Rose Tyler—The Girl Who Doesn’t Just Let Things Happen

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Rose Tyler—The Girl Who Doesn’t Just Let Things Happen

            Amy Pond waited years for her Doctor to return and retrieve her; Rose Tyler forced open the TARDIS control panel and built her own path of return.  She did this, not once, but twice, crossing the void to return to his aid once more in series four.  Rose may be of a lower working class than the audience expects the Doctor to accept as a companion, but you will never meet a more fearless and loyal companion. 

            Russell T. Davies, show-runner for series 1-4, purposely set out to break the companion mould with Rose.  She’s an every-day character—her room is always a mess, she doesn’t look attractive when she wakes up, she works a dead-end job that she hates, her mother is constantly pestering her and her boyfriend is acceptable—but doesn’t fulfill everything she truly believes she wants from this world.  In short, when we first meet Rose, she’s settled in almost every facet of her life.  Her mother encourages her to stay in an unsatisfying job at a local shop, in the process sending the message to Rose that she isn’t worth a higher profile or paying position.  Mickey is an adequate boyfriend—he never shows any signs of potential danger; but he, much like Rose’s mother, discourages her from jumping at the Doctor’s offer of adventure, preferring she simply settle back into the comfort of the life they know together. 

            While neither of these are heinous crimes on the part of the offender, they are not the best messages to send to your daughter or significant other.  Tyler, at the end of Rose, has finally reached a point where she can politely decline their insistence that she hold herself back from her true potential.  She’s been waiting for quite some time for an opportunity to jump, and the Doctor—with his little blue box and outstretched hand—gives her just that. 

            I’ve read quite a bit of criticism in the Doctor Who fandom on Rose’s actions here.  There seems to be a somewhat common conception that Rose’s actions are selfish at the close of her introductory episode.  I will not deny that this is partially true.  However, as Mickey literally clings to her stomach and begs her to return home with him so they can do the pub quiz, I find myself muttering in disbelief that she didn’t take the Doctor’s offer the first time around.  On the second offer, Rose doesn’t hesitate for one moment.  Yes, it is selfish of her to leave behind her mother and horribly clingy boyfriend, but, at the age of nineteen, that’s exactly what Rose is supposed to be—selfish. 

            That isn’t to say that Rose is necessarily narcissistic.  On the contrary, some of her larger decisions through the course of series one and two will show us just how unselfish she has the potential to be.  At nineteen, she’s still learning, which is precisely why spending her time with the Doctor is the best possible decision for her. 

            Over the course of series one, as they adapt and learn from each other, we see a mutual trust and reliance build between the pair.  There is a tension between the two, but it doesn’t seem overtly romantic.  It’s more in the sense of complementation—wherein they each positively influence the other.  Rose alleviates Nine’s PTSD, softening his genocidal tendencies and reviving his affections for the human race.  Nine instills a sense of independence in Rose—allowing her to rely on someone other than her mother or her boyfriend for guidance.  Through this counseling, Nine breeds a strong moral code and belief system in Tyler, developing her character into someone who simply can’t sit by and watch the world end—a trait which will come in handy for her numerous times over the next few years. 

            The first half of series one shows us a Rose Tyler we can relate to.  She grows angry and resistant as she sees the stark differences between her human thoughts and Nine’s alien conceptions.  In The Unquiet Dead, we see just how conflicting their respective thinking processes can be.  The Doctor is more than willing to allow the gas-spirits the use of cadavers.  Rose, on the other hand, serves as our audience advocate as she shows her revulsion at the very thought.  By the end of the episode, however, as it is revealed that the weird and creepy gas-based spirits were playing the Doctor for a fool, they appear to have found a far better state of sync, especially in their agreement that they do not wish to die in Cardiff. 

            They will still run into conflicting views as they carry on, as the Doctor is, at his very core, different from Rose.  But, as time goes on, they find a rhythm that allows them to work together to reach a conclusion on the best course of action.  Father’s Day is really the last time they will suffer a disagreement on a large scale, as Rose selfishly—yes, I’ll definitely give you that one—decides to try to save her father.  It is revealed that this is why she jumped at the “it travels in time,” bit. 

            While this is a selfish motive to join the Doctor, it isn’t beyond our realm of understanding.  A pressing need to restore someone we’ve lost—or change some other aspect of our own history that we regret—would be a heavy temptation, one that I don’t doubt would be difficult to refuse.

