What is the measure of Man?

Torchwood is meant to be darker and edgier than the show it spins off of, Doctor Who, and it certainly is that. But it also says things about the human condition that the good Doctor cannot illustrate. One of these is the notion of family, a team. The Doctor might have a Companion or two, but he always knows that he will lose them, either to misadventure or to an excess of adventure that burns them out and makes them long for home. The current Torchwood group, on the other hand, consciously battle incredible odds to stay together, and there have been many circumstances which nearly tore them apart, but in the end, those experiences only draw them closer. This is an idea that recurs again and again in science fiction, the notion that one of the things that makes us human is the impulse, the drive to band together and create teams and communities. We are social creatures, and most of us work better with others around to back us up, to share and expand on our ideas, to be emotional support. The Doctor seems to feel some of this instinct towards group building, but his circumstances are unique, and he often focuses more on that than the people sharing it with him, which can highlight his inhumanity more than any overt action. After all, deciding whether or not to save a thousand humans from Certain Death doesn’t mean as much when you don’t have a grasp on who they would be leaving behind, the bonds that would be broken without those people.

Another poignant aspect of being human is the knowledge of mortality. This was accentuated in the recent Torchwood arc featuring Martha Jones. Owen, the team doctor, is shot, but Torchwood has the Resurrection Glove, which can bring a person back for a minute or two. However, this is the Mark II, and Owen’s resurrection becomes more long-term. It may only be a few weeks or months (or it could be several decades) before it fails again, but in the meantime, he cannot process food or drink, bruises and bone breaks do not mend, and he has no heartbeat. He and Jack have had several mournful conversations about the dichotomy of their situations, one painfully aware that he might fall and die at any moment, the other just as painfully aware that he will never die, no matter what. One missing the food and the love he can no longer fully appreciate, the other missing the spice of subconscious knowledge that all this could be snatched away. They do not come to an conclusions, for what resolution is there for either of them? But they both become just a little more human to us in that moment.

As a minor side note: is Spike a Whovian? We know he likes Monty Python; he makes reference to ‘The Holy Hand-grenade of Antioch’ and ‘that insidious torture device, the comfy chair’, but in As You Were (6.15), he gives himself the code name ‘The Doctor’. Is this a geekly reference?

Family Of Choice

One of the things that comes up, again and again, in sci-fi/fantasy, is the notion of connectedness, the family you make. It is a thread that runs from Star Wars to Babylon 5, from Doctor Who to Buffy. In every case, teens or adults, generally without close blood family, come together under difficult circumstances, find their strength and their power together, and forge a Family of Choice. (This applies, often more strongly, to written sci-fi, but this blog focuses on filmed art, not prose.)

It is very true that when a group shares a set of experiences, especially if they cannot discuss those experiences with the wider world, they become close. But it can go so far beyond that when the group is a team, when they have a specialized set of skills that integrate well. Consider Buffy and the Scoobies. She is the fighter, stronger and faster than a normal human. Willow has the magical chops. Giles has a wealth of knowledge in their specialized field, and access to even more, plus the training to apply that knowledge and/or teach the others. Xander keeps them all grounded in the real world, reminds them that what they are truly fighting for is humanity, and the safety of ordinary people. Though they have had plenty of arguments, even blow-outs, in the end they are so close they can literally read each others’ minds.

Likewise, Han and Chewbacca are essentially blood brothers, and although Luke and Leia are siblings, they don’t know that when they forge their bond. Through the trials and tests, these four become as close as if they had grown up together, a bond that lasts the rest of their lives. Between them, they have the skills and contacts to move within any circle, interact with any strata of society, from smugglers, thieves and beggars to the heads of planets and empires, and the ability to persuade any of them, whether by money, force, or Force. This makes them an incomparable team for whatever needs doing, especially in the political arenas, both overt and covert.

While often in circumstances like these there are fleeting or unrequited romantic feelings (consider Xander for Buffy, or Willow for Xander, which resulted in a brief fling that stressed two established romantic relationships), in the end the feelings between members of the group are generally those of a more familial love. “You’re like a brother/sister to me” is one of the most common sentiments. The love is generally understated, or described in terms of trust and history; these are people who know the depth of feeling they have for one another, and feel no need to state it time and again.

