Heaven Sent: Ranking - 230

  Heaven Sent

(Series 9, Dr 12, 28/11/2015 , showrunner: Steven Moffat, writer: Steven Moffat, director: Rachel Talalay)  

Rank: 230

'So you want to know my greatest secrets? Ok here goes…The last time I was on Gallifrey I saw you’d re-decorated. I didn’t like it, we should never have got rid of the roundels. Oh and your dress sense leaves  a lot to be desired: all your ruffs and collars look stupid! Where are your decent normal everyday clothes like the long scarf, Edwardian cricketting trousers and the bow tie combo? Now that I’ve kept you quiet for a moment all I have to do is leave a message for future myself. Hmm, should it be ‘punch a hole in this wall Doctor’ or something more cryptic?...’  

 

Well, this one will put the cheetah people in amongst the ergon transmutation, that’s all I can say. You see, the Whoniversal fandom went mad for this story. The last time they held a ‘greatest hits’ pool in Dr Who Magazine it came top of the best stories of all time, ever (even though, because of the weird way they did it, this same story only came second in a poll of ‘best 12th Doctor adventures). There are fans who think that this story is the best bit of television ever made in any series: quite a number of them, vocally, who’ll talk about it for hours as if it’s the cleverest most stylish bit of television ever made. Then, when you try to point out that it’s just Peter Capaldi mumbling to himself as if he’s listening to a guided tour of Cardiff and Caerphilly Castles (the former provided the corridors, the second the outside and the moat) they’ll look at you strangely(or as strangely as anyone can with the printed word). ‘But didn’t you get it? Didn’t you understand the very clever cerebral symbolism that’s infused into every stumbling word? Didn’t you understand the metaphorical treasure hunt to find one’s inner sense of purpose? Aren’t you clever enough to understand what’s going on?’ Well, yes I am thanks. I got it on first transmission. I’ve watched it back countless times since. ‘Heaven Sent’ has a nice overall message about continuing through grief that in its own way is really powerful. But it’s all so clumsily done! There’s none of the usual sense of Dr Who telling a really good story underneath the metaphors, no sense that had you tuned into this show without knowing the back story you would still be so engrossed you would stay to the end. It’s the pinnacle of showrunner Steven Moffat’s tendency to be clever purely for clevernesses’ sake rather than using it to fuel a really good complex story because there’s absolutely no reason it has to be as confusing as it is. Sure it’s a bit of telly to admire, but watching it all the way through is something of a chore – and the best Dr Who stories should never be that. 

Still here? I’m surprised. You see, I feel like a lone voice over here that no one is listening to. Which is kind of what the Doctor feels in this story. There he is, having lost companion Clara in a not-as-shock-as-it-should-have-been ending to previous episode ‘Face The Raven’ and having been transported to what seems like a ginormous castle he has no memory of. There’s no one here except a shroud, a cloaked figure who keeps following him slowly down corridors in the most ridiculous chase sequences you’ve ever seen in your life, stumbling through admittedly very picturesque scenery like he’s stumbled into 1980s children’s virtual reality show ‘Knightmare’, all medieval trappings and secrets and clues. And in between eating soup and diving out of windows into the moat below he somehow knows instinctively that he needs to confess up his darkest fears to the waiting figure in order to progress and find the ‘clues’ left for him, until a bonkers finale where he (spoilers) somehow knows that he’s in a Gallifreyan torture chamber (with time the biggest torture) from the single word ‘Bird’ that this is the Brothers Grimm fable about breaking through the fourth wall and the hardest substance in the universe ‘azbantium’, which is 500 harder times harder than diamond, and punching his way through it to safety before dying and leaving himself the message and dying, only to be regenerated again, his memories wiped, before finally breaking through to the other side in a process that takes billions of years (with ‘heaven sent’ easily covering the single longest passage of time of any Dr Who story to date, though fans can and will argue about whether being ‘regenerated’ by the revival machine each time, something the Doctor compares to a 3-D printer, is the ‘real’ Doctor or just a facsimile each time). 

