This article was originally published in The Courier on 30th August 2014.
Doctor
Who: Saturday, BBC One
Paul
Whitelaw
Fans of Doctor Who are
notoriously critical. I should know, I've been one since I was two.
But in all that time I've never witnessed the kind of mass approval
that Peter Capaldi enjoyed when news of his casting was announced.
Even before he'd set foot in the TARDIS, fans were already confident
that his Doctor would be one of the best. Had we set our hopes too
high?
Of course we hadn't. Would I have
opened this review with a rhetorical question if we had? Don't answer
that. His performance in head writer Steven Moffat's Deep Breath
was nothing short of immaculate.
It's traditional that every Doctor
must first go through a period of post-regenerative instability
before gradually settling into their new persona. Moffat and Capaldi
handled this process with the utmost assurance.
Despite never doubting his prowess as
an actor, I had mild concerns that Capaldi – famously a life-long
Doctor Who fan – might approach the part self-consciously.
But there isn't a trace of fussy detail to be found in his portrayal.
Instead, he's utterly, organically commanding as he flips with ease
between acerbic eccentricity and a Tom Baker-esque sense of brooding
alien danger.
Much has been made of the
game-changing 'darkness' of this new Doctor – a claim which blindly
overlooks the depths of his incomparable predecessor, Matt Smith –
and while he's certainly a fiercer, more morally ambiguous
proposition, he may be one of the funniest iterations yet.
Fans of The Thick Of It will
already be familiar with Capaldi's razor-sharp talent as a comic
actor; his perfectly timed delivery of vituperative rants is a rare
gift. Moffat, himself a sardonic Scotsman, is clearly in his element
with Doctor # 12. The scene in which he realised with glee that he
was gruffly, uncompromisingly Scottish was genuinely very funny; it's
no coincidence that, after an unsure start, the episode kicked into
gear at this point (I'm all for a measured pace, but its 75-minute
running time contained some obvious padding).
Capaldi aside, Deep Breath
also benefited from Moffat's concerted efforts to embellish the
character of companion Clara. Little more than a one-dimensional plot
device last year, she was finally given the chance to show some
mettle as she came to terms with this abrasive incarnation of her
old/young friend. Jenna Coleman is a personable actress, previously
ill-served by flimsy material, but her spiky chemistry with Capaldi
bodes well: Moffat has obviously been listening to some constructive
criticism.
It could've easily backfired, but his
framing of Clara as a surrogate viewer in need of assurance that this
mercurial Doctor could be trusted was skilfully handled. The poignant
cameo from Matt Smith didn't undermine Capaldi's début, it bolstered
it by grafting an element of charming vulnerability to this outwardly
cocksure anti-hero.
That said, Moffat's niggling flaws
were still in evidence. A middle-aged family man, his adolescent
obsession with flirting is embarrassing, and once again he blatantly
regurgitated past ideas to the point of self-parody. I don't mind him
reviving the clockwork droids from The Girl in the Fireplace –
the Doctor's inability to remember them fed into the theme of him
shakily reconnecting with his past – but the conceit of outwitting
them by holding your breath was far too redolent of his
senses-sensitive foes, The Weeping Angels and The Silence.
But I'm nitpicking. Flaws and all,
Deep Breath was an exemplary introduction to a promising new
era.
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