I’ve been watching a lot of Dr. Who recently, and I have been considering a question: What is Dr. Who? I don’t remember where I heard this, but an apology for the new Dr. Who material was that Dr. Who can effectively be anything because at bottom the show has no identity. The argument goes that Dr. Who, like its titular character, changes so much that anything can be Dr. Who.
Now, laying my cards on the table, I haven’t watched the more recent episodes. I was, and it may offend some of you, no fan of the Matt Smith era, and I stopped watching. The only episodes I really liked were The Rebel Flesh and The Almost People. (Okay, I also liked Craig.) As such, I’m not one to comment on whether the recent Dr. Who is actually Dr. Who or some imposter, but I would like to forward what I think makes Dr. Who Dr. Who.
As the story arc, The Green Death, comes to a close, the Doctor says goodbye to his companion, Jo. It is a bittersweet moment, for Jo is getting married and going to start her life, a new life not including the Doctor. What I think the most powerful scene in all of Dr. Who, the Doctor bows out of the celebrating and toasting and singing. As night falls, he drives away, alone.
That is who the Doctor is, the alien. He is a homeless vagabond traveling the universe yet rarely living in it. His friends and his loves are all temporary; the pain of loss punctuates every measure of his life. But in all of this, he loves. He loves Jo, it hurts him to let her go, but he knows he has to let her go for her own happiness. He himself cannot stay, but must always move on.
This stupid show, this cheap television serial with horrible effects, this badly written, at times propagandistic science fiction, can make me cry. For all of its faults, it can speak of real depth; though it’s nothing more than pulp, it also knows the truth of the human experience, the loneliness of existence.
Tale Told 
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