Thinking about how Thomas and the Captain are two sides of the same coin.
Both are inept in their chosen fields, but they put their heart and soul into it. Each is mocked by (most of) his peers, but yearns for their respect.
One lives in a world that encourages him to embrace emotional expression and individuality; the other lives in a world that forces him to repress them, stripping him of all identity but his rank.
Each of them is loved by someone who finds his idiosyncrasies charming, even as everyone else laughs. And yet, the pursuit of this love leads each to an ignominious death.
The Captain dies having learned that his feelings are requited, with Havers by his side. Thomas dies alone, believing that Isabelle no longer loves him.
They are a soldier who died from a broken heart, and a poet who died from a gunshot.
In The Five Doctors, if memory serves, the First Doctor isn’t shown encountering phantoms in the Death Zone. We already know Two saw Jamie and Zoe, whose memories of him had been wiped.
What if One saw Katarina and Sara? What if he thought, just for a moment, that they were saved from the horrible fates they met under his care?
What if he saw Ian and Barbara, who had finally found their way home, only to once again be kidnapped across time and space because of him?
What if he saw Vicki and Steven, who were finally building lives for themselves after terrible trauma, torn from their homes to one of the most dangerous places in the universe?
Watching the Ghosts finale and seeing that the hotel has a Higham suite, I like to think that Allison had some creative input on the hotel. There are a number of reasons it couldn't work, but it's nice to think that she named a room for each of the ghostly inhabitants of Button House.
Higham Suite.
Fawcett Suite.
Butcher Suite.
[REDACTED] Suite.
Colebrooke Suite (Button Suite would be redundant, after all).
The Ghosts finale is a bittersweet ending all around. Mike and Allison can go out on their own way and forge their own path. They raise Mia on bedtime stories of cavemen and poets, lords and ladies, and each one rings a faint bell in the back of Mia's mind.
The ghosts, like the Coopers, find a way to move forward as their own family. They miss Allison, of course, and the ability to interact with someone outside of their ranks, but the hotel's constant flow of activity and people brings new experiences to them all. Once in a great while, a guest will arrive who can see ghosts, and the ghosts will drive them up the wall with their incessant chatter.
Allison and Mike return every Christmas, with stories of Mia passing her exams and Mike's latest Incredible Sulk, and they in turn learn of Pat's latest club and the concierge who is clearly in love with the groundskeeper. Allison lays fresh flowers on Mary's grave.
Life and afterlife go on. It's not the same as it was, but nothing ever is, and that's okay.
While I’m disappointed at the lack of a Thasmin kiss, I think it made narrative sense.
Thirteen made it clear in the previous episode that while she does have feelings for Yaz, she thinks it would be best for them not to pursue a relationship. This is understandable. She’s lost many people in the past, and her knowledge and experience are a burden that distance her from everyone she travels with.
Yaz truly realizes this when she meets Tegan and Ace. Everyone gets left behind in the end, for better or for worse. It’s part of the nature of travelling with the Doctor. Also, IIRC, this episode was the first time she learned the Doctor’s age.
Yaz and the Doctor love each other, but they know that what they have can’t go on forever. A kiss or a declaration of love would have made their goodbye all the more painful and given it a sense of finality. Instead, they treated Yaz’s departure as normally as possible, less of a “goodbye” than a “see you later.”
Everything must end, but we can choose to cherish our memories while embracing the possibilities of the future.
There’s something haunting about old film. The grain blurring the figures, the cracking of spots on the frames, the feeling of looking into a bygone era. Something about it makes you uneasy, something you can’t quite put your finger on. You don’t give it much thought, but subconsciously you know: everyone you’re looking at is long dead. This is the closest you will ever come to seeing a ghost.
Ghosts have been used and overused as an instrument of storytelling. In many ways, From Out of the Rain is a typical ghost story: vengeful spirits cause unexplainable phenomena, murder locals. The ghosts in question, two overemotive sideshow performers, are not particularly scary. The episode stands out because at heart, it’s not about ghosts. It’s about the inevitability of death.
Unlike your standard horror movie monster, death and decay are universal fears. What was once vibrant and full of life becomes a shell, distorted by time. Without a life force, we become something else, something twisted. A live animal provokes love and adoration. A dead animal provokes revulsion and morbid fascination. With death comes being abandoned, unwanted, and forgotten.
To be forgotten is another universal fear, and avoiding this fate is the antagonists’ primary motivation. When film came along, sideshow performers weren’t wanted anymore. It’s tragic, really: they steal life forces because they want to have an audience, to feel appreciated. The alternative is being discarded and forgotten. They’re acting upon the human desire to be loved, in their own demented way.
From Out of the Rain ramps up the tension with two other common fears. It ventures into creepy circus territory, stopping just short of a killer clown (thank God). It also uses the fear of the unseen. The Night Travellers come out of the dark and the rain. You can barely see, and you don’t know what may be lurking in the shadows...
Many things make this episode work (life, the antidote to death, as the MacGuffin. A break from romantic subplots. More screen time for Ianto.) Many things make it not work (slow-motion shot of the flask flying through the air. In the end, the are two things that seal the deal, deviating from the typical Torchwood formula to make this episode stand out. First, the situation isn’t explained. What are these people? How do they preserve themselves in film? Is there any scientific explanation? Second, the episode has an open ending. The threat is still out there, waiting in untraceable rolls of film. That film could be corroding in a basement somewhere, or it could be at a yard sale near your home. As the episode ends, a final strain of music promises that the Night Travellers aren’t done yet...
Additional notes:
I liked the water-as-life symbolism. Without water, there is no life. This explains why they drain the moisture from their victims and is the basis for Pearl’s nautical theme. Great concept, poorly executed.
In S4E3, Esther quotes a Robert Frost poem: “I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain and back in rain.” It’s unclear whether the connection to this episode was intentional, but I liked it. If the episode title came from the poem, it’s a nice addition to the life/death theme.
Shortly after watching this episode, I hiked to an abandoned amusement park. The spooky feeling of both led me to reflect on this episode for a long time. It is, in my opinion, the scariest episode of Torchwood (with the possible exception of Countrycide).
This post is for myself, and here where I don't expect or want an audience to it.
I asked myself why I do selfless things knowing nor expecting that same kindness in return, I even tend to forget these acts of kindness whereas others would not. I realized that everyday I live my life feeling so close on the precipice of suicide that I don't give people things because I want them to give me things too but so that when I do die, whether I go through with it or through natural causes, it really will feel like falling asleep at a gathering and being carried to bed by a loving relative. I want to feel like what that comfort in others is like.
I often think abt that phrase “to be loved is to be changed” and find myself very upset by it’s otherwise profound meaning because I myself didn’t change. I don’t know if I can.