Often, in life, the families we forge in adulthood serve us and support us better than our blood families ever could, and this is merely writ large in science fiction. It is the unique mix of talents, personalities, and circumstances, that makes a sci-fi team so much more magnificent than a single hero, and something so many geeks aspire to. After all, if you could find, not a single person that compliments you, but a whole group that elevates each other, and that loves you as much as you love them, what more could you ask for?

The Doctor and the TARDIS: Deus ex Machina

He is, as the Face of Boe has said, the lonely god, the wandering god. But he is not entirely alone. The Doctors may change, over the years, but the TARDIS remains, constancy in his chaotic life, the agent of chaos through which he creates stability.

For this is the true secret of the TARDIS: she is not broken at all, but a sentient being in symbiosis with the Doctor. He has an unparalleled urge to do good, to fix what is broken in the universe and get it all back on track, though he might not always know it, so she indulges him. He chooses a time and place to which he wants to go, and she finds the nearest point of trouble and takes him there. He may complain, and it may result in high Companion turnover, but he loves every minute of it. This is especially poignant with the Tenth Doctor, as he relearns his love of putting things right.

The Ninth Doctor needed Rose, needed someone who would just go along with him because it seemed like a good idea. He had made such terrible judgment calls, lost so much, he just needed someone who could show him the beauty and wonder of the universe again. The Tenth Doctor was a little more together, a little more willing to try his hand at changing things and interfering. Rose, however, was still trying to live as she had with Nine, bouncing around exploring more than actually changing things. This is why Martha was so good for Ten- she has such an impulse towards helping, herself, that she reawaked it in him. He began to actively seek ways to help once again.

The TARDIS, of course, always knows what the Doctor needs. She takes him to his Companions, each of whom is a perfect foil for the Doctor in some way (i.e. Rose could show him how to be happy again, Martha challenged him mentally). She helps him find what he really wants, which is a way to help. Even when all he wants is an escape, she finds a way for him to help someone, which in the end makes him feel better than a simple holiday would. More than all that, though, is an incident from the very end of Nine’s story.

***Spoilers***

The Doctor is seemingly doomed. He has sent Rose away, and locked the TARDIS so they don’t come back for him. In reverse order, Rose: saves the Doctor; leaves herself clues on how to do it in all the time/places they’ve traveled together; takes in the Time Vortex at the heart of the TARDIS (essentially becoming part of it); opens the Vortex; and finds/solves the clues. The TARDIS needs an agent, a being with arms and legs and eyes, in order to do what she wants. In this case, that means saving the Doctor, and incidentally herself, by switching her symbiosis from the Doctor to Rose for a little while. She could then bring them all back together, and fulfill Nine’s other greatest wish, to see the Daleks destroyed before his eyes.

This, by the way, is the reason Ten’s Regeneration is a little jumpy and uncertain: It is linked closely with the TARDIS herself, and she had recently expended a great deal of energy on dealing with Rose and the Daleks and all.

***End Spoiler***

In the end, though the phrase “wandering god” most definitely applies, “lonely god” does not, quite. The Doctor and his TARDIS are as close as a happily-married couple, and it is truly a Pantheon of two.

