As I promised, so begins my foray into the wonderful world of the women of BBC.
I remember when I first began to watch Doctor Who. I was somewhat skeptical after seeing the fits of squealing the mere mention of the show induced in some of my friends (not all of them girls). So I sat down with some popcorn one Saturday afternoon and started the first episode on Netflix.
My first introduction to Rose was this…
(Picture courtesy of Destinationgallifrey from Tumblir)
It was wonderfully real and I instantly connected with her. Her insane hair was fantastic, as most shows and movies try to pull the wool over your eyes with actors who rise to greet the day with perfect hair. As you’re probably aware, this is neither how real life works nor how it will ever work unless we invent something to tame the wild beast known as bed-head. But I digress.
Rose is the first companion in the revival series. She’s 19 and works in a shop and, according to her, nothing exciting has ever happened to her. By this time, I love her character. She is ordinary and could, in essence, be a stand-in for every girl on the planet. Not in that trashy Twilight way, where there’s simply little personality or character growth. From the moment she meets the Doctor…
…she takes things in stride, running like he told her to, not in a oh-my-God-I’m-terrified kind of way but rather in a I’m-scared-but-rather-calm way (wait, that makes sense, right?). She doesn’t even totally flip out when the building explodes like other people do.
Later, when the Doctor shows up at her home and is hit on by her mother, she again takes everything in stride, from getting attacked by a plastic arm to finding out that the Doctor really is just called the Doctor.
Once things finally calm down and the plastic monster has been defeated, Rose leaps at the chance to travel with the Doctor through space and time, leaving behind her mom and her boyfriend without a second thought.
Thus begins two wonderful seasons of Doctor Who.