A Town Called Mercy

Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That in the course of justice none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer, doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

-- William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

The Doctor's heaviest guilt comes from that question of whether, sometimes, perhaps he should have shown mercy... and, others, he should have enforced a justice that otherwise would never have been upheld.  So many times, he has let the most horrific villains escape death.  Was his mercy in allowing the Master to live all those times worth the price of the billions (or perhaps trillions) who died in Logopolis?  Or his mercy with the Daleks in Genesis worth the untold numbers murdered by their deathrays?  Should he have dispensed his own justice against them instead, or was he in the right?

And what of those times when he did destroy his adversaries?  Was he right to eradicate both the Time Lords and the Daleks at the end of the time war, even if it did seem the only way to save every other life?  Or, more recently, what of his cold killing of Solomon?  Well, okay, Solomon killed that Triceratops for no reason.  He deserved to die.  But even so, the Doctor's attitude was a bit more ruthless than usual even when he has killed.

A Town Called Mercy forces the Doctor to face this by pitting him against Kahler Jax, another Doctor who fell out of the sky and dedicated his life to helping others.  He's also another Doctor who did horrible things in a war in order to end it - in his case, experimenting on others and turning them into horrific cyborgs without their consent.  His defense is that it ended a seven-year war in a week.  But now, after making a peaceful life for himself on another planet (ours, naturally), the last of his experiments has hunted him down across the stars.

Both the Doctor and Jax truly want to make the Universe a better place.  And both, essentially, dropped the Atomic bomb in order to save the millions who would have perished otherwise.  Jax in some ways went further by intentionally torturing innocents, but it isn't far from what the Doctor did - after all, the Doctor committed double-genocide to save the Universe.

The Doctor, on realizing who he's facing, does that rarest of moves and pulls a gun.  Amy tries to talk him down, but as the Doctor says, he honestly doesn't know what he's going to do.  It's a terrifying, powerful scene.  In this centerpiece scene, A Town Called Mercy is brilliant.

It doesn't quite sustain that brilliance, but it definitely flirts with greatness.  The first half, building to that showdown, is terrific - engaging mysteries, good humor, strong characterizations, perfect Western atmosphere, and an exciting story that quite delightfully drops the Terminator (more or less) into the Old West.  The Cyborg makeup is superb, visceral enough to make the story compelling but not so much that it would give nightmares to kids watching.  The acting, unsurprisingly, is top-notch right down the line.  Smith is, yet again, extraordinary, bouncing wildly from the silliest comedy to the darkest drama without it ever feeling forced or jarring.  And the first half of the episode builds to that masterful scene.

The second half, alas, doesn't quite pay off.  The townspeople, understandably, form a lynch mob, but the Doctor talks them down.  Unfortunately, the Doctor's speech is a not-terribly-compelling sermon, and the tension evaporates.  And honestly, the Doctor should have done something more clever than just reiterated a moral concept.  The townpeople had clearly made up their minds, and it would take a better speech than that to pull it off. 

(The scene might still have finessed it on the sheer shoulders of Matt Smith's acting, but Murray Gold's otherwise effective score flattens it.  Gold does a Firefly/Serenity-style mix of Western motifs with more techy instrumentation and percussion, which generally works.  But there, it's just a distraction in a scene that would be much better with either no music or a minimal dramatic underscore.  Still, that's more the fault of the director than Gold.)

The Doctor's plan is a minor let-down.  It's a bit clever, and his use of the Sonic in the duel is nice (although you'd think that would do more damage to the townspeople's ears than the Cyborg's), but it's not really a ruse worthy of him, nor as exciting a scene as it should be.  Jax's final decision and the Cyborg's fate both make for a good enough ending to redeem the limp climax, but it's still a bit disappointing.