 Given the amount of times the Doctor refers to Clara it’s clearly a metaphor for grief nd perhaps not just for Clara either: the Doctor has lost so many people by now and has never properly stopped to grieve them, his lifestyle and temperament meaning that he’s always running on to the next thing in his life. It is, if you’re spiritually inclined, the inevitable ‘shadow work’ that we all have to do in our lives if we are to ever progress, confronting the darker aspects of our personalities that we keep hidden until such difficult times as losing someone close to us that makes us re-evaluate who we are without them. The Doctor wakes up afresh every day, confronted over and over again with the realisation that the world isn’t the same anymore and having to navigate the traps of the maze his grief has left him in, transformed by circumstances into a new person each time before going to ‘sleep’ and having to navigate his way all over again. Each time you wake up and remember who you lost and how trapped it makes you feel it’s like dying all over again. Anyone whose been through grief will know the most peculiar feeling that your loss transcends time and space, that it seems to exist through you and past you until your understanding of everyday things like routine and the concept of time are completely haywire, how time slows down and traps you inside a vicious cycle of grieving and learning to move on several times over, feeling that you’re lost in a familiar world and searching for ‘clues’ from other people who’ve been through similar experiences to help you through it. Along the way the Doctor fends off the slow-moving spectre of depression that threatens to completely overwhelm him and which he knows he has to outrun even if he’s travelling in circles, before fighting through the impenetrable barrier of grief and out to the other side. There’s one brilliant Moffat-era defining line, even if I’ve seen other writers use variations of it before: ‘It’s funny, the day you lose someone isn’t the worst – at least you’ve got something to do. It’s all the days they stay dead’. 

A lot of fans have seen an extra layer in this story too, one the author confesses he hadn’t actually thought of when he wrote it. You see, for the longest time we don’t know who the veiled figure is or understand the Doctor’s need to confess. At the time this story was on a lot of fans saw this story as a metaphor for depression, that this story was a side effect of the Doctor’s grief for Clara that made him lose his usual curiosity and get-up-and-go. The Doctor is chased by a black figure who looks very unhappy, finds himself trapped and can’t find his way out and every day has to go through the same thing over and over again before metaphorically dying, his life empty and pointless without any reason to live. If depression was a monster it would surely chase you as slowly as the veiled figure does here and the changing times for how long it catches up with you, before it inevitably does, is one that chimed with a lot of depressed fans. Throw in the fact that the Doctor is seen to keep busy to keep it away, even when what he does often seems to make no sense and the conclusion about damaging yourself hitting your fists angrily against an immoveable surface until you’re finally free, and I can see why a lot of fans would come to that conclusion. The story actually works better like that – and it’s a surprise Moffat didn’t realise this whole writing it (after all, depression and grief are natural bedfellows). Although goodness knows what they thought was going on when the clue about the ‘bird’ turned up. On those scores, in a purely metaphorical sense, ‘Heaven Sent’ is a worthy episode, one that would be a highlight of the written word in a short story collection or a Big Finish ‘short trips’ shortened to half an hour. 

 Unfortunately this episode is on television and lasts fifty-five minutes (Moffat got special dispensation from the BBC for it to run a full five minutes longer than its normal slot because they couldn’t find a way of cutting this down – which is weird because there’s at least half of it you could trim without losing anything at all). The Tennant ‘specials’ aside, this is the first time we’ve seen the Doctor without a companion as part of the regular series since 1976 and the smallest cast since the 1960s, with credits for just Peter Capaldi and ‘The Veil’. Moffat’s starting point for this story was that he wanted to see how the Doctor ‘really’ was when he wasn’t trying to be hopeful or put on a front for anyone around him, when he was just trapped with his thoughts (‘It’s hard to be brave when there’s no one to pretend to’). Which is a nice idea but, honestly, he seems to be much the same as Dr 12 always was: grumpy. There’s a reason, back in 1976, Tom Baker was told that he had to have a companion ‘or else’ and it’s a moot point whether ‘The Deadly Assassin’ is better or worse or not having one (while in the modern era the run of 10th Doctor specials in 2009 are mixed on this very point: ‘Planet Of The Dead’ is horrible without one, ‘The Waters Of Mars’ couldn’t have worked as well with one and the Doctor kind of gains his own in-story equivalents anyway in ‘The Next Doctor’). Without one with just a cowled unspeaking figure and a mute ghost of Clara for company, the vast majority of this story is Peter Capaldi talking to himself. And Capaldi is one of those actors whose best when he’s got other actors to bounce off. The most variable actor to play the lead role (sometimes he’s brilliant sometimes he’s a bit off) this is him at his worst: there’s no sense of that transformation building up, or a man nattering to keep the demons at bay, just an actor struggling with (admittedly) some of the weirdest dialogue any actor was ever given in the series. Sometimes, as in the ‘Zygon two-parter’, he’s as good as anyone has ever been in the role: authoritative, charismatic, all too believably alien, with lots going on behind the eyes and eyebrows both. Sometimes though, as in parts of this episode too, he’s just going through the motions instead of the emotions and reading lines rather than living the part or giving it the layers the story deserves. Often that doesn’t matter when there are others in the room to take up the slack, but when a story only really features the Doctor, it’s downright dangerous. 

