Some Short Reflections on the end of Mr Tennant's Dr Who

Why hello.

Just finished watching the season finale of Dr Who on BBC America (yay) and, since it's the most cultural thing I've done thus far today (with the possible exception of attempting the application to "the Other place") I guess I'll have a go at a brief review.

And why not make it numerical.

1) First of all, let it be known that I do, in fact, find David Tennant perfectly dreamy, especially when he's out of character and in full command of his Scottish accent, but also when he's handling his sonic screwdriver (no comments, please). However, these last few episodes, the Doctor has seemed to me entirely too emo. I miss his humor (or, humour). I miss his scampering about in a flowy coat. I miss his companion - although perhaps not as much as he does, that's for sure. No matter how upstanding Mr Donna Noble is, an 80-year-old man is no substitute for the other half of whatever witty repartee we expect to be bombarded with. And so, for this reason, I'm rather pleased, or at least not completely devastated, to see this latest incarnation depart. Goodbye, Mr Tennant, we loved you, we'll miss you, but I at least am willing to put a brave front on and welcome your successor.

2) Which brings me to Dr 11. Chin up, Whofans...from the 30 seconds we got, he seems like a longer-haired, larger-chinned version of the same. Substituting geronimo (?) for the trademark allons-y...well, some things will take some getting used to.

3) And questions left unanswered...if my nerd-ville zip code hasn't been revealed yet, this should do it. What actually happened to the Master? If Tennant is no more, does that mean his clone living in an alternate reality with Billie Piper has gone longer and lankier, too? (what a shock for her). And what about that possible plotline, seemingly abandoned, with that woman River Song (strange name) who we met in the Library? There are some other questions that have flown out of my head, probably because my intro-level conception of physics doesn't like the idea of a man jumping out of a space ship, hurtling through a conservatory roof, and smashing onto a marble floor without breaking a bone, not to mention the possible implications of a large, boiling planet suddenly popping into existence a mile or so away from the surface of the Earth.

But - that's! entertainment! And I do enjoy it. Looking forward to the next season (Steven Moffat's new head writer!), not to mention any reruns. Right. Until tomorrow.