So the BAFTAs are like the British Oscars and Emmys put together (British Academy of Film and Television Arts), and are a huge deal (if you're wondering: no, Americans have never heard of them). This year, Doctor Who won for best Drama Series against Bodies, Shameless, and Spooks (or what we in the U.S. call MI-5, after bashing in its brains and cutting off a few body parts). It also won the Pioneer Audience Award for Best Programme. That's awesome. One of the coolest things about this assignment is seeing how tied to the national identity this show really is, on a mainstream -- not just the geek ghetto -- level, about which I had no idea -- and barely any concept, because I don't think we have a comparable show. Imagine a Buffy, or Battlestar, winning Emmys like it was just another day, and what that would say about us. It's exciting and touching because -- as Graeme the Angry Correspondent wrote, in essence -- it's so progressive, and loving and hopeful. So focused on the good of us, as people, in the face of war and pain. If the spirit of twenty-first century Great Britain is half this joyful, half this hopeful and strong, I think we'll all be okay. No sundowns just yet. Just keep the show running and Blair and Bush in their separate corners, and we'll be okay, after all.
But for the moment, we're fucked: the gas masks surround Rose and Captain Jack and the Doctor, and elsewhere, young Mistress Nancy is being menaced by the Empty Child. As with all good cliffhangers, it's really only been a second -- it's been us waiting, not the heroes -- and the Doctor has already gotten an idea. "Go to your room," he says sternly. The masks and Jamie hesitate, confused, and the Doctor repeats: "Go to your room!" They all cock their heads, confused, and Rose and Captain Jack look worried at each other. The Doctor goes to that place he goes, where the smile fades and the fear that always comes out as rage appears: "I mean it! I am very, very angry with you. I am very, very cross!" Through different angles, mirroring last episode's closing shots, the Doctor is very scary: "Go. To. Your. ROOM!" He points violently away, and they turn away, sad and chastened. The hospital victims climb meekly back into their beds, and the smiles comes back. At the Lloyds', Jamie leaves by the front door, Nancy breathless against the curtains. The Doctor turns to Captain Jack, who smiles in relief. The Doctor sighs: "I'm really glad that worked. Those would've been terrible last words!"