It could so easily have been that last year’s specials starring David Tennant were merely a victory lap for his era. A celebration of the revived show at the height of its power, with everyone’s favourite and arguably most dashing Doctor to have ever served in the role, coming back for one last reminder of why we all fell in love with the series in the first place, farting aliens and all.
Thankfully, they were just the start of RTD’s second wind as Whovian-in-Chief. And what a statement of intent: yes, this is the show as you remember it. Vibrant. Gleaming. Brimming with all the chaotic energy of Ant & Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway and shot through with all the warmth and world-weary empathy of Davies’ other, more serious works, with a sixth sense for casting (bolstered by longtime collaborator Andy Pryor) that other showrunners would kill for. Being able to summon Neil Patrick Harris to Bristol to play the Celestial Toymaker is testament to RTD’s Time Lord-like powers as a producer, and positioning him as a dark mirror for David Tennant is divine genius.
But this is also a new era of Doctor Who, future-proofed for Gen Alpha and reinventing itself for a jaded age that desperately needs new myths. Ncuti Gatwa is so far from the “classic” image of The Doctor – he’s not a middle-aged white man, obviously, but that’s not why. He’s effortlessly cool, rocking an ever-changing wardrobe and grooming regimen that no previous Doc could pull off. I mean, he even managed to look stylish during his debut episode, which he spent in a shirt and underpants. There’s nothing stuffy or superior about him at all – he brims with the essence of creativity and invention. If all the previous Doctors are Phil Collins, he’s Prince, and he can do anything.
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