Who's Your Doctor?
I changed Doctors today and I have to be honest: I'm not adjusting well. No, not at all. I thought it would be no big deal, but it IS a big deal and I'm in a funk.
Maybe you know how this is - you meet your Doctor, feel awkward at first, but over time, he grows on you. You come to understand his way of working and even develop a fondness for his quirks. Maybe it's the way he stays optimistic in the face of uncertainty, his laser-like decision making, or even just the way he says "fanTAStic." I don't know, but you feel comfortable. He makes you smile.
And then one day, without warning, he's gone, and there's a new Doctor in his place. One whom you're supposed to accept and embrace. Only, he's not your Doctor. No, not by any stretch of the term. He's too young to be trustworthy, is more flippant than sarcastic, and even though he's got looks on his side, well, you liked the ears that stuck out a little before. You can't help but feel shaken.
When Kathy called me on the way home tonight, I confessed I'd already changed Doctors, sooner than we expected. She could tell by my voice that I wasn't doing well. "You know, this happens to other people," she counseled. "It's like this for most of us - you're never ready to let go of your first Doctor. And some of us had the same Doctor for years."
"I know," I sniffled. "I just had mine for three days. But I liked him. This new one is just a little too much of a spaz. I don't know that I can warm up to him."
"You know, there were some who would call your Doctor a spaz," she said gently.
I was sure that was true. It's just, I didn't care. Besides, they don't have to watch. They're not like me: I've got two seasons on DVD. I'm invested!
Um, you do know that I'm talking about THE Doctor, right? As in, Doctor Who? Yeah, that one.
It all started a couple of weeks ago when Kathy and I finally got around to watching Torchwood. It's a spin-off (and an anagram) of Doctor Who that BBC America just started airing in the US, about a special ops group in present-day Wales that catches aliens and scavenges their technology. Because, you know, aliens are slipping through a time rift smack-dab in the middle of Cardiff - you have to watch out for that sort of thing. Torchwood takes the technology and studies it, as a way of preparing the human race for what is to come. Whatever that may be.
The show has been getting attention primarily for its racy Sci-fi content. The BBC had it designed as a post-watershed show, meaning it airs after family-friendly programming, when there are fewer restrictions. Well, I'm enough of a fifteen-year old at heart that of COURSE I had to watch. After all, the previews that they played for a month straight showed a glimpse of a girl-girl kiss. I'm only human. Even if, um, they might not be.
We already had three episodes recorded on our DVR before we settled down to watching. Halfway through the first episode, I was hooked. I loved the rainy, dark look of the show and the edgy story lines. Gwen Cooper, the police officer turned team member, turned my head with her Snow White looks and those big dark eyes. But I especially loved Captain Jack Harkness, the leader of Torchwood. A quick foray into Wikipedia yielded more background: he was the character who came from Doctor Who, a 51st century former Time Agent, con man, and omnisexual charmer. What's not to love?
After reading everything I could find on Torchwood and programming both DVRs to record it (well, you know, in case there is an accident), I realized I was going to need to see the episodes where he guest-starred on Doctor Who. I had never seen Doctor Who, however. Kathy grew up with it (Tom Baker was her Doctor), yet I somehow managed not to watch it as a kid myself. So, this meant that the 2005 revival of this show (that started in 1963) was to be my introduction.
Last Friday, I caught an episode on a PBS station from season one. I expected it would be hokey and I wouldn't like it. But it made me cry and, well, that was it. On Monday, my birthday, Kathy gave me the first two seasons on DVD.
I've always been a drunken fool when it comes to television. The benefit to being such a Johnny-come-lately to a TV series (the 3rd season just finished airing) is that you have so much that you can watch, right away. It was just a given that I'd go on a bender. By today, Thursday, I am watching the season finale (episode thirteen), wondering where my box of tissues went to.
It's not like I didn't know he'd regenerate. It's hard to stay spoiler-free when you are several seasons behind and hey, it's a different actor on the cover of the season two DVDs. But how can that prepare you? He said his last "FanTAStic," started to regenerate, and I felt tears reach my chin. I couldn't be bothered to scrub them away for a few minutes.
When change is afoot, it's best to soldier ahead, chin-up. I know this. I watched "Christmas Invasion" and "New Earth" in quick succession. But it all felt hollow. Perhaps I needed time to grieve. I lost MY Doctor, after all.
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