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lunasarielAs many of you already know, Elisabeth Sladen, best known as Sarah Jane Smith of Doctor Who fame, passed away this week, at the age of 63. My condolences to her family and friends; some of the eulogies and remembrances that have come out of the blogosphere recently are truly heartbreaking.
I'm honestly a bit surprised at just how saddened I am by her death. I've never been a Classic Who fan, mostly because it bugs the crap of me that so many episodes are lost, so I'm familiar with little of her character beyond New Who. But I do know her story, and the story of Doctor Who in general. She wasn't the first female Companion to wear pants instead of the iconic mini-skirt, but she did pretty much bring the role of Companion away from "idiot damsel in distress" to truly being a Companion: she refused to take any of the Doctor's crap, and she was good for more than getting captured. In an era where Companions are mostly remembered for standing around in the aforementioned mini-skirts and shrieking, she kicked ass, and she did so well. So I guess you might say that I like the idea of young Sarah Jane, since I'm fairly unfamiliar with the character herself.
When she appeared in New Who, I was pretty happy. It's obvious that the actress, and not just the character, has been waiting to find the TARDIS again for a long, long time. I never watched The Sarah Jane Adventures, although, again, I like the concept. It's been said that the Doctor is the ultimate father-figure: all-powerful, but also all-knowing, and a bit inscrutable to boot. We may not know everything about him, but we feel good knowing that the safety of the universe is in his hands. In this vein, Sarah Jane, as seen in New Who and SJA, has almost become the ultimate mother-figure: she's gentle and wise, but also fiercely protective of her "family." She takes no shit from anyone, and is definitely a leader, but she's not some crazy lone wolf *cough*Jack*cough*. She's good at building a team out of the strengths and weaknesses of disparate characters, using one character's strengths to make up for another's weaknesses. Her team was known for cohesiveness and unity, while Jack's, as dearly as I love him, was known for fucking and/or shooting one another on a fairly regular basis. Torchwood's semi-recent decision to move to the States is just going to make everything worse; it's just going to turn into another CSI/Bones/X-Files type "crime drama" where everyone is a lone wolf out for justice/vengeance/sexytiems/a chance to shoot shit. All the initial draw the show had for me, in that it was actually unique, will be lost.
Buuuuut back on topic! What I was trying to get around to is the idea of transience. Obviously, now that Ms. Sladen is dead, there won't be any more SJA, nor will there be any cameos on Doctor Who itself. All things must end, but it's kind of built into DW that some things don't. The Doctor dying for good/quitting/losing hope? The TARDIS being destroyed? Evil winning? These things just don't happen. They never have, and they never will. Yes, Companions may come and go, and the Doctor will regenerate every once in a while. The TARDIS might get knocked about a bit; the sonic screwdriver might even need repairs, but none of these are ever gone. It's an unstated but it's a constant theme that, no matter how dark things may look, the Doctor is always there, watching over us, ready to leap into action should evil rear its ugly head. I think that this is why, when it truly looks like the midden might hit the windmill, it affects us all the more. The loss of Rose Tyler, although subsequently hyped to death, at the time made us all so sad because not only was a beloved Companion gone beyond recall, but it looked like the Doctor had lost his faith and his hope, and that is simply unacceptable. There's an eternal hopefulness, a cheerfulness to the Doctor that (I hope) can never fully be extinguished. Yes, there's darkness too, but at his core, he's a good person, and we don't like to see him hurt. Similarly, when he had to mind-wipe Donna Noble, and consequently declared himself independent of the Laws of Time and Space that had previously governed his existence, we were worried not only because an immensely powerful alien had just gone off the deep end, but because it meant that the Doctor was losing hope. And if the Doctor doesn't have any hope, then where does that leave us?
This really crystallized, for me, during the premiere of series six of DW. Yes, it was absolutely brilliant. I'm finally getting to like River Song again, after finding her a bit grating in series five. Rory, also, is finally coming into his own. Amy's portrayal of a grief too deep for words astounded me, as always. The aliens were genuinely terrifying and look to provide an excellent antagonist for this series (I'd expected nothing less from the Grand Moff), the dialog was spot-on (especially the entire scene[s] in the Oval Office), and seeing Mark freakin' Sheppard as an FBI agent was great (Mark's American accent was very well done). But the scene that the episode, and probably the entire series, is focused on, the death of the Doctor, really cut me. Like Amy, I didn't quite believe it. The Doctor just doesn't die. He's immune to whatever the enemy du jour is trying to use on him, or he's faking in order to lure the enemy in closer, or it' only a hologram, or he's saved at the last second by the Power of Love or something. Worst case scenario, he regenerates. He doesn't die. I'm starting to think that it was River Song in the spacesuit, and she's in prison in the future for killing the Doctor. I'm sure that everyone else has already come to this conclusion, but hey, it took me a while. So now that we have the idea of the Doctor's final and complete death hanging over us for the whole series, or at least until the next episode, like the sword of Damocles, of course we're all wild to find out what happens next; what plan they're going to come up with to save the Doctor. Because I don't think that any of us believe that the his death is completely inevitable and fixed. They'll find some way out of it, you'll see; the general fan-consensus seems to be "they can't just leave him dead."
