To celebrate the enduring legacy of Doctor Who, a science-fiction phenomenon that has captivated audiences for fifty incredible years, we’re exploring some of the most unforgettable stories from its long and rich history. This week, we turn our attention to a truly exceptional episode: Midnight. Originally broadcast in 2008, Midnight isn’t just another adventure; it’s a masterclass in suspense, character study, and raw human drama, all within the framework of Doctor Who‘s unique universe.
And you be careful, all right?
Nah. Taking a big space truck with a bunch of strangers across a diamond planet called Midnight? What could possibly go wrong?
– Donna and the Doctor, foreshadowing the impending dread
Interestingly, Midnight holds a unique place in Doctor Who production history. While it was the fiftieth episode produced for the revived series, scheduling shifts due to thematic similarities with other episodes like Forest of the Dead and Turn Left meant it aired slightly later. This twist of fate resulted in an extended run of episodes penned by the then-showrunner, Russell T Davies, stretching from Midnight all the way to The End of Time, Part II. In a way, even if unintentional, Midnight subtly marks the beginning of Davies’ farewell to the show he revitalized.
And what a beginning it is. Midnight isn’t just a great Doctor Who episode; it stands as a pinnacle of Davies’ writing during his tenure. Many argue it’s not only the best episode of the fourth season, but a serious contender for the finest episode produced during the entire Davies era.
Yes, Midnight is simply that remarkable.
The Long Dark Midnight of the Soul…
Midnight operates on multiple levels, making it a compelling piece of television. On the surface, it’s brilliantly crafted science fiction. Beyond the intriguing mystery of the unseen entity and the chilling voice-stealing, it’s a potent allegory. It masterfully illustrates the disturbing dynamics that emerge when a group of individuals are placed in a pressure cooker environment under extraordinary circumstances. While perhaps more subtly nuanced than Planet of the Ood, it distills a similar core theme: humanity, when faced with the unknown and fear, can be its own worst enemy.
The harsh light of day…
The stark, unforgiving light of the diamond planet only amplifies the darkness growing within the confined space of the bus.
Midnight resonates deeply with the spirit of The Twilight Zone, particularly echoing the classic episode The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street. Davies openly acknowledges this influence, drawing parallels in the premise: a group of ordinary people, isolated and under threat from an unseen, sinister force. However, in Midnight, the true monster isn’t lurking outside; it’s within the bus itself, embodied by the escalating paranoia and fear of the passengers. The real threat isn’t extraterrestrial, but rather, the darkest aspects of human nature unleashed under pressure.
Doctor Who’s Optimism vs. The Mirror of Humanity
Doctor Who is fundamentally an optimistic show. It champions the inherent goodness of people across time and space. The Doctor’s endless travels are fueled by a desire to connect with diverse individuals and share in the wonders of the universe. Davies’ era consistently emphasized this hopeful outlook, celebrating inclusivity and tolerance as cornerstones of humanity’s portrayal throughout the cosmos.
Yet, beneath this optimism, a thread of cynicism often runs through the narrative. In The Last of the Time Lords, the Master’s chilling prophecy revealed a potential for humanity to descend into savagery and madness when confronted with ultimate chaos. Deprived of light, warmth, and hope, people might devolve into their basest instincts. Davies touched upon this unsettling idea, but didn’t allow the Doctor to fully grapple with its implications, instead letting him sink into a prolonged period of despair.
Let
The Doctor’s intellectual curiosity, usually his strength, becomes a vulnerability as he gets drawn deeper into the mystery.
Midnight revisits this darker territory, confining the Doctor with a group of increasingly terrified and irrational individuals. The episode becomes a stark exploration of what emerges when fear takes hold. “For all we know that’s a brand new life form over there,” the Doctor pleads with the panicked passengers. “And if it’s come inside to discover us, then what’s it found? This little bunch of humans. What do you amount to, murder? Because this is where you decide. You decide who you are. Could you actually murder her? Any of you? Really? Or are you better than that?”
This is a profoundly dark and cynical perspective, yet it strikes at the heart of Doctor Who‘s enduring appeal. The show often portrays the Doctor as a force for good, dismantling corrupt systems and empowering individuals. He stands against injustice, protects the vulnerable, and champions the potential for individual greatness.
Shedding some light on the matter…
Even in the face of terror, the Doctor attempts to illuminate the situation with reason and compassion, but finds himself met with fear and suspicion.
Doctor Who is inherently skeptical of societal structures and group dynamics. It questions the wisdom of collective decision-making, especially in moments of crisis. The show often places its faith in individuals, in the power of independent thought and action. In Midnight, as the shuttle passengers succumb to fear-driven groupthink and make increasingly rash choices, it’s the seemingly marginalized voices – the unnamed hostess and the student Dee Dee – who exhibit clarity and insight, discerning the truth while the more “conventional” figures like the nuclear family and the professor descend into paranoia.
