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Poll: Who's your favourite Doctor?
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Who's your favourite Doctor?

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  #11281  
Old 25th March 2020, 08:11 PM
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I thought it was kind of sweet to be honest.

Telling kids the facts.

After all it was a kids show before it got hijacked by sad 40 year olds.
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  #11282  
Old 25th March 2020, 09:19 PM
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yeah it was actually good. just a shame that something that was quickly rushed and released was better than most of the other stuff.
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  #11283  
Old 26th March 2020, 05:33 AM
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Popular music in 'Doctor Who' #82

Episode: 'Knock Knock' (ii)
Artist: Itzhak Perlman
Title: Violin Sonata No. 1 in G Minor: BWV 1001 - 1. Adagio.
Notes:
* Heard playing on Pavel's record player when he is in their new house on his own at night, and gets absorbed into the wall
* The set of six sonatas and partitas for solo violin (BWV 1001–1006) was completed by 1720 but not actually published until 1802
* Violin Sonata No. 1 consists of four movements:
Adagio
Fuga (Allegro)
Siciliana
Presto
* Child protegee Itzhak Perlman gave his first recital aged 10. At 13, he joined the prestigious Juilliard School in New York
* The version of Violin Sonata No. 1 in G Minor used in the programme was recorded in 1988

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  #11284  
Old 26th March 2020, 11:17 AM
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Default Image of the Day # 352

Clara (Jenna Coleman), the Doctor (Peter Capaldi) and Ashildr (Maisie Williams) get ready for battle in The Girl Who Died (2015)

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  #11285  
Old 26th March 2020, 01:07 PM
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The prequel to 'Rose'


Read it here...or below!

Introduction, by Russell T Davies
This was never meant to exist.

Way back, maybe early 2013, Tom Spilsbury, the editor of Doctor Who Magazine, asked me if I wanted to contribute to DWM’s great 50th special. Maybe addressing that huge gap in Doctor Who lore, how did the Eighth Doctor regenerate into the Ninth?

I said well, yeah, no, but, isn’t that best left to the imagination? If I write a script, it would be too real, too fixed, too canonical. But Tom’s never one to give up. He said okay, what if you wrote, say, the final pages of a Target novel? About the last days of the Time War. The Doctor’s final moments. And we could present it like a surviving fragment of the Novel That Never Was, so it exists in that half-real space of the spin-offs, possible but not factual, just slightly canon, if you so choose.

Okay, Tom. You temptress. I’m in.

So I wrote this. It even starts mid-sentence, as if you’ve just turned to the last pages. Lee Binding created a beautiful cover. We were excited! And then Tom said, I’d better run this past Steven Moffat, just in case…

Oh, said Steven. Oh.

How could we have known? That the Day of the Doctor would have an extra Doctor, a War Doctor? And Steven didn’t even tell us about Night of the Doctor, he kept that regeneration a complete surprise! He just said, sorry, can you lay off that whole area? I agreed, harrumphed, went to bed and told him he was sleeping on the settee that night.

So the idea was snuffed aborning.

Until 2020. When a science fiction-shaped virus came along to change our lives (honestly, I’ve written the end of the world 100 times, but I never imagined everyone just sitting at home). Emily Cook of DWM created the livestream of The Day of the Doctor, then turned to Rose, and asked me if I had anything to offer..? At exactly the same time, Chris Chibnall emailed me, saying we need the Doctor more than ever these days, and could I think of any material?

By some miracle this file still existed. Lee still had his illustration (naturally, because he was under a Binding contract, oh I’m so funny). And strangely, looking back, it’s funny how things fit; the Moment is described here as oak and brass, which isn’t far from the final idea (I don’t mean Billie). I wonder; I suspect, without realising, if Steven and I were both riffing off Eighth Doctor-style designs, maybe..?

More importantly, the idea has come of age. This chapter only died because it became, continuity-wise, incorrect. But now, the Thirteenth Doctor has shown us Doctors galore, with infinite possibilities.

All Doctors exist.

All stories are true.

So come with me now, to the distant reefs of a terrible war, as the Doctor takes the Moment and changes both the universe and themselves forever
Doctor Who and the Time War

"...but the Daleks and the Time Lords scream in vain, too far away to stop him now. And so the Doctor stands alone.

He looks out from his eyrie, across the wreckage of a thousand worlds. Below him, fragments of the Time War, broken reefs of Gallifrey and Skaro washed up into this backwater, to rot. His creaking wooden platform shivers with ice, a mile high, atop fragments of Morbius’s Red Capitol, its vile towers fused into the black, friable spires of Yarvelling’s Church. And yet the Doctor can see glimpses of Earth. The planet had been replicated a million times, to become the bullets fired into the Nightmare Child’s skull, and now splinters of human society have gouged themselves into the wasteland below - relics of Mumbai, shards of Manhattan, a satire of Old London Town. Remnants of better days.

The Doctor looks down.

Her skeleton lies at his feet. The bones relax into dust, and she is gone.

The Doctor looks up.

