"Doctor Who" Finale Part 1 Recap: “Turn Left”

Meanwhile, Sylvia keeps trying to get her to watch what’s being reported on the telly — a breaking news story about a flying replica of the Titanic headed straight for London. Hmmm, where have I heard of that before?

They watch as the Titanic ship hits Buckingham Palace. Then the TV goes dead and an aftershock rocks the hotel room. A dazed Donna thinks it must be some kind of movie, perhaps a sequel. Now that would truly be terrifying, especially if Celine Dion is involved. Frankly, I’d like to find a time-shifting alien bug I can attach to my back so I can change reality to a version where I never have to hear “My Heart Will Go On” ever again.

They and everyone else in the hotel run outside and watch in horror as a mushroom cloud rises over London. Everyone, that is, except for the Spanish-speaking maid, who Donna catches giving her the stink-eye. Or, if my high school Spanish serves me correctly, “El Ojo Malo.”

Cut to the inside of some government office. Donna is arguing with some beleaguered government drone about the decision to relocate her family to Leeds.

I’ve never been to Leeds so I have no idea what it’s really like. But this episode sure isn’t going to make their tourism board too happy, given how appalled Donna is by the prospect of living there even temporarily. But the drone argues that with southern England flooded with radiation and France closing its borders and several million people needing homes, it’s not a time to be picky.

Arriving on their new street in Leeds, which bears more than a passing resemblance to the movie version of Pink Floyd’s The Wall, Donna gets into a bit of a dust-up with one of their less-than-kindly neighbors. Gramps tells her to calm down, since she’s not going to make things any easier by shouting. “I can try,” Donna mutters. It’s true. She can try. And that’s what makes her so trying. But I still like her — I can’t help but like someone this perpetually grumpy.

They arrive at their designated house. The door is opened by an extra from the Office of Italian Stereotypes, a regular Chef Boyardee type named, I kid you not, “Rocco.” Rocco tells them that several families are sharing the same home. “Is-a big-a house-a!” he says. “Ees room-a for all-a … And that’s-a one spicey meat-a-ball-a.”

Then he shows them their accommodation, which is a few cots set up in the kitchen. They’re completely dismayed by this, but as a New Yorker, I’m thinking it’s actually pretty spacious and has decent natural light. Where I live, it would be about $2500 a month plus utilities.

Sylvia wonders about the bathroom, and Rocco, a real kidder, says, “Nobody-a live-a in the bath-a room!” You may laugh, but I’ve got a great uncle who, give him a few magazines, could easily disappear into the bathroom for weeks.

Gramps Wilfred tries to be all British stiff-upper-lip about it and encourage the women to show a little wartime spirit. And barring that, he reminds them that the Americans will save everyone with the gazillions of dollars they’re sending in aid.