I suppose I’ve got the resurrection of Doctor Who to thank. It’s back in the public eye and that means it’s a merchandisers dream ticket.
It’s got it’s moments the new stuff, but it’s a bit rushed, drama for the Playstation and fast food generation. I’m part of that social movement, but I still like characterisation, suspense, a plot that isn’t series of exclamations linked by running around.
But it’s got it’s moments the new stuff, mostly with Christopher Ecclestone.
Patrick Troughton was the Doctor when I was born, but my first vivid memories are of Jon Pertwee setting off mines in the sand with his sonic screwdriver as the Sea Devils lurched out of the sea, and of the invisible Spiridons lending a hand the give the Daleks a kicking.
Pertwee’s last couple of series and the Tom Baker years seem like a map of my childhood at times, and the monsters that menaced the quarries and brighly lit studio sets of the day have stuck with me. So when the rejuvenated marketing machine started cashing in on the New Who, they were bound to try and pull in the old guys like me who have long memories of the toys the played with in the 70’s and are quite prepared to face questions from the Misses as to why a group of wee plastic men have appeared on the dressing table.
And that’s exactly what’s happened of course. I really shouldn’t be allowed near shops at lunch time.
But they’re so much better made that the ones that I had when I was wee, I just had to…
It’s finding that damned Action Man, it’s started some sort of regression complex.