Arrgh, I'm not expressing myself well. The point I'm trying to make is, the idea of a man, an entity like the Doctor being brought to an end is just so wholly alien (no pun intended) to us Whovians. The Doctor has been called the Oncoming Storm, and it seems that this is a very apt analogy: he's powerful and unstoppable, inscrutable and undeniable. We all get swept up in the force of his personality, and then get blown along until we're deposited somewhere else, windblown and frazzled, but (generally) having had the best, scariest, most memorable time of our lives. So it's inconceivable to us that the Doctor could end. He might be put temporarily out of action, but we know that, sooner or later, he'll bounce back, ready for more adventures. Hell, even the last line of Classic Who wasn't an ending, but a beginning: "There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea's asleep and the rivers dream, people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Ace, we've got work to do." It's made clear that, although the Doctor is going off the air, he's definitely not going away.
This transience is something that often seems to be missed or glossed over by many fans, at least until a Companion leaves, or someone who's appeared in more than three episodes dies. We're so caught up in all the amazing, mind-bending, fantastic stuff that we often forget that, at the end of the day, save for the TARDIS, the Doctor truly is the Lonely God he was named. For Companions, the TARDIS is a cool mode of transportation; it might even be a home for a year or two, but it's never a "forever home." Companions, the people the Doctor gives his heart(s) and soul to, always end up hurting him, albeit inadvertently. They eventually go back to their old lives, or carve out new lives somewhere strange and wonderful, but either way, they leave him behind. Or he leaves them behind, your choice. The point is, the Doctor loves each and every one of his Companions with both of his hearts, even knowing that they'll end up breaking them. To me, this is both sad and wonderful. Sad, because he'll always know that, no matter how much he cares for any of his Companions, they'll go on to something else, and he'll be left alone, spinning anchor-less through time and space. But it's also wonderful, to know that all these years of love and heart(s)break haven't made him bitter, that he can still hope and love, even after all he's been through. He can remember the good times, the alien menaces defeated, the jokes, the shared adventures, and lock everything else, the dark stuff, the knowledge of inevitable loss, away where it can't interfere with his enjoyment of the moment. In that, he's very human, and very, very endearing. Fantastically endearing, even.
I'm honestly a bit surprised at just how saddened I am by her death. I've never been a Classic Who fan, mostly because it bugs the crap of me that so many episodes are lost, so I'm familiar with little of her character beyond New Who. But I do know her story, and the story of Doctor Who in general. She wasn't the first female Companion to wear pants instead of the iconic mini-skirt, but she did pretty much bring the role of Companion away from "idiot damsel in distress" to truly being a Companion: she refused to take any of the Doctor's crap, and she was good for more than getting captured. In an era where Companions are mostly remembered for standing around in the aforementioned mini-skirts and shrieking, she kicked ass, and she did so well. So I guess you might say that I like the idea of young Sarah Jane, since I'm fairly unfamiliar with the character herself.
When she appeared in New Who, I was pretty happy. It's obvious that the actress, and not just the character, has been waiting to find the TARDIS again for a long, long time. I never watched The Sarah Jane Adventures, although, again, I like the concept. It's been said that the Doctor is the ultimate father-figure: all-powerful, but also all-knowing, and a bit inscrutable to boot. We may not know everything about him, but we feel good knowing that the safety of the universe is in his hands. In this vein, Sarah Jane, as seen in New Who and SJA, has almost become the ultimate mother-figure: she's gentle and wise, but also fiercely protective of her "family." She takes no shit from anyone, and is definitely a leader, but she's not some crazy lone wolf *cough*Jack*cough*. She's good at building a team out of the strengths and weaknesses of disparate characters, using one character's strengths to make up for another's weaknesses. Her team was known for cohesiveness and unity, while Jack's, as dearly as I love him, was known for fucking and/or shooting one another on a fairly regular basis. Torchwood's semi-recent decision to move to the States is just going to make everything worse; it's just going to turn into another CSI/Bones/X-Files type "crime drama" where everyone is a lone wolf out for justice/vengeance/sexytiems/a chance to shoot shit. All the initial draw the show had for me, in that it was actually unique, will be lost.
