The Bishop of Torchwood: ‘Greeks Bearing Gifts’

Oh god. Naoko Mori really is a nothing actress, isn’t she? Freema Agyeman should feel right at home . . .

The Bishop has by now had enough of Torchwood, the televisual soulmate of an 'ADD M0RE 1NCHES!!!' spam; and must point out that he is writing this brief commentary instead of watching ‘Greeks Bearing Gifts’, which is at the moment floundering and foundering and flailing away in the other room. So forgive him if he gets the following assessment wrong; though given that the one and only useful thing that Torchwood has been in consistent, he suspects it will be all too correct: ‘Greeks Bearing Gifts’ is crap.

The Bishop on footage of Metallica playing ‘Orion’ at the Rock Am Ring Festival 3.6.2006

Well, you can’t half tell it was the first time they’d done that live.

The Bishop on Torchwood: 'Cyberwoman'

Sometimes, and usually surprisingly early in their runs, the cast and crew of certain television shows come to the realisation that their program isn’t working, cease to take the exercise seriously, and enjoy the opportunity to have a little fun. (Melrose Place and Angel spring immediately to the Bishop’s mind.*) And often, before this happens, there appear one or two intermediary episodes which seem to collapse under the weight of their own inebriation, but are amusing all the same, for the reason it is often fun to watch one’s friends stumble around drunk.

With ‘Pterodactyl’, Torchwood has officially had one too many. We can only hope, then, that the time as come to kick back, watch everyone shag each other, and add one more program to the guilty pleasures list. Dallas-on-the-Taff, here we come.

*In fact, it now occurs to the Bishop, what better way to describe Torchwood than as the Welsh love child of Angel and Melrose Place?

The Bishop on Torchwood: 'Ghost Machine'

The best that can be said of Helen Raynor, as a scriptwriter, is that she shouldn’t be. There is nothing too unfortunate about the plot of ‘Ghost Machine’, but its dialogue, which culminates in Gwen’s sage observation that the dawn represents ‘a new day’, would not be out of place hosting the Eurovision Song Contest. The blame for the episode’s cringe factor­–ten sexual tension, meanwhile, can probably be laid at the feet of Russell T. Davies, who like a teenage boy is obsessed with it, and handles it about as well.

Eve Myles still has a terrific arse, but is beginning to grate; and the Bishop was disappointed to discover that her expression for 'shocked' seems to have been based on a goldfish. Burn Gorman, as Owen, becomes interesting, but as if to keep the Torchwood universe in balance, John Barrowman’s Captain Jack heralds less so. The Bishop appreciates Barrowman’s charm, but here he is laughably sleazy and a peg or two too camp: less the leader of a top secret organisation, more the director of a musical troupe.

And then there’s the small credibility matter that, if you believed you were going to die soon on a certain street, you’d probably steer well clear of it. Much like anything with Helen Raynor’s name on the credits.