A voice in the wilderness
That was dire. As usual I tuned in late and consequently missed why the Doctor was prancing about dressed like a spiv. The "watching TV will suck your brain out" storyline was utterly, utterly naff as well as confirming a trend towards media-luvvie self-referentialism: just how many episodes about television do we need? Mickey might as well never have existed, but we were treated to gurning Rose's sentimentalism about her father at the end, as if Mr Connolly weren't a nasty abusive piece of work she'd hours earlier enjoyed in humiliating in front of the boy. Until someone tells me Captain Jack is in the next episode, and for all I still marginally prefer Tennant's Doctor to Eccleston's, I'm steering clear of the new "Doctor Who".