Doctor Who is brilliant. There is absolutely no argument here. However, for the sake of this debate, I will forge an argument. But it’s wholly unnecessary. Why? Because Doctor Who is brilliant.
Let’s start with the basics:
The TARDIS. The Doctor’s home / method of transport / time machine is magnificent and much better than your one bedroom ex-council flat in Londonville or wherever you live. His home is essentially an intergalactic time travelling caravan, except instead of a pokey kitchen-slash-dining room-slash-bedroom-slash-toilet, it’s a vast palatial caravan that’s bigger on the inside than on the outside. It even has a swimming pool. Does your £600 a month studio hovel have a swimming pool? No, it doesn’t.
The sonic screwdriver. Think of a regular screwdriver and how shit it is. You spend hours turning screws into cheap flat-pack furniture until your hands are raw with friction burns and then, because the screws are too fiddly, the screwdriver slips and impales your thigh. You pass out from blood loss due to the sheer amount of red liquid gushing from the hole in your leg and when you awake, you have to haul yourself to hospital via public transport because you can’t afford a cab as you lost your job last week and if you waited for an ambulance to arrive you would surely die. You then sit in a cold, over-lit waiting room full of sick unfriendly people for at least six hours, after which time they finally stitch you up. By now it’s too late, you have already contracted a hospital-acquired infection and you will now remain bedridden for the next six weeks. All the Doctor has to do with his screwdriver is point and zap. Plus it can also open any lock. All your screwdriver can do is create thigh-based puncture wounds.
The fag hags. Let’s face it; the Doctor is a 900-year-old bachelor who travels around with a bevy of beautiful, whip-smart ladies with which he has no sexual contact. They are fag hags. Who wouldn’t want an ‘Amy Pond’ as our best girl buddy – a gorgeous, feisty redhead with the propensity to shout the last word of every sentence? Then there is the exotic and equally stunning Martha Jones, who is pretty enough to be an asset to your clique but lacking in any real personality so she doesn’t upstage you. You could argue that the Doctor fell in love with Rose Tyler but she only ever kissed a human version of him that had regenerated from his severed hand during a human-Timelord meta-crisis. So he is at the very least bisexual.
The Fashion. The current incarnation of the Doctor is a trend setter. If you don’t believe me then take a trip to Topman, it’s full of tweed blazers with leather elbow patches, bow ties and braces. Couple this dapperness with his floppy public schoolboy hair and you have the epitome of ‘this season’. Go on, admit it, you dress like him don’t you?
Regeneration. If a regular human suffered a mortal wound then all they would do is lay there, crying and moaning, repenting every bad word they had uttered from their hell-bound mouth and generally make a bloody mess everywhere with their innards. Well the Doctor has a way to cheat death by rejuvenating every cell to form a new body, which avoids the normal but unseemly and ungraceful blubbing of a dying person (unless it’s David Tennant’s weepy tenth Doctor and his sappy “I don’t want to go”).
The TV show. On a serious note, the programme itself is as innovative, well executed and superbly acted as any mainstream series on television. To dismiss it as a children’s show is to miss the point entirely. While Doctor Who is pitched as family entertainment, it doesn’t patronise the audience and has contained some of the most complex plots and heart-wrenching drama to appear on our screens this year. The opening gambit of the latest season where we watched the Doctor gunned down and killed was breathtaking and a brave direction, The Silence were genuinely boxer brief-wettingly creepy and Matt Smith showed his acting chops playing a man (well Timelord) dealing with his inevitable death. A special mention should also be made for Alex Kingston’s delightfully campy, scenery-munching portrayal of the gun-toting River Song.
Now look me in the eye and tell me Doctor Who isn’t brilliant. Yeah, I thought as much.