Moffat vs. Davies = Pepsi vs. Coke
There is a debate raging in Whovian fandom. It's been raging, actually, for quite some time, and I have, for the most part, found it amusing and moved on. But, I dunno. As usual, papilio_luna has sparked deeper thoughts than, perhaps, she has intended. It should be noted that while this essay is in response to Luna, it is also an observation on the general pattern of thinking by most of the Who fandom, and that some of the things I comment on are not Luna's personal views.
The Great Moffat v. Davies Debate: Explained and Analyzed Through Creative Comparison to Soda Cooperations
It seems to some people that there are only two kinds of Whovians on the planet: those who like Moffat, and those who like Davies. Sharply divided, these two groups shall never meet on any ground. Like the ocean that separates those that like Pepsi vs. Coke, it is an intransitive space.
Except for me. Granted... I've always liked Coke slightly more than Pepsi (Pepsi is too sweet), but I can happily drink both.
Coke, in this case, is Russell T. Davies.
Coke is a fairly evil cooperation, when it comes right down to it, but they're terribly successful at what they do. And what they do is work very, very hard to make sure that the American consumer associates the Coke brand with Americana -- with summer barbeques and benevolent football players and people holding hands across the world. Coke is very, very good at manipulating people, and they make no apologies for it.
Davies, as a writer, is a lot like Coke. He is terribly good at what he does: which is to introduce characters as compelling objects for the emotions of the audience. He uses characters as a vehicle for his intent. For example, when faced with rebooting a decades-old show which was vital to thousands of British (and American) childhoods, Davies also knew that he had to bring in a younger, "hipper" audience. He had to bring in the kids and the 18-29 year-olds who might not be as nostalgic.
So what did he do?
He wrote "Rose".
Now, there are some Old Whovians who are probably screeching at me right now about Rose being analogous to the introduction of New Coke in the '80s, but we all know that was the greatest publicity stunt ever. So was Rose.
By rebooting the face of the old show in very key ways -- remove the classism that was inherent in much of the old show, bring in a young star which would draw attention from the appropriate age levels, Davies set himself up for success. But the true success of "Rose", and indeed, much of the first season, is that Rose is a young woman who is exactly like much of the female population at 19.(In fact, I believe this is a source of much of Fandom's consternation with Rose -- her imperfections shine far too bright a mirror on the decisions we often make during that tumultuous transition between youth and adulthood. Meta for another time.) She is bored. She is adventurous. She has a big heart, but does not place an appropriate value on her core family.
And -- perhaps most key -- she falls in love.
Ack! Say Old Whovians. Boo! Hiss! No romance in my sci-fi.
See: Star Wars. Oh, and bite me. *
I don't think Davies introduced the romance element because he was interested in bringing women in: in all honesty, I think women had been watching Who for a very long time..He introduced it because it only made sense. In a sense, the Doctor saved Rose from a life which would have been, at the very least, terribly unfulfilling. Rose re-centers the Doctor after a terrible tragedy in his life.
I suppose you could do those things without falling in love. But it wouldn't make much sense, narratively. Or emotionally. If you invest in Rose (which the entire first episode is aimed at you doing), then you invest in her relationship with the Doctor, and because of the type of relationship that they have, it only makes sense that they move forward.
Davies' strength juxtaposes sharply his weakness: He is willing to sacrifice the logical plot for the good of the character archs. Following in Joss Whedon's noble (albeit dubious) footsteps, Davies focuses not so much on the wonders of a sci-fi world, but more on the way those wonders are viewed through the lens of the characters he has chosen to introduce. You could drive a Mack truck through the plot holes in Stolen Earth, but there's something about the swelling of the orchestra underneath the Doctor's family, reunited briefly, guiding the Earth home.
The other side of the anti-Davies argument, if you will, is that his Who borders on the nihilistic, the tragic, the dark.
In her most recent post, papilio_luna says this of Davies himself, and his writing:
If you've read The Writer's Tale then you know that RTD is not an entirely sane man [... He] is someone consistently wracked with crippling self-doubt, someone who has been through and come out the other end of a serious drug problem (he's said that the choice for him was either get clean or die), and someone who was a gay man in his 20's at the very height of the AIDS crisis.
[...]
For me, his Doctor Who is something monumentally humanist at its heart. I see no unimportant people, and at the heart of the story is a man who could be a god in a universe where there should not, and cannot, be gods. In his book, RTD writes, "...I'm saying that God doesn't exist, that we mythologise real people, events or aspirations into deities, and pay the price for it." And that is always something I found coming through to me loud and clear.