The real flaw, though, is that after that showdown halfway through, it never really engages with the ideas at its core.  Amy simply says that they can't be like Jax, and that's the end of the argument.  But it really is a complex question - after all, they can't be certain Jax won't end up doing other horrible things, and that's precisely the sort of consequences they fear.  There's a reason the Doctor does sometimes kill.  And it should be a more difficult conflict.

And Amy has quite a dark streak of her own, which should have been acknowledged, too.  In the end, Toby Whithouse compelling crafts a difficult question, then answers it too simplistically.  That said, it's possible the rest of the season will deal with this.


Regardless of its somewhat weaker second half, A Town Called Mercy is a solid, compelling, and highly entertaining yarn.  Can't complain too much about that.

RATING:

* * *

• Rory has some fun moments in this, but it's the second episode in a row where he's mostly sidelined.  Given how short his time on the show apparently is, it's a bit disappointing that he hasn't been getting more to work with.  Regardless, full points to Arthur Darvill's ability to create a complete and awesome performance purely with his face.  His ability to feel like a much bigger part of the script than he really is reminds me here of Steve McQueen in The Magnificent Seven, where McQueen gets less than a dozen lines and has to share the screen with Yul Brynner almost constantly, yet still almost feels like the star of the film.
  
  Yeah.  Darvill makes Rory so awesome he's comparable to Steve McQueen.

Torchwood: Greeks Bearing Gifts

Ooh, I kind of like this episode. Mind you, it falls to pieces on examination, but like Peter J. Hammond from Small Worlds, Toby Whithouse actually seems to have an idea of what to do with this show. You know, with aliens and humor and character development and stuff. Granted, he’s ultimately defeated by the show itself – most of the characters are pretty unsympathetic, even if he does a much better job writing them than most. This means that it takes a good while to get into the story, but once it does, it’s actually entertaining. Like Hammond, he’s definitely on the right track.

This is finally Tosh’s episode, and at last, we get a bit of character development beyond the “Asian, therefore computer person, therefore nerd” sterotype she’s been stuck in on the rare occasions her existence was acknowledged. Whithouse is a bit constricted by it, but at least he does it well, digging into her loneliness and emotional fragility with real depth and feeling. Even though her character has been a total blank this entire series until now, Naoko Mori has given consistently good performances, however weak her material. With some good writing, she nails it.

For a show about an organization that hunts aliens, it’s strange that up until now, the seventh episode, there’s only really been one actual alien (that sex-crazed gas in Day One). Now, finally, there’s a good alien. Daniela Denby-Ashe is a lovely actress, and the effects crew seem determined to make the alien version of her every bit as beautiful, and they pretty much succeed.

Whithouse does a great job with Jack. He doesn’t give us any real revelations, but he goes over the ground very nicely. Ianto still does little but wallow in despair, but at least it’s kept to a minimum. Whithouse can’t undo the affair between Gwen and Owen, but again, he pulls it off with wit and depth. Owen finally comes across as a competent guy in his own areas, and someone who might actually be useful to Torchwood. Whithouse also tempers his douchebaggery with a sort of rougishness that at least makes it vaguely plausible that Gwen would fall for him.

There is, of course, the expected smut, as Tosh and the alien have their own affair, but even though Whithouse can’t raise the material above smut, he at least makes it entertaining.  That's a lot of the problem with the series under Chibnall: on the one hand, he wants to make an ambitious and compelling story, and on the other hand, he turns to bawdy sexploitation at every turn - and immature, PG-13 sexploitation, at that.  The smuttiness tends to undermine the drama - it takes the tremendously steady hand of a Paul Verhoeven or a Jess Fink to do both simultaneously - and the self-serious, highly emotional tone sucks all the fun out of the tendency for all the characters to have sex with each other or whatever cropped up this episode. (or, at the very least, wear a metal bikini for no reason)

The plot itself isn’t terribly original, but it’s not bad. The whole “reading people’s thoughts can be depressing” theme is pretty ordinary, but it is an improvement on what we’ve been getting so far. The climax is nicely done, too, with a good little bit of Jack darkness.

