The best way to bond with your new leading lady? Carry her around for a bit. Everyone knows that. So then, here’s the Doctor, deathly pale, ferrying an unconscious Martha Jones across Royal Hope’s MRI Room like some kind of be-suited Frankenstein’s Monster. David and Freema are already having a laugh in between takes.
“This is the Paisley pallor,” notes David, pointing at his face. “The irony is, I look like this before make-up every morning.”
“Do we want to carry Freema into the room for this next take?” wonders first assistant director Gareth Williams.
“No, I’ll walk and save David’s arms,” she laughs, then winks at Gareth. “It’s okay, love, no need to be polite. David’s not acting now - this is real pain!”
“I had to have my hand in a very particular place,” he tell us, out along the corridor once the scene is safely in the bag. “She’s light as a feather, but the grip was proving problematic. I don’t think any damage was done, but it could have been a tragic start to our working relationship!”
He’s offered coffee. “I won’t, thanks,” he grins, “because I’m already talking far too much. I’ll turn into a gameshow host.”
—–
David is back in the MRI room, still sporting the Paisley pallor and doing what he calls “I-can’t-stand-up acting. You end up hyperventilating a bit.”
He has to stagger across the room and deliberate between the red and blue wires, ultimately removing the red. He cuts one take short. “Oh dear, the blue one’s come out,” he hoots. “That’s the universe destroyed, then!”
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