I rewatched Doctor Who, The End of the World. I forgot how good it was. It wove in so much that would bloom in the seasons to come, but even on its own, there was a wonderful pathos to it, a sobriety mixed in with the pulp-esque adventure. Really, the plot could almost take a backseat to the horribly poetic setting, not that the plot was anything to sneeze at. It makes me want to try my hand at the same prompt, to set some characters travelling on some homeless barge, letting them pause and watch their planet fall away to dust. “Dust thou art,” but to dust these men will never return.
I think, another highlight of this episode is its characterization, especially of Eccleston’s Doctor. The anger and hurt, and the man struggling through his defenses to be good, are brought out wonderfully by the situation the writers place him in. Gonna have to have a Doctor Who marathon.
Tale Told 