever ideas, and Matt Smith's performance in this was masterful, and still makes me get teary every time I watch it.  I liked getting another look at the previous TARDIS console room as well.

The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People

Another clever idea, and explores the notion of morals in regard to the idea of cloning.  When is a person not really a person?  I liked the way this episode was done, and The Doctor's testing of Amy's viewpoint was a nice touch.

The God Complex

Praise Him.  Another brilliant idea, not underserved.  It was such a creepy setting, with a real emotional investment. I loved the way this played out.

Asylum Of The Daleks

A plot (or an ending to which) I genuinely didn't expect, and a generally good script.  Once again, this didn't feel like it had skipped anything important (unlike Victory Of The Daleks, which sadly I can't stand).

Cold War

One of the best episodes so far for Smith, on a claustrophobic nuclear submarine which has just mistakenly thawed an Ice Warrior who was brought aboard in a block of ice.  Tense stuff, well acted, and showing that Clara is an aid to the action, rather than a cause of unnecessary mishaps (my least favourite style of companion is one that gets bored and messes everything up).

Hide

Straight after Cold War is yet another atmospheric piece with superb performances from the whole cast.  Ghosts, pocket universes, and barely-seen monsters with unnerving movements (only downside in this episode is when the monster is shown in close-up, slightly ruining the effect of the creature).

Journey To The Centre Of The TARDIS

Completing a hat-trick of brilliant episodes, comes an exciting exploration of the TARDIS' interior (something sorely lacking from modern Who).  We finally see the swimming pool, plus a room of potentially intriguing "Easter eggs" in the form of old props, and the library.  Again, a solid plot which is pretty tight and not lacking anything.

Day Of The Doctor

The 50th Anniversary special is FUN.  It has enough weight to balance it out, and it is great to see Ten back in an episode, poking fun at Eleven's chin.  John Hurt makes an excellent, war-weary "non-Doctor" who believes himself to be unworthy of the title.  Although the War Doctor is evidently in existence because Christopher Ecclestone was unwilling to reprise his role, this "hidden" incarnation of The Doctor is a brilliant creation, and the special (and its accompanying mini episode) allows us to bridge the regenerations from Eight to Nine.  A good story, a fun script and some beautiful moments.

So there.  Nearly all the episodes had potential, but were let down by unsatisfactory endings, irritating character moments, or cringey ideas in general, so I wanted to make a list (as much for myself as anything) to see which episodes I thought really stood out.

Any disagreement?  Episodes you reckon I missed?  Gis a comment!

JM x

My Finky-Winks

Much as I appreciate Russell Brand telling us wot 'e finky-winks out of his mouth-hole, I rather lost faith in his florid, emotive ponderings after he urged Britain not to bother voting and, essentially, give extremist-nutter party supporters a slightly better chance of getting their bastards into power.

And so now he turns his attention to the conviction of Rolf Harris.  Our childhoods have been grafitti'd, apparently, and they all need revising.

Utter horsecock.

Our childhoods don't need revising (yes, it turns out we were watching a sex offender draw Wile E. Coyote, and that's awful), and if we're sitting here going "Oh God, what does this mean about my youth?!" then it doesn't get more ridiculously self-involved than that.

The only childhoods that were ruined were those of the people he assaulted, and I hope there as few of them as possible.

Several Stories, One Song, One Massive Tangent

I wrote a song this week, which started out as a song about things in my past that I had not written about before, and ended up as a massive polemic.

Halfway through writing, my mind wandered onto everything in the last few weeks that has upset or angered me in current events, or the world outside my house.  So here is my new song - see if you can spot where I lost it.

(If I Gave You Anything, I'd Guess It Was) The Confidence To Leave

If I gave you anything, I'd guess it was the confidence to leave

If you're trying to get better then it's best to do it far away from me

But if you want to be with him, then you can tell me something I'll believe (like the truth!)

