11.10: Vincent and the Doctor

In which Doctor Who does profound.

Broadcast: June 2010

Watched: November 2021

“We have fought monsters together and we have won. On my own I fear I may not do as well.” 

Part of the brilliance is just how great Tony Curran is – brittle but vulnerable all at once, utterly believable in the bit where he’s paralysed by the thought his new friends will soon leave. It’s one of the few times a historical figure feels like a person rather than the normal “Oh my god, Mary Seacole, you’re amazing!” routine. The fact he actually looks like Van Gogh is a bonus. 

But much of it is that it genuinely does something new, and which you can only do in Who. The peril is extremely limited – the monster is dead at minute 33, and its death is actually sad (Smith is brilliant on the line, “Sometimes, winning... winning is no fun at all”). The real meat is the mental illness and legacy stuff, the real denouement the two key scenes in the last third: the magical moment where Vincent explains how he sees the world, and the sky turns into Starry Night; and the trip to the gallery, which manages to make a song by terrible band Athlete contain real emotion. 

I love that scene so much – the bit that always gets me is that Vincent has no idea what he’s about to see, but he’s still visibly excited, just because they’ve taken him to Paris to see some paintings. But Gillan is brilliant in the bit where she’s just nervously watching for his reaction, and Bill Nighy’s bit about turning pain into beauty is as good a mission statement for art as you’ll find anywhere.

Anyway, everyone knows all this. The thing I always forget is how funny Smith is in this episode. The bit where he’s waving a chair at an invisible monster and is pointing the wrong way. His annoyance at being forced to do things in real time, and being bored out of his mind (“I kept telling him, concentrate, Pablo, it’s one eye either side of the face”). I laughed out loud at, “NOT THAT FAST! But pretty fast.”

Anyway, the Doctor’s “good things/bad things” lesson at the end is probably a genuinely helpful message about depression? And it looks gorgeous. I wonder how much of this Curtis actually wrote.

Other things:

• The name annoys me. I don’t know why. Jim thinks it’s a play on Vincent and Theo, I think it’s just an attempt to get the words “the Doctor” into episode titles, which I can’t bear, an opinion I can in no way justify.

• People make jokes about having a giant chicken as a monster, but birds are basically dinosaurs, so that’d be terrifying. The fact it dies with a flying easel sticking out of it and it’s sad, not funny, is a testament to how good this one is.

• Something else this episode does well is following up on Rory’s death without foregrounding it. The Doctor spoiling Amy without explaining why; Vincent spotting her sadness; the Doctor accidentally calling Vincent “Rory”. Very different approach to RTD’s “I shall look sad and make a speech” approach.

• The TARDIS ending up covered in posters and the Parisian police noises both feel very, very French. Also, the guys walking past watching football on a mobile TV make it feel incredibly 2010.

• Couple of touches I really love – making Vincent dislike Sunflowers, rather than going the easy route; the fun with accents, in which Holland is Scotland and the barkeep is Bristolian, for some reason; the way, when the regulars are about to go fight the monster without him, Vincent’s presence is communicated by his shadow, and he picks up a paintbrush like a gun in a western.

• Hartnell again! Weird in retrospect how much “No this young guy is the Doctor, really” stuff there is this season, because Smith’s so good that it feels odd anyone ever doubted he could sell it. 

• Why is Billy Nighy uncredited? We all know it’s him. He does a good bit of silent, “Is that Vincent Van Gogh? No, that’d be ridiculous” *shakes head* acting. 

• Not really about Doctor Who, but Van Gogh’s paintings are *amazing* in a way you don’t really get from reproductions. They glow. If there’s ever an exhibition near you, go.

• Van Gogh died at 37. Fuck.