Even the Daleks were back, offering the Prommers tea and biscuits in the fevered atmosphere.
Given the number of alien menaces that Doctor Who has seen off over the decades, winning over a slavishly enthusiastic crowd at the Proms was never going to be his greatest challenge. But the BBC still pulled out all the stops this weekend to ensure that the audience had an out-of-this-world experience.
The atmosphere was fevered – the Tardis parked by the bust of Sir Henry Wood, the sound baffles dangling overhead like flying saucers, and monsters from the show marching through the packed auditorium as the BBC National Orchestra of Wales and London Philharmonic Choir expertly synchronised their playing (under conductor Ben Foster) to scenes from the show. Even the Daleks were back, offering the Prommers tea and biscuits.
Such Proms are meant to introduce their young audience to the classics, but judging by the response of the eight-year-old I had purloined for the occasion, this was only partially successful. As soon as the videos and aliens disappeared, and co-conductor Grant Llewellyn appeared to do the “proper” bits, her interest waned. Taking that into account, the organisers made the non-Who music as rousing and familiar as possible: after John Adams’s Short Ride in a Fast Machine and William Walton’s overture Portsmouth Point, it was Holst’s Mars, Orff’s O Fortuna and Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries.
In the end, however, it was all about the Doctor – witness the rock-star welcome that greeted Matt Smith’s second-half appearance. Smith’s Doctor gave his customary manic performance, enlisting the help of a mini-me audience member in braces and bowtie to save the Albert Hall from a “wibbly-wobby, explodey-wodey thing”. Arthur Darvill (Rory Williams) also pitched in, but the bulk of the hosting was ably handled by co-star Karen Gillan (Amy Pond).
As for my companion, what with getting to meet Gillan on a fortuitously timed loo break, and having her Dalek-shaped programme signed by composer Murray Gold, there was only one question as the rousing theme tune, and tumultuous applause, died away: “Can I come back next year?”
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