// Blog
Doctor Who - The Shakespeare Code
There’s a worry, isn’t there, when someone you know writes something? That fear that they’ll go “oh, give it a read and tell me what you think”, the fear that you will give it a bash and not like it and then have to be nice about it, and get so sincere about the whole thing that they can tell you want them dead and thus start to harbour similar feelings towards you.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’m a bosom buddy of Gareth Roberts. Yes we’ve met a fair few times, I’ve been to a party at his, we’ve shared conversations on the increasing “WFT?” choices and views of Popjustice, and had lengthy conversations about the relative merits of Stock Aitken Waterman songs (in particular a shared view that Lonnie Gordon’s “Happenin’ All Over Again” is a work of sublime genius).
But even then we aren’t exactly close.
But that doesn’t stop you worrying. What if a passing acquaintance should suddenly sour? Eggshells all round.
So I was a bit nervous about the Shakespeare Code. I worried I’d hate it. I worried it wouldn’t just be me who hated it. I worried it would be just me who hated it. In short… I was a right old barrel of fret, me.
Thankfully, I thought it was great fun. Yes, there was a certain pantomime element to it all - from the very first moment with the cute guy and the three witches (always there have to three - Shakespeare’s definitely got a lot to answer for) and there were moments when I first watched when the whole “Doctor giving Shakespeare quotes” thing occasionally made me think “hmm”, but it has to be said… how enjoyable was that episode?
For me it attained a level of sheer joie de vive that was quite simply breathtaking. I think you could even call it rumbunctious. Colourful, noisy, brash, pun-laden, gorgeous (I mean… how much did they spend?) and playful. It was an episode that I actually cheered during - and not just at the line about the 57 academics.
This - mark my words BBC - is the sort of telly I pay my licence fee for. Not Castaway, not dreary doom-laden soaps, up-itself twisty gritty drama, or reality shows fronted by some old git who made the worst, most plasticy Hi-Fi’s I’ve ever seen, but something which is actually simple, honest-to-goodness, glorious fun.
Fun, I find, is hugely underrated as an art-form. And this should change. Now.
So… if Gareth doesn’t get invited back next year I swear I will camp outside BBC Wales and belabour Julie Gardner around the knees with a pick-axe handle (and manifest meself over Russell T. Davies’ keyboard) until the producers relent.
I was worried about Series Three, I’ll admit. But two episodes in and I’m really fired up again.
Posted on April 12, 2007 | Filed Under Film and Television
Comments
Response left by Simon on April 13th, 2007
Got something to say?
I loved it too. It stood out on its own merits, and could quite easily have been a one-off, by which I mean it could have worked if there had been no Dr Who genre to speak of.
Talking of licence fees, it’s this and also Life On Mars I pay mine for. Did you see it/them? Sublime, and not just for the ‘73 DCI’s choice crop of phrases…