Doctor Who Review: Praxeus

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Seven billion lives. Separate, and connected, from the edge of the atmosphere to the depths of the ocean.

It says a lot about how little I trust Pete McTighe after last time that those opening lines had me worried the Doctor was suddenly going to start advocating Malthusian population control measures. But she didn’t! Sure, the framing monologue itself was rubbish – it’s only nominally connected to the actual content of the episode itself, probably more befitting a butterfly-effect narrative a la The Pyramid at the End of the World – but, given the Doctor didn’t explicitly come out in favour of anything actively evil this go around, we can probably call it a wash.

I joke, of course, but that sort of “well, yes, but” despite itself sentiment largely prevails across the episode – a story which, caveats aside, is actually I guess probably one of my favourites of the Chibnall era, and certainly of this series. Which I can’t say I was expecting after Ker-blam! (There’s an obvious comparison to be made between another debut episode I disliked, and the same writer’s subsequent offerings that I rather did, but I’ll elide that for the moment. Points if you can guess what I have in mind though, I suppose.) Anyway, damning with faint praise or not, I was reasonably fond of Praxeus. As with Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror, I imagine I’d be inclined to be more critical of it any of it any other year – for the moment, though, there’s a lot to appreciate about an episode that manages to get the basics right.

For the most part, Praxeus is an episode that’s comfortable in itself, one of the first episodes that feels like a ‘year two’ piece in a meaningful sense. Where Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror or Orphan 55 might quite easily have found a spot in a twelve-episode Series 11, there’s a sense about Praxeus that some lessons have been learned. The growing pains are gone: it balances the large guest cast that is, for some reason, a staple of the Chibnall-era better than most; it’s more assured in its exposition (no small feat – contrast the Doctor just showing up in each location, accompanied only by the TARDIS sound effect, with the level of hand-holding needed to explain each sci-fi contrivance in any other given episode); it manages to be touch on modern concerns, and indeed actually be about something, without relying on awkward, almost extra-diegetic proselytising. There is, perhaps, something to be said for McTighe’s own showrunning experience here – he’s a writer who, if nothing else, very much knows what he’s doing.

(Which, incidentally, raises an interesting question about Chibnall’s cowriting credit. McTighe is exactly the sort of experienced screenwriter that Russell T Davies wouldn’t have rewritten at all – a Steven Moffat, Matthew Graham, Stephen Greenhorn, and indeed Chris Chibnall type screenwriter – so it’s not, presumably, simply Chibnall being more inclined to take a credit for the work his predecessors did unrecognised. At the same time, though, there are no obvious moments – or wider, arc-related signifance – that stands out about Praxeus; it’s a fairly easy bit of archaeology to assume that Chibnall wrote the scenes with Captain Jack in Fugitive of the Judoon, and provided at least a steering hand on the Jo Martin scenes. So, anyway: curious.)

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Granted, though, that comfort obscures some flaws. Sometimes, clarity is sacrificed for momentum – not a huge problem when it’s fridge logic plot details like how exactly Adam texted Jake, but rather more so when it’s a question of emotional clarity, like Gabriela mourning her friend’s death right up until she seemingly just sort of forgets about it. The environmental message is fumbled somewhat when the blame is placed on an alien pathogen rather than human action. It’s difficult to care about Jake’s almost-sacrifice, given how trite and contrived that trope so often is. The direction lets the episode down, never quite managing to really push the idea that this is what a particularly frantic day looks like for the Doctor, trying to be everywhere at once. Jodie Whittaker is mostly on autopilot; every Doctor has an episode like that, and she more or less manages, but there are a few moments where it really stands out. When she eventually leaves the part, I don’t know that we’ll be sad her tenure is over, but that rather that it never really began – I can’t quite think of what we might point to as Whittaker’s Dalek, The Girl in the Fireplace, The Doctor’s Wife, or Heaven Sent. That’s a shame, really, no matter how you look at it.