Davies’ Strengths: Character Development in a Confined Space
Midnight is a showcase for Russell T Davies’ exceptional talent for character development. He possesses an uncanny ability to create fully realized, nuanced characters with remarkable efficiency, even within limited screen time. This is a key distinction between his approach to Doctor Who and that of his successor, Steven Moffat. While Moffat excels at crafting intricate plots and memorable characters, Davies grounds his stories in relatable human experiences and contemporary sensibilities. Moffat’s characters often speak with a heightened, almost theatrical Doctor Who voice, while Davies ensures his characters, even in extraordinary situations, sound like real people.
Shining examples…
The diverse passengers on the bus become a microcosm of society, each reacting to the unknown threat in distinct and revealing ways.
Davies’ efficiency in character establishment is evident throughout his era. In Smith & Jones, for instance, he deftly sketches Martha’s personality and family dynamics in a single scene, albeit sometimes relying on slightly clunky narrative shortcuts. However, Davies consistently crafts compelling and “real” supporting characters. While Moffat’s companions Amy, Rory, and Clara are beloved, few of his supporting characters achieve the same grounded realism as Jackie, Wilf, or Francine from Davies’ run.
In Midnight, we quickly become acquainted with the passengers on the ill-fated shuttle. The hostess, overworked and underpaid, embodies Davies’ recurring archetype of the noble working-class hero – the unsung individuals often exploited and overlooked. She’s weary, exasperated by the Doctor’s initial enthusiasm, and has little patience for theatrics. Yet, in a powerful twist, she ultimately emerges as the episode’s true hero, making the ultimate sacrifice to save the Doctor and the others. Crucially, she remains nameless, highlighting her anonymity and everyday heroism, much like the Doctor himself, who often operates without recognition.
The Doctor is actually adapting to filling the companion role quite well…
Stranded without his usual companion, the Doctor finds himself in an unfamiliar dynamic, forced to rely on his wits and navigate a hostile crowd.
Professor Hobbes is subtly portrayed as insecure and ego-driven. As the entity manipulates the group, it preys on his sense of authority. “Professor?” Sky pleads, “Get me away from him?” Hobbes’ dismissive treatment of his researcher, Dee Dee, further reveals his character flaws. He belittles her contributions, silencing her attempts to engage with the Doctor, “Don’t bother the man,” and later, brutally dismissing her expertise, “You’re making a fool of yourself, pretending you’re an expert in mechanics and hydraulics, when I can tell you, you are nothing more than average at best. Now shut up.”
The nuclear family, Biff and Val, with their son Jethro, are portrayed with biting cynicism as the epitome of conventional, yet subtly menacing, middle-class values. Val emerges as the insidious leader, dominating the group’s decisions. She’s the first to advocate for throwing Sky off the bus when Sky exhibits strange behavior, and just as quickly welcomes her back when she appears “normal” again. “It’s all right. I’ve got you. There you are, my love. It’s gone. Everything’s all right now.”
Talk about leaving him speechless…
The entity’s mimicry of speech and thought throws the Doctor off balance, challenging his usual confidence and control.
Val manipulates both Biff and Jethro into conforming to her agenda. Biff, mirroring the bully from Back to the Future, seems primarily motivated by perceived threats to his masculinity. When the Doctor challenges, “Could you actually take hold of someone and throw them out of that door?”, Biff responds defensively, “Calling me a coward?” Later, Val goads Biff into action, “Don’t just talk about it. You’re useless. Do something.” Biff, predictably, vows, “I will. You watch me. I’m going to throw him out.”
It’s Val who constructs a convenient narrative to justify their actions, allowing them to discard the perceived “freak” and maintain the group’s fragile sense of order. She bullies Jethro into confirming her version of events, “It went from her, to him. You saw it, didn’t you?” Jethro’s hesitant response, “I don’t know,” is immediately overridden by Val’s forceful assertion, “Oh, don’t be stupid, Jethro. Of course you did.” Davies paints a critical, unflattering picture of this seemingly ordinary middle-class family, suggesting a darker undercurrent of conformity and cruelty lurking beneath the surface.
A character spotlight…
Even with limited screen time, each passenger’s personality and motivations are sharply drawn, contributing to the episode’s intense character-driven drama.
Sky Silvestry, despite limited backstory, is also efficiently defined. However, Davies’ portrayal of Sky carries some potentially problematic undertones. She’s introduced as recently single after a same-sex relationship, which is a positive step for diversity. However, this detail becomes entangled with the narrative in a way that reinforces unfortunate stereotypes.
