How Doctor Who Speaks to a World in Trouble
Doctor Who is by nature an uneven show, its ‘revolving door’ enabling it to reach highs and lows other shows simply can’t. It’s built around a constantly regenerating character/lead actor, each iteration of whom brings a new facet of personality, wardrobe style, and method of interacting with their rotating gallery of companions, a few who crossover, others of whom are short lived (some literally).
Actors come and go, TARDIS sets are redesigned, showrunners, writers, directors, DPs, cameras and lenses rotate through, all working to serve one ever-expanding bigger-on-the-inside story. Its backstory evolves and is told by unreliable narrators, its lore sometimes grapples with our world’s actual history, other times travels to imaginary galaxies. Tonally it swings through absurdist fantasy, grounded psychological quandaries, genre spoofs, modern parables, floating sentient brains, omnisexual space pirates, and everything in between.
Partly as a function of all that, partly from the sheer length of its decade-spanning run, and partly because it’s written to appeal to children and adults alike, Doctor Who creates mythology that functions differently in ‘the real world’ than most other pieces of pop culture. Along with Sesame Street, James Bond, Hello Kitty, and Star Wars, it’s part of a select pantheon of shows which span generations. But while not many 8 year olds are James Bond nerds, or many 80 year olds can recite the current Sesame Street gang, the current Doctor and her companions transcend age groups.
It’s natural to see a bit of crumbling under the weight of 60 year history and hyper-meta mythology; I’ve written elsewhere about how perhaps the last two seasons, have been more uneven than any in NuWho’s run. But as a character, pop culture icon, human, alien, and helper, the Doctor is remains who we need right now.
In its last season alone, Who makes swings from subtly metaphorical and club-you-over-the-head-obvious references to real world crises ranging from climate change to xenophobia, horrific immigration policies and sexism. Humans are always doing something terrible to each other, and the show often plays with ‘humans are the real monsters’ of great horror films. We face a crisis that is outside morality or aliens or policy. Some step up to help while others take the opportunity to make money, push agendas, or outright use it to get rid of those they consider undesirable. Why would I think a fictional character particularly relevant to a time of real global crisis?
Because the Doctor speaks to our fears and encourages us to be better.
Before we talk about the Doctor and Jodie Whittaker outside the show, let’s look at Doctor Who 11.08 (or 37.08) episode titled, “The Witchfinders.”
It’s always a big deal when the Doctor regenerates, but this season was bigger than most, involving a new showrunner, all new companions, and the first ever ‘Woman Doctor.’ Most TV teams don’t try Big Life Affirming Speeches right out the gate, but this is Doctor Who; with big speeches at least three times per season, and are practically obligated to contain one in the premiere and finale. This comes in the first episode, penned by guest writer Joy Wilkinson, amidst a season finding its way with some interesting aesthetic choices. It’s a quasi-historical episode, in that King James and witch hunts existed, but on the scale of “accurate and factual” to “taking liberties of fact and costume and quirk” . . . well it reveals a ‘witch’ to instead be a Morax alien queen, so let’s say it leans to the latter.
Witch trial stories have the benefit of being familiar to audiences worldwide, and the tropes in this episode are particularly consistent with both European and American depictions. King James is broadly known as someone who insisted on a translation of the Bible (with plenty of ulterior motives) and had a sexual appetite ranging from men and women, both of which the episode acknowledges as factors in his reign and influences on his policy, but it’s mostly concerned with his witch hunting and mercurial nature. The key moment comes when the Doctor delivers a Heart of Humanity Speech despite her compromising situation.
The Doctor: You can’t go hurting people just because you’re scared to face up to the darkness inside you. You have to be better than that.
King James: How do you know these things?
The Doctor: I know because we’re all the same. We want certainty. Security. To believe that people are evil or heroic. But that’s not how people are. You want to know the secrets of existence? Start with the mysteries of the heart. I can show you everything if you stop being afraid of what you don’t understand.
Is there any doubt director Sallie Aprahamian knew exactly what she was doing tying the Doctor to a tree? If there is, pause and consider that, 1) Alan Cumming is in this episode, and 2) the Doctor emerges dripping wet from a lake not once, but twice. Let’s take those in turn.
1. Like Cumming’s performance (and that of Mistress Savage) “The Witchfinders” embraces the campiness and absurdity which often colours both Doctor Who and modern tales of witches. Up to this point Cumming’s King James doesn’t chew the scenery so much as lick then lovingly masticate it. Here he needs to be threatening, questioning, doubtful, and persuadable in turn, which he accomplishes without entirely abandoning the histrionics and highfalutin mannerisms which colour the rest of the episode’s performance.