Yet I’m finding it hard to summon the enthusiasm to stick the knife into Praxeus particularly. Yes, any other year, this episode is going to be something like The Idiot’s Lantern or Knock Knock – the middle of the road piece where, you know, there’s certainly something to be said of them, but they’re never going to be the most compelling, or most polarising, of their respective series. It’s the 6/10, ‘pleasantly surprising when you rewatch it a few years later but nothing special’ episode. Which is fine! Not every episode can be Love & Monsters or Hell Bent – and I’ve been deliberate in choosing episodes that I know some people will have quite different opinions on. No, it’s not great that it looks like Praxeus is going to be one of the highlights of Series 12 is, almost by default. But I wrote a review bemoaning the wider state of Series 12 a few weeks ago; I don’t need to write another. (Especially because I suspect I eventually will, so the longer I can put that off, the better.) I suppose, had Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror and Praxeus been swapped in the running order, I’d have been decidedly more positive about the former, and more inclined to criticise Praxeus.

And, hey, there’s still a lot to like about Praxeus. Tosin Cole in particular had a good week, offering a more confident, mature take on Ryan – the slightly Doctor-ish, three-quarter length coat an especially nice touch to reflect that. It’s a neat premise too: I love it when Doctor Who is big, expansive, and worldwide, and outside of New Earth we’ve not really done alien viruses in the new series. The romantic plotline between Jake and Adam was surprisingly touching, too, and a welcome effort from an era that’s really struggled with its promised LGBT representation. And Bradley Walsh’s quiet, wordless smile on the beach in that scene with Jake is surely some of his best work on Doctor Who yet. Plus, a lot of the jokes are good too. So, sure, why not.

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Of course, it’s not just Tosin Cole and Bradley Walsh who did well in Praxeus – let’s just pause for a moment and imagine Mandip Gill reading the script for this episode, a single, solitary tear rolling down her face, overjoyed and (ironically) speechless that Yaz, finally, miraculously, at last has something to do.

Embarrassingly, actually (though you be the judge as to whether I should be embarrassed, or Chibnall et al) when Yaz displayed a hitherto unseen personality this week, I assumed it was a function of the plot – like, the computer panel was exerting some alien influence on her, and we were supposed to notice her sudden flash of independence and see it as cause for concern. Not so, thankfully, but it says a lot that, for a moment at least, that felt like the natural reading of that scene. So rare is it for Yaz to actually have something to do, and for Mandip Gill to play a line as anything other than earnest, that Praxeus arguably might well be a better story for the character than her nominal spotlight episodes, Arachnids in the UK and Demons of the Punjab.

Yaz has always been a bit of a problem companion – not particularly connected to Grace’s death, the catalyst for Series 11’s emotional arc, nor the big name actor everyone’s keen to write for (or, alternatively, who has a contractually obliged number of lines per episode) – and Mandip Gill, unlike Tosin Cole, isn’t a strong enough actor to make an impression despite being underserved by the material. At times, actually, she’s been such a non-entity it’s felt like there’s some merit to the occasionally vaunted idea that Yaz wasn’t part of the initial plan for Series 11 – either added later when Chibnall realised the gender balance of the regulars was a little off, or when Vinay Patel pitched a partition episode. It’s unlikely, of course (though perhaps notable that ‘Yasmin Khan’ shares a name with a prolific partition era historian), but it speaks volumes that the character plausibly could be excised without making much difference.

Little about Yaz’s role in Praxeus feels like it follows on from her presence in prior episodes – I mean, certainly, “independent and resourceful” is something you might expect of Yaz, given her introduction in The Woman Who Fell to Earth, but it hardly chimes with The Tsuranga Conundrum or Resolution. But then, you know, who cares? Praxeus feels like a glimpse into another universe – the middle of the road episode from a genuinely very good series, where Mandip Gill got to play this version of the character all the time. As it is, this middle of the road episode feels like something genuinely quite significant by virtue of the stories around it – and, after complaining so much about how little Mandip Gill gets to do, it’d perhaps be remiss of me not to celebrate Yaz finally starting to resemble an actual character.

