This is the one the season gets right, and the reason it works is instructive: the science fiction and the history are doing the same job instead of fighting each other. Vinay Patel’s script takes Yaz back to the Punjab in August 1947, on the day the border was drawn, to find out why her grandmother owns a broken watch she won’t discuss. What she finds is Umbreen as a young woman, about to marry a Hindu man named Prem, on the week the line came down between them. It’s the best hour of the Whittaker era. It’s also, quietly, an argument against how the rest of the season was written.
A historical that isn’t a lecture
Rosa told you what to think about Montgomery. This episode doesn’t tell you anything about Partition. It just puts you in a field with people who are about to lose everything and lets you watch. There’s no caption at the end. No song. No summary of the death toll. The episode trusts that a wedding, a brother, and a border are enough, and they are. Nobody makes a speech about the tragedy of sectarian violence. Instead you get Prem’s younger brother Manish, who has been reading pamphlets and listening to men on the radio, hardening in front of you across a handful of scenes until he’s capable of what he does. Shane Zaza plays Prem as a decent, tired man who fought in a war and came home wanting a quiet life. Amita Suman is superb as young Umbreen. The relationship is written with enough specificity that you believe it before you’re asked to mourn it.
The best monster idea of the season
The Thijarians are the reason this episode belongs on Doctor Who rather than in a straight historical drama. They arrive looking like exactly what the season has trained you to expect: armoured, silent, teleporting in and out, standing over the dead. The Doctor identifies them as the deadliest assassins in the known universe. Everything about the staging says villain. They’re mourners. Their homeworld was destroyed and their people died unwitnessed, and so they have given themselves a new purpose, which is to travel to the deaths that nobody sees and to be present for them, so that no one dies alone and unremarked. They aren’t here to kill Prem. They’re here because he’s about to die and no one else will know. That’s a genuinely beautiful idea, and it changes the whole episode the moment it arrives. It also does something the season otherwise never manages, which is to make the alien element inseparable from the human one. Take the Thijarians out and you lose the entire theme. Take Krasko out of Rosa and you lose nothing.
The structure is the old fixed-point problem, and this time it has teeth, because the person trapped by it is a companion. Yaz cannot save Prem. If Prem lives, Umbreen never marries Yaz’s grandfather, and Yaz is never born. She has to stand in a field and let a man she has come to like be murdered by his own brother, so that she can continue to exist. That’s a properly cruel piece of writing and Mandip Gill is finally given something to play. This is the only episode in the run where Yaz is the protagonist rather than the third companion, and Gill is more than good enough to carry it. It makes the season’s chronic underuse of her more annoying, not less. The Doctor officiating the wedding is a lovely beat. So is her quiet refusal to pretend it will be fine.
Manish, and the craft
The episode’s real achievement is that it doesn’t make the villain a monster. Manish isn’t possessed, brainwashed or alien-influenced. He’s a young man who absorbed what was in the air, decided his brother’s marriage was a betrayal, and called men with guns. He believes he’s doing the right thing for his country. He is entirely ordinary, and that’s the horror. Doctor Who usually can’t resist externalising this sort of thing into a creature you can defeat. Here there’s nothing to defeat. The Doctor and the fam leave, and Prem stands alone in a field waiting for the men who are coming, and the Thijarians arrive to watch him die. Then Umbreen’s watch, which Yaz has been holding all episode, means something completely different.
The production finally matches the writing here, and it’s worth noting how much of that is small decisions. Jamie Childs shoots the Punjab in warm gold rather than the flat grey the season defaults to, and the wedding is staged with enough space to let the ritual play out at its own pace. Segun Akinola’s score is the best in the run: sparse, using regional instrumentation without turning it into travelogue music, and confident enough to drop out entirely in the last ten minutes. The costume and production design do quiet work too, because this is a rural farming community rather than a heritage postcard, and the clothes look worn and lived in. Most importantly, the edit is patient. Scenes are allowed to end on a held look rather than cutting to the next plot beat. Every other episode this season moves at the same brisk, slightly anxious clip, as if worried you’ll switch off. This one trusts itself.
The season problem, again
Here’s my frustration. This proves the team could do it. Given a writer with a specific story and an alien concept that serves it, this production makes excellent television. The direction is warmer, the score finally has room, the cast are used properly. Nothing here is preachy, because the drama carries the meaning instead of being interrupted so someone can state it. And then the following week we’re back to functional monsters and themes delivered in dialogue. One episode in eleven finds the right pitch. That’s not a run of bad luck, it’s a preference, and this hour is the evidence that it was a choice rather than a limitation.
A note on scale, too. Partition displaced somewhere between ten and twenty million people and killed a number nobody has ever been able to fix with confidence. It is one of the largest forced migrations in recorded history and it happened inside living memory. British television has been remarkably reluctant to look at it, and a Saturday teatime family drama is an unlikely place to find the most humane treatment of it I’ve seen. The episode never states a figure, never shows a massacre, and never reaches for the epic. It stays with one farm, one wedding, one family. That restraint is the correct instinct. Atrocity at scale is unwatchable and unfeelable. One man in a field, waiting, is neither.
What it leaves behind is the Thijarians, assassins who turn out to be mourners for the unwitnessed dead, the best alien idea of the era and inseparable from the story around it. It leaves Yaz as protagonist, with Mandip Gill getting one episode of proper material and being excellent in it, which makes the other ten worse. It leaves Manish, an ordinary young man radicalised by pamphlets and radio, with no possession and no alien influence and nothing to punch. It leaves a fixed point with real teeth, let him die or cease to exist, the trap “Rosa” gestured at and this one actually springs. And it leaves no caption and no song, because the episode trusts a wedding and a field to make its point, and they do.
Rating: 3.5/5. Easily the best thing this season produced: careful, specific, superbly performed, and built on a monster concept that earns its place. It stops just short of the top rank because the middle sags and the Doctor is largely a bystander in her own show. But this is the hour that proves what the era could have been. A wedding on a border, a watch that stops, and aliens who came a very long way just to notice. One episode in eleven understood the assignment.