
If it wasn’t sad enough to openly worship BBC’s latest incarnation of Doctor Who, I’m now suffering an emotional crisis over how to watch the rapidly approaching third season. In a mere two days the Brits will be introduced to the Doctor’s newest companion and see exactly how he’s coping with the departure of former pop-star Billie Piper. Meanwhile in America, the folks over at Sci Fi, who secured the rights to air all first-run episodes of DH, haven’t even announced when the third season will start on this side of the Atlantic. Given the unnecessarily long gap between the first two, I don’t have high hopes for a speedy turnover. And I don’t think I can wait for the end of the summer. Ergo, DILEMMA!
The internet is ripe with free, illegal television, but I’ve always avoided it out of distaste for laptop viewings. Then this past holiday not-so break, while sitting in an empty office, I decided to watch the Doctor Who Christmas special. It was new, it was just one episode and I was sure there was no chance of getting lured into watching the whole season online because the season was still over three months off. But those months are now days and pretty soon they’ll be mere hours! I want to watch, but I feel dirty! Just as I wouldn’t want my initial viewing of the next theatrical installment of Harry Potter to be on a bootleg Chinatown DVD, the thought of seeing all of the third season of Doctor Who at a dirty, pop-up filled whorehouse makes me sick. Do I really want my first glimpse of laser-wielding alien rhinoceri in motion to be painfully low-res?
The answer is a reluctant “yes.” I am a weak excuse for a man, and I would sell myself for one grainy scene of new DH. For me, jumping on board with the Doctor was something of a revelation – if only for the fact that I can no longer call myself a sci-fi elitist. Favorites like Buffy, Battlestar Galactica and even Dead Like Me are so easy to justify watching for their critical acclaim and widely acknowledged ability to explore the depths of the human predicament. There is so much more going on underneath the vampires, robots and reapers. And though I feel a twinge of guilt to say it, Doctor Who does not. Doctor Who is unabashed sci-fi camp, perfectly executed camp, but camp all the same.
Now that the genre has come to rely on sophisticated CGI (or subtlety when they lack the finances), the clunky vestigial cold-war villains of the Doctor are a comforting constant. And it is a comfort that I will not stave off for the sake of a more organic viewing experience. Whatever the means, this weekend sees the return of Doctor Who.