#casey writes stuff

I never knew what it meant to move on from “my Doctor.” I thought I did, for a fleeting moment, after saying goodbye to Eleven and saying hello to Twelve, with his wide eyes, cross eyebrows, and grumpy disposition. I thought he would be “the next one.” The one after Eleven, my first Doctor, who I just assumed was my Doctor, because even if he didn’t click with me in every way, I didn’t think I could connect with another Doctor more.

But Twelve never gave me the opportunity to learn what the experience of meeting “the next one” would be. Very quickly, I realized he was just the one. The definitive Doctor, my definitive Doctor. The one who made me laugh and cry and feel and think and understand the core of this character more than I ever thought possible. The one who loved my favorite companion. My Doctor, period.

Three seasons passed, and I still wondered what it would be like when I did actually meet “the next one.” Would I resent them for not being like Twelve, as so many people say they feel after losing their favorite Doctor? Would I miss him too much to accept someone new? Am I just disloyal and would decide that Thirteen is actually my favorite Doctor? I had no idea what to expect. I was supposed to “move on” from my Doctor when I met Twelve and well, that didn’t exactly go as planned.

But the moment I met Thirteen, I immediately understood the feeling of moving on. I recognized her as, indeed, “the next one.” The entire time I spent with her, I could feel one of my hearts reaching back to my Doctor, missing him as I suspect I always will. But my other heart was fully embracing Thirteen, because she is, of course, a product of my Twelvey. She is running fast, laughing hard, and being kind. She was borne from Clara’s eyes and anger and never-giving-up and kindness. She was borne from River’s cleverness and unending determination. She was borne from Missy’s intelligence and growth, from Bill’s open-heartedness and honesty. She is all the things Twelve hoped he would become, and all of the women who inspired him to be so. How could I not love the Doctor after my Doctor? She is beautiful and magnificent and I do already love her — but I can also recognize, this time around, that she’s not “mine.”

While I think Jodie Whittaker has made a wonderfully vibrant and engaging Thirteenth Doctor, I am finding myself feeling increasingly concerned about the lack of depth in Chibnall’s writing thus far. Five episodes in, and I don’t feel as though I have much sense of who she is, or how she views herself. We also have little sense of how Yaz, Graham, and Ryan relate to her, and halfway through the season, that does worry me.

I hate to be That Person™, but I need to refer back to Moffat’s writing to explain. Moffat was very inwardly focused on his core characters. With Eleven and Twelve, their words and actions were more than just surface level, and we explored that in nearly every episode. You had to read between the lines, watch their facial expressions, and understand that Moffat wanted you to think independently from the Doctor was doing or saying. In fact, he demanded that of the viewer. There has always been a big difference between who the Doctor is and who they try to be, what they say and what they actually do. That the Doctor is nothing more than a bloke (or a lady) in a box, that there’s no such thing as “The Doctor.” Moffat brought that theme into sharp focus during his time as showrunner. So far, Thirteen’s words and actions feel very much like they should be accepted at face value. 

Not only was there a ton of work done regularly to build upon how the Doctor viewed himself — there was also regular focus on the shifting Doctor/Companion dynamic. Thus far, I’ve seen so little Doctor/Companion exploration, and it’s something I’m deeply missing. Yaz, Graham, and Ryan want to travel with her to escape the normality of life, to escape work, to escape grief. All interesting, potentially dangerous motivators worth exploring. But what do they really know about Thirteen? What interactions have they had that have given them better insight into who she is as a being, how she ticks? They haven’t asked her many questions, either — about herself or how she handles the task at hand. While Yaz, Graham, and Ryan are bonding and learning more about one another in wonderful tiny character moments, they feel almost separate from their traveling guide — detached. They haven’t seen her do anything except be sweet and quirky and solve problems. They haven’t seen her darkness, her depth, or her past come to light. They haven’t seen her fail or interfere in a bad way or even lose her temper. It has just been very straightforward adventures in space, which is fun and light, but not nearly the depth I’ve grown accustomed to.

And again — I can’t help but think back to Moffat’s first episodes with new Doctors and/or companions. This comparison isn’t meant to take away from those who love what Chibnall is doing — if it’s resonating with you, awesome. But the rich Doctor/Companion relationships Moffat gave us straight out of the gate I find myself really missing these days. 

Let’s use the examples of Amy/Eleven of Twelve/Clara, two relationships close to my heart and honestly, offhandedly the easiest for me to recall at the moment. 

