What is important to me, ultimately, is that Moffat’s paradigm of time travel – the idea that time can be rewritten as long as it can always look the way it originally seemed from an earlier perspective – radically subverts the ontological imperialism of the Doctor’s colonial gaze. Smith’s Doctor is not the all-knowing liberal-humanist subject of masterfully enlightened reason. He does not know all the answers, and sometimes his companions (and his wife) know much more about things than he does, and he must learn to trust them and regard them as equals (rather than simply guiding them around like pets). He joins families and forms meaningful creative bonds rather than remaining aloof and detached. He stays for Christmas. And, most importantly, he can be wrong, and he can change his mind. In a milieu where the Doctor can change his mind, right and wrong are no longer simply objective truths, and it seems as though the Doctor has thus matured from a fantasy figure of British imperial nostalgia into something else. What exactly he has now become can still be up for debate – and stories that come later may retroactively transform what he has been the entire time; this, to me, is the beauty of what Moffat accomplishes with the series.
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