Air raid sirens are going off and dust is shaking from the ceiling, and everybody in Churchill's bunker is running around. They're beautifully dressed and they all have those cute British accents, but my question is this: If you look up in the sky are you going to see Rose hanging from a dirigible? That story was written by Steven Moffat, and this one by Mark Gatiss (whom I'll always love for Nighty Night), but I mean, given that the Blitz is like the most interesting thing that ever happened in London -- my favorite writer has focused not one but two novels (three if you're counting the halves) plus an amazing short story on it, and seems at times to view all time travel as an oblique way to talk about it no matter how much I loved Kivrin -- you could conceivably place every episode of this show somewhere in it. But... Do you really need to?
Especially for such an ill-conceived and bizarrely paced exercise in merchandising as this? Because add the dodgy denouement -- every bit as obnoxious as the heartfelt sighs and rising violins that attended STARWHALE!'s discovery and eventual hilarious succor -- and you've got basically three or four pretty crappy stories, lashed end-to-end by bits of string and chewing gum.
Story A: The Daleks are not Daleks. So the Doctor acts the fool in a really unconvincing, frankly obnoxious way, and then they're Daleks again. Story B: In the middle of World War II is exactly the time to make a joke about racial purity, using the Dalek's least interesting qualities, to no real end. Story C: Buy these shitty new color-coded Daleks and don't give your parents a moment of peace until they do. And Story D: A bomb that is a person, who simply stops being a robot due entirely to the power of luuuuuv. Which: Why not just have somebody run through London with the Olympic torch? From what I hear, it's much more than a torch now, it's a beacon! It's a beacon of hope! And fortitude! And courage! And it's a beacon... Of love!
Anyway, this piece of shit. It's not as bad as last week's, and next week finally gets us on track to a certain extent, but I can't believe we're going to sit here discussing it when we could be, I don't know, hanging from a dirigible. They all run around listening to the radio and complaining about this and that and being super British ("If wishes were kisses, luv!") and not really showing the Spirit of the Blitz and whatever, and some guy who's barely even the ghost of a strange bulldog-human hybrid that once met Churchill and pissed on his shoes blammers out, through his wobbling fat face, "Roll out the secret weapon!" And they push a tiny model Dalek across the war table, and deal with that why don't you.