I’ve spoken about Doctor Who at great, great length on this Signal Fire, and to be truthful, I probably always will. I could say it’s because it’s the longest running science fiction series on television, that it just celebrated it’s 60th anniversary, I could say it’s because this time of year always reminds me so much of it, in that the Christmas Special that they are absolutely famous for, or if I’m being completely honest, I could say it’s because it truly got me through one of the hardest times of my entire life. I could, and I have, and I am sure I will, but on top of all these, and because it IS only 3 days away from this year’s special, I wanted to talk about it today because of something else, something it represents and always has—to me and the rest of this world:
The endurance of hope.
Don’t we need more hope in this world, don’t we now more than ever, now in the face of so much sadness and turmoil around the world, now with so much divide and angst and furor and hate?
After last year’s special, a doozy in which two things happened that I was monumentally happy about: 1) David Tennant, the 10th Doctor and my FOREVER Doctor, made a triumphant return to the show and was not only allowed to be him again (which he always will be) he was emotionally deeply invested and truly honored to be there again, and B) The NEW Doctor was finally unveiled, and Ncuti Gatwa was groundbreaking in 1000 different ways. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, please revisit this post of mine which gives a very, very brief primer on what Doctor Who is and what it means:
Where things get interesting this time around, is that Doctor Who, a show already miles ahead of others and has been for years when it comes to inclusivity and the messages it spreads, decided to take things a step further and be bolder than they “needed” to be, by introducing a non-binary main character in their Christmas special. They included dialogue about pronouns, why representation matters, and what’s even bigger, even bolder, even more stunningly beautiful, is this time around, the new Doctor, for the very first time, is not only the first black man, but the first openly queer actor to ever step into the shoes. Huge, brave, and perfect.
That’s the beauty of this show, and it always been. Right when things are going well, right when you truly fall in love with the Doctor and the actor portraying them, something happens, something shifts and they regenerate (again see the article above if you’re very, very confused) and a brand new actor steps in to take over the role. You’re heartbroken, you feel the despair of losing someone you loved and trusted and adored in that role, and you have to start all over again. All the way, you just have to trust that you will love them, too, you have to hope that you’ll fall in love again, that you have in you the ability to be curious instead of judgmental, and that true power lives there, in that hopeful curiosity.
This show has always been about hope, always the electrical undercurrent that hums no matter what shenanigans the Doctor gets up to, no matter the depth of despair and heartache and loss and challenge and trouble that the Doctor must face, still, there, is hope. It’s where it hides, in truth, right in the thick of the deepest darkness, the heaviest despair. It’s where it always hides, not just in some strange sci-fi cinematic universe, but in life, in our lives, all around us, all the time.
I know this time of year is usually for Santa Claus and gift giving and lights and Bing Crosby singing the same stuff over and over, and I know we’re only 3 days away from the big kahuna event, but for me, this time of year is always (well, when we’re lucky enough to get one) about the Christmas special, and the way it makes me feel. You’d think I was British.
Don’t we need it now, more than any other time, don’t we need that reminder in the middle of a holiday season that can be so heavy for so many? Don’t we need that Mad Hatter-esque energy, the bizarre hilarity, the deeply sorrowful but hauntingly beautiful hope that shines out of every crack? Don’t we?
For the first time in a long time, we have a Doctor that is not afraid to cry, and often. We have one that is not afraid to love, to open themselves, to admit they are wrong. We have a Doctor that embodies so much to so many, represents them in a way that they’ve never been able to be represented, especially not on this scale, especially not with a character this HUGE and beloved.
As the show runner, Russell T. Davies spoke about when interviewed about the new Doctor and what this show represents, he said something wonderful about why it’s going this way, why now, why Hope, and I’ll quote it here:
“I think it’s so important…I think it’s particularly relevant because Doctor Who has a large child[ren]’s audience. It’s a family show. It’s for absolutely anyone. But the fact that children sit there in the audience is very significant to me. And even back in 2005, I was very much aware that children are always being told that the world’s going to end, that global warming’s going to get us, that war’s going to get us, and my goodness, now you look at the 24 hours news streaming these days and parents having to have conversations with their children about what they watch and the information they receive. So in that world, I wanted something that was a beacon.”
The world is in a rough place, the future can look bleak, but dammit, there is still reason to hope. To laugh. To weep with the full width of your emotions, to hug, to hold onto someone else with all you’ve got, to flirt, dance, sing, to TRY. To just try to make things better, to be that change you want to see, to learn, to be curious and not judgmental, to believe, to understand. To hope.
Just to hope.
That’s why I tune in, that’s why I’ll always tune in, why I’ll follow the Doctor and his TARDIS anywhere it travels, anywhen it visits. I always will, because I’m a proud WHOvian, and I always will be.
Here’s to hope, and here’s to the brave souls that remind us just how courageous it is to do so.
3 days my friends, 3 days until we go again. I’ll see you there.
Tucked inside despair
hides a fragment of our hope.
We must hurt to heal.
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