Face the Raven: An Emotional Breakdown
Guest contributor Anna Rinaldi analyses Clara and the Doctor’s (alleged) final encounter.
Among the intricate topography of neural pathways, electrical signals, and transmitters that constitute the human mind, there exist pockets of concealed afterimages, forever emblazoned and preserved, but always diverted from the forefront. There is a reason that these wispy, elusive impressions are hidden and stowed away within the subconscious. To salvage them is to surface a string of gut-wrenching, tear-jerking emotions that can only be subdued into turbid recollections with time.
I awoke Sunday morning to an abysmal realisation, one that, unfortunately, my mind could not ignore. With dry, crusty tears still fringing my half-lidded eyes, the tears sprang anew as a disturbing image of a long-time friend wincing and screaming in agonising pain, becoming entangled in death’s dark tendrils with eyes nondescript, and collapsing to the ground replayed itself over and over again. It may sound melodramatic and overblown, simply the antics of an idealist, but the pain was irrefutably present, stoked by the echo of a fictional character whose legacy extends far beyond the pages of a story.
Clara Oswald’s last stand was not only a doomed confrontation with the willful flight of death, but also a consoling exchange, an affectionate farewell to a distraught Time Lord overcome with grief despite centuries of suppressing it. Before her chapter recedes into the musty shelves of glorified memories, let us reprise these final moments, how they accentuated Clara’s redeeming qualities, reinforced her intimate bond with a cranky Scottish Doctor, and left a gaping wound in the hearts of devastated viewers. It’s time to face the raven once more.
“Doctor, for God’s sake, will you stop?… I did this, do you hear me? I did this. This was my fault.”
We deduced the inevitable. A claustrophobic sense of inescapable calamity was coagulating and pervading in the infirmary, as Me reeled in shock, catching wind of Clara’s impetuous decision. Clara’s rendezvous with death was unraveling all too soon.
Infuriated and desperate, the Doctor’s anger escalates to a fever pitch, birthing a startling rampage directed at the stolid-faced Mayor. There are only a few occasions during which the Doctor’s unbridled temper can truly invoke fear, and this scene surpasses its formidable competitor, the Time Lord Victorious. Up until now no piece of dialogue quite paralleled the Tenth Doctor’s chilling performance, in which he clutches the reigns of a temporal nightmare, and in his grief and resentment, resolves to abolish any shred of self-restraint, fully embracing his singular role as the arbiter of time.
The Doctor’s almighty plans to thwart the barriers of life and death ultimately backfire, leading to Adelaide Brooke’s suicide and now Ashildr’s binding contract with a Quantum Shade intent on snatching Clara’s soul. A Time Lord’s fury is an intimidating display with cosmic repercussions that propagate ripples in the very fabric of time. Sometimes, it takes the perceptive advice of Clara Oswald to curb his gruesome resolve, even on the darkest of days…
“Whatever happens next… wherever she is sending you, I know what you’re capable of. You don’t be a warrior. Promise me. Be a Doctor.”
Recalling the most decisive moment in the Doctor’s lives and her titular role during an interminable battle, Clara reminds the ever-tenacious Time Lord that, occasionally, on a good day, he can be a doctor. Not a flamboyant hero or implacable warrior, but a healer who mends the broken and has the foresight to acknowledge when nothing more can be done.
Perhaps the Doctor can’t save Clara, but he can strive to project the Doctor whom she knew in her travels, who wore the pretense of an ageless god, a guise that would — if only momentarily — dissipate to reveal a compassionate altruist, as brilliantly human and soppy as they come. After all of the emotional strife, Scottish brooding, and eyebrow emoting Clara endured, the least you can do, Doctor, is honour her name by honouring yours.
“I’m giving you an order. You will not insult my memory.”
Throughout the adrenaline-fueled upheaval of Clara and the Doctor’s adventures, Danny Pink’s promise of a soldier is not forgotten. Clara channels Danny’s admonishing last words uttered in a dreamlike trance so long ago, ordering her to set aside five minutes of every tedious, unbearably slow day or fast-paced, flitting excursion in the TARDIS — an introspective, infinitesimal span of time to remember and mourn his absence.
The Doctor may become emotionally downtrodden and vacant within the lonely stretches of the universe, but he is only allowed to do so in the few, spare moments between his mad, interstellar enterprises and deviant exploits. Just this once, he’ll let Clara be the judge of time.
“Don’t run. Stay with me.”
It’s perplexing — the spectrum of emotions conveyed within the upturned corners of a smile. Exuberance, amusement, wistfulness, regret…
The Twelfth Doctor excels at the stoic act, but when his callous defence mechanism is disabled, the transformation and show of tender affection can’t help but coax a tear from its unfortunate victim. Thus, the Doctor and Clara manage to communicate a million words through the depth and diffused subtlety of a mere facial expression. There’s that sad, imploring smile, that disarming reassurance and forced composure when everything is shattering to bits beneath. How do they manage it, those two?
Clara’s Theme
As always, Murray Gold has captured the abstract and sublime within a simple arrangement of chords bottled forever in a melodic time capsule.
Outlined on my extensive list of requirements for Clara’s exit was the inclusion of her theme, my favorite companion theme to date. This whimsical, charming lullaby is woven expertly into the scene, a beautiful, continuous ambient track interrupted only by the ruckus of my uncontrollable sobs. Perhaps it’s the quivering flute, the tinkling piano keys, or the vibrant refrain, but this theme has always enraptured me, triggering a flood of emotions that put words to my ineffable attachment to Twelve and Clara. It is only fitting that she departs on such a valiant and triumphant note.
“This is as brave as I know how to be. I know it’s going to hurt you, but…please… be a little proud of me… Goodbye, Doctor.”
The lurking premonitions and grim foreshadowing of Clara’s untimely demise were tucked deep within the Time Lord’s vast consciousness, and in the end, he knew this was how Clara would inevitably go. He may blame himself and attribute his destructive influence as the underlying cause, but no. This was just Clara Oswald, being brave.
