tempestsarekind: (brighter than sunflowers)
So way back in series 5, when Amy tells us that her favorite story as a kid was the story of Pandora's box, and I commented that this was clearly the TARDIS (as I said back then, "a box full of monsters and hope")?

How has it only just occurred to me that in "The Eleventh Hour," Amy is repeatedly told not to open the door to the room where Prisoner Zero is hiding - and she does it anyway? And yes, she lets out the monster - but she also opens the door to the thing that will save the planet, because if she hadn't opened that door, and seen Prisoner Zero's true form, she wouldn't have been able to remember it, and use the psychic link (with the Doctor's help) to turn Prisoner Zero into a perfect copy of itself.

Monsters and hope, on day one. How did I miss it?
tempestsarekind: (amy and roranicus)
According to the BBC's official Doctor Who website, today is the Ponds' wedding anniversary!

…maybe I will use this as an excuse to watch some of season 5 or 6 tonight.
tempestsarekind: (amelia pond (ready for adventure))
Someone on the internet mentioned that "The Eleventh Hour" was five years ago today, and now I am all sad and nostalgic. :( I loved Eleven and my Ponds (River, too) so very much, and while I know that it wasn't to everyone's taste, I miss that fairy-tale quality that seasons 5 and 6 had, with their girls being brave in the darkness of the forest, and people being separated from their loved ones by dislocations in time - but finding them again, too, because they never stop looking and loving even when they can't quite remember… Without any particular reason, I was worried that Moffat Who without Eleven would become (as I put it right before seeing any of S8) colder, and flintier, and less full of joy. What's odd is that even though I had no particular reason to worry about this - no spoilers or interviews or anything like that - I wound up being right.

Ironically, given how much I loved "The Eleventh Hour" right away and how much real and proverbial ink I spilled over Eleven, Amy and the gang over the course of their run, I wrote almost nothing about it on my first viewing - just this lonely little sentence from April 4, 2010: I've only been watching for fifteen minutes, and Amy Pond has already broken my heart once.

I have a pretty full account of my feelings about S5 in real time, because by the second episode, "The Beast Below," I was already in full meta mode. But I've only ever written about this first episode in little dribs and drabs here and there, on the way to something else - a post about Amy's abandonment issues here, a disquisition on Eleven and his interactions with children there. I've never really sat down to write about this episode, and how joyful it was, how it felt like we were turning a corner away from the Last-of-the-Time-Lords angst of Ten and toward someone who could call yogurt "just stuff with bits in," like a child himself; how we were meeting a Doctor who could come to a child's rescue and take her seriously within moments of meeting her; how we were getting a new TARDIS that looked like inside of a mad inventor's shop and a girl who could fly off with the Doctor in her nightie like Wendy with Peter Pan. I've never written about how much I love the awkward gangly grace of Matt Smith in this episode, the way he struggles against handcuffs or leans out of a hospital window like a spaniel straining against a leash; or how I fell in love with Karen Gillan's odd, airily furious delivery of "Twelve years, and four psychiatrists," or how she broke my heart all over again with the way she yelled at breaking point, "Why did you say five minutes?" I've never written about little Amelia eating ice cream off of the ice-cream scoop, or that first time Eleven tastes the name "Amelia Pond" on his tongue. Until now, I suppose.

It's always hard to talk about what this episode, and season 5 generally, means to me. Other people have much more dramatic stories about how the show has helped them through hard times, and fortunately that isn't the case for me. But "The Eleventh Hour" felt like getting reacquainted with the stories that had shaped me as a child, getting back in touch with that magic after feeling for a long time that I had to put that sort of thing behind me. It was a reminder that stories don't have to be Serious and Important in order to matter very deeply to someone, that a little girl getting her prayer to Santa answered could be moving and true. I'll always be grateful for that, for Amelia Pond and her Raggedy Man.
tempestsarekind: (amy and her boys)
And Eleven feelings, too:

The Eleventh Doctor's Legacy Was Loss and Failure

I don't know that I agree with everything in this piece (or at least, I don't give the same weight to everything mentioned in this piece), but the first paragraph hit a little too close to home:

"Whovians have only had one season away from the Eleventh Doctor, and it’s rough for some to remember that this year isn’t a brief reprieve before his return. Fans are missing his childlike wonder, his comforting cadence, his attractive-science-professor fashion sense, his undeniable sweetness in the face of a universe worth of terrors."
tempestsarekind: (brighter than sunflowers)
So I mostly just feel like I'm glad to be done with that season? There were some bright spots, but man, it was grim. And I didn't like the episode, for reasons that have way more to do with what I like in stories than anything about the episode, probably, but it wasn't the note I wanted to end on. (Like, there were several things that, if they had happened in a different episode, I would have been all over, but instead I just felt like it all felt weary and hollow, to me. This is not objective! I hope everyone who wanted to love it was able to love it. I just didn't.)

And I really hate being That Person, but I miss Eleven and my Ponds more than ever now.
tempestsarekind: (amy eleven TARDIS)
(I wrote this a little while ago, but then school happened.)

31 August 2014

I’ve been having a lot of tag-team feelings about both Amy Pond and Eleven over the last couple of days, which are only sort of tangentially related to the season 8 premiere (they started before that, but are probably related to the fact that I’ve been thinking about “The Eleventh Hour” and how quickly I fell for these two characters).

So…Amy. I guess the thing that’s breaking my heart about her at the moment is actually a realization that I had about “The Big Bang.” In “The Eleventh Hour,” Amy comments that she went through four psychiatrists, because she “kept biting them” for saying the Doctor wasn’t real. And that’s always absolutely informed the way I’ve thought about her character – both the stubbornness of her belief, which is a theme that runs right through her character arc (remembering Rory and the Doctor back into the world, being hunted by the Minotaur for her belief in the Doctor in “The God Complex,” believing in him in “The Wedding of River Song” and making all those drawings and notes so she won’t forget her memories, setting a place for him at the table every Christmas because she believes that one day he’ll come to the door), but also the sense that Amy is the odd girl in the village, that she’s thought of as a bit mad, a bit weird, a bit unstable. And so believing in the Doctor isn’t just about him; it’s also about the fact that she has to believe in what’s going on inside her own head, that all of those things are true, that she can trust her own mind. Which is actually an issue for Amy from almost her first words on the show: “There’s a crack in my wall. Aunt Sharon says it’s just an ordinary crack, but I know it’s not…” Already we see her fears being dismissed, and Amy having to hold on to her belief in what she knows to be true.

(This adds subtext to S6’s “Night Terrors”: Amy reacts to that message from scared little George by being determined to find him, while Rory brushes it off – there’s probably nothing wrong, kids just have overactive imaginations. Even knowing that Amy’s imaginary Raggedy Doctor and the crack in her wall were always real, Rory didn’t live that ridicule and rejection like she did – twelve years, and four psychiatrists – and his first instinct is to dismiss the child’s fears, not investigate them.) [I still wish they hadn’t switched around the episode order, because “Night Terrors” sits so uncomfortably after “A Good Man Goes to War,” in which Amy and Rory have had their daughter taken from them – and yet Rory has no reaction to a scared and hurting child. The Rory of that episode is pre-Melody Rory (it was supposed to be the third episode of the season), and his attitude would make perfect sense if the episode had fallen where it was supposed to. In his childhood, nightmares were just nightmares; they were never real.]

So, in “The Big Bang,” the Doctor never crash-lands in Amelia’s back garden, but she still believes stubbornly in the existence, the realness, of stars, even though they’re not visible in the sky. What struck me, when I was thinking of this episode, was how young Amelia is when she’s talking to that therapist – how quickly her aunt has decided that Amelia needs “help,” needs to be fixed. For the best of reasons, I’m sure – she says she’s worried that Amelia will grow up and fall in with “one of those star cults” – but Amelia is nevertheless a small child who hasn’t really done more than paint some stars in a painting from school, at an age when lots of kids still kind of think they can fly. And there’s so much disappointment in Aunt Sharon’s voice – “Oh, Amelia…” – when she sees that childish painting… This suggests that Amelia was put into therapy at the same age in the original-flavor, star-filled universe, after her meeting with the Doctor – when plenty of parents would still humor their child about an imaginary friend, not jump straight to professional help. I’d always sort of vaguely known that she must have seen those psychiatrists at some point during the twelve years that the Doctor was gone from her life, but I never stopped to pinpoint when that might have been. But it looks like Aunt Sharon didn’t waste any time. And even Amy’s parents, in the rebooted universe, did the same thing to her: on her wedding day, when Amy stands up and says that when she was a little girl she had an imaginary friend, only he wasn’t imaginary, her mother sighs – as if ashamed – “All those psychiatrists we took her to…” They didn’t know what to do with this little girl, so fiercely armed with her belief in something they couldn’t see or believe in, and it feels like – probably with all the love in the world – they just tried to shove all that away and make her “normal” as quickly as possible.