In front of him, at the edge of the platform, a brass handle, mounted in a simple oak casement; the only remaining extrusion of the Moment into this world, the rest of its vast bulk hidden, chained to an N-form, churning behind the dimensional wall. Screaming to be used.

He steps forward. He grips the handle. He wonders what his last words should be. He decides that last words are useless. He pulls the handle down, flat.

The Moment happens.

The universe sings.

The war ends.

Surrounded by brightness, the Doctor sees the sky above parting to reveal, just as Bettan and the Deathsmiths of Goth had predicted, the final event. Gallifrey Original convulses and rolls into flame. Its concentric rings of Dalek warships become silhouettes, then ashes, and then –

The Doctor falls. Every atom around him is sucked upwards, towards the fire, but he alone is capable of falling, saved – or damned – by the Moment’s shadow. Above him, he feels the Time Lock solidify, sealing off the war from reality, and as his body tumbles out of existence, into plasmaspace, then foulspace, then beyond, the Doctor leans into the fall, head first, arms wide, diving into infinity.

Alone.

Except…

There.

Something else.

Falling.

Spinning..?

A whirl of blue. That faithful blue. Then a rectangle of white, widening, a doorway, coming closer, towards him, and as the grind of ancient engines reaches a crescendo, he thinks: I’m going home.


The Doctor lies on the Tardis floor. His bones broken from the fall, his hearts hollowed by his loss. Around him, the console room buckles, warps, shudders, still suffering from the High Council’s resurrection of the Master, long ago. It aches for a new shape. “Me too,” mutters the Doctor with a grim smile, though he knows regeneration is impossible. The Moment has fixed his existence, and this life is his last.

He wonders what age he’s finally reached. The Time War used years as ammunition; at the Battle of Rodan’s Wedding alone, he’d aged to five million and then regressed to a mewling babe, merely from shrapnel. Now, the ache in his bones feels… one thousand years old? Well. Call it nine hundred. Sounds better.

Darkness swills through his mind and he forces a smile, ready and yet never ready for the end. Still, no final words.

But then...

Can it be..?

He feels it once more.

That old, deep stirring in every bone and muscle and thought. The joy. The terror. The change, the impossible change!

Amazed, he lifts up his hand. Stares, fascinated, as the skin ripples with a curious new gold.

Of course. She tricked him, right at the end. Her final kiss was not a goodbye; she imprinted the Restoration within him. His lifecycle has been reset, the new man lurching outwards to be born. So this is the meaning of her final song: a whole new body to expiate the guilt. He might even pass the Restoration to another, one day.

Suddenly, they come, in a rush, his final words. He says them aloud, but there is no one to hear, allowing them to be imagined and imagined again for ever.

Then his nuclei turn into stars.

Every pore blazes with light. A volcano of thick, viscous energy cannons from his neck, his hands, his feet, his guts, his hearts, his soul -

It stops.

The Doctor sits up. The new Doctor, next Doctor, now Doctor. He lifts up his new fingers to touch his new head. His new chin. His new nose. His new ears. He takes a deep breath into his new, dry, wide lungs. He says his first word.

"Blimey!""
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  #11286  
Old 26th March 2020, 01:33 PM
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That's the second new piece of fiction from Doctor Who showrunners.

It's something they are doing to cheer fans up.

Chris Chibnall penned this the other day.

Quote:
Hello! We’re living through some strange times right now.

With people staying home, and families stuck together, I thought maybe a few little presents from Doctor Who might help. Something to read, together or alone. New treats, from the people who make Doctor Who.

We’ll try and post things here once or twice a week. Tomorrow, we’ll have a never-before-published piece written by Russell T Davies.

To start us off, I’ve written a few words about what went through the Thirteenth Doctor’s head, immediately after she regenerated and was thrown out her TARDIS.

Stay safe.
Chris x
Quote:
Things She Thought While Falling


She was cold.

The Doctor was cold.

The ragged clothes weren’t helping. She was cold, and in someone else’s ragged clothes.

She felt a little peeved that the ragged clothes did not include a built-in parachute. That felt like an error.

Wait, she thought. Why would I want a parachute? Oh yes, that’s right. She remembered.

She was falling.

Air was rushing past her. Or more accurately, she was rushing past air. Tumbling through the cold night sky.

Also, she was fizzing.

Remnants of regeneration particles were still skittering off her. The process was still… in process. Her newness still in train.

The Doctor looked up, mid-plummet. Oh dear, she thought.

Far above her, the TARDIS was exploding.

That is very unhelpful, she thought.

No, wait, not just exploding. Now the TARDIS was dematerializing – while it exploded. Dematerialexploding, thought the Doctor. That’s not a word, chided the Doctor. Alright, replied the Doctor, I’m only a few minutes in here - you’re lucky I’ve got any words at all. Will you two stop arguing, chimed in the Doctor. Only if you stop sub-dividing us, replied the Doctor, this is all the same brain. Don’t confuse matters.

