For some of those fans, nothing Chibnall or the Doctor can say will talk them out of their froth. The Doctor, they fume, is a dude. But others—including those who’ve eagerly anticipated Whittaker’s tenure—will be both enticed and heartened by this assured, energetic season premiere. New can be scary, sure, but it can be exhilarating, too.

It’s difficult to write a typical review of “The Woman Who Fell To Earth,” for two reasons. The first is the usual veil of secrecy that surrounds this series, particularly in the early outings. I’m prohibited from revealing anything in the way of plot details, no hints about the antagonist or antagonists, no descriptions of the early moments or what conspires to bring the Doctor and her companions—Ryan (Tosin Cole), Yasmin (Mandip Gill), and Graham (Bradley Walsh)—together. While normally I’d go into at least some detail, it’s an easy mandate to obey, because writing both as a critic and a longtime fan of the series, never would I wish to lessen the enjoyment of those who will on Sunday experience Whittaker’s Doctor and Chibnall’s episode (directed by Jamie Childs) for the first time.

The second reason is harder to articulate. Some of the exhilaration of seeing Whittaker as the Doctor would, I thought, have burned off by now. We’ve seen her lowering her hood in that first teaser, regenerating right into Peter Capaldi’s suit (still worn here) in the Christmas special, and in a series of trailers leading up to this premiere. Yet when the Doctor makes her entrance—another moment that an embargo prohibits me from describing—exhilaration is precisely what flamed up, bright and hot. There’s much that’s comfortable and familiar here. The traditions of Nü-Who’s new Doctor episodes are honored, the Doctor’s code is stated plainly; moments of giddy silliness, the regeneration, the alienness, the two hearts, and the core of bone-deep empathy, all intact.

The Doctor, in short, is still the Doctor, but is also something, and someone, new. To see a series with a history this long headed off in such a promising new direction would be thrilling regardless; Whittaker’s performance is irresistible to both the critical and Whovian pieces of my mind. It encompasses the quickness of David Tennant, the grounded energy of Christopher Eccleston, the undeniable foreignness of Matt Smith, and both the questionable social graces and the slight twinge of long-accepted loss of Peter Capaldi. Whittaker apes none of the performances of these men, nor any of their predecessors (though her costume does nod to several of them). She, as the Doctor herself puts it in a scene near the episode’s climax, honors who she’s been, while embracing who she’ll become. It’s a performance that feels simultaneously newborn and ancient, and there’s nothing more Gallifreyan than that.