Before the new Time Lord in Doctor Who was announced, there was a lot of handwringing: they’d have to get a woman, right, because otherwise it would look as though the female-Doctor experiment had failed? But how would they get a woman to match Jodie Whittaker? Wait, are we saying Whittaker is the best woman in the world? No, merely that she was the best female Doctor. It looked pretty intractable, and perhaps the only answer was for Whittaker to carry on Who-ing for ever. Then they announced Ncuti Gatwa, and everything just fell into place. Of course he’s the Doctor. Of course it’s nothing like his previous role in Sex Education, because it would actually be quite tricky, trying to cast a Doctor from the pool of shows a little bit like it. Nothing is a little bit like it.
Now I think of it, some form of impassioned debate occurs around every regeneration. People thought it was sexism that led Whovians to angst over a female Doctor, and some of it was, but a lot of the Timelord anxiety was timeless. How could they have an old Who (Peter Capaldi) when the last one was so distinctively young (Matt Smith)? How is excitable, genius ingenu (Smith again) going to work, when the previous Doctor knew all and saw all (David Tennant)? I know people (my mum) who thought no show could survive the departure of Tom Baker, since with it died wisdom. Then Peter Davison came along. Granted, he was not as wise. You shouldn’t be able to dress like a one-man barbershop quartet and get away with it. Miraculously, though, he did.
Doctor Who has a beautiful relationship with its fans (and I’m not even card-carrying: I’ve tended to be more of a mum-observer in the room while it’s on, doing something else – a Who-ver, if you like). In the moment the Doctor regenerates, the audience regenerates too: keeps its memory, transfers its passion wholesale. Sometimes I think Doctor Who has a regenerative effect on the whole of society, even the bits that don’t watch it.
Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist
