Leaves and Butterflies: How "Mr. Nobody" Lends Perspective on "Doctor Who" (S7)
Finding myself in an absolutely perilous state of boredom several Friday nights ago, I caved to some online peer pressure and watched a small feature called "Mr. Nobody" (2009). Despite the gushing reviews I'd heard about the piece, I had hesitated on account of the movie's staggering length (144 minutes, if you were curious).
...Now, obviously, "Mr. Nobody" had such a lasting impact on me that I broke out of an entirely unannounced hiatus to write this post. The movie honestly merits its own analysis, but given its devices and my status as a Whovian, I decided to go forth with this venture.
Warning: Insofar as the movie is concerned, this analysis is not without spoilers. (There are, to my knowledge, no spoilers for S8 mentioned hereto, as I've very little awareness of them). I shall do my very best to provide adequate detailing for "Mr. Nobody," as to render unnecessary any additional viewing.
A Little Background on Mr. Nobody
Mr. Nobody, age 118
To my knowledge, the title has attained something of a cult status. It skirts around any defining genre label -- neither sci-fi, romance, nor surrealist really fully captures the nuance of the story. To provide only a very general overview of the plot, the eponymous "Mr. Nobody" is introduced to us as a gentleman of 118 years, the last human expected to die from old age in the year 2092. The narrative is initially framed by two ongoing interviews: one with a physician, the other with a journalist. Even at these early points, the origin of his name is suspect: the first interview suggests that our narrator is of the unreliable variety, that senility ate away both memory and name; the latter of the two inquiries suggests that it's merely a self-declaration: "I've got nothing to say to you. I'm Mr. Nobody, a man who doesn't exist."
Shortly thereafter, the burden of narration is handed over to a child, Nemo, who has the ability to see into the future. Facing an impossible decision, he is at a literal crossroads -- standing on a station platform, he must choose whether or not to leave with his mother or stay with his father in lieu of their impending divorce. The two branching pathways ultimately multiply and weave an incredibly complex story.
Nemo, age 9
The Origin of Nemo
(If you'd like to, you can watch the entire scene here.)
Nemo: "In the end, I choose them, because the lady smelled nice, and the man said ..."
Dad: "Well, I can tell you how we met. It was meant to be. Have you heard of the butterfly effect?"
Nemo's father, a meteorologist, refers here to the work of Edward Lorenz. His model of weather calculation posited that even the tiniest difference -- say, the equivalent to a seagull flapping its wings -- could inspire the appearance of a hurricane several weeks later. The seagull analogy never caught on; the adage with the butterfly came into prominence. [x] There is a nuance to the phrase; it does not presuppose that the butterfly itself caused the hurricane, but appears to suggest that it may have been a part of the storm's "initial conditions," whatever that means.
What ensues may be considerably familiar to a Whovian audience.
The gardener approaches a butterfly, causing the little creature to fly off in a frenzy. In the next shot, a gust carries a red leaf from the woods. Whether or not it is the same leaf, by luck and providence, as that which appears in the next scene, a leaf nonetheless tumbles into the quaint suburbs.
On the very same afternoon that the leaf dances in the breeze, a man is taking a stroll. With karmic precision, it lands on the sidewalk exactly one stride before his right foot meets the very spot.
The man slips and falls in front of the woman. Like any good-natured citizen, she hurries over to see if he's okay. Thus:
Nemo: "Once upon a time, there was a daddy and a mummy named, 'the Daddy and the Mummy.' They found a cute little baby, and called it 'the Cute Little Baby.' The little baby was born then. It was born that day, not any other.
The Origin of Clara
In the "Rings of Akhaten," very similar (if not the same coding) emerges. In fact, the scene unfolds with uncanny parallel; the difference is in superficial details. For those who would like a refresher, the entire sequence is here.
We open on a windy day; leaves are a'flurry in the forest.
A man walks down a suburban street, fumbling with his map -- the wind harrying him, perhaps, or he is properly, truly lost. Our focus is not initially directed towards him, but towards a red leaf amid yellow-green ones.
With a gust of wind, the leaf is snatched away and flung into the face of one Dave Oswald.
After his meeting with Ellie Ravenwood, one stormy night, Dave alludes to the very same principle Nemo and his father spoke of:
Dave: "Some I've got something for you." Ellie: "You kept it." Dave: "Of course I kept it." Ellie: "Why?" Dave: "Because this exact leaf had to grow in that exact way in that exact place so that precise wind could tear it from that precise branch and make it fly into this exact face at that exact moment. If just one of those tiny little things had never happened, I'd never have met you."
To summarize, both fathers experienced a fateful and problematic encounter with a leaf, and both met their future spouses on the very same occasion.
Another bonus: Beano, of all things, appears in both sequences.
("Mr. Nobody", above; "Rings of Akhaten", below.)
Their treatment is so different that it's probably just an interesting coincidence, owed to Beano's popularity. In Rings, the issue is used as a focal piece, highlighting both the Doctor's childish personality and setting the scene (the year is 1981). Nemo's issue is sitting on his bookcase, barely noticeable unless, for some godforsaken reason, you happened to pause there (like I did).