            After this episode, however, an understanding passes between them.  She never again doubts the Doctor as a firm dedication to him sets in.  Several of Rose’s critics have said her motivation to stay aboard the TARDIS simply moves from one man to another—from her father to the Doctor—after Father’s Day.  They often say that Rose is obviously in love with the Doctor and that serves as her primary motivation for continuing to travel with him after her goal of saving her father failed. 

            There is, of course, a very simple defense against this argument, and his name is Captain Jack Harkness.  Captain Jack crashes into life on the TARDIS in The Empty Child, which directly follows Father’s Day.  Rose is immediately smitten with the Captain—who isn’t?—and, as a result, shows the purely platonic state of her relationship with the Doctor for the following two episodes.  There are, of course, hints at something else developing, particularly as the Doctor breaks his own rules and proceeds to share a dance with his companion.  However, the feelings that are developing appear to be more on the Doctor’s side than Rose’s, for the time being. 

            As the Captain’s two-parter proceeds, Tyler grows to see that Jack, much like herself, has a bit of growing up to do.  He isn’t an overall horrible person, but he’s ambitious and opportunistic in all the wrong ways.  This serves to readjust her perspective on the Doctor, as she takes note of his approach to the situation in stark contrast to Captain Jack’s. 

            But their connection isn’t fully explored until the closing two-parter of series one.  In The Parting of the Ways, we have several revolutionary examples set by a companion, several of which future companion Clara will follow six years later.  But, more on that later—their commonalities could fill an entire post of their own.  Perhaps one day they will.  The Doctor tricks Rose into returning to her own time, via the TARDIS.  Stuck and miserable, she, of course, goes to get some chips with her mother and Mickey.  Always with the chips, Rose. 

            While out, her mother and Mickey attempt to persuade her yet again to settle into her current position.  They make a concentrated effort to tell her that the Doctor sent her back to London for her own safety and she should, therefore, obey his commands and hold steady. 

            But Rose Tyler is no longer one for obeying commands, no matter who is doing the ordering.  She’s spent years listening to Mickey and her mother, settling into a job she hates, settling into a relationship that bores her.  Finally, she’s had enough settling.

Without her by the Doctor’s side, Rose imagines Nine as alone and struggling.  She isn’t wrong—had she not persisted and fought to return, Nine never would’ve managed to simultaneously defeat the Daleks and preserve the safety of the Earth—well, to be fair, future Earth.  But that didn’t matter to Rose, so it doesn’t matter to me. 

            Her frustration results in one of her finest speeches.  Throughout series one, I had been on the fence about both the Doctor and Rose.  In the case of Rose, there was just so much pink—yellow and pink, to be exact.  She was so very feminine, a characteristic that tends to chaff me from time to time, if it’s in excess.  But, much like with Elle Woods, I grew to see Tyler’s softness as a delicacy—an advantage, not a limitation.   With time, I grew to see her sentimentality as a raw and honest trait—similarly to the keen sting in Half-Blood Prince that finally allowed me to see Granger as something more than just a perfect know-it-all. 

            No matter what Rose Tyler is feeling, she feels it strongly.  Her speech in The Parting of the Ways allowed me to see a whole new layer to Rose Tyler—one she learned purely from her time spent with the Doctor. Rose yells, throwing the chips—that’s when you know things have gotten serious—and demanding that the Doctor taught her better than to cowardly sit and await the end of the world, “you don’t just give up.  You don’t just let things happen.  You make a stand.  You say ‘no’!  You have the guts to do what’s right when everyone else just runs away.”  I honestly believe the Rose we first met wouldn’t have had the courage required to not only make this sweeping statement, but to follow through on it. 

After these words, Jackie and Mickey cut back on their criticisms of Rose’s time spent with the Doctor.  They may not always see her changes in character as positive, but they understand that she now has a renewed perspective on what she wants from life—to fight till the end of the world to keep her planet safe—and she’ll do anything to insure she gets what she wants.  Some could call this selfish, I would call it selfless. 

