Some Eleven love. Simply because these two paragraphs need to be shared.
From the moment Matt emerged from the smoking TARDIS and walked straight into a tree, he was the Doctor. His physical performance easily stood out from his recent predecessors: Eccleston was a tiger, and Tennant was, well, Tigger. Smith reminded me of an uncoordinated housecat who pretends that he meant to do that after falling off a piece of furniture.
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Pinning celery to your lapel, however cute, is an affectation; willingly wearing a fez throughout half an episode is an arms-wide acknowledgement that you embrace your comical image. I have no doubt that Matt Smith would surrender to slipping on a banana peel or getting hit in the face with a cream pie without a second thought if the story called for it. I mean, just look at him dance. It’s like watching a monkey jam a fork into a wall outlet. How is that not endearing to kids?
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Pinning celery to your lapel, however cute, is an affectation; willingly wearing a fez throughout half an episode is an arms-wide acknowledgement that you embrace your comical image. I have no doubt that Matt Smith would surrender to slipping on a banana peel or getting hit in the face with a cream pie without a second thought if the story called for it. I mean, just look at him dance. It’s like watching a monkey jam a fork into a wall outlet. How is that not endearing to kids?
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