Matt Smith: the rise and fall of the hipster Doctor

A young Doctor with old man's eyes, he whirligigged around the screen like a spider playing Twister against itself. But Matt Smith’s legacy suffers from the fact that something went awry in the writing of the last series of Doctor Who.

“Well, here we go again...”

With the announcement that Matt Smith will be bowing out of Doctor Who this Christmas, it’s time for us to play the regeneration game once more, with all that traditionally accompanies it: Will The Doctor Be A Woman headlines, slightly awkward discussions on the Today show, and all of fandom searching for an actor who can embody the hopes and fears of a nation via the medium of a kids TV show. (Note: I will accept Tilda Swinton, Idris Elba, or Jason Statham).

But it’s also a time to look back at the outgoing Doctor. Matt Smith plummeted into the national consciousness in a flaming TARDIS back in 2010, a whirlwind of limbs and hair and a catchphrase that didn’t quite catch (Geronimo, we barely knew you). The youngest actor to take on the role, he faced a huge challenge in taking over from David Tennant, who’d come to define the Doctor for a whole generation of fans.

Smith’s Doctor was a fizzing bundle of energy, enthusiasm and contradictions - by turns stern and childlike, he was both a dotty professor, and the first Doctor to care about whether he was cool. Smith gave the role a manic physicality. Legs from a 1930s silent comedy, arms waving at things in seven different dimensions at once, bow-tie rampant, he whirligigged around the screen like a hipster spider playing Twister against itself. 

Smith’s performance - like Steven Moffat’s scripts - would frequently try to go a dozen different ways at the same time, before finally pointing himself in the direction of the story and marching resolutely towards it. He had the air of someone confronting head-on the mysteries of the cosmos, and determinedly trying to chip away at them with his chin.

But then there were the eyes. Those old man’s eyes. When Smith was at his best (and he was frequently wonderful) it was all in the eyes; exhausted eyes, furtive and alien and so very, very old. More even than Eccleston and Tennant - who weren’t exactly bad at it themselves - Smith excelled at the sudden switch of tone, the moment where he’d pivot on a single phrase and the antic clown would fall away, replaced with someone aged and scarred and deeply unknowable. Obligatory Tom Baker aside, no other Doctor has seemed so truly ancient and otherworldly, and fans knew that those were the moments worth cherishing. It was mood dubstep; everyone was waiting for the drop.

It’s almost impossible to disentangle the qualities of Smith’s tenure as the Doctor from Moffat’s reign as showrunner; they fit each other so well, both in their qualities and their flaws. For some time, it really looked like the eleventh Doctor could become the definitive Who; the standard to judge all the others by. But Smith’s legacy suffers from the fact that something went awry in the writing of the last series; that for all the enjoyable twists and flips as they were in flight, very few episodes nailed the landing.

Because when the script was missing something and the momentum was gone, Smith had a tendency to . . . well, turn it up to Eleven. He’d overcompensate for the exposition dumps and the gaps in narrative sense, twirling and gurning and SHOUTING A LOT and tripping over his own elbows. He would do Hair Acting.

(It also didn’t help that he was forced to spend the past half-season playing Unsettlingly Creepy Doctor, time-stalking a young woman for reasons the plot never quite seemed to justify.)

To an extent, the show’s suffered under the weight of its own ambition (a pretty laudable reason). Ultimately, the Moffat/Smith years have fundamentally been about story. Not just the giddy, headlong rush of Moffat’s narrative, but the idea of story as a living, breathing thing - a force of nature in its own right. In Moffworld, the Doctor’s superpower isn’t his mind or his two hearts or his sonic screwdriver; it’s that he’s a legend. He’s a fable passed down the generations, “a goblin, or a trickster”, the thing monsters have nightmares about, the reason our language has the word “doctor”. 

This was no subtext; it was all upfront in the plot, as befits a post-Buffy, monsters-are-metaphors TV show. Smith’s first series ended with him escaping oblivion by becoming a bedtime tale he told to the young Amy, her childhood memories a life-support machine; his last with Clara literally jumping into his lifestory to save him, the ultimate sacrifice of giving herself up entirely to his history. It was all about story.

And if there’s been a problem with this last series, beyond the structural flaws and the tonal mis-steps, it’s the lurking feeling that none of these stories really demanded to be told. They didn’t live out in the world, in herds of wild narrative roaming the twilight, just waiting to be discovered and written down. They felt like constructs, awkwardly fitting themselves around external necessities - marketing material in search of a plot, or an extended trailer for the upcoming 50th anniversary episode. They forgot to bring the mythic.

If his tenure as the Doctor right now has a nagging sense of promise not quite fulfilled, Smith still has - naturally - time. There are two showpiece episodes to go. If the rumours that the 12th Doctor was actually cast months ago are true, then there’s reason to trust that the moment has been prepared for. Moffat has set an awful lot of plates spinning over the past few years; with a bit of luck, he’ll use them to serve up a feast, rather than it all resulting in an unfortunate mess of tears and crockery fragments.

Because all told - when given the chance to shine - Smith was and is a magnificent Doctor,  this mad man in a blue box, this great floppy nonsense with the extrovert hair and those weary, haunted eyes. Let’s hope his story gets the ending it deserves.

