The Girl Who Waited

Dear Gary—

Doctor Who is in a rut; it is trapped in one of its own time bubbles reliving the same things over and over and over again, only in different ways as in alternate time lines. There is the ever popular Rory is dead/no he’s not scenario; the Rory/Doctor competition in Amy’s mind; the waiting for—fill in the blank; the daisy petal does she love him or does she not pastime; and the I’m Amy Pond, no I’m Amy Pond game.

The Girl Who Waited hands us a trifecta of these themes, with one of the winners explicitly stated in the title. It is a refreshing rehash, I’ll give it that. It is a clever script given added warmth by the actors. On its own it is a solid entry. But in the greater context—do we really need these points hammered home quite so often?

“I don’t care that you got old. I care that we didn’t grow old together.” Ah, Rory. Rory is the answer and the key. Rory gives an extra dimension to the tired topics.

Then there is the fact that they have materialized on a planet other than Earth for a change. (“Apalapucia.” “Say it again?” “Apalapucia.”)This alone warrants applause.  From the Doctor’s description it sounds beautiful, although hardly worthy of the “number two planet in the top ten greatest destinations for the discerning intergalactic traveler” designation he claims for it. But then we never get to see it properly to judge for ourselves.

Apalapucia is under quarantine when our trio arrives. A deadly plague has befallen the planet, a plague that affects beings with two hearts. Amy and Rory are immune, therefore, but the Doctor is not; thus necessitating his remaining in the TARDIS for the bulk of the episode.

Now I have multiple problems with the logistics of the place and these so-called “kindness” facilities. First of all, a Handbot informs them that there are 40,000 residents in the facilities, so where are they? Not once does another sentient being appear. And why are there no emergency buttons or means of communication with anyone running the place? Is there no administration building? No security? No doctors or nurses? No maintenance crew?

And why are there no instructions? A green anchor and a red waterfall aren’t exactly informative. Given the fact that a plague infestation lurks behind one of these options I would think there would be numerous precautions set up to make sure people don’t accidentally end up in the wrong place. But then we wouldn’t have Amy blithely walking into the Red Waterfall of death and we wouldn’t have a story.

OK, so if Amy has wandered into the quarantined area for plague victims, why do the Handbots continually try to inoculate her? Even if she carries an “unauthorized infection,” everyone in there (well, Amy is the only one in there) is presumably going to die in a day anyway so what does that matter? The time for inoculations is past.

Now, about the whole “kindness” aspect of the facility. A doomed patient lives out his or her life in a compressed time stream watching movies or looking at fish or sitting around in a garden by his or her self. Alone. An entire lifetime. And this person’s nearest and dearest observe their dying  loved ones twiddling their thumbs, talking to Handbots, and generally becoming bored once the novelty of their chosen entertainment zone wears off. It’s little more than a zoo. A zoo in fast forward. Thirty-six years have gone by for Amy yet only a few minutes for the Doctor and Rory; if they had sat and watched her as they were meant to they would have seen only a blur.

Regardless, Amy is trapped in an accelerated time stream while the Doctor and Rory try to come up with a way to save her (never once thinking to try to contact anyone in charge).

“You didn’t save me.” Wow, this older Amy is . . . I’ll say unreasonable to be kind. Unreasonable, cranky, ornery. Yes, she has been waiting around for 36 years. But that’s just it—she has been waiting around to be saved. In all of those 36 years did she ever try to do anything to save herself? She somehow miraculously made herself a sonic ‘probe’ and has been clever enough to survive amongst the Handbots, but what has she done in the way of finding an exit or some means of communication with . . .who the heck is in charge of this place anyway? But OK, she has been waiting around for 36 years to be saved, and when Rory arrives to save her she greets him with, “You didn’t save me.” Only to find out that one of the main reasons he didn’t save her is because she refused to help.

About that. Most people who have led a tragic life and who are then given the chance to go back and change it would jump at the opportunity. Not Amy. Not older, unreasonable, cranky, ornery Amy. She prefers to wallow in her misery. It’s her miserable life, dammit; no one is going to change one dismal detail of it. Not even Rory. She’ll blame him right enough for not saving her, but by golly she’s not going to allow him to save her. Her reasoning is that if she is rescued in the past her present self will cease to exist. But she is Amy; Amy Young and Amy Old; if Amy Young is saved Amy Old will still exist in 36 years time, just under happier circumstances (presumably). Old Amy really needs to get over herself.

This is where Rory comes in. “Do it for him,” Young Amy tells Old Amy after they both admit, “Rory’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”  It is love for Rory that convinces Amy the elder to rescue her younger self. And it is the thought of Amy’s and Rory’s first kiss (which apparently took place during the Macarena) that does the deed. No doubt about it, Amy loves Rory. Why there would still be doubt this far along in the series is beyond me, but there you go.

This love story angle, though, is what gives the story heart. Karen Gillan does a great job depicting both Amys, each holding fast to the ideal of Rory. However, it is Arthur Darville as that ideal who steals the show. The Amy loves Rory plot is just words without Arthur Darville giving life and soul to the part of Rory. We can believe that Amy considers him the most beautiful man she has ever met because of Arthur Darville’s performance.

The stubbornness of Old Amy threatens our happy ending until she works out a deal with the Doctor; she still isn’t willing to let go her wretched existence. She will help in the rescue of herself only if she is allowed to co-exist with her younger version. Despite the massive paradox this would create and despite breaking those once sacred laws of time, the Doctor agrees.

 Except—Rule One, the Doctor lies.

Again it is Rory who breathes life into these segments.

To Rory, both Amys are valid. Both are real. Both are his Amy. I go back to that quote I cited earlier: “I don’t care that you got old. I care that we didn’t grow old together.” He meets Old Amy and he accepts her as his wife without question. He is presented with the prospect of two Amys and he reasons, “Amy, you always say, cooking Christmas dinner, you wish there was two of you.” (Stark contrast to Flesh Amy’s reaction to Flesh Doctor—but I digress.) For the Doctor, however, Young Amy is very clearly “our Amy,” and Old Amy will simply never have existed. “There can’t be two Amys in the TARDIS.”

For the Doctor the choice is obvious. For Rory it is agonizing: “So I have to choose – which wife do I want?” He can see and talk to both; he can only save one.

“She is me,” Old Amy reasons with her husband. “We’re both me.” She is right, of course, but she doesn’t really see her own point. If “she is me” and “we’re both me” then she shouldn’t have a problem with saving Young Amy.  Old Amy has asserted her independence however, and Rory is caught in the middle.

“You being here is wrong,” Rory asserts. “For a single day, for an hour, let alone a lifetime.” Rory is feeling the pain of every long and arduous day that Old Amy has felt. And then he (justly) turns on the Doctor: “This is your fault. You should look in a history book once in a while, see if there’s an outbreak of plague or not.”

“That is not how I travel,” the Doctor responds, to which Rory shoots back, “Then I do not want to travel with you!” And he goes on to condemn: “This isn’t fair. You’re turning me into you.” (Another ongoing theme in New Who—the sometimes deleterious effect the Doctor has upon his companions. And as long as I’m mentioning it—here we go again with the 'fill-in-the blank’s choice' drama.)

Finally Old Amy sees the light and relents. “Tell Amy, your Amy, I’m giving her the days. The days with you. The days to come.”

It is heartbreaking to see Rory turn the latch on his wife. To him Old Amy will always exist. The Doctor and Young Amy can take it in stride, but Rory will always live with the painful memory of the wife he turned away.

The Girl Who Waited doesn’t give us anything new, but it gives it to us in a unique way and it is performed with feeling.  I’ll accept that, Gary, as I continue on.