Happy New Year. Time for Doctor Who.
The first one was a two-parter. I've seen it and I'm still processing it and I'm still woozy from the drugs they gave me at the clinic, so I won't go into full analysis mode now. Suffice it to say:
a) I think we're back on track. I'm almost afraid to jinx it, but I can confidently say this is the best episode of the Whitaker/Chibnal era so far. Which is faint praise indeed I understand, a lot like: "this is by far the very best toenail fungal infection I've ever had," or "this solitary confinement cell is so much better they stopped piping in Barbara Streisand tunes", but seriously: THIS is more like it. A Who episode to freely enjoy. Menacing aliens, a sense of creeping dread. Better balanced, better paced, less preachy, more Lenny Henry. . .
b) Indeed, Lenny Henry. Marvelous to see him spread his wings and display his acting chops. All the same, it makes me wistful. What a marvelous Doctor he would have made. Or a Master. . . Indeed, imagine what a Master HE would have made. . .
Can't bring myself to speak of it any more. Drugs are taking hold, off to dreamland now. . .
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