            Again, critics may argue that Rose’s actions to return to the Doctor in The Parting of the Ways are motivated purely out of a love for the Doctor.  While I do believe she’s grown affectionate of the Time Lord, I do not believe that is her only interest in returning.  Her planet is at risk of falling into the species she fears the most in the entire universe.  Rose has repeatedly witnessed the Doctor lay his life on the line for the sake of saving Earth and the human race.  By his example, she can no longer passively sit back and allow her home to be destroyed. 

            She pushes and struggles to get the TARDIS to be operational, in the process unintentionally taking the vastness of the time vortex into her mind and creating a persona that likes to call itself the Bad Wolf.  Bad Wolf flies the TARDIS back to Satellite 5, where it makes its presence known as it destroys all of the Daleks, saving the Earth in an efficiently expeditious operation. 

            Nine, however, isn’t as fortunate.  He sees Rose and knows instantly what must be done—he must remove the vortex from her mind and take it into his, which will kill him, as it would’ve eventually done to her.  As to whether the kiss was necessary, I can’t say.  However, he is the one dying here, so I say que sera sera.  He doesn’t hesitate, taking the necessary actions to save his companion.  When she wakes, dazed and confused, he doesn’t even have enough time to explain the procedure of regeneration before he goes. 

            This mutual action of sacrifice has a stabilizing effect on the relationship between them.  They each placed their lives on the line for the other—not to mention for the fate of Earth—an action that undeniably alters the alliance between them for the rest of their time together.  In essence, they are on equal footing from here on out. 

Prior to this, Rose was certainly a far better match than the companion tended to be on Old Who, but she still relied on the Doctor.  She fell into traps—typically due to the fact that she’s a civilian in unfamiliar territory.  However, with her proactively taking steps to save her own planet and her Doctor, she is placed in the position of the savior—a post previous companions haven’t been privy too.  The chain of command no longer exists between them—their roles are equal and indistinguishable.

            While Rose will continue to occasionally fall for pratfalls—typically, it should be mentioned, when Moffat is at the writing helm—from here on out, the Rose we see with the Tenth Doctor only flourishes further towards fortitude.  In the absence of a conscious Doctor, Rose is the one to step up in The Christmas Invasion, going so far as to confront the Sycorax, despite the fact that they could kill her in a moment flat.  Rose defends the action to Harriet Jones, Prime Minister, saying that never stopped him.  Sure, the words that come out of her mouth may sound like gibberish, but she’s trying and it’s so very human of her—as the Doctor would say—and I feel assured he wouldn’t be the least bit disappointed.

            Series two is very up and down for Rose.  Rose struggles with the introduction of a new and unexpected Doctor.  The transition from Nine to Ten is very authentically done. The Children in Need special that takes place between The Parting of the Ways and The Christmas Invasion shows Rose, in a sense, testing the Doctor, asking questions to see if it really is the man she knew before.  He passes the test, but she still has lingering concerns.

As Ten sleeps his way through the bulk of The Christmas Invasion, Rose battles to come to terms with the fact that this man is supposedly the same as the Doctor she knows.  Her voice cracks as she talks to Jackie about why he didn’t warn her this could happen.  The hurt she shows here vindicates her character in a way, showing me—in a now very Granger-esq way—that she’s human.  We’ve seen that Rose Tyler can save the world, but she is, at her core, still a human being.  She’s vulnerable, particularly on the point of the Doctor, who she had previously counted as her best friend.  The fact that he neglected to tell her one of the most important aspects of his abilities as a Time Lord hurts her; she feels betrayed.  Had she not reacted in this way, the interaction would’ve felt forced and fraudulent. 

            By the end of the episode, Ten has proven to Rose that he is still the same man—saving the Earth one opponent at a time.  With this, he has quickly reassured Rose of his identity and earned Rose’s trust once again and they are set to resume their adventures across the universe. 

            The down side of series two—for both Rose and the Doctor—is the increasing dependability they develop for each other.  Billie Piper defends Rose’s extreme endurance, saying it is a direct result of her near loss of him once before.  Watching Nine die before her—due to an occurrence that was in some way her fault, albeit accidentally—shook Rose to the bone.  She does not wish for a repeat of the debacle and, therefore, holds steadfastly to him. 

            The Doctor isn’t guiltless in this situation either.  He becomes equally devoted to her, although not in the same carefree way Tyler appears capable of.  He warns her, repeatedly, that forever for her is not forever for him. 

