There are few moments in the vast Doctor Who universe as quietly momentous as Death of the Doctor, the 2010 two-part story from The Sarah Jane Adventures, and the last from that series which I have chosen to revisit for these retrospectives. Written by Russell T Davies and broadcast in October 2010, it marks the only time Matt Smith’s Doctor crossed into the spin-off, uniting him with two of the most beloved figures in Who history: Sarah Jane Smith (Elisabeth Sladen) and Jo Jones, formerly Jo Grant (Katy Manning). Rewatching it in 2025 is a bittersweet experience — a reunion glowing with warmth and nostalgia, now deepened by the passage of time and the loss of both Sladen and the era she embodied.
Davies’s writing here is deceptively light at first glance, yet layered with affection and mortality. The premise — UNIT announces the Doctor’s death, summoning Sarah Jane and Jo to attend his memorial — serves as both a playful mystery and a chance to explore legacy. It’s a story less about death than about the endurance of connection across time. That’s fitting, because Death of the Doctor isn’t merely a crossover; it’s a conversation between eras, between creators, and between generations of viewers.
The first thing that strikes the viewer on rewatch is how naturally Matt Smith slides into the tone of The Sarah Jane Adventures. His Eleventh Doctor, so often manic and alien in his own series, becomes gentler here — playful, yes, but suffused with warmth. The moment he sweeps into the story, apologising for not being dead, the chemistry between him and Sladen is instant. Their bond transcends decades. Watching them together in 2025, one feels the ghost of Jon Pertwee in every look, every line, every unspoken memory.
Katy Manning’s return as Jo Grant is a masterstroke. Her energy is irrepressible, her warmth undimmed. She and Sarah Jane together form a living archive of Doctor Who’s emotional history — two women who loved the same alien in their own ways, now meeting across time. Their initial awkwardness quickly gives way to affection, their shared nostalgia underscored by Davies’s trademark empathy. When Jo recalls seeing the Doctor’s face again in the news, years after believing she’d never see him, Manning’s performance brims with emotional honesty. There’s a lifetime of unspoken stories behind her smile.
What’s remarkable, even now, is how Death of the Doctor manages to honour both women without reducing them to nostalgia pieces. Davies’s script insists that life after the TARDIS matters. Jo’s travels with her husband Cliff, her many children and grandchildren, and Sarah Jane’s life as a journalist and protector of Earth are portrayed not as consolation prizes, but as heroic continuations of their journeys. The Doctor didn’t save them — he inspired them to save others. It’s a subtle but profound shift in how Doctor Who viewed its legacy. Companions weren’t just supporting characters in someone else’s story; they were heroes of their own.
The plot itself — involving the Shansheeth, alien undertakers seeking to use the Doctor’s memories to rewrite history — is classic RTD mischief: high-concept science fiction used to frame an emotional truth. The idea of weaponising memory feels even more resonant in 2025, an era of digital legacies and resurrected icons. The Shansheeth, with their funereal feathers and mournful tones, are symbols of sentimentality gone wrong — creatures trying to preserve the Doctor forever, when his essence is defined by impermanence and motion. “The universe needs the Doctor alive,” Jo reminds them, “because he’s the one who never stops.” That line, simple as it is, encapsulates the heart of the story.
Matt Smith’s performance shines brightest in the quieter moments. When the Doctor speaks with Jo about her life — about how often he thinks of his old companions — the script strikes something raw and beautiful. “You think I’ve forgotten all of you?” he asks softly. “I never forget.” Watching it now, after Elisabeth Sladen’s passing, that moment hits differently. It’s not just the Doctor speaking to Jo; it’s the show itself speaking to its history, promising that its past is never truly gone. For a series built on time travel, Death of the Doctor becomes a kind of emotional regeneration.
There’s also an understated poignancy in how Davies writes the Eleventh Doctor. His energy is slightly mournful here — a man still carrying the scars of the Time War and the burden of solitude. Yet around Sarah Jane and Jo, he becomes almost childlike again. Their presence reminds him of who he once was. This interplay between old companions and the young Doctor subtly reframes his era: for all his youthful energy, he’s the one haunted by loss. They, meanwhile, have learned to live with it.
From a structural perspective, Death of the Doctor is a masterclass in tone. It’s paced briskly, filled with humour and adventure, yet never loses sight of its emotional core. The young cast — Daniel Anthony, Anjli Mohindra, and Tommy Knight — serve as an anchor to the present, reflecting the next generation’s awe at meeting living legends. Their wonder becomes ours. The scenes where Jo and Sarah Jane share stories of travelling in the TARDIS, their voices overlapping with laughter, feel like time itself folding in affectionately.
In 2025, with the hindsight of a franchise that has now spanned over six decades, Death of the Doctor takes on even more meaning. It’s not merely a celebration of the past — it’s a philosophical statement about continuity and renewal. Russell T Davies, ever the poet of emotion, understood that Doctor Who endures because it changes while remembering. When Jo asks how many regenerations the Doctor can have, and he replies with a mischievous “507,” it’s a meta wink — a gentle reassurance that the story will never truly end. Watching now, as the Fifteenth Doctor continues that legacy, that line feels prophetic.
The episode’s final moments are almost unbearably touching. Sarah Jane and Jo, standing together outside the Doctor’s TARDIS, wave him off — two friends saying goodbye to a man who is always leaving. Their conversation afterwards, about how lucky they were to know him, becomes a mirror for every viewer who’s ever been moved by Doctor Who. “He never visits us, does he?” Jo muses. “He must have so many people to see.” And Sarah Jane replies softly, “He always remembers.” In that line lies the essence of the show — not the monsters, not the paradoxes, but the continuity of care, the persistence of memory.
Rewatching in 2025, Death of the Doctor feels like a benediction. It reminds us that the series’ true immortality lies in its relationships — in the way one generation hands its wonder to the next. It’s a story about legacy, love, and the quiet dignity of growing older while still believing in the extraordinary. For fans, it’s not just a crossover; it’s a family reunion. And for the Doctor, it’s a moment of grace — proof that even in a universe of endless goodbyes, some connections never fade.
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