The Bishop on Doctor Who: 'Love and Monsters'

Well, the Bishop wonders as he whips back one more belt of single malt to ease the pain: What the fuck was that shit?

It just doesn’t get any worse than ‘Love and Monsters’; and even Doctor Who saviour and ego-in-residence, Russell T. Davies, must have sat in front of his TV, 7:00pm, June 17th, 2006 wringing his hands and wondering what on earth went wrong. A task to which your humble critic would ‘love’ to lend a hand, if only he knew where to start.

It’s been said more than once that that phenomena to which even this unassuming observer has fallen prey, the blog, is just an excuse for no-one in particular to tell you nothing in particular about something involving his cat; and despite having found his own way into the confession booth of cyberspace, the Bishop can, for the most part, only agree. ‘Love and Monsters’, the video diary of Elton Pope, a man whose life has been ‘touched’ by the Doctor, is, literally—and little more than—a blog on camera, and just about as good; though one does find oneself dearly hoping for an appearance by the cat.

The cast are thereabouts as interesting as one suspects your average blogger would be in the flesh. There’s little point going into detail, and in any case that would require the Bishop to remember who any of them were. He will say this, though: Isn’t Camile Corduri terrific? Warm, deft, a lesson in simply acting; even, dare one say it, and despite a jowl or two, in need of a damn good seeing to. She can spill the vino on the Bishop’s robes any time. (Don’t feel you have to wash it out, though, love; he’ll suck it dry later.) Her ‘maternal’ presence even brings something resembling character out of whoever was playing Elton for a couple of minutes.

Steven King, according to Elton, once said that salvation and damnation are the same thing. Elton didn’t get it then, but now, apparently, he does. The Bishop’s still not sure; but he’ll certainly know what King means if he ever draws a parallel between ‘Love and Monsters’ and crap.

(Oh, and Rose,* the blue one you pour on the script.)

*Speaking of Rose, Davies—in a rather American show of earnestness bellied by his pre­­–Doctor Who work, but altogether in keeping with the relentless bounciness of this series—seems to have missed the irony entailed by that particular prodigal daughter letting someone else have it for hurting her mum.