So, Eleven. Eleven lands in her back garden, hears about the crack in her wall, and the first thing he asks, intuitively, is, “Does it scare you?” That’s all he needs to know. Later he reiterates this; when Amelia protests that she’s not scared to be left at home all alone (oh, my girl: already so quick to put up that armor), he says, “Of course you’re not! Box falls out of sky, man falls out of box, man eats fish custard – and look at you, just sitting there! So you know what I think?...I think that must be one hell of a scary crack in your wall.” He hasn’t seen it, doesn’t know anything about it – but after a few minutes in her company, this stranger trusts her perceptions, trusts her, and doesn’t dismiss what she has to say. What a gift that is, for that little girl who’s been left alone with this terrifying secret. And I think this is one of the things that made me fall in love with Eleven so quickly, so that by the time he said, “Trust me, I’m the Doctor” a few minutes later, I was already on board. Yes, I warmed to his childish exuberance, his delight and mad energy in discovering the limits of his new personality (“Can I have an apple? All I can think about, apples…Maybe I’m having a craving! That’s new”), but the heart of that scene for me is the way he absolutely believes in a little girl. Small wonder that she grows up believing so absolutely in him.

I wrote way back during season 5 that children, and especially the Doctor’s interaction with children, had already taken on a more prominent role than in the RTD era. The reason I mention this is that Eleven is repeatedly on a child’s wavelength – and sometimes this means that he thinks bunk beds are the coolest (“A bed – with a ladder!”), and dances with all the kids at a wedding, and plays with toys in a department store. But it also means that he comforts a little boy who’s embarrassed about his dyslexia by saying, “That’s all right, I can’t make a decent meringue” – like it’s exactly that inessential to who he really is – and tells a frightened little girl that she is unique in all the universe; and when another little girl on a swing set, with red barrettes in her hair, gives him good advice, he takes it seriously, because of course good advice can come from children, why wouldn’t it? One of the things I have really loved about Eleven is that Amelia Pond is only the first child we see him believe in.
tempestsarekind: (eleven wears a fez now)
(I haven't seen the new Doctor Who episode yet, so there are no spoilers in this - just a few goodbyes.)

I was away for the weekend, so I haven't gotten to see the new episode of Doctor Who. Instead, when I got home yesterday, I went back and watched “The Time of the Doctor” again – and realized that yes, I have been digging my heels in about Eleven’s departure, just sort of pretending that it hadn’t happened even though I’d seen his last episode months ago with my very own eyes. Part of that – probably the greater part – is that Eleven is my beloved space idiot, and Matt Smith brought such wonderful shadings to the role; I’ve written so much about both Eleven and Matt that it would be superfluous to repeat that here. But some of it is that in my mind, the Eleventh Doctor is so closely associated with Moffat Who, and particularly the things I’ve loved and valued so much about Moffat Who: the way that the show has leaned back toward joy and hope and redemption and possibility – regeneration, recreation – instead of trying so hard to turn the Doctor into yet another Tragic Hero. It means so much to me that despite the fact that Eleven is a trickster who will dodge death when he can, he also, nevertheless, faces his death at various points with acceptance, with gratitude for what he’s experienced in his long life, with tenderness toward the people he’s cared about – from cleaning up Craig’s house so he won’t get in trouble at the end of “Closing Time” to wanting to protect Clara one last time in “The Time of the Doctor.” It matters so much to me to have been given a Doctor who can call life a pile of good things as well as bad things and try to offer hope to Vincent van Gogh; who can comfort a grieving widow by telling her that her children’s happiness still matters even if – especially if – they’re going to be sad later; who believes that time can mend us instead of just destroying us; who promises in his last moments to remember who he’s been before embarking upon a new self, instead of comparing change to death and whimpering that he doesn’t want to go. It’s so important to me that the strongest thing the Doctor’s companions and friends often bring with them is love: love strong enough to face down Weeping Angels, to remember lost people back into the universe, to scatter themselves throughout time and call an entire unseen planet of Time Lords to account. They don’t need to take on some other power outside of themselves; they only need their own fierce and willing hearts. (“I won’t let them take him. That’s what we’ve got.”)