Regardless, they carry on this way throughout series two, to the point where, at their farewell, the Doctor goes to great lengths to bid his companion goodbye.  The first parting of Ten and Rose is one of the most painful the show gives us.  We see uncharacteristic declarations and actions from both characters here—characters who are obviously drawn to extreme measures due to the abruptness of their separation.  The Doctor breaks one of his own rules—burning up a sun just to say goodbye. 

That sun can do a lot, but it can’t allow Ten to cross the void and enter Pete’s World, indicating that the two can talk, but not touch—at least, not without destroying the entirety of both universes in the process.  Rose scoffs and responds she doesn’t care. 

            Some would say we’re seeing a relapse to the Rose we met at the beginning of the series—a girl who is selfish at her core.  While what she is saying is inherently selfish, I would argue that it is a very human response (not to mention relatable, but more on that later).  She feels as though the world screwed them both over, by not allowing them at least a proper goodbye and, therefore, feels the need to do whatever is required to set things right between them. 

            However, if an audience member truly thinks Rose feels this way—that she would risk the fate of the entire planet—one, I might mention, she has taken far bigger risks to save in the past—they are missing the deeper point of Rose.  She may feel bitter at the burn of the cruelty of the universe, but she would never go so far as to ruin it to put out her own indignant fires. 

            When we meet Rose again, she’s gone through quite a few changes.  She’s much tougher and resilient—and she now comes packed with a gun.  Her work with Torchwood may have hardened her exterior, but the Rose we still know is clearly evident, particularly when she is finally allowed to reunite with her Doctor.  She keeps calm as she leans over an injured Ten, but allows her emotions to show as Jack is forced to pull her away from a supposedly regenerating Doctor several minutes later.  However, nothing confirms the preservation of our familiar Rose than her reaction to Ten’s maintained hair face, as they both smile at finally a proper reunion. 

            Perhaps the most troubling aspect of Rose’s series four reunion with the Doctor is her ending.  Despite the many repeated viewings I’ve subjected myself to of Doctor Who, I still cannot sort out my own feelings on the matter of her relationship with the human-hand-Doctor—otherwise known as TenToo.  I feel a general apprehension on the issue, knowing that it was most likely the appropriate thing for her to do, but not necessarily the right thing for her.  I was delighted, upon the completion of research for this article, to discover Davies struggled with the separation as well, saying “Rose has to be stupid to fall in love with Doctor #2,” because she’s only “doing what the plot demands, not what she’d demand.” 

            This statement from Davis summarizes my every complaint with the settlement of Rose with TenToo.  Rose appears incredibly out of character in her decision at the end of Journey’s End.  The Doctor’s Rose fights—never settles.  She spent her entire life prior to her introduction to the Doctor doing just that—submitting.  He taught her to be courageous, stand up, push back, demand what you want.  While TenToo does utter the words she needs to hear, and, essentially does need her in the same way Nine did, it still unsettles me to see her settling back into her old means of submission. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Rose a good role model?  When we meet Rose, she’s docile, never standing up for her ambitions, constantly in a state of mediocre malleability.  However, the character Rose grows into after exposure to the influence of the Doctor is a much better example to be set.  She refuses to stand by and not help, even if she doesn’t believe she’ll be able to do much.  She’s ambitious—easily stating what she wants and eagerly going after it.  Add to this her training at Torchwood and the results are a definitively durable example of a good role model.  However, despite the fact that I am able to find value in Rose beyond her interest in the Doctor, Mickey or Jack, that does seem to be the item that gets applied to her most often.  Frequently, fans spend far too much time dissecting her feelings for the various males who surround her and too little time dissecting the complexities of her own character.  This is most certainly partly her own fault, as that particularly pestering femininity that I mentioned previously does tend to portray her as flirtatious.  While this is not necessarily a negative trait, it puts far too many interpretations of her stuck in the role of the romantic interest, as opposed to where she should be in her potential as a leading lady. 

