Doctor Who: The Lodger

For me, this season continues to chime. It’s not been perfect – there have been niggles with most episodes – but overall, and with complete honesty, I have enjoyed something in every episode. As I wrote in my comments about "The Eleventh Hour", this series has brought back that odd, very difficult to define, magic Doctor Who holds for me, at least.

It is something I bang on about a lot, I know. What makes one person enjoy something more than another is the definition of subjective. Viewing context means a great deal, too.

It’s not about whether it’s ‘good’ or not. Frankly, despite the jokes, production values have been pretty high for Doctor Who for most of its 47 years. Tastes change, of course, as do styles of production. But, you know all that, even if you might choose to ignore it on occasion if you simply didn’t enjoy something.

I’m not saying that the mechanics of storytelling has been perfect in each story told under the umbrella title of Doctor Who. But, I am asking the question about how much personal taste has to do with whether one method of storytelling is any better than another. Once you get past the pure mechanics of a writer actually being able to communicate something he or she intended, that is. I think fashion and taste are important filters, regardless of how much we think or react, and that changes over time. C. S. Lewis was among my favourite authors when I was a child just about to hit puberty: now each time I try to read the words I once knew so well, I stumble over them, thinking them pedestrian, staid, proselytising and dull. How could any child, let alone me, find life, fun and fantastic adventures in them? Simple answer - the stories are still captivating.

Doctor Who, too, is a curious beast. For most of its 47 years it wasn’t just words that sustained it, which makes it just a little more complex than a well-loved novel with which one might have grown up. Styles of direction, acting and the physical limitations of special effects add their flavours to the recipe concocted by the writer.

Which is all by way of a rambling preamble I’m writing sat in the Isle of Skye village of Uig, in gorgeous sunshine and a gentle breeze playing on the deep blue water, with a pint of a local dark ale called Black Face (after the local breed of sheep, before you ask) going straight to my head because despite it being 6 pm I’m waiting for my first meal of the day.

I was not affected by alcohol on Saturday, 12 June 2010 when I watched Gareth Roberts’ Doctor Who story, "The Lodger", at a mate’s house. There were two of us, three with the cat who was also paying attention. My mate being a feminist, somewhat younger than me but considerably more learned, and someone who has resisted the Doctor Who fan label but is married to a chap who writes Doctor Who apocrypha*. It was my mate’s suggestion we watch the episode before another friend arrived to watch some historical drama and graze on good food and drink a lovely Italian sparkling wine.

Both my mate and I know Gareth. We both learned we share a similar view of him. We disagree with his stated politics, yet we both have a place for him … and it’s nought to do with him writing bloody Doctor Who!

Gareth reminds me of two people who have graced my life. One is a family friend, Padraic P. McGuiness, who introduced my parents to each other. I literally owe him my life as a result. I knew him as an entertaining fellow called Paddy who didn’t always let the truth get in the way of a good yarn. It was always difficult to explain to friends and colleagues later in my life why I held him in the regard I did when essentially he took on the job of a rabble-rousing written-word shock jock for the Sydney Morning Herald. He died a few years ago, and I was not surprised to learn from my parents who attended his wake that it was populated by quite a few Aussie political luminaries and the then recently disgraced former Prime Minister John Howard. (Did you see what I did there?)

My other mate is a younger, slightly more glamorous version of the Servalan-loving Gareth. Once was a time doppelganger would have been an accurate word to use to describe them.

[Awkward segue...]

I am coming to the realisation that what I’m enjoying most about this 47th series is the return to risk taking.

"The Lodger" was the second in a row of what some tedious fans might call “oddball”. Yet, for me, it was so utterly Doctor Who: the familiar gone horribly awry. The horror tropes of creepy stairs, flickering lights and seducing the victims played just right. The sheer comedy of the Doctor as “ordinary” housemate, who is, of course, anything but. Even Amy’s sidelining had its moments (the engagement ring…)

Brilliant, brilliant stuff.

Much as I like the actors who have played the Master over the decades, the character is far from a favourite of mine. I was so relieved it wasn’t him in the upstairs flat.

But, who was it?

My sneaking suspicion is that he’s the Doctor, and the note left for him wasn’t actually from Amy, but later – or earlier – than seen in the episode. Oh, and a friend pointed out something spine tingling: check out Amy’s house in "The Eleventh Hour"…

* A joke. He writes and talks about Doctor Who and gets paid for it. One day, perhaps, one of the stories on the telly-box.