Allow me, for a moment, to channel the time-traveling wonders of the TARDIS and transport us back to the 2007 adventure, "The Shakespeare Code." In this episode, Martha Jones, the pioneering full-time Black companion in the storied history of Doctor Who, finds herself in Elizabethan England. With a touch of anxiety, she inquiries, "Am I alright? I won't be hauled off as a slave or anything, will I?" The Tenth Doctor, puzzled by her fears, prompts her to elaborate. She gestures towards herself, remarking, "Well, I'm not exactly white, if you haven't noticed." He responds by pointing out his own non-human nature and offers, "Just stroll around like you own the joint. It works for me." While Martha's safety in that historical era remains speculative, the Doctor's dismissive demeanor did little to address her legitimate concerns.
Flash forward over a decade, and we find Russell T Davies once again at the helm of Doctor Who, with Belinda and the Fifteenth Doctor forming the first-ever TARDIS team comprising solely of individuals of color. In this new chapter, it's the Doctor who is imparting wisdom to his companion about how race shapes their journey through time. Miami, 1952, is a far cry from Elizabethan England, especially with its whites-only diner and movie theater serving as stark reminders of segregation. As Belinda grapples with this harsh reality, the Doctor offers a profound insight, "Sometimes I wait for people to change the world. Until then, I live in it, and I shine." His words ring true as he quite literally illuminates the scene, introducing us to Lux, the god of light (voiced by the magnificent Alan Cumming).
Lux is an eccentric character, and the episode embraces this quirky essence, weaving a tale filled with whimsy and experimentation. We witness Lux's prowess before we even learn his identity. Bathed in moonlight, he brings to life Mr. Ring-a-Ding, a singing, blue cartoon character adorned with a pig nose. He terrifies a movie theater audience by emerging from the screen, warning them not to provoke his laughter. When the Doctor and Belinda arrive at the crime scene—drawn there by the vortex indicator, affectionately dubbed the "vindicator" by the Doctor—they discover flowers outside the theater and a police notice on its chained doors. All fifteen members of that audience have been missing for months.
Upon landing, Belinda can't resist the allure of stepping into a different era. The Doctor, with his boundless charisma, encourages her, "This is the fun part, honey." His playful antics, from tossing her down the hallway to change her clothes to doing a little dance as they rush back in costume, are infectious. His exuberance is palpable, his body language open and welcoming. When he spots the locked cinema, his curiosity is piqued. "You're Scooby-Doo," Belinda teases. Offended, he retorts, "Honey, I'm Velma," his playfulness adding a layer of charm to the scene.
Despite the vindicator's readiness to proceed, the Doctor persuades Belinda to delve deeper into the diner's mysteries. An accommodating employee and the mother of one of the missing boys, Mrs. Lowenstein, offer to bend the rules at the ungodly hour of 4 a.m., when the world is asleep. Belinda's resolve wavers slightly upon hearing Mrs. Lowenstein's heartfelt belief that the TARDIS, resembling a police box, brings a glimmer of hope. Their investigation takes a turn when they discover that Reginald Pye, the projectionist, has been playing movies to an empty theater every night. Belinda, now fully engrossed in the enigma, assumes the role of Fred to the Doctor's Velma.
Mr. Pye watches in dismay as the duo breaks into the theater and encounters the living, breathing Mr. Ring-a-Ding. Though it's unclear how this ties into the powers of light, the animated character has his own soundtrack, complete with a record-scratching sound effect when the Doctor inquires about the missing individuals. The Doctor's amusement at Mr. Ring-a-Ding's repetitive answers turns to realization—this is linked to the gods. This suspicion is confirmed when Mr. Ring-a-Ding chuckles to the tune of the Toymaker. Introducing himself as the god of light, Lux boasts of being "the dazzle in the heart of the Pantheon, the glint in the eyes of the mad, and the final sight before one plunges into the abyss." However, Lux's grandeur fails to instill the same fear as Sutekh, the self-proclaimed god of death, whose eerie might set a high standard. Even Lux's harbinger, a movie marquee advertising a nonexistent Rocky Hudson film titled The Harvest Bringer, lacks the drama of the previous gods' human vessels.
To buy time, Mr. Pye plays a cartoon that, inexplicably, forces Lux to dance and sing along, breaking free from Mr. Ring-a-Ding's scripted routine. This respite allows them to uncover Reggie's tragic backstory—he continues "feeding" Lux films because the animated entity can restore his deceased wife to dance with him once more. When Lux catches up, his cryptic hints about his defeat ("Just ponder, what have I yet to accomplish?") are followed swiftly by his transformation of Belinda and the Doctor into two-dimensional images, mirroring his capture of the fifteen missing individuals.