Role Model Rating:  6/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Rose relatable?  I often think of Rose as Amy Pond’s foil.  Amy is without fault—well, to the men who surround her, anyway.  I find plenty of fault in her—she’s beautiful with never a hair or cosmetic out of place.  She’s so beautiful, she’s actually a model for a living.  Rose, on the other hand, is imperfect from head to toe—sometimes literally, as she wakes up with her hair a tousled mess.  Tyler works in a shop, a job she absolutely and admittedly hates—not in a job that allows for an outlet of creativity and, therefore, provides an inherent sense of happiness.  Being miserable in your job is something the general audience can certainly relate to, as I’ve found very few people who are able to find full-fledged felicity in their job.  However, due to Rose’s modest social standing and occupation, there is a smattering of fans who look down upon her.  The Doctor’s affection for someone of Rose’s chav standing—a chav is a character who attempts to appear fashionable, yet who lacks the monetary means to really convincingly portray the standing—seems impossible to some.  In short, some fans see a distinct and uncrossable divide between the Doctor—who is intelligent and brilliant—and Rose who is, at her very core, extremely ordinary.  However, in his own words, the Doctor has yet to find someone who is unimportant.  Because of this, it is her commonplace standing that gives her credit on the Doctor’s behalf; she may see herself as common, but the Doctor senses a deeper potential in her from the start.  The everyday feel of the character, and the elevated potential she eventually accomplishes, allows the audience—well, those of us who aren’t too busy hating her anyway—to relate to her deeply.  For, if ordinary shop-girl Rose Tyler can have a deeper purpose and become the most important person to someone as invaluable as the Doctor, why can’t we?

Relatability Rating:  9/10

Tenth Doctor—I Didn’t Want Him to Go

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Tenth Doctor—I Didn’t Want Him to Go

            In my limited New Who viewing experiences, I have noticed a trend with the regeneration of the Doctor.  Generally speaking, the new incarnation of the same man with a different face and personality will be notably the opposite of his predecessor.  In the case of Nine and Ten, one has no hair and the other has great hair is a very serious, somber man who suffers from PTSD due to his actions in the Time War; the other, while still feeling the sharp sting of his double genocide, has allowed his close companionship with Rose Tyler to lighten the burden, freeing him to become a completely different man. 

            The Tenth Doctor is animated, witty, chatty, brazen—although, the British and me, who am I kidding? would call him cheeky.  Typically, he’s relatively buoyant.  However, it should be noted, not every aspect of previous incarnations magically disappear with regeneration—Ten still holds a bit of Nine’s anger below his skin, if only tightly-lidded.  He will give anyone a chance, firmly believing that everyone is important and has the potential to pave their own path.  However, if you make the mistake of betraying him once, all his mercy is gone and he is suddenly almost as unforgiving as Nine was at his default setting.  Harriet Jones, Prime Minister can attest to this—six words was all it took Ten to destroy her political career.

            Ten has Rose Tyler to thank for his new empathetic abilities.   His new persona was born out of his love for Rose; you can see her influence all over him.  David Tennant, in an interview about The Christmas Invasion, stated that there was a line in the original script that indicated his new southern English accent was the result of an imprint from his time with Rose, and his developing affection for her. 

Nine’s accent—a distinctly thicker Northern English brogue—had been just one of several barriers that had existed between him and his companion, most of which are rectified with this new incarnation.  If we can accept that it was Davies’ intention for the Doctor’s accent to change due to Rose’s influence, we can then carry this over into other aspects of the regeneration.  Several times Mickey and Jackie make a point of commenting on Nine’s age in comparison to Rose.  This is not an irrational complaint—the age difference between Eccleston and Piper is eighteen years, placing him distinctly in a fatherly type position as opposed to the romantic vibe the characters seemed to be projecting.  Tennant and Piper, on the other hand, have eleven years between them; while this is still a decently steep age difference, Ten’s vivacious personality allows him to feel much younger than Nine. 

I find it interesting that, despite the fact that the Doctor is literally hundreds of years old, both Smith and Jackie immediately comment on the age constraint, a criticism that only becomes more frequent after they learn the truth about his age.  Truthfully, he’s several hundred years too old for her—not to mention the fact that he will never truly age or die, or so we thought at the time.  However, as soon as Tennant enters the scene, the age issue is no longer an issue at all.  I think the sudden approval of those surrounding the pair makes an interesting statement on society’s expectations for age in a relationship, not to mention society’s superficiality, as I believe the sudden wave of approval was certainly tied to the fact that David Tennant is distinctly more attractive than Eccleston, but that’s another argument for another post. 