That said, while some of the dialogue is good, it feels like Chibnall got his hands on the script and upped the soap opera dialogue. There are times when the dialogue is genuinely good, which is why the occasional flashes of the usual sort of dialogue ring even more false than usual. And it is a bit slow to draw you in and get going, though again, Withouse is constrained by what the show itself has been doing so far.

In the end, it isn’t great, but it’s decent and fairly entertaining, if not quite compelling. Like Small Worlds, it shows that there’s a good show hiding in here. And unlike that one, at least this isn’t going to be followed by (shudder) another Chibnoll-written episode.  We're actually getting to very watchable episodes in a row.  Normally, I'd still probably stick this with the dreaded "not actually bad, but not good, either" two-and-a-half stars, but after realizing I'm pretty much the only person who found the weak plotting and characterization of Dinosaurs on a Spaceship to overwhelm the sheer whimsy and joy of the overload of concepts, I'm feeling generous.

Besides, I like Tosh.  We need more Tosh episodes.  Heck, if they somehow managed to make a Torchwood Season 5 starring Tosh, I really could care less about the infinite continuity horror it would create.

RATING:

* * *

• Much as I like Tosh and the episode, it's worth noting that it's Tosh's fault that this gets out of control.  That fact that it's actually handled really well for once makes me want to ignore it, but they really do go to the well of the team screwing up and causing the plot a little too often. I suspect this was entirely unintentional, but by the end of the season it gets hilariously out of hand.
• Number of plots caused by the incompetence of the Torchwood team: 5/7.

The God Complex

Amy and Rory are among the best Doctor Who companions ever.  The best of the New Series, without question, and worthy of the likes of Sarah Jane, Ace, and Romana.  And I'm not just saying that because I'm hypnotized by Karen Gillan's beauty.

I mean, I am, but that's beside the point.

Amy is curious and clever, fantastic at noticing things and putting stuff together - like figuring out how the Sonic Screwdriver works (more or less).  Gillan has that rare but crucial gift to be both brave and scared, both tough and vulnerable.  And she projects a charming, engaging personality in everything she does.

Rory, meanwhile, is more grounded than his often-fanciful wife.  In both her life and, to some extent, the Doctor's, he's a quiet force of solidity, a faithful and trustworthy companion, able to stand his ground against anything or anyone - including either one of them when absolutely necessary.  Arthur Darvill projects Rory's somewhat dorky surface credibly, but makes his moments of bravery incredibly forceful.

Together, the Doctor, Amy, and Rory make a superb team, complementing each other beautifully.  They're also an absolute delight to watch; Moffat and the other writers fashioned three incredibly funny personalities, and Smith, Gillan, and Darvill play off each other masterfully.

What Toby Whithouse has recognized, both here and in the previous season's Vampires of Venice, is the weakest point of this otherwise incredibly solid relationship: the tenuous nature of the bond between Amy and the Doctor.  Still, she looks toward him with the wonder of the little girl who waited for him, and never fully got past that.  Which strokes the hell out of the Doctor's ego, who loves more than anything impressing people he respects.  The inherent weaknesses here - that Amy would follow the Doctor down paths she shouldn't tread, and wouldn't recognize that the Doctor himself perhaps shouldn't be treading - was something Rory picked up on almost immediately in Vampires.  Both Amy and the Doctor tend to smile in the face of danger and dive right in; Rory can take all kinds of horror and damage, but he's pragmatic and reacts more cautiously.  He sees exactly what's wrong with the Doctor/Amy relationship, but when he's around, things tend to stay stable, and it makes Amy happy, so he lets it be.

But there's another problem: her attachment tends to make her follow the Doctor's Peter Pan complex.  The Doctor, despite his millennial life, refuses to grow up.  And Amy will do exactly the same as long as she's attached to him.  Which makes it ever more likely that one day she'd end up on the wrong end of a Dalek death ray.