Sky mentions traveling alone and reflects on her recent breakup, “No, I’m still getting used to it. I’ve found myself single rather recently, not by choice.” She elaborates, “She needed her own space, as they say. A different galaxy, in fact. I reckon that’s enough space, don’t you?” This cleverly uses a familiar dating cliché within a science-fiction context, reinforcing Davies’ theme of universal human experiences.
The last bus to nowhere…
The claustrophobic setting of the bus intensifies the tension, trapping the characters together as fear and suspicion escalate.
However, when the crisis unfolds, Sky’s terror is disproportionate, suggesting a deeper, perhaps less flattering, backstory. “She said she’d get me,” Sky babbles, a line that subtly undermines her earlier account of the breakup and evokes the harmful “psycho lesbian” trope – a problematic stereotype prevalent enough to have its own TV Tropes page.
While this interpretation can be dismissed (the “she” could be anyone, not necessarily her ex-girlfriend), it’s difficult to ignore given Doctor Who and its spin-off Torchwood‘s history with such tropes. Torchwood‘s episode Greeks Bearing Gifts is a particularly egregious example, almost explicitly titled “Psycho Lesbians from Space.”
A trip to remember…
What begins as a scenic tour quickly descends into a terrifying ordeal, testing the limits of human resilience and rationality.
Despite this questionable element in Sky’s characterization, Midnight undeniably highlights Davies’ strength in writing dialogue-driven narratives. The entire episode revolves around characters talking and reacting to each other. Even the monster is defined by its voice, or rather, its ability to manipulate and mimic voices. Davies excels at creating tension and drama by confining characters and letting their interactions fuel the narrative. It’s no surprise that Midnight is so effective as a result.
Avoiding Davies’ Weaknesses: Mystery and Ambiguity
Crucially, Midnight shrewdly sidesteps some of Davies’ known weaknesses as a writer. The episode avoids convoluted techno-babble and intricate plot mechanics that sometimes bog down his stories. Instead, it embraces ambiguity, accepting that the audience doesn’t need a detailed explanation for the entity or its motives. The mystery is far more unsettling and impactful than any concrete answers could be. The unresolved questions and dangling plot threads become integral to the episode’s chilling atmosphere and lasting impact.
Cabin pressure…
The confined space and mounting fear create an unbearable “cabin pressure,” pushing the characters to their breaking points.
Midnight functions brilliantly as a high-concept character drama. But it’s also an exceptionally clever Doctor Who story because it dares to critique the Doctor himself. Davies wasn’t afraid to explore the Doctor’s flaws and imperfections. The climax of the first season, for instance, hinges on the idea that the Daleks can defeat the Doctor simply by being patient and waiting him out.
The Last of the Time Lords offered a scathing portrayal of the Doctor, even seemingly excusing the Master’s mass murder because of the Doctor’s loneliness. Season four consistently underscored this theme. Voyage of the Damned essentially portrays the Doctor saving a select few while countless others perish. The Fires of Pompeii highlights the Doctor’s occasional oversight of smaller, personal tragedies amidst grand events. Planet of the Ood depicts the Doctor rectifying a wrong he was too “busy” to address previously.
Voicing concern…
The passengers’ fear and suspicion turn towards the Doctor, questioning his motives and authority in the face of the unknown.
Midnight directly confronts the Doctor’s inherent strangeness from a human perspective. He arrives uninvited, takes charge, and expects unquestioning obedience. When the tide of conversation turns against him, the passengers’ anxieties are rooted in understandable, if somewhat prejudiced, concerns. They fear him because he’s an unknown quantity, an outsider whose origins and intentions are unclear. “I’m just traveling,” he attempts to reassure Val. “I’m a traveler, that’s all.” Val’s immediate, pointed question, “Like an immigrant?”, reveals the underlying xenophobia and suspicion driving their fear.
However, some of the criticisms leveled at the Doctor are valid. His behavior is, at times, unsettling. “The thing is though, Doctor, you’ve been loving this,” Jethro accuses. “No, but ever since all the trouble started, you’ve been loving it.” Hobbes echoes this sentiment, “It has to be said, you do seem to have a certain glee.” Given the life-or-death stakes, the Doctor’s almost gleeful fascination with the situation is undeniably unnerving.
Managing his people skills…
The Doctor’s usual charm and charisma fail him as he struggles to connect with the increasingly hostile group, highlighting his limitations in human interaction.
This isn’t the first time Doctor Who has critiqued the Doctor’s personality. Agatha Christie subtly rebukes him in The Unicorn and the Wasp. Queen Victoria delivers a stern reprimand in Tooth and Claw, validly criticizing his often reckless behavior. Midnight continues this trend, highlighting a paradox inherent in Doctor Who: it’s a show about cosmic horror and death, yet it’s also meant to be fun and exciting. The Doctor embodies this tension, often appearing detached and even amused in the face of danger, a trait that can be perceived as insensitive or even unsettling to ordinary humans.