            Nine was a project for Rose.  He was so miserable after the Time War, having developed a particular hatred for himself due to his necessary actions.  Tyler, being naturally a very compassionate individual, puts the Doctor back in touch with the race he truly cares for, reminding him of his inherent affection for humans.  By the time Nine regenerates at the close of series one, the Doctor is a bit more at peace with himself, however his sass would never quite fade, following him straight into Ten’s first big speech in The Christmas Invasion. 

            Series one and, therefore, by association, the Ninth Doctor were my first Doctor Who experiences.  I won’t deny that there were times I had to push through the somewhat lagging first series, at times forcing myself to watch.  However, I was fortunate enough to have a close friend who insisted I not only watch series one, but reassured me it would pay off in the end. 

            She had, of course, been correct.  I don’t think you can truly appreciate the complexities of Ten—particularly in terms of his relationship with Rose—without first viewing Nine’s reign on the TARDIS. 

            While I won’t deny that I teared up at Eccleston’s “you were fantastic and…you know what?  So was I,” I was beyond eager for Tennant to make his entrance.  I had been introduced to him almost eight years prior to my initial viewing of Doctor Who, when he played Barty Crouch Jr.—and, in the process, added yet another name to my rather long list of attractive villains I’m unashamedly a fan of—in Goblet of Fire.  However, I was still measurably wary; his few seconds in The Parting of the Ways—which is ironically the title of the chapter Crouch Jr. receives his Dementer’s Kiss in Goblet of Fire—wasn’t enough to give me much of an indication as to how the regeneration process could change things for his adventures with Rose. 

            I patiently sat through The Christmas Invasion, in which Tennant spends the bulk of his time in a comatose state.  Another friend, one which I got hooked on Doctor Who—because, let’s be honest, that’s just what we Doctor Who fans do—and actually very much enjoyed Nine, was gingerly (get it?) distrustful of Ten.  I assured her the Christmas special would persuade her.  I remember distinctly receiving a message from her while she viewed The Christmas Invasion for the first time, which read “how is he supposed to convince me in this episode if all he does is sleep through it?”  I responded with a simple “just you wait.”

            I was, of course, anticipating Ten’s big speech towards the end of the Christmas episode to win her over—and Tennant didn’t disappoint.  I clearly remember my own first viewing of the scene, my mouth agape and rough chuckles escaping my mouth, creating a most certainly unattractive visual.  I didn’t care in the slightest as he threw out a quote from The Lion King, much to Rose’s—not to mention my—delight. 

            A Doctor well versed in the foray of popular human culture wasn’t something I was familiar with—although I’m told Four and Five excel at it as well.  I had expected a certain level of sass—although, I won’t deny that Ten took this to new levels with a blatant charisma that Nine, as much as I have grown to like him, just wasn’t capable of.  His ability to turn one question—“Am I…ginger?”—into a conversation that was inherently flirtatious impressed me.  This was a Doctor I could see claiming as mine. 

            The questions Ten asks as he continues to delay the Sycorax are marvelous, especially to someone like me who had no background knowledge on what it meant to regenerate.  He wants to know what sort of man he is now—well, rude and not ginger, obviously.  He has the memories of all his previous selves, but he knows he isn’t the same man he was as Nine, who certainly never had the moxy to ask if he was sexy before blatantly winking at Rose. 

            Through series two, Ten and Rose grow very close, largely in part to the newly extended version of the list of their commonalities.  They grow further reliant on each other as the series progresses, eventually reaching the point where they both simply accept that Rose will be with him forever, despite Ten’s continued protestations and reminders that forever for her will not be forever for him. 

            This integration has cataclysmic consequences, all of which come raining down upon both of them at the end of series two.  Due to frequent trips in and out of a parallel universe, Rose is forced through a vortex with the rest of her family and lands in Pete’s World, where she will supposedly reside for the rest of her life. 

            The separation is strenuous on Ten’s sense of self.  While his personality will always hold a gregarious gob quality to it, he will never again be as ecstatic or optimistic about humans, or races in general, in his post-Rose reality.  He certainly never proceeds to an Eleven-like disregard for the preservation of a species, but he only becomes progressively less forgiving from this point forward. 

            Add the Doctor’s loss of the Master at the end of series three and the result is a distinct melancholy.  The Face of Boe had assured Ten he was not alone in this world—a fact which had eventually proven true, only to have his status as the last of his kind reaffirmed once again as the Master dies in his arms, refusing to regenerate. 