 Moffat has always written the 12th Doctor on the wrong side of smug and too clever for his own good and this story brings out all his worst tendencies: something that might have been worthy had Moffat stuck to his gameplan and had the Doctor explore his darker side and learn from it, but he doesn’t. We see a lot of the Doctor’s resilience in this episode, his need to survive at all costs even when he feels to his inner core like giving up. But there’s no sense that the Doctor who walks out of the (spoilers) confession dial to Gallifrey on the other side has learned anything. He hasn’t learned the art of mercy, he hasn’t come to terms with the faults that put Clara in a position where she risked her life for Rigsy the week before (because she was copying him) and no sense that he’s learned to reign in his anger and despair and hatred at himself or the universe for putting him through this. Instead, the way things are presented on screen, he does a big of running around, a bit of digging, a bit of swimming then punches a wall. That’s not a story, that’s a gym workout routine. So often held up by fans as the best lead acting in the series all I see is evidence of why Capaldi was mis-cast: I’d have loved to have seen an actor whose emotions play over their face doing this: William Hartnell would have been sublime, all bluster and tight camera angles. Patrick Troughton’s shadier Doctor would have started out fun then gradually caved. Pertwee’s Doctor would have started off civilised and turned into a desperate animal by the end. Tom Baker would have started off the cheeky chappy from ‘Robot’ then accelerated through seven years’ worth of screen adventures to end up the melancholy fatalist of ‘Logopolis’. Christopher Eccleston would have carried the story with burning anger. David Tennant would have exploded through multiple emotions in a short space of time. Capaldi’s face, expressive as he is at his best, just stays the same, in a perpetual frown. There’s no sense of him being pushed past his boundaries, forced to confront his darker self. He starts off as a grumpy man who gets gradually grumpier. That’s not a character progression, that’s what I’m like when I’m in a queue. 

 The big clever twist that fans like to talk about is that confession dial. Because yes, when the Doctor was trapped by ‘Ashildr/Me’ at the end of the previous episode and teleported to somewhere mysterious he ends up being shrunk down into the gadget that’s been seen throughout the series, a torture device used by the timelords to make their victims confess. It is, if you want to look at it that way, a comment on the ever-controversial antics of the Americans to stop terrorist attacks in Guantanamo Bay, while recalling the worst excesses of South American dictatorships. It is, on the face of it, the sort of thing the timelords would do: having power over all time and space and a penchant for technology that makes things bigger on the inside than the outside. So much so that this is one of the few Steven Moffat twists I actually saw coming on first transmission (and I hold my hand up: I’m usually really bad at spotting these). Except...Why a medieval Welsh castle? We’ve never ever seen one of these on Gallifrey. The Doctor never went into, say, ‘The Androids Of Tara’ or ‘The King’s demons’ talking about the ancestral abode of the Prydonian order back home (and let’s face it, he’s such a name-dropper he totally would, especially the 4th Doctor). While Earth isn’t the only planet in the Whoniverse with medieval architecture all of the other planets, to a tee, represent a backward society of the sort the timelords are unlikely to have ever bothered to visit: the most forward-looking of all of these is Peladon and they’re portrayed as being a smidgeon behind us in the intergalactic stakes. It’s almost as if they needed to set this story somewhere and worried about how it might come across on telly so they decided to give us some pretty pictures to look at. Except the pictures don’t match what the story is about. Much is made of how the castle ‘transforms’ and ‘re-configures’ itself but we barely see that (at most a corridor runs the other way compared to last time). How much better might this story have been if they’d filmed a little bit on every location used that year so that it looked a little like everywhere, as if the Doctor was being sent backwards through his own timeline in order to confess? How brilliant, too, the Doctor’s sudden realisation that he hasn’t time travelled but has merely been in this place for a very long time because the stars have changed might have been…had they actually changed and had he actually been in a place where he could see them instead of inside a confession dial.