I love the sound of the TARDIS

Furthermore, I adore the direction they're taking the tenth Doctor. He's been through so much in his 900 years, and even more in the last three or four (all numbers/dates subject to interpretation- this IS a Time Lord).
**Spoilers**
I've just finished Series 3, and oh, Holy Hannah! I've gotta start with the new Master. Delicious! First of all, he has some of the same body language and thought processes as the Doctor, highlighting the fact that they're really just two sides of the same coin. The Doctor interferes because he's trying to help, and the Master interferes because he likes to meddle, and he wants to be in charge of everything. Unfortunately, the Master's newest regeneration is blatantly insane; he's a megalomaniac and a psychopath. Some of the previous regenerations were a bit crazy, but you got the sense that there was a plan. The new one just wants to rule everything, and doesn't care how he gets there. And the terrible things he does to the Doctor! Ohhh, and the way the Doctor sets it right! Gorgeous! But then the Doctor is left to deal with the fallout...
Well, you know, it was bad enough when he thought he was the only Time Lord left, but then to find out there is one other, and it's his ancient foe... How horrible and wonderful that would be! And he tries so hard to help him, to rehabilitate him, and the Master just doesn't care, doesn't want any help, doesn't even want to be around if he can't be in charge and on top of the world. Of course, if one Time Lord can hide in this way, surely others could too. For the Doctor's sake, I'm not willing to believe that there are no others anywhere. I mean, Time Lords! The whole of space/time to hide in, and the technological capacity to change their biological makeup or create a little box outside of time to hide millions of Daleks in! They're out there somewhere, in little pockets and hidey-holes, and the Doctor will find them, gather them, and rebuild his society. I'm sure of it.
The Doctor is making great strides forward anyway. Losing Rose was rough on him, but I think Martha is even more suited to be a Companion. She's sharp, quick on her feet both physically and mentally, and an excellent observer. She also challenges him more than Rose did. I do feel sorry for her that he's so busy thinking about Rose that he doesn't really see Martha for a long time, or realize her feelings for him for a lot longer. I really want him to acknowledge his own feelings more, though. He keeps so much bottled up, in order to appear strong and in control. But you can tell Martha is good for him because he's actually said the word "Gallifrey" to her, and described the place a little, neither of which he ever did with Rose. It's cheesy, but I think in some ways, Rose was an anchor, keeping him from losing himself in revenge or misery, and Martha is wings, helping him get out and explore the universe as he used to love to do.
Finally, one of my favorite parts: Captain Jack. Well, really, the whole suite of "alternative" sexualities that populate the show. (also, Jack is HOT, but that's a side issue) First there was Jack, back in the first series, who flirted with anything that was sentient and bipedal. Then he kissed Rose, and immediately the Ninth Doctor. Yum! (I have a friend who insists they were a trio, and I don't really disagree) Then, early this series, there was William Shakespeare, who flirted heavily with Martha. When the Doctor called him on it, he flirted with the Doctor, who actually somewhat responded. Then there were the old lesbians, who insisted that they were married, and clearly had that old-married-couple dynamic. And now Captain Jack has come back, but the Doctor is more impatient with his flirting ways, and less responsive. Granted, that's for complicated reasons, including the effects of Rose and the time vortex, and the fact that Jack reminds the Doctor that Rose is beyond reach, but when Martha says something about fancying the Doctor, who doesn't see her, Jack indicates that he's in the same position. I gotta say, I was really hoping Jack and the new Doctor would kiss, since that would be hella hot, and also I think good for the Doctor, but there were good story reasons why they didn't, and I'm ok with that. There were also crazy revelations about Jack and another character we've known since episode 2 or 3 (ie 9th Dr), but I'm not going to go into that yet.
I'm not sure this fits the "alternative" sexuality topic, and I'm sure it's less of a big deal in Britain, but this season had a lot of couples with a black man and a white woman. I'm not sure what to make of that, but it does intrigue me, since even now that can be a hot-button issue in the States, and no one on the show even seemed to notice, let alone care, which is cool
In summation, I'm incredibly glad it all comes back at Christmas, since I don't think I could wait til next summer for more of the gorgeous, wonderful 10th Doctor.

Culture, not just pop culture

If you ask a Literature professor what separates an airport pulp novel from a Classic, generally the answer involves some or all of the following: layers of meaning, allegory and metaphor; truth about the human condition; characters we can identify with, that we root for and suffer and struggle with; and story that holds up over multiple engagements (readings, or, in our case, viewings), even years apart. I contend that the same holds true for audio-visual media like TV and movies. In Buffy, for example, the characters certainly learn. Their whole lives are a process of learning more about the world and themselves, and in watching them, we learn about the world too, often without even realizing it. Through them we remember (or anticipate) the pangs of young love, the thrill of graduation, the trepidation of college, moving out, one’s first job… In short, the characters stand in for us. They are fully-fleshed, complex- even one-note jokes like Larry the football jerk turn out to have unexpected depth. Larry is using his jerkishness to cover his fear of coming out of the closet, and after he admits to someone that he is gay, he becomes a much nicer person, a transformation a friend of mine went through in high school too.
Babylon 5 likewise has something to say about humans and how they interact with each other and the larger world (or universe). There is deep poignancy in the choices the characters must make- there is never an easy, black-or-white choice, but rather a range of shades of grey and even a rainbow of colors. Some characters make what seem like the best choices, for the best reasons, only to have terrible consequences result, and be aware of their own culpability. Others make choices recklessly, with no concern for their own or others’ safety, and find that they have made a positive difference. Most commonly, however, on the show as in life, there are only the bad choices and the worse choices, and the characters have to find a way to make it work out decently well. Friends die or leave, and the survivors have to get on with their lives, but there is life and hope and good times as well. Love can blossom in the most unlikely of situations (and pairings), and acquaintances or even enemies become dear and trusted friends. Misunderstandings occur, but eventually grievances are aired and everyone basically likes everyone else again.
In some ways, TV shows are actually a better way to tell a complex, nuanced story. Aside from the elements actors bring- a face and voice to go with a personality- we can get to know the characters better over twenty-two 45-minute episodes than over 350 pages. There can be stories of greater depth, and larger scope, stories that take time to build and flesh out and foreshadow.