So, in The God Complex, Toby Whithouse forces the Doctor to face down this problem.  One day, he could very well lead Amy straight into her death.  And he's in exactly that situation: her bright-eyed wonder at her Raggedy Man is leading directly to a vicious, horrific tragedy.  All he can do is break her faith in him.

Whithouse's vision and understanding of these characters and their relationships are astounding.  As in School Reunion and Vampires In Venice, he understands how these people work, and how to push the relationships to the edge.

I just wish he had done all that in a better episode.

The climactic moment where the Doctor shatters Amy's faith utterly fails to deliver.  To begin with, true faith is very difficult to break down; the Doctor just says, "Forget your faith in me.  I took you with me because I was vain.  Because I wanted to be adored.  Look at you.  Glorious Pond, the girl who waited for me.  I'm not a hero.  I really am just a madman in a box.  Now it's time we saw each other as we were."  And that's it.

The thing is, Amy's faith in the Doctor is clearly, heavy-handedly made into a deeply held religious belief.  And you can't break that sort of faith so easily.  That wouldn't shatter anyone's faith.

(Also, the starving monster is standing right next to them the entire time he's giving that speech, patiently waiting for them to talk rather than feast on his meal.)

This stands out especially egregiously because Doctor Who has done this before to a vastly more powerful impact.  The Curse of Fenric also required the Doctor to break Ace's faith in him.  But Fenric understands that true faith, the kind so carefully emphasized in The God Complex, isn't something that can be destroyed easily... and if it is destroyed, it destroys the person.  True faith defines you, drives you.  Your faith truly is who you are.  Destroy that, and you destroy the person.

The Doctor destroyed Ace's faith in him by preying on all her insecurities, tearing away at her every weak point.  It was a vicious, difficult scene, but it was absolutely credible.  Having the Doctor say, "Don't put your faith in me," would never work.  But turning on and attacking her greatest vulnerabilities?  Absolutely.  In that moment, he shows (or pretends to show) that he is nothing more than a manipulative puppet master, using Ace for his own purposes.  Of course, that isn't true, but it's only by convincing her that he isn't a force for good can he hope to break her belief.

Once the villain is defeated, the Doctor finds Ace brought to her lowest point.  Which is exactly where she is - the longest, darkest tea-time night her soul has ever endured.  And so he builds her back up by telling her of his faith in her.  But he does more than that - he uses that to make her stronger and more complete than she was before.  He had no choice but to tear her down to save her, but in his rebuilding of her strength and psyche, he shores up many of her weaknesses and insecurities.  Of course, her faith in him turned out to be entirely worthwhile.

Whithouse definitely swings for that same concept here.  But the Doctor does little more than say "Don't believe in me anymore," and she accepts it pretty quickly.  And then, the problem is solved.  Suddenly, she's grown up and adult. (by the way, the script doesn't pull this off, but Gillan does it superbly.  Her performance of a truly grown up Amy in the finale scene is sublime.) It's abrupt and unsatisfying.  And it seems like a fundamental misunderstanding of faith.

Which is true throughout the story.  Whithouse doesn't seem to have a coherent point about faith, and it's frustrating to watch it flail about trying to find some purpose in its lofty, complex theme.  Religion is a sensitive topic to bring up, particularly when your story is about people losing their faith and transfering it to someone else, and Whithouse doesn't handle it well.

That might be slightly more forgivable if the story itself worked, but it's an absolute mess.  So, there's this creature that feeds on the "specific energy" created by true faith.  This creature was locked in a prison where it seems to have been the only prisoner.  He was then giving a holographic reality.  And, to feed him, the prison would teleport random people with strong faith into the hologram.  And, in fact, the prison's system is so strong it actually captures the TARDIS herself.  It's a concept built on ideas that even in the Whoniverse don't begin to make sense.

