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: (amy and her boys)
And Eleven feelings, too:

The Eleventh Doctor's Legacy Was Loss and Failure
http://www.tor.com/blogs/2014/12/the-eleventh-doctors-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 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: (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 )
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 )
tempestsarekind: (eleven and amy)
I'd forgotten that I put together a "year in review" post about things I loved in 2011, and then never posted it because the list seemed so short, and I wanted to see if anything else came to mind. It wasn't a fantastic year for falling in love with new things, I guess. I read 38 books, which I know is barely a sneeze to some of you speed-readers out there, but is a decent sum for me. And I quite enjoyed quite a few of them. 2011 was the year that I finally read A Room With a View (which I liked, but perhaps not as much as Howards End) and We Have Always Lived in the Castle; and I read the odd little book The Brontes Go to Woolworths, and I liked Connie Willis' Blackout and All Clear, and Cat Valente's Fairyland. But I didn't read or watch anything much new that I felt the need to buttonhole people about, and that's generally my standard for a good media year. I didn't have a due South this year, or a Tamsin. Still, what there is, come see. (I have been spending *way* too much time with As You Like It lately, seriously.)

Year in review 2011

--THE PONDS. I've found myself saying lately that "all of my feelings are Pond feelings," and it's perfectly true. Doctor Who is beloved to me generally, of course, but this year has especially belonged to Amy and Rory. I love that their relationship has developed in s6, that Amy is more comfortable showing tenderness to Rory, that they are a love story in every universe. And I love that their relationship with the Doctor has grown and changed, too, that their bonds have deepened and been tested, and that they remain a strange, wonderful family. (*Christmas special flail*)

--honorable mention to Matt Smith, of course, whose face still exists and therefore has delighted me all season. Special kudos for his double act in "The Almost People," which I'm pretty sure I referred to at the time as giddy-making. And oh, that scene with Alfie (aka Stormageddon) in "Closing Time"...I don't want always to have Beat Up on Ten Corner, and that isn't really even how I mean it. But Eleven faces his death with the ability to focus on the good, to remember what he's loved as well as - or more than - what he's lost, and I'm so grateful for that. It's become a commonplace to talk about the way that Matt can suddenly turn so old in scenes like that one, but I think it's partly to do with the way he manages to make one believe that he's actually capable of reflecting on hundreds of years of experiences - sometimes to be made weary by them, but more often to be grateful, even if that gratitude comes with a tearful edge.

--another honorable mention for "The Doctor's Wife." Because Neil Gaiman wrote a love letter to the TARDIS, and it was beautiful. Hello, TARDIS. It was so very nice to meet you.

--And just one more for "Good Night," one of the minisodes on the S6 DVDs (aka the one where Amy and Eleven go get timey-wimey ice cream). This encapsulated so much of what I love about the Moffat era so far: its insistence on the benevolence of time, even in the face of its tragedies, but a benevolence that stems from the way that people orient themselves toward others, and choose to care for each other, as much as from time itself. (I still love the fact that ultimately they don't go back in time to save Vincent van Gogh, but to befriend him. Even though they can't change his fate, they can change his life.) The Doctor can't fix Amy's life; he can't make time travel make any sense. But he can give her the gift of perspective, a little touch of reparation for a childhood sorrow that becomes an answer for her current dilemma. In the face of the inexplicable and the unfathomable, this Doctor puts his faith in the grace of the moment. "Cheer up. Have an ice cream."

--going to London this summer with my friend. Also, theater-stalking several favorite actors: David Tennant, Samuel Barnett and Jamie Parker, and Arthur Darvill.

--(this gets its own line) the Summer of Jamie. This began in London, watching him and Sam in R&G Are Dead, which was like magic (oh, my boys). Then his brilliant turn as Hal in 1 and 2H4, which made me feel so much for Hal for maybe the first time: he was so immediate and in the moment, really piecing together his princehood through the course of the plays. And it's no exaggeration to say that the knowledge that he's playing Henry in H5 has brightened my life so much over the last few months: I so want to know where that journey will have taken him.

--very honorable mention for Roger Allam, who made me enjoy Falstaff. I did not know such a thing was possible.

--Passenger by Lisa Hannigan. I discovered this CD during the lees of the year, and it's quirky and enveloping. (I also bought a copy for my high-school Spanish teacher, as a Christmas present.)

--The Hour. Despite a sad paucity of Jamie Parker, this series was engrossing, and I rather fell in love with the rich textures of cloth it put up on the screen. (so much tweed. <3) /shallow There's also the relationship between Bel and Freddie, which I loved: I don't even necessarily need them to get together romantically (though because I have seen television before, I'm pretty sure they will), so long as they remain so important to each other. They're comfortable together, in a way they can't be with anyone else - particularly Bel, who spends so much time protecting herself emotionally, for all that she's reckless sexually when it comes to Hector, wanting to play by the same rules as men, who can have affairs and not be thought the worse for it. With Freddie, she gets to be both playful and childlike, and motherly and nurturing - because it's also always clear that Freddie couldn't make it without her; he's completely fearless, and he also doesn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain: he's got no instinct for self-preservation, literal or social. They've grown up together: she's proud of how she's molded him, and exasperated by his stubborn obliviousness; he knows her intimate habits, and can be scathing and unfair when he thinks she's playing it safe. It's interesting to watch them both try to grow past that old relationship they share, and yet to continue to need to come back to it. And it occurs to me, incidentally, that the way I respond to their relationship, especially when compared to my response to Bel/Hector, is completely telling about my priorities: the relationship that's supposed to be hot-and-heavy, all passion first and foremost, never interests me like the ones where two people find a resting place or haven in each other.

--Luther s2. I didn't love it quite as much as s1 (needs more Alice!), but I would watch the "Luther does domestic and awkwardly protective" show all day, every day. He's so bad at caring for himself that it's startling to see that he knows the offhand, ordinary routine of caring for someone else - not just protecting someone else, because that's part of his job, but the daily activities of cooking breakfast and nagging someone to go to the job center. It makes me wonder about or imagine the possibility of some occluded history of kindness in his life: who took care of him, when he was young and needed it? Did anyone?
tempestsarekind: (amelia pond (ready for adventure))
(Because I am doing Normal Things today, and what I normally do on the day after a Doctor Who episode is post about it.)

I want to chew on this episode a lot, but all my thoughts are still coming out in flail, so you're forewarned.

beware the overuse of the parenthetical aside )
tempestsarekind: (amelia pond (ready for adventure))
(Because I am doing Normal Things today, and what I normally do on the day after a Doctor Who episode is post about it.)

I want to chew on this episode a lot, but all my thoughts are still coming out in flail, so you're forewarned.

beware the overuse of the parenthetical aside )

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