Yeah, if I gave you anything, I'd guess it was the confidence to leave

If anybody needs me, I'll be lying in a gutter in the street,

With the ghosts of conversations seeping in and waterlogging both my feet

And if you can't be arsed to fuck me up, then I don't really want to take the lead

So if anybody needs me, I'll be lying in a gutter in the street

She's my sister, she's the only one I've got, and I had just begun to see

How she suffered at the hands of every mood and every whim that passed through me

And I always used to worry that I'd spoiled the person she was meant to be

But now she's doing well and all that worrying has turned into relief

Some people are nightmares and their bullshit takes its toll on everyone

They can run you round in circles 'cause it happens to be their idea of fun

Well you can take a horse to water but you can't make it hold a loaded gun

But you can make it choke on silence, and kill it with a lack of attention

I've been looking at the world outside, it's fair to say it's given me the blues

With its gunmen and its sexists running riot on the internet and news

So much misogyny and racism it feels like there's nothing I can do

Yeah, you could your breath forever, but they're never going to broaden out their views

All these idiots and bastards complicating life when it could be a breeze

Hassling women on the internet and wondering why they never seem that pleased

So it's okay to threaten rape at every woman daring to express her views

Well you're just wasting oxygen

Well, yeah maybe it's not all men

Like anti-choice and anti-vaxxers

And far-right racist rights attackers

People who don't do their research

Or realise how much their words hurt

All the chummy capitalists

And ignorant gun lobbyists

I think I've wandered off my point

So take me to the start and help me sing

If I gave you anything, I'd guess it was the confidence to leave!

An Exciting Occupation

  There's an odd feeling that sometimes sets in whenever I have to leave a city.  I love a big city, and during visits, there's a rush of adrenalin whenever I get a chance to plug into the energy of the it, and get a taste of its many flavours.  It's invigorating to be in a place so huge that the fact I am in it means very little.  I am one tiny extra part of the furniture, which means I can wander wherever I fancy, observing what I like, as life happens around me.  Which is how I like it.

  In a similar manner, last night I got the chance to go and see 'The Drowned Man: A Hollywood Fable', staged by Punchdrunk.  If any of you are familiar with Punchdrunk, then you will know that their productions are "immersive", and that in order to stage them, they occupy whole buildings, and completely convert them into elaborate, exquisitely detailed sets.  If you aren't familiar with Punchdrunk, then I rather think you should be.  I will try to be as vague as possible from this point onwards, because I want you to go and see/explore the damned thing, and so spilling all the beans is not going to help anyone, especially them.  Or you, come to think of it.

  It all takes place within the walls of 31 London Street, Paddington, opposite the train station.  Three floors plus a basement comprise the offices & film sets of 'Temple Studios', a saloon and a trailer park, and seemingly a wasteland (wear comfortable, and preferably sandproof, shoes).  You are taken into the building, given a mask, which must be worn at all times, and from the moment you enter, you must not speak.  At all.  What follows is a series of stories linked by the underlying darkness of 'The Hollywood Dream', accompanied by ambient sounds and clever, at times unsettling, musical scores - the use of sound is very atmospheric.

  Scenes happen across all floors, at once, on a loop.  While this is an intrinsic feature of the performance, it also means that if you don't see a scene when it is first performed, there's a chance you'll see it later (you are there, after all, for around three hours).  It is also possible to happen upon a scene and then later on, see the story leading up to what you saw in the first place.

  You are guided by nobody but yourself.  There is no right or wrong way to take in the production (unless you are a) pissed, b) determined to try and hijack the proceedings by heckling/dicking about, or c) wandering around with your bastard phone on, taking photographs) - if you find a character that intrigues you, you can follow their course around the building until they get to the end of their 'loop' (from which they return to the beginning of their story), or you can find a room you like, camp out in it and see what occurs.

  My tack was to explore the building.  This way, I hoped, I would get to take in as much detail of the production as possible.  (Seriously, the sets are stunning, I wanted to see as much as I could of the many rooms on offer.)  Also, I would happen upon scenes in an unforced, more natural manner, almost by accident.  Sometimes I would see an interesting scene, and would follow that trail, either until it seemingly reached an end, or until my curiosity waned.  (I saw the stories of several characters in this manner - a couple of full stories, where for others I caught only snatches.)  On several occasions I would be exploring a space when a performer would enter, accompanied by a phalanx of masked observers, while a further crowd of blank, grey faces accumulated in nearby windows - in one case, while snow fell from above.