Faith, hope, and love, right? Those are the big three, and Moffat Who, for me, has had them in spades. An abandoned little girl who’s always afraid that everyone will leave her learns to stop running and believe that people will come back. A plastic Roman keeps a centuries-long vigil outside of a box, with all the steadfastness of his plastic human heart. And a lonely old man finds a place set at the table every Christmas in expectation of his coming, a village of children to dance the “drunk giraffe” with, a young woman who will pull open the Christmas cracker for him when his hands are too weak to do it on their own. (Did you ever notice how RTD’s Christmas specials were disaster movies, and Moffat’s are It’s a Wonderful Life?)

Anyway. What I realized is that somewhere in my subconscious, I think I’m worried that the end of Eleven-era Who will somehow be the end of all the things I’ve valued about Moffat Who - that changing the Doctor will mean changing the show in ways that I don’t want to happen: that it will become flintier, and colder, and less full of joy.

I did want to say one thing about “The Time of the Doctor” itself, though, that occurred to me while I was watching. We’ve seen a lot of examples of the way the Doctor hops in and out of people’s lives in Moffat Who, while others are stuck on the “slow path”: “The Girl in the Fireplace,” of course, from whence that phrase comes; “The Eleventh Hour,” where the Doctor breaks little Amelia’s heart by leaving her for twelve years when he only means to be gone for five minutes; “A Christmas Carol,” in which the Doctor leapfrogs from Christmas to Christmas in Kazran’s life, playing an ageless Peter Pan to that young boy’s changing Wendy; and on the grandest scale, the way the Doctor casually moves from moment to moment of the earth’s decay, in “Hide,” like the pages of a flipbook. We even see this a bit in “Blink,” where it’s Sally Sparrow who has to remind the elderly Billy Shipton that the rain outside his hospital window is the same rain in which they met, so many years and also only a few minutes ago.

So one of the things I really love about Eleven’s final episode is that for once, the tables are turned – it’s not just that he takes the slow path this time, but that for Clara, those hundreds and hundreds of years are happening in the space of a single Christmas dinner. How long does the Doctor protect the villagers on Trenzalore? Depends on how you decide to frame your answer: several centuries, and also about as long as it takes to cook a turkey.
tempestsarekind: (amy and her boys)
Huh. Apparently I wrote something about the Ponds' leaving (and how they seem to "leave" several times before that point) last year, and never bothered to post it:

I’ve been thinking about the Ponds’ departure, and stories and un-stories. S5 has such a tightly structured arc, in some ways; I mean, it’s generically baggy in the way that Doctor Who seasons are always a bit baggy, because the episodes are so often individual adventures, but emotionally the narrative ties together quite neatly: Amy starts off opposing childhood (magic, adventure, the “Raggedy Doctor” who sounds like the childhood story, the childhood toy, that Amy makes him into) and growing up (marriage), and the end of the season – like “Amy’s Choice” – reveals that for the false dichotomy it is: growing up and getting married doesn’t mean leaving adventure and the Doctor behind. But it’s also true that no one can travel with the Doctor forever, and the Doctor both knows this and doesn’t want to know it, because he loves his companions and doesn’t want to give them up. (Amy seems, often, to know this far better than the Doctor, maybe because she’s waited for him for so long and so often; she’s the one who talks about the Doctor traveling without her: “long after the rest of us are gone,” she says in “The Doctor’s Wife,” and it’s a recurring theme of both the S5 and S6 minisodes, whereas the Doctor says things like “You’ll be there till the end of me” [in “Dinosaurs on a Spaceship”] – trying hard to believe that, at least for the moment.)