Which leads on to another issue I have with this story. Why do the timelords want the Doctor to confess at all? We get some guff about how they’re worried about him being the ‘hybrid’ that is known as (spoilers) ‘me’. This is the timelords we’re talking about, who had powers of hypnosis and pain unprecedented in the series: just take a look at what they do to The War Chief in ‘The War Games’ and the way everyone reacts with horror to the ‘mind probe’ in various 5th Doctor stories. Why don’t they just get Colin Baker back as Commander Maxil to knock a few lumps out of the Doctor whole everyone looks the other way? This just isn’t their style at all. They must also know, surely, that the Doctor hasn’t got the first clue about what they want him to confess to: he doesn’t know any more about the stories and legends than they do. Aren’t they better off spending their (quite lengthy) time to go back into the matrix records and find out where the rumour started? We’re clearly meant to think that the hybrid is Ashildr and the timelords want to know why there’s an immortal Viking girl running around on Earth. Only this was exceedingly clumsily done: Ashildr isn’t important enough on any grand scale to interest the timelords and she didn’t even start calling herself ‘Me’ till some adventure off-screen between ‘The Girl Who Lived’ and ‘The Woman Who Died’: if Ashildr has used this name from the first it would have made so much more sense, but instead feels as if it was an afterthought added to the script after the first story was filmed (unusual for Moffat who usually knows where he’s going with series arcs years in advance of broadcast). Why not stick Ashildr in the confession dial if that’s what the timelords are afraid of? Plus the legend that the hybrid is ‘me’ i.e. the Doctor, only works from the Doctor’s point of view, not anyone else telling the legend. Oh and what good is it sending a cowled scary-looking figure in to chase the Doctor slowly when the timelords want to extract a confession, not running round corridors? How is he even meant to work out that he’s meant to confess rather than simply leg it? The way it comes over on screen the Doctor just naturally works this out, despite having never been in this scenario before. How? 

 Apparently the mysterious figure is taken from the Doctor’s subconscious memory of the sight that scared him of a child, a dead body covered in flies. How and why? Presumably he was on Gallifrey at the time – and timelords either regenerate or (on heir last lifetime) kind of dissolve in midair; there’s no flesh to decay. And if this was one of Gallifrey’s rare off-worlders a) you’d think the clinical austere world of Gallifrey would have tidied them up straight away before letting little boys (or girls) see them and 2) if the Doctor’s phobia is this bad he’d never ever travel off-world again ‘just in case’ he bumps into one. It seems odd that he doesn’t even flinch in all the stories where he sees decaying dead bodies after this. One would almost think this is Steven Moffat giving his own phobias to the character, particularly his long-standing tradition of a slow moving monster that’s perennially about to strike, like the Weeping Angels or The Silence – all fine has this character been created by Steven Moffat, but he wasn’t; there’s another 47 years’ worth of Dr Who before he took over the show to contend with. Far from making the Doctor want to confess this figure doesn’t even speak. I mean, this is the 12th Doctor we’re talking about here, not the mysterious 2nd or secretive 7th: if someone had asked him to confess something specific he’s not shy about giving his reasons; he’d have probably delivered an entire lecture on it complete with slideshow presentation. And shouldn’t the Doctor have given all sorts of juicy confessions up during the course of this story? The closest we get to one is him admitting that he stole the Tardis not because he was ‘bored’ (as per every other Dr Who story ever) but because he was ‘scared’. Which is a peculiarly Moffaty reading of the series seen in a handful of stories that clearly isn’t true. What was the Doctor scared of? Except being bored? This is such a fundamental change to the series and how we view the first story that I’m amazed there hasn’t been an outcry over this in fandom approaching that of ‘The Timeless Child’. The episode doesn’t end because the Doctor ‘confesses’ either – it ends because he punches a whacking great hole in the side of the wall. Which is perfect in a metaphorical sense but absolute nonsense in the context of the story if you stop to think about it. Why is there a way out at all when the timelords couldn’t give a monkeys as long as the Doctor confesses all. Plus, did nobody think even once to sit him down and merely ask him all he knew about the hybrid? 