The Doctor and Belinda find themselves dropped into a 2-D cartoon world. They must confront their deepest fears—including the Doctor's unspoken genocide of his people, a painful truth he reveals when Belinda broaches the subject of "Timelordia"—to gain the depth required to transcend their flattened existence. As they attempt to pull themselves from their confined frame, they're Suddenly, they're back in the theater, confronted by an accusatory Mrs. Lowenstein accompanied by a police officer. Her earlierpretense of calmness, touching the Doctor's hand and engaging in conversation at the diner, now shatters into suspicion and stereotype. The Doctor, after a moment of disappointment, notes the officer's uniform's inaccuracies, revealing this racist scenario as a figment of Lux's imagination.
The Doctor and Belinda attempt a daring maneuver, locking eyes with the camera lens and willing themselves forward. This audacious act propels them from the confines of a television screen, where they encounter ardent "Doctor Who" enthusiasts: Lizzie, Hassan, and Robyn. Indeed, the meta-narrative deepens. RTD subtly pokes fun at online spoilers and the unwarranted adoration for Steven Moffat's "Blink." The fans Remark that the episode's climax seems "somewhat predictable," given Lux's earlier revelation about film stock's explosive nature. They appear to have grasped the enigmatic deity's hint about his limitations, though they wisely refrain from revealing the solution. The fans have achieved a level of self-awareness, realizing their fictional existence and role in Lux's intricate trap. Everyone present concludes that upon the Doctor and Belinda's return, this trio will fade into oblivion like a fleeting image. After a heartfelt declaration of affection, Lizzie dismantles the frame, bidding them farewell.
The Doctor and Belinda finally liberate themselves by pushing against the celluloid barrier. The ensuing heat could either be their salvation or their undoing, but Belinda embraces the uncertainty with remarkable equanimity. Upon their triumphant return, Belinda chides the Doctor for neglecting his burnt hand, playfully treating him like a child. He asserts that bi-generation has bestowed him with abundant energy, demonstrating his self-healing abilities. Lux, eager to harness the Doctor's inner light to forge a physical form, sees the theater's reels ensnare the Doctor, presenting him before the projector. "For this, I never venture, my dear acquaintances," Lux muses. "I never step beyond these confines." At this moment, Lux inspires genuine dread, his deity-like visage growing increasingly twisted and fleshy as it absorbs the Doctor's light.
Belinda, now placing unwavering trust in the Doctor, obeys his instruction to flee the room. Realizing the Doctor's Time Lord abilities allow him to discern the time of day, she starts to comprehend his plan's reliance on the film reels igniting into flames. Reggie, moved by an unseen force—perhaps a projection of his wife—takes the matches offered to him and aids in the endeavor. The resulting explosion tears a gaping hole in the building, allowing sunlight to pierce the theater's darkness. As the beams touch Lux, the deity regresses to his two-dimensional form and ascends skyward, echoing Gayle King and Katy Perry's celestial escapades by venturing into space. "I am omnipresent... and yet, I am nothing," Lux whispers faintly, as the sun's power causes him to expand, encompassing the cosmos. "Farewell."
So, a deity of luminance, vanquished by the very essence it embodied? Indeed, it seems so. The Doctor remarks that humanity, despite being predominantly composed of water, can still perish by drowning. I'm somewhat hesitant to embrace this analogy to its fullest extent, for humans are not deities — wouldn't it strike one as peculiar if Poseidon himself were to be consumed by the depths of the Pacific? However, before I delve too deeply into such ponderings, the vanished individuals begin to emerge from the theater, bringing scenes of joyful reunions to life before Belinda and the Doctor's eyes.
Yet, mindful of the oppressive racist laws, they refrain from lingering and hastily return to the TARDIS. Recalling the Doctor's unwavering commitment to salvation, even of overt racists, as revealed in last season's "Dot and Bubble," I'm relieved that our duo avoids any confrontations marked by microaggressions or racist slurs, making a discreet departure. They might have vanished unnoticed had Mrs. Flood not interrupted to draw Mrs. Lowenstein, her son, and the diner boy's attention. With a wink and a nudge, she hints at the "show's conclusion" on May 24th, playfully referring to it as a "trick of the light."
As the closing credits scroll, we shift our focus to Hassan, Lizzie, and Robyn, who are reviewing the episode. They award it a seven out of ten, and I commend RTD for his self-deprecating humor in allowing them to voice some critical insights. Suddenly, the fans realize that this very discussion affirms their continued existence, implying that we all still occupy our place within the universe where "Doctor Who" is a fictional narrative. In a heartwarming gesture, Hassan, Lizzie, and Robyn are credited with last names, despite their earlier belief that they weren't significant enough characters to warrant them. Oh, RTD, is this your tender way of conveying just how much you care?