I remember when I met you officially for the first time. On August 14, 2014, I was fortunate enough to attend the premiere of “Deep Breath” at the New York stop of the Doctor Who World Tour. I was nervous, still convinced that I’d be meeting the first Doctor after “my Doctor,” and I heard that was a hellish experience. I was afraid. 

But there you were. You were witty. Your eyebrows were cross. You made me laugh (a lot). You were a tiny bit heroic but mostly just a dork. You were vulnerable, in a startling way. And you adored Clara. You adored the young woman I so saw myself in, the young woman who I’d only hoped would find “her Doctor” in you, because with her never-giving-up, and her anger, and her kindness, my favorite companion so deserved a Doctor. You told her she was home, if she wanted to be. Though it took me a while to admit it, I think I knew I was home in that moment, too.

The lights went up in the theater, and you were really there — your incredible portrayer, the overwhelmingly lovely Peter Capaldi. I remember standing up to give a standing ovation with the rest of the crowd, looking at Peter walking onto the stage, and thinking “how special this must be for him to get a standing ovation for playing the role he’s always dreamt of playing.” I am so glad I was one of the first in the world to applaud the person who gave me you.

Over the past three seasons, you have shown me all of the things I never knew the Doctor could be, all of the things I’ve wanted the Doctor to be, all of the things the Doctor should be, and all of the things the Doctor is when the title comes off and the mask is stripped off. You have shown me the rawest, darkest, most honest parts of you, and have been staggeringly heartbreaking and beautiful in every iteration. There wasn’t one particular moment when I knew you were “My Doctor.” Instead, it was lots of tiny moments scattered across time and space. Tiny moments with my Twelvey.

But the fact that, in the end, he was Missy’s Doctor, too? The fact that she asked him to try to make her a better person, and, despite the pain she caused him, he never gave up on her capacity for kindness? 

I am convinced that no other actor has or will be able to display just how alien the Doctor is better than Peter Capaldi. Because here we have this Time Lord who, in every version, is able to befriend humans — to travel with them and joke with them and care for them as trusted companions. Some companions have been more like him than others. Some companions have been so much like him that it worried him. 

For some Doctors, companions are enough to keep him happy. And Twelve, I believe with all my heart, carries deep love and devotion for all the important people in his life — for Clara, for River, for Bill. 

And yet Twelve has always given this sense, in the tiniest moments, that he is alone, always alone. His mind is different, beyond quirky or peculiar. He is something else. It showed in his pain and fury over not finding Gallifrey. It showed in his immediate connection with Missy when they were on Skaro. It showed when he returned home to Gallifrey and so obviously was not like them. And god did it show in she’s the only person I’ve ever met who is even remotely like me. He looked so young when he said that. 

So there's this man. He has a time machine. Up and down history he goes, zip zip zip, getting into scrapes. He can’t go home. When he does go home, he wants to leave. And his brilliant, wonderful human friends can love him their entire lives and never understand just how much he has seen. Only Missy knows that. Only she is like him — not like other Time Lords, not like humans. Something else. Rebel Time Lords. The two of them have this unspoken loyalty, unspoken understanding that is utterly cosmic. 

And then there’s my Twelvey. Twelve, whose older and less charming traits were embraced because Clara knew him so well and loved him so much. Twelve, who was so intensely close with and similar to Clara that he had to remove himself from her in order to keep the universe safe. There will never be a pair quite like them again. I couldn’t blame him if he couldn’t bring himself to make a new friend. 

Instead of retreating into himself and refusing to let another young human into his life, he…did the opposite. He noticed a young woman who is clever, who loves to learn, and he wanted to meet her. He took it upon himself to teach her, because she can’t afford to attend the university. He went out of his way to get to know her, to learn her story, and to give her a glimpse at her late mother, because it mattered to her. He acted so very much like a Doctor. Like the Doctor Clara deserved when she first met Eleven. Like the Doctor Bill deserves now. 

Eleven was my first Doctor — as far as I knew, he was my Doctor. And I was told that transitioning to a new Doctor after losing your Doctor was a drawn-out, complicated experience in which you first hate the new Doctor before finally coming around to them. Then I met Twelve. And I felt guilty — here I was, supposed to be mourning my Doctor. Instead, I was completely taken with this new guy. 

Falling in love with Twelve happened in a million tiny moments, but let me try to pinpoint the first few in Deep Breath: 

I very distinctly remember being so struck by the look on Twelve’s face when he sees his reflection while saying, “You have replaced every piece of yourself, mechanical and organic, time and time again. There’s not a trace of the original you left. You probably can’t even remember where you got that face from.” He looked so afraid, so bothered by who he’d become, and why he’d become it.