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David Bradley

Game of Thrones – ‘Baelor’ (1×09)

NED STARK: You think my life is some precious thing to me? That I would trade my honor for a few more years… of what? I grew up with soldiers. I learned how to die a long time ago.

Numerous precedents are set by Game of Thrones with ‘Baelor’. It is the first episode to be directed by Alan Taylor, who would make his name as one of the key, signature directors of the first two seasons. It is the first penultimate episode of the series to establish the show’s unique narrative style of delivering a blockbuster climactic tale just before the season finale. And it is the episode which killed off not only the biggest name actor in the series, but the character everyone began watching Game of Thrones convinced was the protagonist. By now we knew Game of Thrones had its own set of rules. ‘Baelor’ confirms it.

As I’ve discussed in my breakdowns of the previous episodes this season, Ned Stark has been heading for the chopping block since the moment he arrived in Kings Landing, and there has always been a sense in Sean Bean’s weight-of-the-world performance that Ned knew it. This was a noble character in a world without nobility, a feudal system which may ostensibly be ridden with stories of dashing, daring, brave heroes, but is shot through with a realistic, cynical modern day sensibility in George R.R. Martin’s world-building which often heaps scorn on the kind of characters who would try and live by rules of courtly, honourable behaviour.

Cersei Lannister told Ned just a few episodes that you either win at “the game” or you die, but Ned never really knew how to play that game at all. He was a character straight out of a different world, which was precisely the point; the moment he concedes he may have to start playing, not to win but rather to survive, his life is quite ceremoniously cut short. It’s just one of the stark (pun intended) ironies of Game of Thrones.

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Doctor Who Christmas Special 2017 – ‘Twice Upon a Time’

Bidding goodbye to another incarnation of the Doctor has now become as much a staple of Christmas Day every few years as Del & Rodders or Morecambe & Wise used to be in the days classic comedy dominated the British television landscape. Doctor Who over the last decade has cemented itself as *the* storytelling event in the UK on Christmas Day, after Russell T. Davies revived the series with a new, modern, American ‘showrunner’ style of production in 2005. We have in twelve short years got through four Doctors (five if you count John Hurt) and their life-cycle has become a repeating standard – barring Christopher Eccleston, every successive Doctor has roughly been around for three seasons over a three to four year period. Peter Capaldi has been no exception but this regeneration, in ‘Twice Upon a Time’, is different. We’re not just getting a new Doctor. We’re about to get an entirely new Who.

The last time this happened was 2009, at the very end of David Tennant’s hugely successful run as the Doctor. ‘The End of Time’ saw an emotional goodbye for Tennant, which perhaps reflected outgoing showrunner Davies—the man who had revived this entire world. “I don’t want to go!” the Doctor admitted before regenerating into Matt Smith, who sailed into a new era in 2010 with Steven Moffat at the helm. Moffat had already been well-regarded during RTD’s reign, writing some of the cleverest and more memorable stories over the first four seasons such as ‘The Empty Child/’The Doctor Dances’ (“are you my Mummy?”), ‘Blink’ which introduced the terrifying Weeping Angels, and ‘Silence in the Library’/‘Forest of the Dead’ where he introduced Alex Kingston’s River Song and her unique, complicated relationship with the Doctor. Moffat was the natural choice to take over.

Arguably, Moffat changed the very texture of Doctor Who. His term as show runner coincided with a move to HD and a ramped up budget, allowing for numerous filming excursions abroad to places such as Spain or New York. Davies’ style of storytelling had been earthy, grounded and accessible; his Doctors were broad-accented Northerners or charming, swaggering men. Their companions were council estate girls or traditional British working class, strong women who were swept away into a world of adventure, carried off from their humdrum lives. Davies’ stories centred heavily around Earth or the defence of Earth from alien invaders, introducing classic monsters from the Original Series of Who, tapping into B-movie concepts, and generally having a similar arc each season, building to an apocalyptic battle to save humanity and the planet Earth.

Moffat immediately changed that paradigm when Smith’s Doctor was born. His Doctor was famously an old man in a young man’s body, far less aware of his own charm and sexiness than Tennant’s incarnation, and stripped of Eccleston’s severe angst. Moffat’s companions were far more caustic, sarcastic and in many respects middle-class professional; women who were embroiled very much in the dark, strange fairytale Moffat converted the style of the show into. Smith’s Doctor was presented as ‘a mad man in a box’, a modern-day wizard entrenched in a level of myth and legend; indeed Smith’s entire run was characterised by how the Doctor was viewed by the rest of the universe, how he tried to reinvent himself as a different man, before facing his ultimate, unspoken sins at the end of Smith’s run. To time with the series fiftieth anniversary, Moffat literally asked, in dialogue and subtext: Doctor… Who?