The Concept of Splintered Lives
Both stories muse upon the idea of "splinters" -- alternate lives. This detail, perhaps, is only a tenuous connection between the series -- and between Nemo and Clara specifically (both being representatives of the "butterfly effect" in a time-travel story).
It should be noted that the plot devices enabling such events are vastly different. Nemo's splinters arise for an entirely different reason than Clara's; in many respects, they are antitheses. The pivotal detail of Nemo's narrative is his chronic indecision; Clara's, a singular decision in "The Name of the Doctor." Mr. Nobody doesn't know who he is, but he knows everything about himself. Clara, at the end of her trial, doesn't know who she is, but that she's the Impossible Girl.
What is interesting, then, is the construction of their characters -- where the overlaps arise, and why the plot demands that they see life from multiple perspectives. Many interpretations exist for both as-is, but I'm looking strictly at the dialogue which occurs between them. The leaf means more than one thing, yo.
The Fate of Nemo
"Mr. Nobody" is a movie about choice ("What is the right decision?"), so it goes on to consider the splintered possibilities of Nemo's life. In succession, each story line offers a great tragedy -- often in the form of Nemo's death or an equally significant loss. Each of these individual tragedies is stitched into a unified, meta-tragedy, for the meta-Nemo to examine.
The movie codes each of Nemo's potential lives with a color, and there are initially just two: red (life with his mother) and blue (life with his father). The red timeline is an educative experience in romance, and he falls deeply in love with Anna -- a woman who he, coincidentally, meets in every "life." The blue timeline uses unrequited love to contrast its red counterpart, and it doing so spawns the greatest number of alternative lives: a gold timeline ruled by avarice; a black timeline, characterized by decay and entropy; even a comatose Nemo and at least two Mars-bound selves result.
Nemo is profoundly shaped by the circumstances of his life. His external appearance shifts to reflect which life he's experiencing.
Right, so, the meta-tragedy? The visuals make it clear that we should interpret Nemo's misfortune as a collective narrative -- because that's precisely how The Architect (Nemo, aged 9) views his unfolding lives.
Blue-Nemo probably remains one of the more curious, self-aware splinters -- he's able to see the seams of reality. (A good example is the mirror scene, here. He tries hitting the light switch from his right, but he discovers that it's on the left. When he approaches the mirror, the camera lines up with the frame, and when he returns to the bed, the camera goes through the mirror. An attentive viewer will see that the light switch is, indeed, where he originally looked.)
It's not surprising, then, that the collusion/deconstruction of reality would begin with Blue-Nemo. Having avoided the most bodily harm of all the splinters, he appears to be writing on his typewriter when his home-office inexplicably is inundated with water; he switches to Red-Nemo, trapped in his car, descending into the darkness of a lake; alas, he escapes and rises to the surface, only to become Gold-Nemo, murdered by a hitman in a bathtub after a bad gamble. The comatose version of the young Blue-Nemo flatlines, and takes with him the ambiguously imagined Mars-Nemo.
As his world appears to break down, he finally ends up in a "neverworld," defined by its blue-and-white tartan/plaid/pattern-thing. Its color palette is limited, but the continuation of the pattern depends on each piece. In other words, it signals cohesiveness.
What eventually ensues, after Nemo desperately explores his new setting, is a conversation between Nemo and his future-self, Mr. Nobody. This conversation is crucial for understanding both Nemo and his butterfly effect.
Mr. Nobody: "All of this must seem terribly complicated to you, but I sure you that it's not. In this life here, you don't exist. I don't know why; only the Architect knows."
Nemo: "The Architect?"
Mr. Nobody: "The child! The one running after the train! Maybe your parents never met. Maybe your father died before you were born in a sledding accident. Maybe you were one of the vast majority of those whose piece of the genetic code did not reach its destination. Maybe when she died, a prehistoric woman killed off the line of humans to which you belong. So for this world, you don't exist.
The camera cuts to Mr. Nobody and the journalist.
Journalist: "Everything that you say is contradictory. You can't have been in one place and another at the same time."
Mr. Nobody: "You mean to say that we have to make choices."
Journalist: "Of all those lives, which one is the right one?"
Although Doctor Who executes its plot much differently (the Doctor's choices; Clara's splinters and the impossibility of her existence), this exchange strikes a similar chord.
The Fate of Clara
At this point, we may identify some of the demands that the butterfly effect, as a trope, puts on the writer. How does each "choice" affect the character? Does this character have a core, which remains largely unchanged by circumstance? ("The souffle isn't the souffle, the souffle is the recipe.") How does the character cope with, or come to understand, the possibilities that gave rise to their existence?
To symbolize these differences, Clara (much like Nemo) undergoes numerous physical transformations -- but they are largely dictated by the setting (time). Oswin dresses very differently from Clara!Poppins -- such is dictated by a difference between the 51st and 19th centuries. (Nemo, contrariwise, is sharply influenced by the people who surround him and takes on aspects of their appearance as his own.)