  This, for me, is a fascinating part of Punchdrunk.  The mask's design adds a silent, eerie presence to the scenes, as if the play is also about the phantoms that haunt the world into which you've been flung - the crowd of masked onlookers almost appear to be some sort of benign Doctor Who creature that no one else can see, and then you remember that you're one of them!  You are a part of the performance.

  As a result of this revelation, and of the feeling one acquires from wearing a mask that renders one anonymous, I found myself moving slowly and deliberately around the building, and in scenes that took place in smaller spaces, I acted back at the performers.  Additional scenes take place in the form of 'one-on-ones', where an actor may take you by the hand and directly involve you in part of the performance.  (These are entirely voluntary, but I recommend going with it.)  I was invited by one of the actors into one such scene, which was a fascinating, intimate moment, and one where - almost in a trance - my focus was precisely where it needed to be, making it almost filmic.  I was spellbound for several minutes, and it took some shaking off.

  It is impossible that you will see everything on one visit.  You won't see the story, but you will see a story.  What you make of it is entirely down to you.  I feel I saw a broad spectrum during my exploration, and I'm sure there are things I saw hints of that I would have loved to explore further.  What you will see will be impressive, with some amazing choreography (the dance in the trees is spectacular), and as I have previously said, the level of detail in the piece is frankly astonishing.  You would be hard-pressed not to find yourself totally immersed in the world that has been created.

  It was invigorating to be in a place so huge, yet the fact I was in it meant a lot.  I was an extra part of the furniture, which meant I could wander wherever I fancied, observing what I liked, as life happened around me.  Which is how I like it.

My Heart's Had Enough

  I'm not very good at love.

  I've always thought I was, but all the evidence points otherwise.  I'd like to believe that I'm the Henry DeTamble, the steady reassuring force that gives someone the will and confidence to enjoy life, and who receives the same in kind, while in reality, I am Charlie Brown, holding on to the crayon left behind by the Little Red-Haired Girl, watching a world of possibilities rise and fall in front of him.

  I'd love for that to be the limit of my skills, but you can also add "Standing idly by while people leave" to my CV.

  The other day, I was in a shop while Al Green's  "Love Is A Beautiful Thing" played over the PA, and caught myself thinking, for the first time ever, "No it isn't, it's utter crap!" - the expectation of those who are not yet loved, the crippling panic, the loneliness it causes in its absence.  Thanks, but you can keep it, reverend.

  There is nothing like the emotional surge when you meet someone you like, who stands out from everyone else in the room.  Every time you're in the same room as them, there's an electricity, an elevation in the senses, and you'd do anything to put a smile on that person's face and make them happy.

  When that expectation nosedives into a bout of unrequited love, however, it knocks you sick.  There is, equally, nothing quite like that feeling either.  The aching sadness of one more special person in the world who doesn't like you 'like that' is a lead weight, no matter how philosophical you try to be, no matter how much you proclaim (as true as it genuinely is) that you're glad to know that person.

  And so you plod on, waiting for that exchanged moment of eye contact that could conduct lightning, hoping for a moment that sets the process off all over again, trying to be nonchalant (and occasionally failing).

  I don't know what I want out of life, I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve being a father, I'm also pretty sure it does involve music, but I'm heartsick now.  I've had enough.  My heart's had enough.  I'd be happy to keep going as I am and not have a care in the world, but that old loneliness stabs at my core whenever I have an unguarded moment (which occurs quite a lot, what with my head being in the clouds and such), and it can't be fought at every turn.  I just have to walk on and swallow down this empty ache every five steps.

  Mourning the past, enjoying the present, worrying about the future.  Why change old habits?

Yes, December...

So, it would seem December has arrived.  Jolly good.