Related:

Doctor Who series 12 reviews

Doctor Who series 11 overview

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Doctor Who Review: Kerblam!

kerblam doctor who review chris chibnall pete mctighe

The systems aren’t the problem.

So, let’s talk about Kerblam! – or rather, let’s talk about “Kerblam”.

“Kerblam” is a great big online shopping service. The biggest retailer in the galaxy, in fact. It’s got massive warehouses, it does special deliveries, and relies on a group of human workers.

The workers are closely monitored in terms of their productivity while processing packages. At “Kerblam”, the workers have to hit targets of three hundred items an hour. Some of them have been known to have panic attacks if they don’t make those targets. Three hundred items an hour works out as one item every nine seconds, give or take, across a ten and a half hour working day from 7:30am to 6pm. Their breaks are carefully monitored too – workers pee in bottles to avoid taking bathroom breaks.

Of course, that’s not the only thing workers have to deal with at “Kerblam”. They’re not treated especially well by their immediate managers; workers are encouraged to bluntly criticize employees’ ideas in meetings, and performance reviews included half-hour lectures about unfulfilled goals. They’re expected to be accessible all the time, beyond the realms of the eight-hour weeks they already work.

“Kerblam” also give the employees work bracelets – the Group Loops – to keep track of what work they’re doing, how efficiently they’re doing it, and how well they’re doing it. This makes sure everyone keeps to high standards – unreasonably high ones, “Kerblam” would no doubt proudly boast. If you don’t keep to the high standards, you’re going to be let go. There are “annual cullings of the staff — “purposeful Darwinism,” one former “Kerblam” human resources director said. Some workers who suffered from cancer, miscarriages and other personal crises said they had been evaluated unfairly or edged out rather than given time to recover”.

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All this means, of course, that “Kerblam” is doing extremely well. It’s making vast, vast profits. Its owner is the richest man in the world. As is well deserved, of course, because of the sheer effort and labour that he personally puts into “Kerblam”.

The system works.

The systems aren’t the problem.

Obviously.

It’s the people who exploit the systems that are the problem. A system like the one at “Kerblam” is absolutely fine. It’s the sort of thing that develops entirely in isolation and leads to entirely fair and equitable treatment of all the works. As we’ve seen above.

The system works. The systems aren’t the problem.

Of course, people can exploit the system, and that’s not great. You don’t want people to exploit the system. If the system is just left as is, that’s fine. Its people interfering that leads to problems in the system. Just leave it be, and we end up with a system that works perfectly fine, where the workers get to see their family twice and year and there obviously isn’t a problem with that.

And why would there be a problem? The system works. The systems aren’t the problem.

The systems aren’t the problem. It doesn’t matter what happens at “Kerblam”, because anything that is happening – and, let’s be honest, it’s not really all that bad anyway – is clearly just a one-off quirk, the result of an individual actor exploiting.

The system isn’t bad. The system would never kill someone; that’s only when people exploit the system.

Obviously.

That’s fine. I really don’t think I have any more to say. I thought I might have, to be honest, but I just… don’t. I don’t care! I don’t care. “Kerblam” is fine. There’s nothing wrong with the system. The system isn’t bad. It’s just the people who exploit the system. They’re the problem. All the things you’ve seen so far? Not a problem. That’s just the system. And the system is fine. Why do you have a problem with the system? Are you a terrorist? Some young terrorist who has a problem with the system? Well, you’re just naïve, aren’t you?

The system isn’t the problem. The system works. The problem is people who exploit the system. Exploitation of the system is a very distinct thing from the system itself, because the system, as we know, works. The system is fine.

The system isn’t the problem.

The system isn’t the problem, according to Doctor Who.

Fucking hell.

2/10

Related:

Doctor Who Series 11 reviews

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