But Doctor Who has survived a set-up that doesn't really work.  But the ride getting to this solution isn't successful, either.  Director Nick Hurran fails to make an inherently eerie setting of an abandoned hotel creepy.  He botches the various fears the characters have - even an appearance by the Weeping Angels is thrown away.  Worst of all, the monster itself isn't frightening despite elaborate makeup.  Hurran does have a way with cool shots - lots of canted angles, roving cameras, and effective closeups.  But the overall effect of his work is uninspired - no sense of fear or even threat.

It doesn't help that Whithouse hands him a script filled with one-note characters.  Whithouse has tremendous insight into the main trio, even if he doesn't use that insight effectively, but his supporting characters here fall totally flat.  There's the Muslim girl, who only exhibits positive traits - brave, nice, good-hearted.  The costume designer missed a perfect opportunity by not decking her in a red shirt.  Overall, she's not obnoxious or terrible, but the complete lack of shading keeps her from really working. (although, points for making the one character intended to be sympathetic Islamic without coming across as condescending either to her beliefs or any others.)  There's the alien from a planet of cowards, an amusing Douglas Adams-ish idea that doesn't fit in a dark, serious story like this and gets old really fast.  Nor does he contribute anything substantial to the story in the end. The blogger is simply awful, an unwatchably obnoxious caricature.

Whithouse does give the regulars good material, and it's this that keeps the episode watchable.  The Doctor must confront his own greatest fear (wisely unseen by the audience) and forces himself to face the consequences of his own ego before they can't be undone.  Matt Smith is absolutely fantastic, as always.  Every character moment for Rory is solid gold.  Karen Gillan gives her second exceptional performance in a row, adding real depth and aching emotion to her Amy's appealingly whimsical persona.  In the final scene, Gillan does something quite remarkable: she makes Amy grow up.  It's a subtle but deeply moving transformation which she manages with only a few facial expressions.

But the Doctor and companions are all that hold the story together.  Which makes the closing moments even more frustrating.  The finale is an abrupt, out-of-nowhere farewell that all-too-obviously isn't supposed to stick.  Whithouse tries to make it an organic part of the story, but the story is so poor it comes to nothing.  It doesn't feel sincere or real, despite lovely performances and good dialogue.  It's a good thing it isn't supposed to be Amy and Rory's actual farewell.

I'm struggling to reconcile my genuine dislike for this episode with the muted but undeniable praise the story has generally received.  Its strong points - the three central characterizations and performances, the concept of a hotel with shifting rooms holding people's fears, and Nick Hurran's camerawork - certainly can't be discounted.  Neither can its essential flaws - its muddled religious themes, incoherent plotting, flat supporting characters, and a climax that misses its target considerably.  The entire thing put me off and left a bad aftertaste that wasn't cleansed until The Wedding of River Song.

But there's definitely good stuff there, and despite its failure, I'm still looking forward to Whithouse's next Who script.  After all, School Reunion is still one of my favorite New Who episodes, and Vampires In Venice flirted with greatness until the climax.  And Small Worlds was the only episode of Torchwood's first season that actually understood the almost-always unrealized potential of that show.  He's a good writer.  Hopefully his next one will show that.

RATING: * *



 SIDENOTES

•  During the climax, the Doctor says of Amy's impending doom, "I knew this would happen, this always happens."  Which is to say, out of the literally 40 or so companions (depending on whom you count), 5.  At most, if you're taking the most liberal interpretation of what he says.  And while it's true that one of those was his previous regular companion, Donna, it's actually pretty rare that the companions don't end up safely on earth.  Yes, those who did die usually died horribly (sucked into the vacuum of space, aged to death in a matter of minutes, face-planting the Yucatan, having yourself removed from your own body as it's taken over by someone else [maybe, if the Master is lying in The Ultimate Foe {which he totally is |gratuitous parenthetical|}]), but that doesn't excuse that line.
• Despite my problems with Nick Hurran's work, I just want to re-emphasize that his storyboarding is phenomenal.  His close-ups, handheld shots, wide angles, and imagery are terrific.  I don't like how he handles the monster overall, but there's a shot where its horn scrapes against the ceilling and another where it peers through a broken window that are searingly iconic.  Dude seriously knows how to use a camera.  And he certainly gets great work out of the cast; between this and Girl Who Waited, he's gotten Gillan's two finest performances as Amy.  Even with my reservations, I'm really looking forward to any future work he does on the show.