 Even for a timeless world where nothing is quite as it seems there are a lot of weird anomolies in this story that are never explained. The time the cowled figure takes to track the Doctor down varies quite considerably. There’s a whole red herring sub-plot about leading the figure as far away as possible at the opposite end of the castle so the Doctor can run to the other end and buy time, but what does he do with it? Does he leave himself clues and scratch out ideas on the walls that he can go back to later? Does he do the trick with the unravelled cardigan the way he has every other time he’s ever been in a maze? (Which is a lot!) No: he stops to eat some soup (where from?!) and apparently in one of his unseen revivals painted a (rather good) portrait of Clara from scratch (where did he gets the canvas and paints?) Instead of writing himself something easy and identifiable he’s apparently gone to the trouble of scratching the number ‘12’ on a hidden flagstone that involved a great deal of digging (not even ‘room 12’ but ‘12’) and the word ‘bird’, because the realisation of what to do with the wall at the end strikes him as being akin to the brothers Grimm fairytale about how eternity ‘lasts as long as it takes the softest substance to chip away at the hardest rock’, which in the story’s terms is a shepherd boy on a granite mountain but is clearly a metaphor for water erosion (H20 breaking through the hardest rock if you give it a long enough period of time). rather than, say, ‘loop’ or ‘keep punching the wall till you regenerate’ or ‘oi mate, don’t worry if the veil thingy kills you because you’re going to wake up again in a regenerative machine’ (after all, he’s a quick writer when he wants to be). Even the full name of the fairytale would make more sense. I mean, if I’d got that message I’d have assumed it was the Varosians trying to turn me into a bird like they tried with Peri or maybe Omega’s Ergon ostrich. Not to mention I normally don’t understand notes I leave myself in longhand from the night before, never mind cryptic ones from 7000 years ago. The Doctor does this while dying, in a state where he’s fit to collapse and is too busy crawling to get scrawling, instead of writing his clues before his business with the azbantium (a series of arrows from the transporter room would have been handy too). This story is so busy trying to be clever, to set us up with clues that lead us in another direction while expecting us to be so thrilled with the resolution we won’t think about the plotholes – but this is Dr Who, in an era of repeats, with a fanbase who study every last detail. Did they really think we wouldn’t notice some of these oddities? 

The result is an incredibly stagey and oddly directed bit of television that’s basically a one-man show (the cowled figure is played by Jami Reid-Quarrell, who was Colony Sarff in ‘The Magicians’ Apprentice’, not that it makes any difference to the story) by an actor at his worst, bits of incomprehensible Moffat dialogue (‘Hell is just Heaven for bad people’ Really???) delivered by an actor who has no one to bounce off so either under-plays or over-plays every line. In theory it’s an episode that’s everything the darker, edgier DW scripts are at their best: metaphorical, courageous sand rulebreaking and a lot fresher than any programme celebrating its 52nd birthday had any right to be. Unfortunately it’s also fifty minutes of Peter Capaldi talking to himself while bumbling round a Castle over and over. Many fans compared this one to ‘The Edge Of Destruction’, given the lack of plot, smallness of the cast and the amount of cul-de-sacs we go down before finding the right path (with a number of hand-written clues along the way!) but, honestly, ‘Heaven Sent’ isn’t worthy to tie that story’s shoelaces. That story was a murder mystery without a murder, a story that expanded on our knowledge of the Tardis and the four people trapped inside it at a time in the series when the answer could literally have been anything; this story is so obviously pinpointed from the start to be about grief that the metaphors are all so obvious and the red herrings there to trick us rather than get us thinking. The resolution when it comes, really isn’t worth the hassle of getting there. I mean, losing twenty minutes of your life to watching Peter Capaldi doing some digging isn’t my idea of the greatest show in the galaxy – there are a good twenty minutes in the middle of this story where time stands still for us as much as the Doctor and nothing of any interest happens at all. At least in some of my other least favourite stories from my bottom hundred something’s going on. However incompetently. 