As the blue box vanished, leaving the Doctor looking up at a starry black sky, the Doctor wondered if she’d ever see her TARDIS again. No time to feel sorry for yourself, she told herself. Too much going on!

Yes, she thought. There was a lot going on. A large dark painful ground mass was rapidly approaching, and inside the Doctor’s body her cells continued to burn and reshape and reform.

Well, thought the Doctor. All of her. This is a conundrum.

Her newly minted mind had already had three thousand and seven thoughts over the course of three seconds. She knew because she counted, and she only realised she’d counted once she’d finished counting, and then she wondered whether the counting made three thousand and eight thoughts and then she realised that the ground was another second closer, and a plan would probably be in order.

She saw the ground and calculated her own velocity. Ooh, this is going to hurt, she thought. Even with a soft landing. And it probably won’t be a soft landing. She crossed her fingers and hoped she was heading for an open air trampoline factory.

Like that planet, what was it called, Fintleborxtug! Fun fact about Fintleborxtug, she told herself, the creature that named it did so when it was hiccuping and just before it was sick. Nobody knows if it was really the name or just the sound it made.

You don’t have to tell me that, thought the Doctor tetchily to herself, I know! I know the planetary surface of Fintleborxtug is as soft and bouncy as a trampoline, because I went for a long bounce there once among the mountains, and the purple sky. I’d just had ice cream sundaes. That was a mistake. Can you please concentrate, the Doctor thought to herself again!

She concentrated. She confirmed she was still falling. Disappointing, but not that much of a surprise given her circumstances hadn’t changed in the second since she last checked.

She wondered where exactly she was. Which sky she was falling through. Which ground she was heading for. She stuck her tongue out. It was buffeted by the air. Tickled. Ah. That tasted like Earth. Northern Europe. Britain. Wood smoke, diesel, grass, fast approaching concrete, lot of moisture and attitude in the air. Yorkshire. Possibly South Yorkshire.

She snuck another look down. A train track. A stationary train. She tried to recognise the livery on the outside of the train, so she could absolutely nail precisely where she was but it was distant and dark and regeneration had once again failed to deliver the super powered, see in the dark, X Ray vision she had always craved. Ah well, she thought, maybe next time.

Now, the train below was insisting on getting even closer. The train, or the tracks, were where she was going to land. She pondered her limited choices - tracks would hurt. Mouth full of gravel and two big metal lines all the way down her new body. Ouch. Train might be better - the roof, if she could crash through it, would soften her landing a bit (though smashing through was most likely going to hurt a lot).

With a bit of luck any injuries would be taken care of by the still fizzing regeneration process. Like those injuries the Doctor had got after he’d crashed through the roof at Naismith manor. Or the hand he’d managed to grow back after the Sycorax had lopped one off. Watch out Doctor, she thought, your personal pronouns are drifting.

That roof was super close now. She flapped her arms a bit to make sure her trajectory was bang on. As she did so, she saw that the train lights were out. She saw sparks of a light flashing in one carriage towards the back of the train. Something was wrong. And if something was wrong, she was the man to sort it out.

You’re assuming you’re going to make it through this fall alive, she reminded herself. Now, don’t be gloomy, she chided back. Things will be alright. Right now, they’re not ideal. But I can muddle through. Probably.

That’s interesting, she thought. I seem to be an optimist. With a hint of enthusiasm. And what’s that warm feeling in my stomach? Ah, I’m kind! Brilliant.

This was going to be fun, thought the Doctor, as she crashed through the roof of a train, on the outskirts of Sheffield, not far from Grindleford.

Then, having hit the floor of the train, and felt extra little regenerative energy particles heal where things had scratched and broken and hurt -- newness, in train, on a train -- she thought to herself: this is going to be a very interesting night!

The Doctor jumped up, zapped a creature she couldn’t quite understand and immediately made new friends.
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  #11287  
Old 26th March 2020, 01:35 PM
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Russell T Davies -

Quote:
honestly, I’ve written the end of the world 100 times, but I never imagined everyone just sitting at home
Brilliant.
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  #11288  
Old 26th March 2020, 03:42 PM
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There's a Jo Martin like size stand up.


I don't know, is it just my filthy mind?
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  #11289  
Old 26th March 2020, 04:06 PM
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'Dr Who And The Daleks' (1965) coming July 7th from Kino Lorber

Special Features:
• NEW Audio Commentary by Writer, Film Critic, Film Historian Kim Newman and Screenwriter, Writer, Film Historian Robert Shearman
• Audio Commentary with Actresses Jennie Linden and Roberta Tovey and Author Jonathan Sothcott
• Dalekmania: 57-Minute Documentary
• Interview with Author Gareth Owen
• Restoring Dr. Who and the Daleks
• Optional English Subtitles
• Dual-Layered BD50 Disc
• Theatrical Trailer

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  #11290  
Old 26th March 2020, 04:14 PM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by iank View Post
Now I'm really scared.

You've got it wrong. 20th Century-Fox had the right tagline with the 1986 film The Fly

BE AFRAID....

BE VERY AFRAID.

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