School Reunion

[2006, Season 28/Series 2, Episode 4]

"Some things are worth getting your heart broken for."

I may have mentioned before that I sorta like Sarah Jane as a companion.  And by sorta like, I mean she's my favorite companion in the entire history of Doctor Who, and I love every moment she's onscreen, and would marry her in an instant if she was real and the opportunity inexplicably presented itself.  So, obviously, the idea of her returning to the show, even for a single episode, sound pretty wonderful to me.  But School Reunion far exceeds any and all expectations.  It's about as perfect as it could be.

It goes much further than just bring her back.  It's not like The Five Doctors where Sarah shows up for no apparent reason and it's just like, Hey, Sarah Jane!  And then does nothing with it.  Writer Toby Whithouse goes much deeper than that.  Of course, she's overjoyed to see the Doctor again, but her feelings are a lot more complicated than that.  She's bitter that he abandoned her on Earth after showing her the Universe and never came back.  She's gone back to journalism, yes, but has mostly wandered aimlessly, waiting for when her Doctor would come back.  And now, having spent half her life waiting, she finds that he's replaced her with a newer, younger girl in Rose.  And she's really bitter about that.

In this, School Reunion really digs deep into what it means to be one of the Doctor's companions - and, more importantly, what it means when you suddenly aren't any more.  It's harder for Sarah than most - she was more deeply attached to him than almost any other companion, which brings it into starker light, but it's a question that still hits powerfully for each of those travelers: how do you see all of time and space, wonders and terrors never dreamed of, and then go back to a regular life?  This isn't sentimental or sappy; it's dark and complicated at times, and actually surprising in its insistence on taking more thoughtful and human paths, making it far more moving and satisfying.

Doctor: Oh, you didn't need me.  You were getting on with your life.
Sarah: You were my life.


Even at 59, Elizabeth Sladen is still a beautiful woman, and is as marvelous as ever.  Her age has taken none of her energy or passion, and only given her more authority.

Whithouse doesn't ignore what all this means to Rose, either; suddenly, she's not the Doctor's Special One, but just one in a line of many earth girls who tagged along for the ride.  The Doctor tries to reassure her that he'll never leave her behind, and she accepts this to a point, but it's not clear that he really wouldn't, and she suspects that.  It's a dark, intriguing question, and it hits even harder on comparison with Sarah: while Rose is likable and loyal, she's not as intelligent or helpful as her predecessor.  If the Doctor keeps her around, it's not because she's special.  It's because this is a scarred, wounded Doctor, less so than before but still lonelier and more lost than ever before.

Whithouse writes Rose every bit as well as Sarah, and gives her lots of fun stuff to do.  Piper is as charming and funny as she's ever been here.  I especially love her utter disgust at having to go undercover as a lunch lady.

The relationship between Rose and Sarah is appropriately tense, but not overdone.  One of the best scenes in the story is the confrontation between those two, which goes from them bickering over who was the better companion to pointing out the Doctor's sillier qualities to outright laughing at him.  At which point he walks in and is utterly baffled at why they think he's so funny.

While he's at it, Whithouse throws Mickey into the mix, and writes him better than he's ever been written in past appearances.  Of course, he's gotten more complex and likable every time he showed up, but his material here is great, and Noel Clarke knocks it out of the ballpark.  There's one especially great scene where he's left outside with K-9 by the Doctor, Sarah, and Rose while they do all the heroic stuff, and he realizes to his horror that, in his words, "I'm the tin dog!"