It's true that when Davies' Who got dark, it got profoundly dark -- but the morality of the universe remained true. The Doctor cannot be more than a man without terrible consequences. He is unable to save Torchwood from a horrible fate. He is unable to prevent himself from losing Rose. He cannot spare Martha the pain of what happened to her family. He cannot keep Donna, however much he would like to -- but he keeps going. At the heart of Davies' writing beats the humanist philosophy: That we are all wonderful, magnificent creatures worthy of love (Donna), worthy of partners equally invested in us (Martha), and worthy of opportunity (Rose, Astrid).
In the end, I think too many wallow in the angst of the night just before dawn. Too many miss the sunrise that soon follows.
#
Moffat's Who is like Pepsi.
Pepsi's goal and marketing strategy is a little bit different than Coke's. Remember that nation-wide taste test where blindly, people chose Pepsi but when the labels went on, they chose Coke? I think Moffat's writing, Moffat's Who, are a lot like that.
And I'm not sure that's a bad or a good thing.
papilio_luna, as well as several others, have pointed out that in Davies' writing, you don't have to look for the characterization, it's all right there. I'd agree.
A surface viewing of Moffat-episodes in the Davies era reveals them to be best of that era: Blink. The Doctor Dances. The Empty Child. The Silence in the Library.
Then you watch those episodes again and... with the label, they get less enjoyable because you see the gimmick.
Moffat's era of Who thus far is a bit like that, but... I think it's also television for a differently wired audience. It's television for an audience that doesn't mind scrounging deep to find the motivations behind a character's actions. We may not get the introduction to Amy that we got to the Davies-era companions, but over the course of the season you could, if you wanted, gather as much information about Amy as we got about Rose in that first hour.
Moffat is not quite as interested in telling stories of great emotional growth. He's very interested in telling a story in labyrinth, of engaging the audience in that way. His writing can, without analysis, come up cold, heartless, sexist... (okay, I will admit that it oftentimes comes up sexist WITH analysis but this is a story for a different time).
So. How do you know if you like Moffat or Davies?
How do you engage with the world?
If you seek emotional connections, if you long to be moved... Davies is the writer for you. He'll move you through your paces: laughter, tears, anxiety, resolution.
If you want to think -- watch scenes for clues and put together a puzzle, then Moffat is for you.
As for me? Well. Pepsi is all that is available at the moment and I don't mind. I'll sit on my barstool and sip away. But the second you offer me a Coke...
* Note: Please do not bite me. I work at a daycare and get bit enough already. Also, I realize that Who predates Star Wars, but in the interest of humor, I make this joke anyway.
The Great Moffat v. Davies Debate: Explained and Analyzed Through Creative Comparison to Soda Cooperations
It seems to some people that there are only two kinds of Whovians on the planet: those who like Moffat, and those who like Davies. Sharply divided, these two groups shall never meet on any ground. Like the ocean that separates those that like Pepsi vs. Coke, it is an intransitive space.
Except for me. Granted... I've always liked Coke slightly more than Pepsi (Pepsi is too sweet), but I can happily drink both.
Coke, in this case, is Russell T. Davies.
Coke is a fairly evil cooperation, when it comes right down to it, but they're terribly successful at what they do. And what they do is work very, very hard to make sure that the American consumer associates the Coke brand with Americana -- with summer barbeques and benevolent football players and people holding hands across the world. Coke is very, very good at manipulating people, and they make no apologies for it.
Davies, as a writer, is a lot like Coke. He is terribly good at what he does: which is to introduce characters as compelling objects for the emotions of the audience. He uses characters as a vehicle for his intent. For example, when faced with rebooting a decades-old show which was vital to thousands of British (and American) childhoods, Davies also knew that he had to bring in a younger, "hipper" audience. He had to bring in the kids and the 18-29 year-olds who might not be as nostalgic.
So what did he do?
He wrote "Rose".
Now, there are some Old Whovians who are probably screeching at me right now about Rose being analogous to the introduction of New Coke in the '80s, but we all know that was the greatest publicity stunt ever. So was Rose.
By rebooting the face of the old show in very key ways -- remove the classism that was inherent in much of the old show, bring in a young star which would draw attention from the appropriate age levels, Davies set himself up for success. But the true success of "Rose", and indeed, much of the first season, is that Rose is a young woman who is exactly like much of the female population at 19.(In fact, I believe this is a source of much of Fandom's consternation with Rose -- her imperfections shine far too bright a mirror on the decisions we often make during that tumultuous transition between youth and adulthood. Meta for another time.) She is bored. She is adventurous. She has a big heart, but does not place an appropriate value on her core family.
And -- perhaps most key -- she falls in love.
