This is what telly would look like if you gave an infinite number of internet sex-pests an infinite number of keyboards.
Thank Who that someone at the BBC remembered to administer a big dose of Ritalin to Russell T Grant's team for the new Torchwood, turning the hysteria down to "screeching" from 11, which is where the dial was stuck throughout season one.
I still had to check the script wasn't by Julian Clary, though, what with the rogue Time Agent, played to great media fanfare by the lovely James Marsters of Buffy fame, embodying sex 'n' death and having to utter lines like, "Mine's smaller but it lasts longer", speculating on Captain Jack's "tourist entrance", and in the strangest mano-a-mano fuck-fight since a naked Alan Bates and Ollie Reed pummelled themselves silly in "Women In Love", arguing over who had been the "wife" in a two-week romance that felt life five years due to a space-time-continuum rift wormhole thingy. (Heh, heh, she said, "wormhole".)
Make no mistake: this was bitchslapping on a Grande Dame scale.
I was glad to see they've given up trying to turn Owen into a sex-stud. Among all these pretty people, Owen's sole function seems to be that of the plainer variety of male porno-flick stars (the tubby hirsute Ron Jeremy being a case in point, so I am told); to show their punters that ugly guys can get laid, too.
It may have had all the sexual tension of a Donald McGill seaside postcard (we British do saucy so much better than sex) but with at least the makings of a coherent plotline, it was followable. One of the climaxes (oh gawd!), when they were about to be blown up was marred by James asking, "Anyone fancy an orgy?". Subsequently moved to take a vow of celibacy by the relentless shoving down my throat (stoppit!) of the writer's single-entendres, I managed to tune out the smut flying thick and fast (oh, Jeez!) and enjoy pretty James in his pirate get-up.
Naming and shaming, the script was by Chris Chibnall; direction by Ashley Way.
See why I need Celine and Julie Go Boating?
More on James Marsters and Torchwood here.
Bloggers do Torchwood: Splintered Sunrise, Louise and A Very Public Sociologist.
6 comments:
I so knew you were going to blog about Torchwood. You've been dying to put up that photo of you and James Marsters for an age. Go on, admit it. You know it's true!
James has been begging me to do this for ages, Phil. And he finally wore me down.
Yeah, it was so gawd damn appalling. Though it is probably true that snogging Master James would bring you to your knees and paralyse you. I woulda taken it far far better than glum Gwen!
Take me away from these souless wooden chumps, James/Spike/Cap'n John and let us indulge in the baaadddd evil terrible naughty things..... Lets take over the TUC...!
Ni hao, Madam Miaow, but oh dear. I hope you make more of those Xenakis CDs than I made of your Torchwood review. Not your fault - popular culture has become a foreign country dont j'ai pas appris la langue.
So anyway, does all this mean that the value of a snog with Mr Marsters has depreciated? Send him up to the Fens and I'll check it out for myself. If you phone in advance, I can ensure the lyrical witch-hunter is down in Tesco with a long shopping list so James and I can make out in safety.
Re: Torchwood, I thought this Wed's episode was a big improvement. Loving the "new" Ianto with his Buffy-esque witty liners and the hint of a story arc.
Russell T still needs to sit down and watch all five seasons of The Wire. If they were able to marry Torchwood to themes of personal and institutional corruption, you'll have a perfect show.
Ni hao, Babeuf. I suspect Torchwood (or "touch wood" for the hopeful) is never going to be to your taste.
Finally purchased The Wire season 1, Phil. Looking forward to it.
I note you still had to write, "... Buffy-esque witty liners ...", and that's half the problem, innit? Russell should be invoking the spirit of Buffy rather than cannibalising her corpse.
And Owen's line at the end? "Let's have sex?" They did this joke last week.
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