Moffat's stewardship of Who is often criticised for focusing too much on being clever, using its characters as empty ciphers in a grand scheme rather than developing them as individuals. That's fair criticism for the most part, and compared to the bold colour melodrama Russell T. Davies painted on the screen, the more recent seasons have certainly pulled back to observe from a distance. There are a couple of exceptions to that rule, and Vincent And The Doctor is the biggest and most accomplished. As unashamedly sentimental as Who has ever been, it doubles up as a surprisingly nuanced look at depression - it doesn't take much analysis to grock the subtextual significance of an invisible monster only one misunderstood man can see - and the relationship between mental illness and creativity. As written by Richard Curtis, of Blackadder and Four Weddings & A Funeral fame, it's also very funny at times, particularly Amy's fangirlish attempts to inspire some of Van Gogh's greatest masterpieces. And yes, everyone knows that her passion for post-Impressionist art comes out of nowhere and goes back there just as quickly, but personally I'm more than happy to overlook such contrivances if it produces more episodes as beautiful as this. Tony Curran is exemplary as Van Gogh, capturing the depth of the character's torment and the immensity of his joy when he looks up at the sky and sees the universe shaping itself into the greatest canvas ever painted. Smith and Gillan are both given broader emotional ranges to play than usual and succeed with aplomb - Smith and Curran mirror each other beautifully with moments of boyish delight contrasted against soulful sadness - and Bill Nighy's cameo is perfection itself, right down to the bow tie. Vincent & The Doctor sets a new high standard for Who historicals.
28-year old English writer with a borderline obsessive passion for films, videogames, Chelsea FC, incomprehensible words and indefensible puns. Follow me on Twitter if you like infrequent outbursts of absolute drivel.