  I am not, as I may have documented once or twice (I've written about so much nonsense since I started this thing that I forget what topics I've covered and what I haven't), a fan of the wintery months.  As soon as the night sets in before you clock off from work & the leaves start dropping, the rest of the world can bugger off while I huddle in my living room and eat biscuits.  Them's the rules.  Since the band's gotten together, I have been a mite more productive, but the rule stays more or less the same.

  This weekend, I saw December in with some friends, which was a jolly way to do it, it must be said.  We went to the ATP music festival, held at Pontins in Camber Sands.  Matt (from my band) and our friends Sam, John and Rose (along with many other folk along the way) have been going to the bi-annual festivals for years, and have a wealth of previous experience to look back on and compare notes, whereas I've been to this one and the one before it, back in May.

  I am really into the idea of a music festival being held somewhere entirely indoors.  I am not one of life's "outdoorsy" people, so to jump into a big building with stages upstairs & downstairs is precisely how I'd like to do it.  Prior to last year, ATP had been held at Butlins in Minehead, which I am told was a far more preferable experience, with four stages and electricity you didn't have to pay for.  Yes, as we struggled into our chalets following a four-and-a-half hour drive, we were greeted with a distinct chill and complete darkness, which then resulted in Sam (from Matt's band, Dead Radio Society) popping over to the shop to buy credit for the meter.  (I imagine this goes down really well with people coming to have actual week-long holidays there - three days-worth robbed £15 off us).

  This weekend's music was, by comparison, a far cry from the sheer variety of bands on offer in May.  Last time I attended, I was treated to CSS, TV On The Radio, Doseone, De La Soul, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, Tinariwen, Lone Cub & Wolf and Antibalas, plus much more besides!  Hip-hop, rock, rap, electronica, there was plenty on offer.  This time, I'm sad to say, was somewhat more one-note.  If I was going to shorten the pickings to one term, I would say "microphone-lite".

  I really enjoyed Civil Civic, Braids (they had a vocalist & lyrics!), The Magic Band and Mogwai - who ended the whole weekend, and had everything else not been so heavily instrumental, I might have stayed for more of their set.  As it was, they didn't stand out as much as they might have done, because so much of what was on offer was electronica and non-vocal music.  

  Now, I am back at home, my suitcase is awaiting a firm unpacking, and I have eaten a dinner.  The joy of time away with friends vanishes almost as suddenly as it arrives, and the mundane appears from behind a curtain, reminding you that it's almost the end of the year, and that all the stuff you want to get done won't happen, because who's going to have time in the run-up to the Festives?  How those people get through December with an "I LOVE CHRISTMAS, ME" grin perma-taped to their faces is a mystery I will never solve.  You can keep the long nights, the stress of finding "The Perfect Present", the late nights trying to do all the things you usually do on top of the extra stuff.  You can keep the hand-freezing temperatures, the uncertain safety of the pavements, the biting winds.

JUST GIVE ME DAYLIGHT UNTIL 9PM AND I'LL BE FINE.  MOSTLY.

  Hmm.  Yes, well I could rabbit on a bit more about the joys of living alone & feeling a bit lost and frustrated while the world turns inexorably on, but I don't think that will make for an interesting read.  It does mean there are things to cogitate on for the next time I sit down and slap my keyboard like an excitable word-monkey.

  In the meantime, have a lovely week, take care of yourselves, and let's all get through winter together, eh?  We can do it.

Speak soon,
Love,
John xx

PS: The fans amongst you will have noticed that the title of this blog entry looks awfully like a song by Nerina Pallot.  That's because it is one.  Here's a rather lovely performance of it, which was recorded by my friend Jenny:

Replacement Fanta Service

  Well, there goes my plan to write at least a couple of blog entries a month...

  It's always been the custom that I write my cranial noodlings with a hot cup of tea at my side, but I've fallen victim to Winteritis (you know the condition, when you come home from work and instead of going out and buying milk, you bolt the door, make yourself comfortable, and are hidden from the world until 8am the next morning) and as such, I haven't bought any milk.  I could have some green tea, but I'm never totally convinced by the taste, and trying to clean the residue from your mug makes you wonder what the hell's in it.

  So I've got Fanta.

  It's not the same, quite honestly.  (Excuse me while I just go and get a fleecey jacket.)

