I Found the Footage but I Gave It Away

I was fully expecting to-day's Mark Gatiss scripted episode of Doctor Who to be lousy. And indeed it wasn't very good though it wasn't as intensely annoying as "Robot of Sherwood", at least Gatiss didn't choose this time to write the Doctor like an angry four-year-old in the back seat during a long car trip. It was cool hearing Peter Capaldi recite from Macbeth.

I think I have about a 15% success rate at predicting how stories are going to unfold and yet I predicted just about every "twist" in this episode. I'm not in love with twists for twists' sakes but, when the episode's concepts are "monsters made out of the sand in your eyes" and a found footage style, if the episode also fails to surprise there's not much left to hang its hat on.

When the cameras are absolutely everywhere it kind of negates the point of the found footage style anyway. The limited point of view that creates the inherent sense of confinement and helplessness of the found footage style is undermined with rather typical switches to high angle shots and frequent cuts from one perspective to the next, pulling back for wide shots and coming in for close-ups. Though I suppose it probably didn't seem worth the effort of rehearsing for long takes for this script.

Really, the episode is riddled with problems--as the Doctor himself observes--and then an ending that essentially says, "I meant to do that! Wasn't that scary?" Not really, no. Can this please be the final Mark Gatiss episode?

I'm looking forward to next week and that suede burgundy coat of the Doctor's that's been teased since before this season began. That really is what Twelve needed, an outfit that really works. Not that I'm so against the Magician look, which they seem to have backed away from, but this upcoming coat is just keen.

Twitter Sonnet #810

Irrational the argument was pop.
A soda commandeered the dialogue.
The crude removed to fuel a greener stop.
A devil's mountain switched to analogue.
Ren's Kylo Xylophone had crossguard hilt.
Rewookieed carpet bundled canine souls.
Go Han Solo, to smuggle where thou wilt.
Droids mix restrain devices in the bowl.
Unheard barefooted dust returning sings.
The peace of watchers sits above the wine.
For fancy starving debtors come on wings.
Unravelled wisps of darkness stray from line.
The dust of concrete holes escape the air.
Deterred, a step has paused upon the stair.