Moffat’s on record in interviews as saying that the Eleven-and-the-Ponds story is one about what happens when the Doctor stays in his companions’ lives too long, and it’s possible to see S6 as an answer to that question: his involvement in their lives past their “natural” separation point sees Amy and Rory’s daughter taken from them. So he tries, after that, to let them go, at the end of “The God Complex.” But Amy and Rory are his friends and his family, and Amy is ‘the first face his face saw,’ and so he can’t let them go after all; he comes back, at the end of “The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe,” when it looked like Amy’s story with the Doctor was finished, because relationships don’t end like stories do. And so, ultimately, season 7.1 winds up feeling formless, because it’s an un-story rather than a story: it’s about characters unable to find a proper ending, because they love each other too much to let go cleanly. If you find yourself thinking that the Ponds could easily have left – narratively, at least – after “The God Complex,” it’s because they could have. But in terms of their relationship with the Doctor...well, Amy was still setting a place for him at the table and listening for the sound of the TARDIS, and he was still picking up the phone to call them and leave them messages, hoping to hear Amy’s voice before facing down some danger. The narrative problem of the Ponds is precisely the (to me) delightful way that they mean so much to the Doctor, and he to them.
tempestsarekind: (amy and roranicus)
Having Tam Lin feelings about Amy and Rory again, send help

I just - she loves him so fiercely and stubbornly that she remembers him back into the universe, and then is prepared to love him until he's human again (hold me fast and fear me not); she tears apart time for him; she's ready to do battle for him against creatures that want to take him out of time and away from her, with nothing more than her will... oh, Amy Pond, darling girl, no one told me you were going to choose to casually live inside one of my favorite narratives; I was not prepared for you.

This is one of the reasons it bothers me when people argue that Amy choosing Rory is automatically misogynist, that Amy is a passive character - as though "love" isn't also a verb, an action; as if it isn't terribly hard and brave; as if learning the kind of trust and faith that love requires isn't a major part of Amy's arc. As though telling stories that center around love is always sexist, no matter how they're actually executed, because love is weak and all girls in stories should fight with weapons and with fists; anything "less" is less than feminist.

In other media thoughts...I was looking at the book The Art of Brave a few weeks ago, and one of the people who wound up working on the movie said he was initially hesitant, because it was a princess movie (ugh, girls), and that mother-daughter relationship territory had been covered so often... Except, no? Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Mulan, Jane from Tarzan: all father-daughter stories. (Mulan was the first Disney girl in ages to even *have* a mother; but all the big emotional scenes are between her and her father.) There are plenty of princesses who have wicked stepmothers, but that's really not the same thing. I guess there's a little bit of mother-daughter stuff in The Incredibles? Maybe? Non-animation, there's Gilmore Girls, and...Freaky Friday? Maybe I just watch the wrong stuff, but I'm drawing a blank on stories where the mother-daughter relationship is really central. (There are family shows like Joan of Arcadia and Parenthood with various important familial relationships, mother-daughter being one; that's good, but also not the same.) There was that Ya-Ya Sisterhood movie, I guess, but the mother-daughter relationship seemed (in the bits of it I saw on tv) like the frame narrative rather than the central story. And Anna Quindlen's One True Thing (the movie was kind of terrible, but I loved the book for quite a while. I wonder how I'd feel if I went back to read it now). I'm sure there are tons of books where mother-daughter relationships are key, but my point is that I don't think this is actually a narrative that's being done all the time in prominently visible media, like, oh, you can't swing a cat without hitting a mother-daughter story, let's not do another one of those.

