Past Lives was dull in the way that so many of BF’s celebratory stories are dull— it offers a novel arrangement of nostalgia elements BF uses all the time and then runs them through a pedestrian script severely lacking in cleverness or charm— but I rather liked The Artist at the End of Time. The plot is standard fare, and the script is missing the crackle of the best DW anniversary stuff, but there’s a quietly interesting character study of the Doctor and the Curator running under the surface, and it resists the temptation to retread Doctor/Jenny ground from Relative Time.