Ack! Say Old Whovians. Boo! Hiss! No romance in my sci-fi.
See: Star Wars. Oh, and bite me. *
I don't think Davies introduced the romance element because he was interested in bringing women in: in all honesty, I think women had been watching Who for a very long time..He introduced it because it only made sense. In a sense, the Doctor saved Rose from a life which would have been, at the very least, terribly unfulfilling. Rose re-centers the Doctor after a terrible tragedy in his life.
I suppose you could do those things without falling in love. But it wouldn't make much sense, narratively. Or emotionally. If you invest in Rose (which the entire first episode is aimed at you doing), then you invest in her relationship with the Doctor, and because of the type of relationship that they have, it only makes sense that they move forward.
Davies' strength juxtaposes sharply his weakness: He is willing to sacrifice the logical plot for the good of the character archs. Following in Joss Whedon's noble (albeit dubious) footsteps, Davies focuses not so much on the wonders of a sci-fi world, but more on the way those wonders are viewed through the lens of the characters he has chosen to introduce. You could drive a Mack truck through the plot holes in Stolen Earth, but there's something about the swelling of the orchestra underneath the Doctor's family, reunited briefly, guiding the Earth home.
The other side of the anti-Davies argument, if you will, is that his Who borders on the nihilistic, the tragic, the dark.
In her most recent post, papilio_luna says this of Davies himself, and his writing:
If you've read The Writer's Tale then you know that RTD is not an entirely sane man [... He] is someone consistently wracked with crippling self-doubt, someone who has been through and come out the other end of a serious drug problem (he's said that the choice for him was either get clean or die), and someone who was a gay man in his 20's at the very height of the AIDS crisis.
[...]
For me, his Doctor Who is something monumentally humanist at its heart. I see no unimportant people, and at the heart of the story is a man who could be a god in a universe where there should not, and cannot, be gods. In his book, RTD writes, "...I'm saying that God doesn't exist, that we mythologise real people, events or aspirations into deities, and pay the price for it." And that is always something I found coming through to me loud and clear.
It's true that when Davies' Who got dark, it got profoundly dark -- but the morality of the universe remained true. The Doctor cannot be more than a man without terrible consequences. He is unable to save Torchwood from a horrible fate. He is unable to prevent himself from losing Rose. He cannot spare Martha the pain of what happened to her family. He cannot keep Donna, however much he would like to -- but he keeps going. At the heart of Davies' writing beats the humanist philosophy: That we are all wonderful, magnificent creatures worthy of love (Donna), worthy of partners equally invested in us (Martha), and worthy of opportunity (Rose, Astrid).
In the end, I think too many wallow in the angst of the night just before dawn. Too many miss the sunrise that soon follows.
#
Moffat's Who is like Pepsi.
Pepsi's goal and marketing strategy is a little bit different than Coke's. Remember that nation-wide taste test where blindly, people chose Pepsi but when the labels went on, they chose Coke? I think Moffat's writing, Moffat's Who, are a lot like that.
And I'm not sure that's a bad or a good thing.
papilio_luna, as well as several others, have pointed out that in Davies' writing, you don't have to look for the characterization, it's all right there. I'd agree.
A surface viewing of Moffat-episodes in the Davies era reveals them to be best of that era: Blink. The Doctor Dances. The Empty Child. The Silence in the Library.
Then you watch those episodes again and... with the label, they get less enjoyable because you see the gimmick.
Moffat's era of Who thus far is a bit like that, but... I think it's also television for a differently wired audience. It's television for an audience that doesn't mind scrounging deep to find the motivations behind a character's actions. We may not get the introduction to Amy that we got to the Davies-era companions, but over the course of the season you could, if you wanted, gather as much information about Amy as we got about Rose in that first hour.
Moffat is not quite as interested in telling stories of great emotional growth. He's very interested in telling a story in labyrinth, of engaging the audience in that way. His writing can, without analysis, come up cold, heartless, sexist... (okay, I will admit that it oftentimes comes up sexist WITH analysis but this is a story for a different time).
So. How do you know if you like Moffat or Davies?
How do you engage with the world?
If you seek emotional connections, if you long to be moved... Davies is the writer for you. He'll move you through your paces: laughter, tears, anxiety, resolution.
If you want to think -- watch scenes for clues and put together a puzzle, then Moffat is for you.
As for me? Well. Pepsi is all that is available at the moment and I don't mind. I'll sit on my barstool and sip away. But the second you offer me a Coke...
* Note: Please do not bite me. I work at a daycare and get bit enough already. Also, I realize that Who predates Star Wars, but in the interest of humor, I make this joke anyway.