And then I tried to come up with mother-son stories, and came up really empty there too. Tarzan, I guess, and The Iron Giant, and maybe Treasure Planet, not that I ever saw that one. I don't actually watch Teen Wolf, but gifsets on the internet suggest that the main wolf character has a good relationship with his mom? (Honestly, this is the first thing I've heard about the show that made me want to watch it. The life of a girl who loves supernatural creatures but has no interest in vampires, werewolves, and zombies, it is a hard life.) I saw a book at the library once about how our culture often sidelines and even stigmatizes close mother-son relationships (the term "momma's boy" is *not* a compliment), just at the moment when boys are going through all kinds of hormonal, emotional drama and need more support, not to be told that they're men and need to "cut the apron strings" or whatever - I spent a good while flipping through the book, although I have no memory of what it was called - and that came to mind while I was utterly failing to compile any sort of list.
tempestsarekind: (a sort of fairytale)
Okay, so this is going to be a "stating the obvious about Amy Pond" update, but one of the things I really like about her story, broadly speaking, is how much it's about memory. And no matter how many times the universe gets rewritten or paralleled, Amy keeps those memories, and *fights* for them - because she's Amy, because she's a time traveler, because on her first day she looks at the things she was told not to see, and remembering them saves her *and* the whole planet. She's stubborn enough to remember everyone she loves back into the world. And what we *don't* get, with Amy, is the sense that she's not *allowed* to remember - that knowledge that is learned in the Doctor's world is too dangerous for her to keep. This is what happens with Rose and Donna: if they remember, they will die. All Amy needs to do is make a bit more room in her head for a couple of extra lives.

Which is - again with the obvious - the opposite of how the Silence operate. Madame Kovarian tells River not to even bother remembering, because they've done too good a job of making her forget. I think this gives extra meaning to her blue journal: it's not just about keeping tabs on when and where she meets up with the Doctor, but about writing things down, keeping memories. So much of her life has been taken from her; small wonder that she holds on so fiercely to the memories she goes on to create. (And it's why River-as-archaeologist makes so much thematic sense, because that work is all about recovering what has been forgotten.)

It'll be interesting to see what (if anything) happens with Clara in this regard, because there does seem to be the suggestion of "knowledge = danger" in "Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS," that Clara learns something in the library that she isn't allowed to keep...but the episode ends with the suggestion that memory is still possible if you look, if you feel it - that memory ripples out, even backwards into time, even when you don't know that it has.

...in other TV news, I've spent a lot of time over the last week or so re-watching S1 Joan of Arcadia and weeping. I always felt like this show had a bad reputation with people who had never actually bothered to watch it, but what I was thinking this time was that I wanted more books like this show: not the "girl talks to God" part, but the part where we're looking at a loving family trying to do their best for one another (instead of the estrangement and coldness that fills so many novels), and people rise to the occasion of being the good parts of humanity even though they make mistakes and hurt others, and people are earnest and trying and gloriously messy instead of disaffected and cynical and closed-off. This is the stuff that makes books like The Bean Trees and I Capture the Castle (and yes, Tamsin) my favorites, and one of the reasons that I have a hard time finding historical fiction not written by Gillian Bradshaw (so much of the stuff that isn't about famous people - my kingdom for a Tudor-era book that doesn't involve solving a mystery and is *not* about the Henrician or Elizabethan court! - seems to be of the "life in the past was terrible and nothing ever went well for anyone" school, which is probably why I tend to read YA historical fiction instead).

(I mean, Code Name Verity was easily the best new book I read in 2012, and it's not like it was all rainbows and kittens, but it was about love, you know? Not romance - not that there's anything wrong with romance - or the kind of passion that takes you away from yourself, which is what stands in for love in so much fiction, but the kind of love that lets you and *helps* you be who you are. I feel like my childhood devotion to Madeleine L'Engle is showing through here - "she could stand there and she could love Charles Wallace" is probably the only-recently-realized secret anthem to nearly every story I've tried to write - but that's what I want more of.)
tempestsarekind: (amelia pond (ready for adventure))
Er. I appear to have tripped and committed meta.