2. This scene knows damn well what it’s doing with the Doctor, the thrill of witches, and the steeply angled closeups.
Though delightful and purposeful, the blocking doesn’t at first lend itself to heartfelt discussions of humanity. Between the opening shot panning down to lovingly reveal the Doctor’s compromising situation and the final shot where James’s face remains frozen in indecisive fear, the tone gradually shifts until it’s more sinister than sexy, heavier with import than hilarity. Cummings’s work enables Whittaker’s performance, so the Doctor’s speech rings true while she’s situationally compromised. The speech never gives a specific answer to King James, because there is no such thing, and a James-specific solve wouldn’t help the audience anyways, which is what Doctor Who is all about. Instead it speaks to both, asking the listener to accept uncertainty and open their heart.
The Doctor reiterates what we all crave, and how pushing forward amidst uncertainty is the bravest, most important thing of all. The content of this speech, and Whittaker’s delivery of it, add to her stamp on this iconic role.
The Doctor’s personality always shifts with regeneration, and new iterations reflect responses to the good and bad of Doctors and events just gone. When compared to Peter Capaldi’s more caustic Doctor (who cared but was often thoughtless of or oblivious to his companion’s needs), Jodie Whittaker’s Doctor is more aware of and concerned about the feelings and struggles of her human companions. In fact, it’s mostly her companions who don’t notice the Doctor’s pain. The current Doctor is not only a reaction to Capaldi’s delightful depiction, but also to the past few harsh and callous years that we’ve endured en masse as uncertainly reigns and the ‘leader of the free world’ flaunts his brazen disregard for human life.
The show has always addressed our real lives, and in an in-character, self-filmed snippet last month Whittaker took it upon herself to do the same. She speaks as the Doctor to all of us, but particularly children, to assuage our fears.
“Oh, hi, this is an emergency transmission. If you’re seeing this, the TARDIS must have detected an upsurge in psychological signals from somewhere in space and time. Basically, I think somebody somewhere might be a little bit worried. I’m actually just self-isolating, or as I like to call it, ‘hiding from an army of Sontarans’ — but keep that to yourself.
Now, here’s what I do in any worrying situation. One, remember, you’ll get through this and things will be alright, even if they look uncertain, even if you’re worried, darkness never prevails. Two, tell jokes, even bad ones, especially bad ones, I’m brilliant at bad ones. Three, be kind, even kinder than you were yesterday, and I know you were super kind yesterday. Look out for each other, you won’t be the other one worried. Talking will help. Sharing will help. Look out for your friends, your neighbours, people you hardly know, and family, because in the end, we’re all family. Four, listen to science, and listen to doctors, right? They’ve got your back. Five, stay strong, stay positive, you’ve got this, and I will see you very soon.”
Whittaker not only delivers the whole thing in character, she gives multiple kinds of language to the situation. She sets the scene with Whovian technobabble, and then continues with the fictional narrative of “hiding from an army of Sontarans” as a metaphor to help kids get a handle on a surreal situation. She frames her isolation as an act of necessity and solidarity. She then gives precise directives which fit perfectly with the shows’ ethos and are applicable for all ages, no matter how much of the narrative fiction or real life stakes you grasp: Be kind. Help each other. Remember the good. Darkness will always exist, but never prevail.
Though it’s more pragmatic and events-focused than her speech in “Witchfinders,” in both performances she give us a piece of herself, of her soul, as is necessary to imbue a performance with truth. In “Witchfinders” the Doctor speaks directly to King James and indirectly to the audience; in her viral transmission she breaks the fourth wall and talks right to us. Both display vulnerability and bravado, as both Doctor and Whittaker know you can only be brave when you’re afraid. The Doctor and we are always afraid, but cannot give in. The Doctor must set the example by standing strong in the face of death, and Whittaker knows it. Whether facing witch trials or an army of Sontarans, being brave and showing others the way is her role.
Right now, the roles are blending. Whittaker takes seriously the responsibility of embodying an icon many people grew up with, who spans more time on our screens and consciousnesses than almost any other character shy of the Queen of England.
The absurdity of Doctor Who isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Arcs and episodes (some argue whole seasons) are deeply flawed. Its darkest moments are very, very fucking dark for a show often watched by children; genocidal events shape its characters, boundaries are crossed and consent violated, loved ones die from aliens and cancer, the Doctor and others are gripped by depression, sometimes spending years in utter, broken isolation.
But flaws, absurdity, and darkness are big parts of the human condition. Ultimately the prevailing notes are how we can go on, life is beautiful for its own sake, and that someone out there loves you. We can save ourselves. Whittaker brings that understanding to her role, and to her in-character broadcast.
The Doctor may not always do ‘the right thing’ and Who’s stories — historical and fictional — are rife with despair, madness, and pain which scars both Doctor and companions permanently. Occupying a classical, tragic mythos, the Doctor is doomed to lose everyone they love to the ravages of war, time travel, or time. But in that very darkness is found strength, reason for being, and all that we need to survive. This decades-long story, told by thousands, shared by billions, is a testament to how literally endless grief, change, and loss can still bring forth joy, friendship, and love, if we let it. If we look to, and look out for, each other. If we open ourselves to endless possibility and doing good.
What better story is there, for such a time as this?