Speaking of which, this is probably K-9's greatest appearance ever.  Even Whovians who despise the thing can't help but enjoy his appearance here.  His response to the Headmaster's last line is a gem.

What's really amazing is how well Whithouse balances all four of them.  Because, essentially, the Doctor has four companions in this story; past stories constantly struggled with three, sometimes even two.  But Whithouse gives every one of them a satisfying storyline and a purpose within the plot.


In the center of all this is, of course, the Doctor himself.  Few stories have ever presented a more fully-rounded portrait of this most fascinating of characters.  He's heroic and funny, of course.  His relationships with Sarah and Rose are both complex: he clearly loves them both in his own way, but there are some dark undercurrents to the relationships, and the episode doesn't shy from those.  Best of all, though, is his scene confronting the villainous Headmaster around the swimming pool.  It's a tremendous sequence, superbly written and brilliantly performed.  Tennant is at his absolute peak throughout the story, but this may be his finest scene in his entire tenure as the Doctor.  His delivery of his central line to the villain is just chilling: "I'm so old now.  I used to have so much mercy.  Now you get one chance.  That was it."  In that moment, you see every century of the Time Lord in Tennant's eyes and feel the full brunt of his presence, his intellect, and his power.

Of course, the Doctor does have a reason he leaves his companions behind.  He may not be entirely right to do it, but it's painfully understandable.

Doctor: I don't age.  I regenerate.  But humans age.  You wither and you die.  Imagine that happening to someone you...  You can spend the rest of your life with me.  But I can't spend the rest of mine with you.  I have to live on.  Alone.  That's the curse of the Time Lords.

He doesn't finish the first sentence.  He doesn't need to, but more importantly, it's not something he would say aloud.

... oh, yeah, the plot.  With so much characterization packed into 45 minutes, there's not much room for plot, but it's a good, solid construction on which to hang the story.  It's engaging and entertaining and holds together pretty well.  The villains are intent on ruling the Universe, but their way of achieving it is intriguing and imaginative; more interesting, though, is the Headmaster's offer to the Doctor to join them and become their leader.  The Headmaster sees the Doctor's wisdom and moral compass and knows how much it would add to their rule, and his offer is genuine.  Of course, when the Doctor hands him defeat after defeat, his mood turns nasty, but there's some depth to the portrayal.  Mostly, though, it works because Anthony Head is absolutely magnificent in the role.  It's almost too bad this wasn't a two-parter, so he could have had more room, but still, his presence elevates this story to even higher levels.

Their plot does intersect the character focus of the story, and it's in her response to the Headmaster's offer to the Doctor that Sarah finally finds closure in her past.  For the first time since she was young, she can move on in her life.  Which, again, deepens the impact of the tale.  It's a light, fast story, but with an underlying sadness, which serves to add to the enjoyment - and vice versa.  After Sarah's realization, there is, of course, all the action and monster-fighting and explosions and stuff we came to see, but the real climax of the story is there, in Sarah's words and the Doctor's understanding.

But what really makes the plot work is that it's fun.  Everything in this story works.  The characters, the story, the dialogue, the drama, the adventure, the comedy - it's all a sheer, effortless joy to watch, but with an underlying depth and power to give meaning to the fun.  It's just terrific.

RATING:

* * * *


SIDENOTES

• One little detail I liked: when the Doctor tells Rose and Sarah to check out the computers, he hands the Sonic Screwdriver to Sarah, even though Rose extends her hand. 
• I talked about the underlying sadness in the story, but it's not underlying the final scene between Sarah and the Doctor; it overwhelms it.  It's beautifully written and played.  Sarah's insistence on the Doctor actually saying goodbye this time, his joyful smile and calling her "My Sarah Jane," and the look on her face as the TARDIS leaves and she knows she can't undo her decision are heartbreaking.
  
  Only Moffat could follow that up with something even more devastating.