 

Matt Smith's Doctor was by turns by turns stern and childlike. Photo: Getty
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How power shifted dramatically in this week’s Game of Thrones

The best-laid plans of Mothers and men often go awry.

Last week’s Game of Thrones was absolutely full of maps. It had more maps than a Paper Towns/Moonrise Kingdom crossover. More maps than an Ordnance Survey walking tour of a cartographer’s convention. More maps than your average week on CityMetric.

So imagine the cheers of delight when this week’s episode, “Stormborn”, opened with – yes, a map! Enter Daenerys, casting her eyes over her carved table map (Ikea’s Västeross range, I believe), deciding whether to take King’s Landing and the iron throne from Cersei or a different path. After some sassy debates with Varys over loyalty, more members of her court enter to point angrily at different grooves in the table as Dany and Tyrion move their minature armies around the board.

In fact, this whole episode had a sense of model parts slotting pleasingly into place. Melisandre finally moved down the board from Winterfell to Dragonstone to initiate the series’ most inevitable meeting, between The King of the North and the Mother of Dragons. Jon is hot on her heels. Arya crossed paths with old friends Hot Pie and Nymeria, and the right word spoken at the right time saw her readjust her course to at last head home to the North. Tyrion seamlessly anticipated a move from Cersei and changed Dany’s tack accordingly. There was less exposition than last week, but the episode was starting to feel like an elegant opening to a long game of chess.

All this made the episode’s action-filled denouement all the more shocking. As Yara, Theon and Ellaria dutifully took their place in Dany’s carefully mapped out plans, they were ambushed by their mad uncle Euron (a character increasingly resembling Blackbeard-as-played-by-Jared-Leto). We should have known: just minutes before, Yara and Ellaria started to get it on, and as TV law dictates, things can never end well for lesbians. As the Sand Snakes were mown down one by one, Euron captured Yara and dared poor Theon to try to save her. As Theon stared at Yara’s desperate face and tried to build up the courage to save her, we saw the old ghost of Reek quiver across his face, and he threw himself overboard. It’s an interesting decision from a show that has recently so enjoyed showing its most abused characters (particularly women) delight in showy, violent acts of revenge. Theon reminds us that the sad reality of trauma is that it can make people behave in ways that are not brave, or redemptive, or even kind.

So Euron’s surprise attack on the rest of the Greyjoy fleet essentially knocked all the pieces off the board, to remind us that the best-laid plans of Mothers and men often go awry. Even when you’ve laid them on a map.

But now for the real question. Who WAS the baddest bitch of this week’s Game of Thrones?

Bad bitch points are awarded as follows:

  • Varys delivering an extremely sassy speech about serving the people. +19.
  • Missandei correcting Dany’s High Valerian was Extremely Bold, and I, for one, applaud her. +7.
  • The prophecy that hinges on a gender-based misinterpretation of the word “man” or “prince” has been old since Macbeth, but we will give Dany, like, two points for her “I am not a prince” chat purely out of feminist obligation. +2.
  • Cersei having to resort to racist rhetoric to try and persuade her own soldiers to fight for her. This is a weak look, Cersei. -13.
  • Samwell just casually chatting back to his Maester on ancient medicine even though he’s been there for like, a week, and has read a total of one (1) book on greyscale. +5. He seems pretty wrong, but we’re giving points for sheer audacity.
  • Cersei thinking she can destroy Dany’s dragon army with one (1) big crossbow. -15. Harold, they’re dragons.
  • “I’ve known a great many clever men. I’ve outlived them all. You know why? I ignored them.” Olenna is the queen of my LIFE. +71 for this one (1) comment.
  • Grey Worm taking a risk and being (literally) naked around someone he loves. +33. He’s cool with rabid dogs, dizzying heights and tumultuous oceans, but clearly this was really scary for him. It’s important and good to be vulnerable!! All the pats on the back for Grey Worm. He really did that.
  • Sam just fully going for it and chopping off all of Jorah’s skin (even though he literally… just read a book that said dragonglass can cure greyscale??). +14. What is this bold motherfucker doing.
  • Jorah letting him. +11.
  • “You’ve been making pies?” “One or two.” Blatant fan service from psycho killer Arya, but I fully loved it. +25.
  • Jon making Sansa temporary Queen in the North. +7.
  • Sansa – queen of my heart and now Queen in the North!!! +17.
  • Jon choking Littlefinger for perving over Sansa. +19. This would just be weird and patriarchal, but Littlefinger is an unholy cunt and Sansa has been horrifically abused by 60 per cent of the men who have ever touched her.
  • Nymeria staring down the woman who once possessed her in a delicious reversal of fortune. +13. Yes, she’s a wolf but she did not consent to being owned by a strangely aggressive child.
  • Euron had a big win. So, regrettably, +10.

​That means this week’s bad bitch is Olenna Tyrell, because who even comes close? This week’s loser is Cersei. But, as always, with the caveat that when Cersei is really losing – she strikes hard. Plus, Qyburn’s comment about the dragon skeletons under King’s Landing, “Curious that King Robert did not have them destroyed”, coupled with his previous penchant for re-animated dead bodies, makes me nervous, and worry that – in light of Cersei’s lack of heir – we’re moving towards a Cersei-Qyburn-White Walkers alliance. So do watch out.

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.