Buuuuut back on topic! What I was trying to get around to is the idea of transience. Obviously, now that Ms. Sladen is dead, there won't be any more SJA, nor will there be any cameos on Doctor Who itself. All things must end, but it's kind of built into DW that some things don't. The Doctor dying for good/quitting/losing hope? The TARDIS being destroyed? Evil winning? These things just don't happen. They never have, and they never will. Yes, Companions may come and go, and the Doctor will regenerate every once in a while. The TARDIS might get knocked about a bit; the sonic screwdriver might even need repairs, but none of these are ever gone. It's an unstated but it's a constant theme that, no matter how dark things may look, the Doctor is always there, watching over us, ready to leap into action should evil rear its ugly head. I think that this is why, when it truly looks like the midden might hit the windmill, it affects us all the more. The loss of Rose Tyler, although subsequently hyped to death, at the time made us all so sad because not only was a beloved Companion gone beyond recall, but it looked like the Doctor had lost his faith and his hope, and that is simply unacceptable. There's an eternal hopefulness, a cheerfulness to the Doctor that (I hope) can never fully be extinguished. Yes, there's darkness too, but at his core, he's a good person, and we don't like to see him hurt. Similarly, when he had to mind-wipe Donna Noble, and consequently declared himself independent of the Laws of Time and Space that had previously governed his existence, we were worried not only because an immensely powerful alien had just gone off the deep end, but because it meant that the Doctor was losing hope. And if the Doctor doesn't have any hope, then where does that leave us?
This really crystallized, for me, during the premiere of series six of DW. Yes, it was absolutely brilliant. I'm finally getting to like River Song again, after finding her a bit grating in series five. Rory, also, is finally coming into his own. Amy's portrayal of a grief too deep for words astounded me, as always. The aliens were genuinely terrifying and look to provide an excellent antagonist for this series (I'd expected nothing less from the Grand Moff), the dialog was spot-on (especially the entire scene[s] in the Oval Office), and seeing Mark freakin' Sheppard as an FBI agent was great (Mark's American accent was very well done). But the scene that the episode, and probably the entire series, is focused on, the death of the Doctor, really cut me. Like Amy, I didn't quite believe it. The Doctor just doesn't die. He's immune to whatever the enemy du jour is trying to use on him, or he's faking in order to lure the enemy in closer, or it' only a hologram, or he's saved at the last second by the Power of Love or something. Worst case scenario, he regenerates. He doesn't die. I'm starting to think that it was River Song in the spacesuit, and she's in prison in the future for killing the Doctor. I'm sure that everyone else has already come to this conclusion, but hey, it took me a while. So now that we have the idea of the Doctor's final and complete death hanging over us for the whole series, or at least until the next episode, like the sword of Damocles, of course we're all wild to find out what happens next; what plan they're going to come up with to save the Doctor. Because I don't think that any of us believe that the his death is completely inevitable and fixed. They'll find some way out of it, you'll see; the general fan-consensus seems to be "they can't just leave him dead."
Arrgh, I'm not expressing myself well. The point I'm trying to make is, the idea of a man, an entity like the Doctor being brought to an end is just so wholly alien (no pun intended) to us Whovians. The Doctor has been called the Oncoming Storm, and it seems that this is a very apt analogy: he's powerful and unstoppable, inscrutable and undeniable. We all get swept up in the force of his personality, and then get blown along until we're deposited somewhere else, windblown and frazzled, but (generally) having had the best, scariest, most memorable time of our lives. So it's inconceivable to us that the Doctor could end. He might be put temporarily out of action, but we know that, sooner or later, he'll bounce back, ready for more adventures. Hell, even the last line of Classic Who wasn't an ending, but a beginning: "There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea's asleep and the rivers dream, people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Ace, we've got work to do." It's made clear that, although the Doctor is going off the air, he's definitely not going away.
This transience is something that often seems to be missed or glossed over by many fans, at least until a Companion leaves, or someone who's appeared in more than three episodes dies. We're so caught up in all the amazing, mind-bending, fantastic stuff that we often forget that, at the end of the day, save for the TARDIS, the Doctor truly is the Lonely God he was named. For Companions, the TARDIS is a cool mode of transportation; it might even be a home for a year or two, but it's never a "forever home." Companions, the people the Doctor gives his heart(s) and soul to, always end up hurting him, albeit inadvertently. They eventually go back to their old lives, or carve out new lives somewhere strange and wonderful, but either way, they leave him behind. Or he leaves them behind, your choice. The point is, the Doctor loves each and every one of his Companions with both of his hearts, even knowing that they'll end up breaking them. To me, this is both sad and wonderful. Sad, because he'll always know that, no matter how much he cares for any of his Companions, they'll go on to something else, and he'll be left alone, spinning anchor-less through time and space. But it's also wonderful, to know that all these years of love and heart(s)break haven't made him bitter, that he can still hope and love, even after all he's been through. He can remember the good times, the alien menaces defeated, the jokes, the shared adventures, and lock everything else, the dark stuff, the knowledge of inevitable loss, away where it can't interfere with his enjoyment of the moment. In that, he's very human, and very, very endearing. Fantastically endearing, even.