  I'm back.  It's evidently been so long since I did this, as I am continually hitting the comma whenever I try and type an 'm'.  Is that common for someone who uses a computer on a daily basis, yet hasn't used it for blogging?  I must ask around (unless you want to do it for me, of course).

  This fleecey jacket is well snug, especially for something I bought by accident.  Well, I say accident, what actually happened was I was looking for a coat, and on the page I was viewing, this looked like a coat.  So I ordered it, it arrived, it was a zippy-top, really, but a very warm one, albeit not what I was looking for.  I spent a full 24 hours preparing myself for the rigmarole of returning the poor thing, but no - I like it too much, and it replaces something I'm about to get rid of anyway, so... I kept it.  Anyway I've got a coat, a lovely winter coat, I don't know what I was thinking!

  Much like when I elected to stop in and not buy milk.

  So what was I up to when I last wrote?  (I'm stooping low enough to have a scan through my last entry now.  Has it come to this?  Ah, ok, it was September, for the band's birthday.  I didn't think I'd written that recently!)  We've had some nice little shows since we turned 1.  All electric shows, for which Matt surprised us all with a quite frankly stunning new musical instrument.  It's safe to say he's enjoyed all our shows what we've played in the last 12 months, but it's nothing compared to the delight he's experienced with a keytar.  Yep!  Most would scoff or scorn at the idea of a keytar (indeed, he's the only person I know of who plays one), but it fits.  He's more relaxed onstage, he engages more with us and the audience (at our last show, he turned off one of my guitar pedals during 'I've Still Got Your Blood On My Curtains', the japester), and the songs sound more focused as a result.  Never dismiss a keytar out of hand, is my advice to you.

  At a gig the previous week, we really bonded with an audience member.  The poor sod had been steadily drinking, so by our second (and last) set of the night, he was quite well-oiled.  I dedicated the song to anyone "who has lived in a terraced house next to permanently bonking neighbours during an intense bout of sexual frustration..." when this guy raised his hands skyward** and bellowed "SEXUAL FRUSTRATION, WOOOO!"

  It took a full two days before I realised how that was more of an insight than he might have intended.  I could not stop laughing.

  New folks have moved in to the house that has been gloriously empty for a few months.  There are people living either side now, neither are especially noisy, which is a blessing.  I had a bit of a scare last night when they started playing dance music, much as tonight when someone, somewhere, started letting off fireworks, but that all seems to have died down a bit now.  At least there's no awkwardness like there was with my erstwhile ever-shagging neighbours, like the time a letter for them got delivered to me by mistake, so I knocked on, and the boyfriend looked out of the upstairs window and said "Down in a minute!" and then answered the door in clothes that can only be described as "I picked these up off the floor just now, to prevent my opening the door whilst naked" (woolly jumper, bermuda shorts, slippers, bed-hair).  I think my mouth did a flappy thing as I handed over the parcel.

  But then I seem to revel in awkwardness.  I drew a cartoon this week, which is a representation of something that actually happened a couple of years or so ago, when boarding a rail replacement coach.  Pretty much an exact transcript of the exchange is in this cartoon:

It still baffles me that in my eagerness to join in with these two laughing employees, cheerfully stowing away the passengers' bags, I thought "Yeah, say that, it'll really make them laugh!"  Those three words were like a joviality vacuum.  I'd like to say I've learned from it, but in truth, the opportunity to deaden the mood like that just hasn't arisen since.

  I'm scrabbling for things to share now (presumably to put off another glass of Fanta), like some hapless idiot who doesn't communicate for weeks on end, then tries to cram everything he knows into a conversation over a cuppa.  But I should probably just sign off, and let more things simmer, and perhaps wait until I have a definite point to make.  In fact, I'll aim for the not-surfacing-until-tomorrow-morning.

Goodnight all, and stay tuned for more blogging!

John-to-tha-Mac-to-tha...
Okay I'm stopping now.
xx

*I wrote "brewing up" and instinctively glared at my empty Fanta glass, balefully.
**Or perhaps as Samson might have done when he was tied to the pillars.