On Moffat, Misogyny, and Children’s Stories

“The Leopard of Little Breezes yawned up and farther off from the rooftops of Omaha, Nebraska, to which September did not even wave good-bye. One ought not to judge her: All children are heartless. They have not grown a heart yet, which is why they can climb tall trees and say shocking things and leap so very high that grown-up hearts flutter in terror. Hearts weigh quite a lot. That is why it takes so long to grow one.” --Catherynne M. Valente, The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making

I read an old post on the internet about that perennial issue of Moffat’s misogyny in Doctor Who, which is a frustrating topic for me. It’s certainly not that I think Moffat has no issues at all – there are those stupid jokes about women and driving, for example – but I also think that the discussion is largely driven by people who don’t take into account either the prevalence of Moffat’s favorite story ideas with male characters as well, or the kinds of stories Moffat tells.

cut for length - seriously, it's really long - but no spoilers for the finale, although Clara is mentioned in passing a few times )


Jan. 26th, 2013 06:58 pm
tempestsarekind: (eleven and amy)
When stressed, I resort to familiar comforts - which only partly explains why I was crying into my Cream of Wheat this morning about "The Beast Below," but I guess that's just the kind of life I lead now. (Just - their little faces! Amy being all stubborn and clever and right, believing in the Doctor with that hardy childhood faith of hers! Not being able to watch children cry! Apparently I still have a lot of feelings about it.)

(Have I ever mentioned how dearly I love Amy's reaction to being told that she and the Doctor are "observers only," as she watches Mandy crying on the TARDIS view screen, comparing it to being a part of a nature documentary - the way she trails off from that bouncy comparison, increasingly worried about how difficult it is to be distant and uninvolved? No? Well, I love it, dearly.)
tempestsarekind: (rory and amy)
I'll...just sit over here in this corner and cry, shall I? Don't mind me.

Oh, Amelia Pond, you brave, fierce, stubborn, glorious girl, never anything less than fully and unapologetically yourself: I will miss you. And Rory Williams, patient centurion, always being left behind; voice of caution and caretaker: you too.

Bye-bye, Ponds.

And goodbye, Karen and Arthur, you ridiculous hipster stupidfaces you. I am so going to miss watching you three be ridiculous and darling.

spoilers )
tempestsarekind: (come along ponds)
Just assume that I wrote an actual post with words in it, all about how I love Amy Pond to bits and pieces, okay? Because I love Amy Pond TO PIECES. click here for incoherence )
tempestsarekind: (eleven wears a fez now)
Last night, on my walk home, I passed a guy wearing a fez! So I, er, kind of accosted him and his friend with eager, awkward questions about why he was wearing it. OOPS. (Also, when I got closer, I could see he was also wearing a tweed blazer, though no bow tie. Hurrah.)

Anyway. Despite my being on record as always being Meh About Daleks, I liked this episode a lot (although, 'tis true, I didn't care overmuch about the Daleks themselves). I can't seem to get my face fixed for a proper post, though, so I'm going to do that thing where I more or less copy my comments from other people's posts, just so I have some sort of record of what I thought.

various things )
tempestsarekind: (come along ponds)
So I managed to wallop myself in the face with Amy Pond feelings the other day when I stumbled across a GIF set of her, Rory, and Eleven in the last scene of the most recent Christmas special, when she asks Eleven if he'll stay for dinner. Because oh, seeing it broken down into discrete bits made it all so much clearer: the way she tosses off the invitation like it doesn't mean much at all - and then the way it's as if she's angry and annoyed at him for making her spell it out, that they always set a place for him, because it's Christmas, you moron. And that is *so* Amy: she cares so much about her boys, and she's so bad at *telling* them rather than showing them. Over and over again - like calling Rory "stupid face," or yelling at him to shut up when she's heartbroken about the Doctor's plan to erase himself from the universe (and I love Rory so much in that moment for *getting* Amy, and hugging her instead of shrinking back from the anger in her voice that was never really meant for him; and that is part of why I ship them when I am not usually overcome with shippy feelings, canon ships or not), or when she tells someone else just what the Doctor has meant to her, in "The God Complex," but then hurriedly asks that person to keep it a secret, because she'd hate it if the Doctor ever heard.

Oh, Amelia Jessica Pond. I do love you.

I suddenly had the panicked thought that maybe not everyone on my flist has watched all of season 6, so here is a cut just in case, although I haven't been cutting for season 6 discussion lately anyway, so it is probably too late )

(Edited to add link to GIF set: http://marriedinspace.tumblr.com/post/28164312888/happy-crying-humany-wumany )


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September 2017



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