No one move a muscle when the dead come home
The ironic aftereffect of viewing The Night of the Doctor (2013) last thing before bed is that I woke up wanting a time machine. The Doctor who sold his soul, sacrificed his name, gave away everything he stood for and became a monster to fight monsters? Of course I want him played by John Hurt. And then I want a series of that nameless Warrior seen for just one stinger moment in that fire-polished ripple of metal: Doctor no more . . . I have always thought John Hurt was beautiful, especially in his dark, watchful younger years. He always looked a little bruised around the eyes, even when the rest of him was boyish; he's a good face for someone I suspect of deploying the Gallifreyan equivalent of the Deplorable Word to end the Time War. I imagine we'll find out the full story in "The Day of the Doctor," but it will still be just a flicker, like this glimpse of Paul McGann. Thirty-year-old John Hurt is not happening without serious technology. (Neither is more onscreen McGann, I am afraid, although at least in his case there's years of radio drama to catch up on.) It's still probably most I've enjoyed a script by Steven Moffat since "Blink." And I can write wistfully about the rest.

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You sound like the person to ask for recommendations on the radio plays, then. I had very little sense of him prior to this episode, where he was spellbinding.
I'm watching The Day of the Doctor at the cinema, more for him than his overcaffeinated successors.
Makes sense to me. I had no idea it was going to be in theaters!
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*You sound like the person to ask for recommendations on the radio plays, then.*
There are a lot of Eighth audios I haven't heard - including a short run with Mary Shelley as companion, which I'd like to check out; but among the ones I liked are Storm Warning (set on board the R101), Invaders From Mars (featuring Orson Welles and *that* play), Horror of Glam Rock (where aliens talk through a Stylophone), Immortal Beloved, and Human Resources.
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Yeah, okay.
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