Equal-Opportunity Snogging, Space Aliens, and Funny Accents
You can tell a lot about a show by its opening credits. Doctor Who’s, for example, are brash and bombastic, promising danger and delight in equal measure, much like the title character himself. In contrast, Torchwood, the Who spinoff now airing on BBC America, has a sleeker, darker, far simpler credit sequence: Flickering glimpses of the series’ title and logo, orange on a black background, over a cool, memorably propulsive techno theme. They’re over in what feels like a blink, leaving you vaguely thrilled and unsettled. Same goes for the show.
Well, “shows,” really. If Torchwood has one real problem, it’s that it’s trying to be two series at once. One is a mostly smart, morally troubling series about a demon-haunted band of paranormal investigators; the other’s a fizzy, omnisexual soap opera where everyone is always just on the verge of making out with everyone else. Unfortunately for Torchwood, only one of them is any good.
As a spinoff, Torchwood does well by its long-running predecessor. Where Who is unabashedly a family show, tempering its sadness with jokes and wonders, Torchwood is very, very adult — and not just for its salty language and frank depiction of sexuality. This is a show about the messes the Doctor’s adventures leave behind, and the people who pick through them looking for gems; about the corrupting, corrosive, frustrating nature of living and working a breath away from amazing and dangerous objects, and always being told, don’t touch.
The heroes of Torchwood aren’t detectives, although they do solve the occasional mystery. They’re scavengers, garbagemen, living on the shores of a Who-spawned dimensional rift (in Cardiff, Wales, which the series seems to present as the Atlanta or St. Louis of the United Kingdom) and hunting through the often dangerous refuge that washes up from Points Unknown. Where Who often celebrates life, Torchwood is almost entirely about death, decay, and loss, in one form or another.
Taking a page from Joss Whedon’s Buffyverse formula, the dangers the Torchwood team encounters are often metaphors for universal personal struggles. Most of the time, this works, as in the second episode’s achingly sad take on sexual awakening; sometimes it doesn’t, as anyone unfortunate enough to sit through the “Alien Fight Club” episode later in the season will realize only too well. (Ever wanted to see what Fight Club would be like if you made all the homoerotic undercurrents laughably overt, and replaced Brad Pitt with a snarling stuntman in about twenty-five pounds of latex? Yeah, me neither.)
The actors are all very good, especially John Barrowman, reprising his role as Who’s charming Captain Jack Harkness, a marooned time traveler from the 51st Century, where “sexual orientation” is a quaint, outmoded little notion. He’s cool and funny and consistently likeable, even when he’s making murderously hard decisions. But there’s also something plastic, something alien about him. He’s got a Peter Pan sort of youthfulness, and you get the sense from Barrowman’s performance that to Captain Jack, dying would be “an awfully big adventure.” Unfortunately for him, Jack has a little problem with that whole “mortality” thing; Who fans will know why — and recognize the severed hand Jack hoards in a jar — but neophytes will be able to enjoy that unusual twist to his character all the same.
Eve Myles also does well as Gwen Cooper, the moon-eyed police officer who serves as our point of view for the series. (In season 1 of Who, she played a servant girl, also from Cardiff, also named Gwen, with a psychic link to beasties from beyond. Curious.) Her motley coworkers include Burn Gorman as jerktastical coroner Owen Harper, a self-absorbed and partly self-loathing ladykiller; Naoko Mori as poor Toshiko “Tosh” Sato, computer expert and the series’ emotional punching bag; and Gareth David-Lloyd as the charmingly officious Ianto Jones, the team’s personal secretary and aide-de-camp. (You know it’s a British show when the paranormal investigators have someone ‘round the office specifically to make the tea.) These folks all hang out in a superbly designed and decorated subterranean set, cataloging alien artifacts while trying to resist the temptation to use them (with little success), and, oh yeah, basically climbing all over one another at a moment’s notice.
That, alas, is Torchwood’s big, fat stumbling point — the much-ballyhooed bisexual nature of all of its characters. I’m all for a more diverse portrayal of sexuality on TV, but I prefer it to fit the characters, rather than being thrust upon them (often to the detriment of little things like plotting or, you know, logic.) Jack’s omnisexuality makes sense for the character, and is actually really sweet; he gets a full-blown gay romance late in the season, and even this avowed heterosexual found it honestly moving. You can also believe that Owen would lock lips with a guy if it meant he also got to bed the guy’s hot girlfriend. And the way Tosh gets dumped on throughout the series, it’s not too much of a stretch for her to fall for anyone who treats her with a modicum of kindness, male or female.
But there’s at least one glaring instance where the writers, in defiance of established characterization and all good sense, say, “Hang on, we haven’t filled the quota yet! Quick! You two guys start randomly propositioning each other for sex!” Some of the series’ hetero pairings, I should add, are equally ridiculous, and the show as a whole has an obnoxiously overheated air of carnality about it that just comes across as silly. An apparent agenda, however well-intentioned, is no substitute for good storytelling.
It all adds up — or doesn’t, really — to a show that’s always watchable, but only occasionally excellent. When Torchwood is good, it’s incredibly good; “Cyberwoman,” dealing with loose ends from Who’s season two, is a white-knuckle thriller with a heartbreaking emotional core, while “They Keep Killing Suzie” is every bit as dark and compelling as its title suggests. There is also, at one point in the series, a scene in which a ruthless killing machine in a metal bikini punches a CGI pterodactyl in the face, which is quite possibly the most awesome thing the BBC has ever done.
Just be warned that you’ll also have to sit through nonsense like the aforementioned “Alien Fight Club” episode, and a goofy tale of a lovesick ghost following Gwen around, as well. The season finale also falls flat, with cool special effects (and another clever tie to season 2 Who) overshadowed by an absolutely ridiculous deus-ex-machine climax involving that well-worn sci-fi cliche, The Power of Love or Something. Maybe it’s supposed to thematically counterpoint the mostly gloomy rest of the season, but it just seems hasty and jarring.
In short, Torchwood is even more uneven than its mostly superb parent show, and while its highs are nearly as high, its lows are far lower. It’s a fun show overall, much better than most of the dreck on American TV, and if you’re one of those terrifying people who loves slash fiction on the Internet, well, your filthy electronic prayers have been answered. In spades. Even if you’re not, you’ll probably enjoy Torchwood — just with a lot more eye-rolling. Don’t go in expecting a masterpiece, and you’ll have a good time; sometimes even a great time.
And like I said: Killing-machine-vs.pterodactyl fistfight. For that alone, I think creator Russell T. Davies should probably be knighted.
Torchwood airs Saturdays at 9 p.m. ET on BBC America.
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