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April 20, 2008

Let My Betentacled People Go

As Abraham Lincoln might have said: "A little less of the Shadow Proclamation. A little more of the Emancipation Proclamation."

Doctor Who: Planet of the Ood

I'm confused. So very confused.

Darling Firstly, I've been standing far too close to a sizeable telepathic influence so all I can hear in my mind is a badly produced G4 concept album where they decided against traditional instruments for their backing track and instead resorted to the plumbing isle from Wandsworth's B&Q Warehouse. Secondly, I thought we'd been commanded to not give so much as a tinker's cuss for any alien race as we always had to connect with humans in peril - which is a little hard when the humans in peril are, to a man, objectionable odious pieces of work that would force your average participant from The Apprentice to recoil in horror, probably forcing them to immediately reassess their life and spend the rest of it tending to the sprained ankles of deer in Berkshire. Even the only sympathetic human, the member of Friends of the Ood, looked like he was barely tolerating the situation - most likely eaten up with anger inside at not being able to join Vague Acquaintances of the Ood, or I Don't Really Know Them But I'm a Facebook Friend of the Ood. And thirdly what, exactly, is a tinker's cuss?

It wouldn't do much for the Doctor's sense of gawping religious spectacle.

Caged Don't get me wrong. After years of adherence to the repeated Mission Statement it's nice to finally be dropped ankle first into a world where it's the indigenous population in peril and the monsters are human corporate shills. And for the Doctor to become someone else's Saviour for once - extending his limited range of god impersonations to the tune of one.

Let's hope that the predominant faith of the Odd-Sphere is big on messianic imagery and doesn't, in any way, involve regular worship to a being, probably known as The Great Bearded Tentacle, who prefers instead to appear in cheese form. It wouldn't do much for the Doctor's sense of gawping religious spectacle. Unless he likes to be submerged in coagulating Ood-Milk.

Operating heavy machinery in dangerous places (like the ones in that radioactive Pacific atoll that are keeping Anne Robinson alive).

Vomit_tentacles Things that just failed for me were two fold: the Doctor being placed in jeopardy by a gigantic fairground grab-a-toy machine and Halpen being slowly Oodified. The former smacked of action sequence for action sequence sake and the latter rather pointless and totally illogical. If the Ood were being influenced by the shared mind because of their proximity, fair enough. But Halpen and his personal Ood travelled the human empire and so were infrequently in contact with the brain - we were told that it was only on the Ood-Sphere that problems were occurring. So everywhere else they were going about their daily tasks of making clothes for Primark and operating heavy machinery in dangerous places (like the ones in that radioactive Pacific atoll that are keeping Anne Robinson alive) and not ruthlessly savaging anyone (or at least giving them a damn good suck) with a tentacle face scrub. This would surely lead to the Ood only periodically dousing him with transmogrifying juices - forgetting everything once out of the brain's sphere of influence. And once the current batch of fake Dimoxinil hair restorative had worn out (yes, The Simpsons can now be considered canonical) it would be replaced with actual hair restorative. How much more satisfying to have the Ood simply throw Halpen an overall at the end of the story and point to a pile of half made trainers and have him trudge off to a life of back breaking servitude (slap a comedy wha-wha-whaaa noise over it if it'll make you feel better).

That time he made the Sensorites an armoured tank from parts he found lying around the shed.

Hairdos Hair-based issues must have been foremost in the Doctor and Donna's mind as it looks like they've both been for a post-erruption shampoo and set. Donna, looking like she's set for a classy night drinking WKD down West Ham high street, and the Doctor's hairdo attempting to cover up his own rapidly receding hair line. Or perhaps David Tennant needs his hair sculptured like that because his lines are attached to it? Worked for Billy Hartnell for those stories where he had his lines attached to a 7-foot Mohican fin and used an array of carefully positioned concealed mirrors to read them.

Having previously visited this universal backwater (back in his racist, forgetful, period) it'll not be long now before the whole area will be littered public art dedicated to the Doctor - monuments symbolizing his pivotal role in the Ood freedom struggle and that time he made the Sensorites an armoured tank from parts he found lying around the shed he and his friends, BA, Faceman and Murdoch, had been locked in.

Although because these simple aliens were left with no pictorial records, and no concensus on his appearance, in a cruel twist of fate every single monument erected would probably look more like a gurning Abraham Lincoln. With a Mohican.

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