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Tag: Thirteen

Confession #121: I Don’t Mind the Wait

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As the first official trailer for the upcoming series gets micro-analyzed and reports roll in that filming for Series Eleven has wrapped, we all continue to twiddle our thumbs waiting for an announcement of the date for the premiere episode. The “wilderness months” (if you will) between seasons are always trying for fans, especially when there’s the promise of a new Doctor to come.

And yet I’m not frothing at the mouth in frustrated anticipation these days.

I can’t tell whether my remarkable indifference—it’s not outright apathy, because I am eager to see Jodie in action—is due to that background feeling of anxiety about how “the first woman Doctor” will be written, a result of the fact that much of my mental energy is being spent on personal/family issues, or merely a side effect of my natural cyclical media interests. Whatever the case (okay, definitely that middle part, so let’s let that one slide), I find myself puzzled when I come across others having reactions I would another year have found to be normal, expected, and shared. I almost don’t recognize myself.

Granted, I don’t participate as thoroughly in internet fandom as I once did, nor have I ever gone looking for spoilers or those breathlessly titled clickbait articles that promise a deep dive into the hidden meaning in every frame of a forty-second spot. I’ll admit that it’s possible that I’ve simply missed something that’s got the rest of fandom abuzz. But my little corner of the internet has been quietly marking time, content to let things come as they will.

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Confession #118: I’m Anxious About S11

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Hope is a strange thing. It is simultaneously uplifting and crushing. Especially during this turbulent time in the world, I need something positive in my life, and yet even the possibility of my anticipation ending in disappointment looms like a specter over every potential bright spot. Perhaps that’s why I’m feeling particularly apprehensive about the upcoming Series 11.

While I am among those who have been on board for a female-presenting incarnation of the Doctor for years, the pending (no—current!) reality fills me with Hope—that wonderful, terrible mix of potential for brilliance and anathema. It is encouraging that her first words reflected a delight at her new face, but it is not enough to assuage my fears completely. That will only come with consistently good writing.

The problem now is that we have ages to wait until we see her in action for real. (Yes, I know the break between Christmas and the following autumn is pretty standard. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s the better part of a year until the next new episode.) That’s months for my brain to devise ideas about how it thinks she could/should be portrayed, building up all sorts of potential for disaster when things don’t go as I’ve projected.

I try not to project too much, but it’s a difficult task for someone who dabbles in fiction writing. One can’t help but devise one’s own scenarios for a character who has both a well-known history and a completely unknown personality. It’s that latter bit that alarms me most, though. As a woman who has loved science fiction and fantasy for effectively her whole life, I have come to recognize that women protagonists written by cisgender men don’t always act (and react) in a way that I, or the other women I see around me in my real life, would.

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Confession #116: I Dig the New TARDIS Team

In the past week or so, several (shall we say) less-than-awesome things have been making news in Whovian circles (e.g., Nicholas Pegg getting fired from DWM, the public revelation that someone well-known in the US con community is a sexual predator, and the death of Dudley Simpson). It made me glad I had some happier news to discuss here. Sometimes it pays to be late to the game…

I’m referring, of course, to the two-and-a-half-week-old news that there will once again be a crowded TARDIS when Thirteen begins her tenure at the controls. In a press release on the official website, the BBC announced that there would be three regular cast members accompanying the Doctor on her travels (as well as someone in a “returning [recurring] role”).

Even putting aside the fact that I think a larger cast can make for more interesting character interactions, and thus better stories overall, I love the way that it recalls TARDIS crews of old. When we first met the Doctor fifty-odd years ago, he traveled with his granddaughter and two humans who eventually became friends; Susan, Ian, and Barbara remain one of my favorite TARDIS teams.

Similarly, I know a lot of folks who became fans during the Fifth Doctor’s run. He, too, traveled with a posse (Nyssa, Tegan, and Adric). I can’t help but think that reminding those fans of their favorite era by stuffing the TARDIS with a variety of friends for the Doctor might tempt them to give this new version of the show a try, even if they’ve been more reluctant of late.

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Confession #112: I’m Psyched for Thirteen

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As I scrolled through my news digest from The Washington Post on Sunday around noon, I came across a headline saying that Roger Federer had won an unprecedented eighth time at Wimbledon. “What?” I screeched. “The men’s final is over?”

I scrambled for a new browser tab so I could search for the announcement. If I’d been clever, I’d have gone right to the BBC’s Doctor Who page so I could watch the announcement trailer myself, but I was in too much of a rush. And then—there it was, in picture after picture splashed across my Google results page: the Thirteenth Doctor will be played by a woman. Chibnall actually had the ovaries to break with tradition and cast a woman.

I’m not even sure what sort of noise I emitted; it was enough to make my 11-year-old daughters ask what was up. When I told them they’d announced who would play the next Doctor, they scrambled to look over my shoulder—and started screaming. They jumped up and down. They made their own set of incoherent excitement noises (driving their poor father from the room in a desperate act of self-preservation). I had almost managed to calm them enough to save my own ears when it dawned on them that she’d be number Thirteen—their favorite number(!)—and they went hypersonic again.

Needless to say, our household is on the pro-change side of the equation.

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