The deaths of Clara's splinters -- do they serve a meta-narrative. Arguably, yes: the stories of Oswin and Clara Oswin Oswald are assimilated not into Modern!Clara, but a new Clara who emerges from "The Name of the Doctor." Her lives and deaths are also stitched together in a blurring, visually-associative sequence. This may be suggested by the promotional image -- cohesiveness and one-ness through the pattern of a jigsaw (x). Both characters reflect upon their fates in a meta-world of sorts -- Clara's exists in the Doctor's grave.
Both Nemo and Clara also eventually "own" their circumstances by commanding The Leaf:
The leaf, previously a symbol of his parents' love. Nemo's character arc indicates that he is haunted by the haphazard way in which things are connected, and he resists choices and destiny. His splinters all made choices -- good ones and not-so-good ones. Nemo finally "makes" a choice.
The leaf, previously a symbol of her parents' love. Clara's character arc left her invested in other people's stories -- her mother's, the Maitlands', and the Doctor's. Her splinters reflect her love for fantasy/adventure and are self-denying. Here, Clara finally seems sees herself as a person. ("I am the leaf.")
"Love" As A Stabilizing Element
In addition, Anna remains an elusive but fixed figure throughout the movie. She and Nemo have numerous close encounters throughout the entirety of the movie.
Red Timeline - "I don't go swimming with idiots." Nemo encounters her at a train terminal. They never hit it off when they were fifteen, never fell in love, and Anna married another man. Yes, their exchange is awkward.
Red Timeline - "I don't know how to swim." Nemo and Anna have a tragic romance when they are teenagers. They meet again and pick up their love story where it left off; regarded as the "alpha" timeline.
Blue Timeline - Nemo's children with Elise attend the same school as Anna's children. They pass each other on the road.
Black Timeline - Nemo and Anna attended the same funeral.
Mars - Nemo encounters a version of Anna. He ventured to Mars to fulfill a promise to a friend (Elise); she came to study time.
The Series 7B duo have a similar dynamic -- encountering one another throughout time and space, some occasions bearing more lasting impressions than others. ("He hardly ever hears me, but I'm always there.")
Some Additional Connections
*These caught my curiosity, but they shouldn't be taken too seriously. Dial back your seriousness.
1. The Phone Number. "A single snowflake can bend the leaf of a bamboo."
Nemo and Clara are linked to their charges (and their destinies) by a phone number. Clara, in "Bells of St. John," received a phone number from "the woman in the shop" and was able to call the Doctor about her internet problem. Had she failed to do this, she probably would have been killed by the Spoonhead not five minutes later.
Nemo's stakes aren't as large. (Well, they're pretty large if you're into true love, which he clearly is.) Essentially, Anna gives Nemo her number and instructs him to call her in two days so that they may meet at the lighthouse; failure to do this is tantamount to romantic rejection and results in the Bad Ending. As he reads the number, a drop of rain (rather, a sudden storm and onslaught of sky-water) blots out the ink and turns the paper into a pulpy wad. Goodbye, Anna.
He sees the number again on a billboard in the Neverworld.
The number leads Nemo to a house, where he converses with Mr. Nobody, his older incarnation.
2. Homage to Doctor Who
Nemo's conversation with Mr. Nobody borrows almost directly from Doctor Who's "Blink" (2007).
Mr. Nobody: "Careful of the chair, it's damaged. Are you all right?" Nemo: "I'm fine." Mr. Nobody: "I should have warned you earlier, but I couldn't because of the transcript." Nemo: "The transcript?" Mr. Nobody: "The text of our conversation!" Nemo: "You can hear me?" Mr. Nobody: "What you are living now is the past. At least for me. I am you, seventy years older. Everything you say now, I said myself when I was young. I only had to transcribe our conversation."
Compare to:
Sally: "1969, that's where you're talking from?" Doctor: " 'Fraid so." Sally: "But you're replying to me. You can't know what I'm going to say forty years before I"m going to say it!" Doctor: "Thirty-eight."
(In which we find out that her friend is filling in her side of the conversation, writing a complete transcript. Sally gives it to him at the episode's conclusion.)
In Conclusion:
With such things as literary analysis, nothing is ever certain. Without a direct allusion, it is often very difficult to argue whether one work influenced another -- whether an archetype ("The Everyman") or a trope ("The Butterfly Effect") permitted two difference stories to develop with near-convergence, much like the wings on bats and butterflies resemble one another without a direct genetic link. (Oh dear god, where did this overly fanciful speech come from? -- run, run from my inner biology nerd.)
Long story short: those butterflies, man. Was Series 7 a critique of the Doctor's choices? Was its aim to examine all those times where things could have -- and should have -- gone horribly wrong for him? Maybe. It'll depend on who you ask, on any account.
With Series 8, it is unlikely that too much of this analysis will be relevant to the new story -- a new era and a new mode of storytelling will redefine symbols in ways that we, the audience, may not anticipate beforehand. Nonetheless, I thought it would be a nice way to reflect on the past season as we move ahead.
Thanks for reading, and have a yourselves a merry Saturday, Whovians.