Saved by the Ponds: How Amy and Rory Made Me Love the Eleventh Doctor

I admitted in a previous post that I was a terrible Whovian because I had refused to watch the Eleventh Doctor. I can now proudly say that I have (finally) caught up on the New Who episodes, much to the Collectiva Diva’s delight. I’m also proud to say that I accomplished one New Year’s Resolution this year: watch the Matt Smith episodes of Doctor Who.

So what was it that won me over to the Eleventh Doctor? Was it his bow tie? His bumbling awkwardness? The fez?

No, it was a young girl named Amelia Pond.

Time for another Who-fession: I like the Ponds more than I like the Doctor. 

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When we first meet Amelia Pond, she is a rosy-cheeked young girl who believes wholeheartedly in the Raggedy Man. We meet the Eleventh Doctor through her eyes, much like we first met the Ninth Doctor through the eyes of Rose Tyler. With the death of Ten, we have seen how ancient and volatile the Doctor can be. With Eleven, we have an awkward, bumbling, overgrown child with 900 years of knowledge, memories, and pain.

We need Amy to introduce to the Doctor. We need her to figure out what foods he likes, what he wants to wear, what kinds of jokes he likes to tell. We need to learn his personality through her, because a 900-year-old alien is more than a little bit inaccessible to us, especially after the tragic and heart-wrenching death of Ten (which I’m still crying over). The Doctor needs her too, just like the Ninth Doctor needed Rose when he regenerated.

As Amelia Pond grows up and becomes Amy, we learn that she is snarky and quick-witted like Donna Noble, brave like Martha Jones, and full of imagination and curiosity. The Doctor needed someone to bring back the light to his life, to remind him that hope and childishness have a place in the universe.

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This is why I love Amy Pond, because she reminds the Doctor (and thereby us) that it’s okay to dream big dreams. Perhaps it’s wrong of me to love a companion more than the Doctor, but after the loss of David Tennant, I needed Karen Gillan more than I needed Matt Smith. Once I fell in love with Amy, I cared  about the Doctor as much as she did. ‘

As I said before, the Doctor needs Amelia Pond to remind him of why he’s the Doctor, why he cares so much about the universe in the first place. She is the link to his compassion. And in the end, the Doctor will erase himself from time to save her.

And then there’s the other Pond: Rory Williams, AKA Rory Pond AKA the Centurion AKA the Best Boyfriend in History.

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I love a man in armor.

Rory is like the Mr. Darcy for the 21st century sci-fi-loving fangirl generation. He’s easy on the eyes (but then my type is tall skinny British dudes); he’s kind; he’s faithful; and he’ll do absolutely anything to protect Amy. Even sit beside the box she’s stuck inside for 2,000 years. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is. *swoon*

I love Rory the Dreamboat, but what I love even more is Rory the Doctor’s Bad-Ass Companion. The Doctor’s last male companion was Captain Jack (another swoon), and I’ve got to say, I wish there were more man companions. Manpanions. I just coined that. Rory is a good friend to the Doctor; he’s patient and caring and–did I mention–he can kick some serious extra-terrestrial arse?

If Amy is the connection to the “Impossible Dreamer” inside of the Doctor, than Rory exists to be a reminder that the Doctor is a warrior. Rory fights to protect what he cares about–and that kind of fierceness also appears in the Doctor, especially in the episode “A Good Man Goes to War.” Together they fight for Amy and Melody Pond.

Amy and Rory saved my love for Doctor Who as surely as they saved the Doctor from the Pandorica, from the Silence, even from himself. I kept watching the show for the Ponds and their story, but eventually I fell for the Eleventh Doctor’s goofball ways.  If there was a single moment that firmly cemented Matt Smith’s Eleventh Doctor into my singular human heart, it would be this one.

I like Stetsons too, Doctor.

Now that I’ve finally met Eleven, I am completely unprepared to say goodbye to him this Christmas. Perhaps another two-year hiatus will be needed before I can watch Twelve.

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Already missing Eleven,

xx–The Collectress

Disclaimer: I own none of the images or clips used in this post.

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