            Series three also carries the weight of Martha’s unrequited affections for the Doctor—feelings he can clearly see, but does not return and, therefore, decides it would be better to instead mention Rose repeatedly attempt to ignore them in the hopes that it will not become an issue.  He is, of course, incorrect, resulting in Martha’s exit at the end of the series, adding more misery to the Doctor’s growing heap. 

            If the pain caused by Rose’s expeditious exodus from the Doctor’s life was a 10/10 on his scale of emotional turmoil, the horrendous ordeal of his loss of DonnaNoble could easily ring in an eight.  While there is no romantic inclination between Donna and the Doctor, (thank god.  Martha made me beyond tired of that scheme) he does still consider her his closest friend—someone he could rely on in a world full of people with ulterior motives and hidden agendas. 

            It wasn’t just the fact that he lost Donna that plagued him.  It was the manner in which he lost her—forced to rid her of all her best memories, in which she starred as the most important woman in the whole universe—that truly bothered him.  He saw a beautifully brilliant potential in Donna that everyone else—her grandfather excluded—seemed eager to neglect, or worse yet—scorn. 

            The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End two-parter, while ravishingly riveting in terms of reunions, holds a hidden heartbreak in its depths.  Everyone gets an almost happy ending—Rose spends her life with the wrong Doctor, Donna is content but never happy as she fails to see her full potential, and the Doctor settles his companions into less than ideal arrangements—particularly from his point-of-view (that look of pain as Rose and Weird-Hand-Doctor (otherwise known as TenToo) share the kiss they never really got to experience kills me every time)—while simultaneously resolving himself to a life of reclusion once more.  As if his lack of anything remotely close to a happy ending isn’t enough, there is the turmoil he experiences on his path towards there, as he is forced to witness the soldiers he has morphed his companions into—Jack and Martha with their bombs, Rose with her gun and Donna with her Time Lord Lady brain and technological fighting power.  As Davros oh-so elatedly points out to him, he has created in them the very thing he hates most—a human with a gun and no common sense.  Although this is not strictly true, you can see the pain the revelation that anything remotely close to this has happened registers on his expression immediately. 

            After this round of losses, Ten only goes further off the deep-end.  The Doctor we are exposed to in the bulk of the specials that take place between series four and five is barely even recognizable as Ten.  By The Waters of Mars, gone are his joking comments and sarcastic attitude.  Certainly, in the start of the episode, his excessive excitement is still in place as he realizes just who he’s talking to.  But, by the end of the special, when he has decided he is above the laws of time and, therefore, has the authority to decide who should die and who should live, I ache for the Ten I fell for—the Doctor who (get it?) naively enjoyed his adventures with Rose Tyler in series two. 

            His disastrous decision-making, which leads to Adelaide Brooke’s suicide, is not excusable, however neither is it beyond understanding.  Everything and everyone he has ever cared about in his Tenth (Eleventh?  Damn War Doctor) incarnation has been taken from him.  And now, on top of all of his loss, he’s being told it is his time to regenerate. 

            In regards to his regeneration, he refuses to go down without a fight—an approach that fails to shock me, as that is generally his default procedure.  He puts off his reunion with the Ood, specifically because he knows that will be the end of this face—the face and the personality he quite prefers to the roulette that is regeneration. 

            As he continues to fight, he continues to lose.  The End of Time reintroduces both the Master and a general population of Time Lords, in the process potentially ridding the Doctor of the perpetual loneliness that has occupied him since series three; although he isn’t necessarily elated at their renewed presence.  And he’s correct to be wary; just as he and the Master begin to understand each other, they must eliminate the Time Lords who, in turn, take the Doctor’s eternal enemy with them, stripping him once again of all that could potentially hold a connection for him in the world. 

            Regardless of this final loss, he is alive and intact, if a bit injured.  For the smallest of moments, he allows himself to feel joy at the prospect that he had survived the ordeal.  The Ood were wrong, he assures himself, as he smiles that bright smile. 

            Tap, tap-tap-tap.  Wilf knocks.  All along the audience had assumed it was the Master’s drumbeat that would be Ten’s undoing, not the polite request from an elderly man for a door to be opened.  But the second the knock comes, Ten’s relief drops instantly.  Tears are back in his eyes as he turns towards Wilf’s precarious position and quickly explains the predicament, through technobabble that will undeniably bewilder Wilfred. 

