A version of this article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 22 April 2017.
DOCTOR WHO: Saturday, BBC One
BIG GOLD DREAM: Saturday, BBC Two
BORN TO KILL: Thursday, Channel 4
Believe
it or not, there are people out there who’ve never seen DOCTOR WHO before. Some of them, admittedly, are children who
weren’t even born when the show returned triumphantly in 2005, so at least they
have an excuse. Everyone else has been slacking, frankly.
Or
maybe they’ve been put off by the daunting prospect of joining a club with such
a vast membership and over 50 years of continuity behind it. I know I would be.
However,
when you throw out all that baggage and get down to basics, the concept behind Doctor Who couldn’t be more straightforward:
an eccentric alien hero travels through time and space righting wrongs in his
bigger-on-the-inside spaceship. That’s all you need to know.
And
that’s why the first episode of Peter Capaldi and head writer Steven Moffat’s
final series was so effective. It served as a concise, witty, charming and –
most importantly – fun introduction to Doctor
Who itself. New viewers could easily jump in here.
Through
the wide eyes of new companion Bill – the instantly likeable and engaging Pearl
Mackie – the craftily titled ‘The Pilot’ spelled out the essential ingredients
of the Doctor’s universe, while providing enough in-jokey wrinkles to satisfy
the initiated. Moffat’s wry subversion of the traditional “companion enters
TARDIS for the first time” sequence was particularly amusing.
It’s
such a shame that this is the wonderful Capaldi’s last hurrah, as he’s now in
complete command of the role. A truly Doctorly Doctor - he's even the right shape - I could happily watch
him in action for at least another year.
The
warm teacher/student chemistry between the Doctor and Bill was so refreshing
after years of being lumbered with deadweight Clara – casting someone who can
act alongside Capaldi makes a world of difference - while Matt Lucas continues
to intrigue as the long-suffering yet enigmatic Nardole. There’s clearly more
to him than mere comic relief.
Aside
from telling an entertaining self-contained story which fulfilled its brief
with consummate ease, Moffat also dropped tantalising hints about this year’s
series arc.
Why
is the Doctor posing as a university lecturer? What secrets lie inside the
vault he and Nardole are guarding in the cellar? Why has the Doctor vowed to
remain on Earth and out of trouble?
If
Moffat provides satisfying answers to these questions while overseeing a series
of enjoyable episodes, then he and Capaldi look set to exit with their heads
held high. A very promising comeback.
An
old Glasgow punk, Capaldi would’ve loved BIG
GOLD DREAM. This droll documentary paid fond tribute to that fleeting
period of post-punk excitement when Scotland ruled the hip parade via
pioneering indie labels Fast Product and Postcard.
A
tale of two Svengalis, it showed how Fast’s mercurial Bob Last and Postcard’s insufferable
Alan Horne built their DIY empires in Edinburgh and Glasgow respectively.
Musicians
from regal Scottish indie bands such as Orange Juice, Strawberry Switchblade,
The Associates and Fire Engines shared affable anecdotes, guarded complaints
and poignant regrets as they raked over the coals of their youthful innocence.
Like
most tales of idealism, eventually it collapsed into a sad heap of compromise,
betrayal and disappointment. But the music lingers on.
The
most important thing about this delightful film? Reminding the world that
Scotland – Bob Last’s Factory pre-dating label in particular – invented
independent music as we know it.
Nicola
Sturgeon should run on that ticket.
Teenagers
can’t be trusted, even when they read aloud to dying pensioners. That’s the important
public service message behind BORN TO
KILL, a new psychological thriller about a seemingly sensitive, kind
adolescent boy with homicidal tendencies.
Sam
lives with his mum. He claims his dead father was a war hero, but that’s
obviously a desperate fantasy. Mum’s job on a geriatric ward allows him to indulge
his dangerous obsession with death, which eventually results in murder.
I’ve
no idea what to make of it so far.
Sam
is subtly inhabited by promising newcomer Jack Rowan – his unnervingly friendly
smile recalls Anthony Perkins in Psycho –
but I can’t shake the nagging suspicion that this is yet another emptily
stylised exploitation of mental illness as just another form of bogie man
monster madness.
Rowan’s
performance aside, it feels rather dubious.
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