Doctor Who - Let's Kill Hitler
ike the seemingly inevitable annual threat of a new pandemic, Doctor Who is back on TV again.
As usual, it was hyped as the only thing worth watching between the Royal nuptials and the 2012 Olympics. And like those two events, it promised lots of sentiment and drama. Like that wedding, it was all empty spectacle, and like the Olympics, we're all supposed to cheer and stare, agog, at its brilliance.
Oh, how I despise this modern incarnation of Doctor Who. To label it as smug, overwrought, incestuous fan wank would be too kind. Saying it has no balls is understating the case - this sci-fi soap by focus group wouldn't make a 6-year-old flinch. It's such a nauesating, self-referential shambles that no normal person could follow the green-screen trail of vomit that masquerades as plot. (Plot? Ha! Whatever happened to that?)
Some people will like it - the sort of people who foam at the mouth over the mystery of who Amy Pond's baby is (who cares?), and dress up as their favourite character at conventions. Good luck to them - this dog's dinner has enough regurgitated entrails to keep them hunched over internet fan forums until the crack of doom (Amy Pond's crack of doom, if head "writer" Moffat has anything to do with it).
They'll vibrate with joy at this sick slurry of garbled explanations and neverending merry-go-round of BIG! SECRETS!, fronted by a gormless public school boy who gabbles out Moffat's crap dialogue like an inbred Tory version of one of Bone Thugs-N-Harmony (remember them?), some broad who used to be a model and has the acting ability of one, and all overseen by Steven "My-One-Trick-Is-The-Bloke-Falls-For-The-Dominant-Woman" Moffat.
I'm off to watch Celebrity Big Brother - it makes more sense, has better characters, and is certainly better written. And it doesn't have Matt Smith in.
*Cathode Ray Tube have a detailed review of the episode.