Twenty years ago this week, the first season of the revived era of Doctor Who came to an end with “The Parting of the Ways,” as did the tenure of Christopher Eccleston’s Ninth Doctor. Ready to sacrifice it all to stop the Daleks, the Ninth Doctor’s final moments remain a vital moment in Doctor Who history. It was the first time in decades since Doctor Who had asked its audience to trust in the magic of the series’ defining trick to survival and re-invention: the magic of regeneration itself.
Eccleston’s exit may have been born from behind-the-scenes strife, but in giving the revived series a necessity to introduce this fundamental aspect of Doctor Who to its new audience so soon, it would go on to shape every regeneration after it for the next 20 years. Sure, they’ve gotten more explosive, but that bright, violent flash of conical streams of orange light has been with the series in some ways ever since the Ninth Doctor bid one last goodbye.
What remains so interesting, and so poignant, about the Ninth Doctor’s regeneration beyond the thematic template it set for the series is how quiet it is. Violence has become an indelible part of the modern Doctor Who regeneration: console rooms are smashed and battered; the Doctors themselves are wracked with sudden, debilitating agony; the release of energy is less about the rejuvenative aspect and more about this sundering, overwhelming force. Regenerations are big. They’re dramatic. They’re occasionally indulgently overwrought, a chance for the show’s main star to have one last hurrah, one last emotional speech, or one final surprise.
The Ninth Doctor’s is anything but big. It has to balance a delicate line, both explaining to Rose and the audience alike exactly what is happening, but also metatextually acting as this final point on the story of who the Ninth Doctor is. For a man so haunted by the specter of the Last Great Time War, that his final moments are quiet, contemplative, and peaceful is a wonderful coda. An incarnation of the Doctor that was born in rage and shame for what he’d had to do in battle is given peace, a moment to reflect and acknowledge that his turn at this life was good, and of value, both to the Doctor and the people he let into his life with this face.
There’s something fascinating about revisiting the moment for this 20th anniversary—at a time where Eccleston’s scene partner in Billie Piper has now stood where he once was, the face of the Doctor (or something that remains unseen), as Doctor Who heads into an uncertain future. Back then, the series felt full of possibilities, even laced with concern. Would regeneration work in 2005 has it had back in 1966? Would people accept a new face to their hero? Would the show be able to continue, and thrive?
Those questions linger in the here and now with the Doctor’s latest transformation, albeit with a different tone. The question about regeneration itself is moot at this point; we’ve seen plenty since, plenty grander, plenty weirder, than Eccleston’s exit. But that nervous energy of what’s next beyond that burst of dazzling light is still there now.
Perhaps it’s humbling that we can look back to those similar feelings from two decades ago, with the hindsight that yes, there was something beyond that light: 20 more years of something. Perhaps one day there will be more.