 For all that, though, it’s not hopeless. The idea of doing a story about grieving rather than simply moving on the way Dr Who always does is a worthy one: the Doctor has a lot of pent-up guilt by now and the loss of Clara seems to hit him harder than any of his other companions (weird, really, given that he moves on relatively quickly after Donna and Amy to name just two modern ones, while he recovers from pushing Susan – his own kith and kin, from what we’re told on screen - out the Tardis almost as soon as Vicki turns up in ‘The Rescue’; even his pining for Rose only lasted a series – peanuts compared to the billions of years spent here). The idea of doing such a different kind of episode, on such a difficult subject, is something to be admired and applauded, however it turned out (I don’t know what it is that happened in Moffat’s past but so many of his most famous episodes have been about coming to terms with death: ‘The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances’ ‘Dark Water/Death In Heaven’ ‘The World Enough and Time’ lots of the best ‘Press Gang’ episodes). The cowled figure looks impressive, for all that it doesn’t run very fast – the sort of thing you would be scared out of your wits to come across (although the fact that the flies around it, originally meant to be added with CGI, only exist via stock footage is a bit of a letdown). The skulls piled up in the corner (each one modelled on Peter Capaldi’s face, following the cast that was taken for ‘Under The Lake’) are a gloriously spooky touch and the idea of a regeneration chamber is a neat and very Who-like metaphor for how the Doctor keeps ‘dying’ and comes out of his mistakes a new man. The scenery is gorgeous: both Welsh castles are exactly the sort of place you’d want to run around for 55 minutes and it’s a surprise both how much of them were re-created in the TV studio and that the series hadn’t made use of them before. The scene where the Doctor decides to run away from the figure by (spoilers) leaping out a window and diving, even though he hasn’t got a plan ready yet, is very Dr Who and adds a bit of action and jeopardy at just the moment when the story is in danger of standing still (a scene that had its genesis in an interview Moffat gave to the ‘Ultimate Time Lord’ book where the show’s different writers were encouraged to say how they saw the main character: ‘He’s an adrenalin junkie. He will toss himself out a window and figure out what to do on the way down. Probably taking the time to eat a sandwich while he does it’). 

 It’s a very clever solution to the age-old problem of needing one episode towards the end of the year to suck up the costs of other episodes going over and how to give the regular cast enough holidays, by basically benching Clara for most of an episode, and the shock that they haven’t simply revived Clara again in this story in an era when the showrunner was averse to killing anyone off from incidental supporting characters up is in context a surprise (slightly underdone by having Clara come back to life next week instead). There are a lot of things to love about this episode, so I can see why it’s ended up such a cult favourite. I just don’t understand why everyone else loves an episode that, by Dr Who’s very high standards, is oddly put together and shoddily made. I do appreciate and applaud that they’re not just playing things safe the way everyone easily could this many years into the series’ lifetime and this story’s sheer courage wins it enough brownie points from me to raise it from the bottom. I love the fact that this story is brave enough to do in some deep and dark places and appreciate it as a one-off (thank goodness there hasn’t been the inevitable Big Finish box set with four extra hours of Peter Capaldi talking to himself and writing the clues seen in this story, the way there has been with every other celebrated and popular episode involving time missing that isn’t shown on screen. Yet). I just also hope that it’s another 52 years before they try this sort of thing again because good gracious me it’s boring. In short, it’s a nice idea that becomes a disaster on screen, hardly Heaven sent at all. My advice is skip it and move on. 

POSITIVES + With so much emphasis on the mystery of the surroundings this is one of the best uses of location filming the series ever had. We’ve had the outside of lots of castles in Dr Who before of course but we’ve never spent this long inside them without them being replaced by unconvincing studio sets and never pretending to be something else before. Their use in this story is a masterstroke, giving us some different-looking corridors to run down while the jagged turret-like edges of the confession dial ‘fits’ nicely with this story’s setting and the overall aesthetic, however little sense it makes (there was, originally, a plan to have a close-up of the castle turrets as seen in the confession dial when it tumbles away from the Doctor at the end scene on Gallifrey, but it was dropped for being unconvincing: a shame as a lot of fans miss this actually very clever trick). 

NEGATIVES – The scene where the cowled figure finally catches up with the Doctor and wraps its alien-looking fingers round the Doctor’s head as he screams in agony ought to be one of the most gripping moments in the series’ history. I mean, how many times do we outright se the Doctor die? On screen it looks like an abysmal bit of children’s television as a man wearing what looks like oven gloves wraps itself around the head of Capaldi gasping and apparently doing his orgasm face. Sometimes this series really is too silly for words. 

 BEST QUOTE: ‘Rule one about being interrogated: you are the only irreplaceable person in the room. If they threaten you with death show ‘em who’s boss. Die faster!’ 

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