Filling in the gaps 08/12/2013 - 12:44am

I try to be fairly upfront about my nerdiness. I find it heads off confusion and disillusionment later, which saves us all a whole lot of grief. One part of my nerd infatuation includes a deep and overwhelming love for Doctor Who. (If you need to leave at this point, I understand.) So when I walked in the door from my family reunion in Wisconsin a couple weeks ago and heard from a friend that there was a Doctor Who show at the Fringe this year, I actually gasped. And so began the process of anticipating Who’s on First?: 50 Years of the Doctor in Less Than 50 Minutes at the Music Box Theater. A bit more background perhaps. My friends who are Doctor Who fans and not otherwise engaged with drag shows, poetry slams, parties and other things ‘young people these days’ do, arranged to join me for this show. I anticipated a bad show but did not care, given my level of infatuation. In middle school, my best friend dated a guy with his own Tom Baker scarf. In high school I almost directed a Doctor Who episode, Midnight, for a statewide drama festival competition. Post-high school, I won an international Doctor Who essay contest. In college, my obsession has fueled many marathons and tears. Call me hooked. I was so optimistic though for this show: with subject matter this good, you can’t go wrong, right? In attracting such a devoted fanbase, you can’t break hearts, right? Well I for one found this show painful. Hopes were high when the cast ran around the stage humming the theme song. Still soaring when one actor initiated the dum du-du-du-dum du-du-du-dum du-du-du-dum that echoes Whovian heartbeats far and wide. And then they fell and never quite recovered. A couple funny moments are not enough to pad a show chock full of inside jokes that don't really go anywhere, songs that should end at verse 2, and lots of discussion over wigs and women. I wanted to love it, but was really distanced by lackluster acting, lots of yelling and bickering, and a confusing direction. Not a great homage to a brilliant TV legacy. (Although, yes, seeing the formidable Daleks presented as literally a trash can with a plunger attached is hilarious. And Cassandra’s double appearance was similarly enjoyable.) The cast clearly love the series, which is awesome. They have a lot of energy, which is necessary. But the writing and acting together really fell short of winning over this Whovian: scattered, dull, ultimately pointless. Sure, guilty as charged for so many of these tropes! All these cliches and simplistic devices, yes, guilty as charged. But so what? There was no funny narrative that offered any direction or new perspective, new depth of love. It was just an unsatisfying nerdfest. I would know--I was seated next to two loud audience members well-versed in the annals of Doctor Who mythology. My favorite part of this weird and painful ride? Pulling an audience member onstage to play David Tennant’s Doctor. A loud and confusing cacophony of voices, then an actor pulls onstage a tall white man with white hair and a dazed expression. “Sir, what’s your name?” “David.” “Perfect!” “Sir, are you a fan of Doctor Who?” “NO.” Well, that was unexpected and honest--refreshing in the middle of show that offers little spontaneity that truly feels original. This theater of hardcore fans boasted three people of color, two being myself and my boyfriend, the third a good friend of mine: telling. And at the end, I whipped around to see the audience’s reaction (I myself had been checking my watch for the past 45 of the 60 minutes) and was downright shocked to see one fan standing alone in the middle back of the audience, stoic and with fist raised up--in salute? in solidarity? I have no clue. I suppose this show raised the enormous question of what was the audience even expecting? Since an accurate replication of the show was firmly out of grasp, what was even the intent? Entertainment? I did, after all, laugh through most of the show. Does that signify success? I made sure to ask the opinions of the Whovians by my side: they were stone-faced and nodded slowly that they enjoyed it. (Really??) My friends and I escaped the theater, stepping into the beautiful day and casting off the extreme discomfort of the past hour. Apologies were shared and extended. To be fair, part of the cruelty was seeing this show hot on the heels of These Old Shoes. Determined that this would not be the last taste of theater in my mouth before the night ended, I left my friends and headed off desperate for more--humming that Doctor Who theme song all the while. After all, I’m still on the lookout for my own TARDIS adventure.