            But he gets the gist—trapped and dead are now his labels.  However, Mott knows the Doctor far too well to think he will simply allow him to retain his fatal position.  We see one final display of the new Ten I’m not-so fond of, as he vindictively curses that he could’ve done more—so much more, if given the chance.  He damns Wilfred as insignificant—unimportant—when in comparison to himself, the Lord of Time. 

Had he allowed Wilf to die in his place, I strongly believe Ten wouldn’t have continued to hold the title of most popular New Who Doctor.  But, alas, finally the expletives escaping his mouth crash upon his ears.  Ten’s eyes drift to Wilfred as he reminds himself that this—a meager human being—is more important than him.  He has other lives, other chances; Wilfred Mott, grandfather and sole support system of his very best friend in the entire universe, does not.  No one, he reaffirms, is unimportant—especially not Wilfred Mott.

            Wilfred tries, of course. He pleads, begs, the Doctor to allow him to take his place—insists that he’s had his time.  No, the Doctor persists, he’s had his.  Before Mott can protest again, the Doctor gives him his final warning, enters the chamber and absorbs the radiation in the grandfather’s place. 

            His fight still isn’t concluded.  My Ten is back as he continues to evade the strong pull of regeneration, visiting each of his companions one last time—giving Donna a wedding present, saving Mickey and Martha, negotiating a date for Jack, and, finally, stopping in for one last look at the girl who worked at a shop—the girl who saved his life far more times than he can count.  He sees her, groans in pain as he asks her what year it is.  The disappointment on his face as he realizes he’s failed—he’s come too soon—breaks my heart.  She doesn’t recognize him and it devastates him.  The Doctor shakes it off, insisting on cherishing this one last reward as he gives her one last Rose-smile and tells her he feels certain she’ll have a great year.  One great year, indeed. 

From Gary King to Nicholas Angel:  Is Ten a good role model?  Ten is not perfect, as demonstrated by his destructive viewpoints towards the end of his time.  He is, however, a much better role model and example than Nine,—or Eleven, for that matter—who, upon our first introduction, seems very angry and aloof.  Ten, directly after the cooling influence of Rose, has become far more compassionate—firmly believing that all people and races are equal and important.  Preservation of people and races is, therefore, a high priority for Ten, one he never really loses sight of, even in the darker period of his later days.  This value and respect for all forms of life is an exceptional example to set, one I think more people could use an exposure to.  However, this does not mean he allows anyone and everyone to walk over him—he is no pushover and could never be described as gullible.  He has faith in all who surround him, until they betray him, at which time, that Nine deep sense of right and wrong and desire to extract punishment exposes itself once again.  This combination creates an exceptional mixture and sets an extraordinary example of how to toe a particularly pressing line successfully.  Everyone is important, but none are beyond retribution—“no second chances.  I’m that sort of a man.”  And an exceptional one at that.

Role Model Rating:  9/10

From Peter Parker to Spider-Man:  Is Ten relatable? Ten is social—always talking, always joking, always with a smile on his face, even if it’s a facade.  This automatically inclines us to like him—a fact proven as he is consistently voted the most popular Doctor, topping Four as the previous favorite.  To me, his popularity isn’t based purely on his Rose-smile and his cheeky remarks.  Above all, he suffers.  This makes him relatable—seeing a brilliant man like the Doctor suffer from hardships and loss just like we do humanizes him, despite his alien origins.  Sarah Jane counters his argument that he is the loneliest man in the universe by stating the fact that he has the biggest family in the universe.  But, at the end of the day, his family leaves; they each have a life to get back to.  Eventually, the annual family Christmas party must come to an end and we must split ways once again for another chunk of time. The case of his more permanent sense of loss isn’t beyond our reach either. We may not lose as intensely as the Doctor does, but we each have lost someone—either through death, betrayal or some other form of injustice.  Ten’s holier-than-time mentality towards his end deducts from his resonance as relatable, but it cannot steal all of his credit.  As he continues to grasp at straws to prove he can control at least one thing in his life, he discovers it is akin to grabbing at smoke—his grasps for control in a virtually uncontrollable reality is, at its very core, powerfully familiar to those stuck travelling through every day life, the slow way, sans a Police Public Call Box. 

Relatability Rating:  7/10