Background on Buffy

Buffy the Vampire Slayer is about a lot of things. There is the first and most blatant metaphor, which is that high school is a hellish place, full of personal demons and the monsters other people become. However, there are more subtle elements, about the pitfalls of growing up, and the trouble we get into as we age, and our hormones change, and we begin to pull away from parents and grade-school friends. For instance, Buffy herself loses her virginity on her 17th birthday, to the only vampire to have a soul (forbidden love), but his afterglow causes him to lose his soul. In the show, a soul is a metaphor for a conscience, a sense of morality, and without it, he is literally a different person, cruel and violent, which echoes a common complaint of hundreds and thousands of young women- "He was a completely different person after we slept together". Buffy's best friend, Willow, is dating a boy who becomes a werewolf, another metaphor for the wild teen years.
After the high school years, the issues become a little more blatant, but still handled slightly obliquely. When Willow's boyfriend decides he can no longer control his wild instincts (a female werewolf is a trigger in this- potential infidelity as a breakup cause), she begins to explore a wider world. In the process she joins a different religion than her parents' (she was raised Jewish but embraces Wicca, the same path I followed) and falls in love with a woman. Willow cautiously and nervously comes out of the closet to Buffy, and Buffy's first reaction is shock- she calls Willow "Will", as if that will make it easier to think of her as in love with a woman. However, once she recovers she is very happy for her friend, and soon there are on-screen kisses and cuddles, and even a scene in which Willow and her girlfriend perform a spell which is clearly a metaphor for sexual contact, with heavy breathing and arched backs, though only the palms of their hands touch.
Buffy's main focus is the vampires and demons she fights, but she also has to deal with real-world issues. Some of these issues are layered with metaphor, like the Mayor, whose motivation is to become a Demon and devour the town. This is the literalizing of the idea of the corrupt politician, who just wants more power and doesn't care who he hurts on the way. Some are stark and harsh, like Buffy's mother's illness. She is diagnosed with a brain tumor, is operated on, and comes home with a clean bill of health. She is just beginning to recover and resume her normal life when she has an aneurysm and dies. Buffy is the one who finds her at the beginning of the episode, and the rest of the episode focuses on the terrible practicalities of autopsy, funeral arrangements, and survivor's guilt. It is an episode without music of any sort, so we are focused on the words people say, and, more importantly, the silences. There are many awkward silences, and moments of uncomfortability. There are also awkward conversations. One such involves a character who was a demon and has recently become human. Her mission as a demon was to inflict pain and death on humans, but she rarely stayed, and never thought of them as people. However, she has become friends with Buffy's mother, and, like a small child, she wants to know why it has to happen, why this vital, loving woman has to cease. She is struggling with something we all have to wrestle with at some point, the loss of innocence, the understanding of death as part of life in this world. Willow's girlfriend, on the other hand, lost her own mother during high school, and so she has wise words, and can comfort Buffy to some extent, reassure her that her expressions of grief may well take odd turns, and that's ok.
All of this is a guide for us the viewers. We come to know and love these characters, to cheer for their struggles and mourn their losses, to grow and explore the world with them. We relive the awkwardness of first love, or, for younger viewers, get some idea of what to expect and what to avoid. We empathize with the drive to move out from under our parents' roof, the stress of finding a job that can support you, the wonderful-scary feeling of finding the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. The show is a fun-house mirror, our own worries and hopes distorted, writ large, but still recognizable as human impulses. This is the strength of Buffy, and why it is truly literature, and not just pop culture.