The Doctor’s people skills, often reliant on charm and intellect, prove inadequate in Midnight. He’s fundamentally an individualist, confident in his understanding of the universe and prone to imposing his viewpoint. He leads, and others generally follow, often accepting his logic and leadership. The narrative structure of Doctor Who typically relies on this dynamic, with companions and supporting characters aligning with the Doctor’s perspective.
The Doctor really tripped up here…
For once, the Doctor’s intelligence and authority are questioned, and he finds himself powerless against the rising tide of fear and mob mentality.
In Midnight, this dynamic is brutally subverted. The passengers refuse to be led or manipulated by the Doctor. “But how did you know what to do?” Biff demands. “Because I’m clever!” the Doctor interjects, his usual confidence bordering on arrogance. “I see,” Hobbes responds sarcastically. “Well, that makes things clear.” Biff, more directly, asks, “And what are we, then? Idiots?” As the Doctor frantically backpedals, Dee Dee pointedly asks, “If you’re clever, then what are we?”
Val, the voice of middle-class anxieties, sneers, “You’ve been looking down on us from the moment we walked in.” While one could argue the Doctor is a victim of anti-intellectualism – that he does know best, and the situation would improve if they listened – the passengers’ complaints hold a kernel of truth. In this instance, the Doctor is, for once, out of his depth, his usual cleverness failing him against the irrationality of fear-driven group behavior.
Looks like the Doctor needs a doctor…
In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Doctor is stripped of his usual control and faces a terrifying, unknown threat without his usual resources.
When concerns arise about the entity’s potential danger, the Doctor confidently asserts there’s no risk to the wider community. “No, because when we get back to the base, I’ll be there to contain it.” Val immediately challenges his authority, “You haven’t done much so far.” Biff reinforces this, “You’re just standing in the back with the rest of us.” The episode’s climax, where the hostess takes decisive action and throws Sky/the entity off the bus, arguably undermines the Doctor’s supposed expertise. While the passengers’ mob mentality is abhorrent, the Doctor’s solutions are ultimately ineffective, highlighting his limitations.
In this light, Midnight serves as a compelling argument for the crucial role of the companion in Doctor Who. It’s a chilling depiction of what happens when the Doctor ventures into danger alone, lacking the grounding and human connection a companion provides. It foreshadows the themes explored in The Waters of Mars and marks a significant step towards the end of Tennant’s tenure, emphasizing the Doctor’s growing isolation. The episode’s placement in the broadcast schedule, inadvertently kicking off Davies’ final run, feels strangely fitting.
Lighten up…
Despite the episode’s dark themes, moments of visual beauty and striking imagery punctuate the tension, reminding us of the vastness and wonder of the Doctor Who universe.
It’s also noteworthy that Midnight is the show’s first truly “companion-lite” episode. Seasons two and three each featured episodes with minimal Doctor and companion involvement (Love and Monsters and Blink). However, season four innovated, featuring both a “Doctor-lite” (Turn Left) and a “companion-lite” episode (Midnight). This structure cleverly emphasizes the symbiotic relationship between the Doctor and companion, demonstrating that both are essential to the show’s dynamic, and the absence of either creates a significant imbalance. Mirroring The Fires of Pompeii, Midnight underscores how seemingly small, interpersonal elements often trip up the Doctor, and how the companion serves to help him navigate these more intimate challenges. Conversely, Turn Left shows how the Doctor’s absence, often facilitated by the companion’s presence, can lead to catastrophic consequences.
Resting uneasy…
The chilling atmosphere and unresolved mystery leave a lingering sense of unease long after the episode concludes, testament to its powerful storytelling.
Production and Performance: Claustrophobia and Acting Masterclass
Midnight is a triumph of production, especially considering its relatively low budget. Director Alice Troughton creates a visually striking and intensely claustrophobic atmosphere, effectively erasing the memory of the less successful The Doctor’s Daughter. Troughton masterfully handles the intimate character exchanges and builds a palpable sense of discomfort and dread. She proves that a show about people talking can be absolutely terrifying when directed with skill and vision.
Lesley Sharp delivers an unforgettable performance as both Sky and the entity. The technical challenge of synchronizing her performance with the voice mimicry is immense, and Sharp executes it flawlessly. Despite the script’s ambiguity regarding the entity’s nature, Sharp conveys a profound sense of menace and unsettling uncertainty, even while simply repeating lines.
Talking it out…
The episode’s power lies in its dialogue and performances, creating a compelling drama from a seemingly simple premise.
Midnight stands as one of the most exceptional episodes of Doctor Who since its revival. It’s a fittingly brilliant and daring episode for Davies to launch his final act as showrunner. It’s a testament to the power of character-driven drama, masterful direction, and the enduring appeal of Doctor Who‘s willingness to explore the darkest corners of humanity and even question its own hero.
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