The BBC America debut of Torchwood was the most successful launch in the network’s history. They responded by giving their audience a treat that’s more foreign than the programming itself – a near-simultaneous broadcast of the new season on both sides of the Atlantic. If you’ve ever been a fan of UK exports, you know what I mean. Whether it be because of copyright issues, laziness or residual spite from the mother country, most British TV that makes it here at all is forced to sit in customs or TV purgatory for months before it airs on American tubes… apparently until now. I didn’t exactly like the first season of Torchwood. Not as much as I wanted to like it anyways. But my desire to love it kept me watching, and despite the mediocre premiere and even less compelling finale, there were enough solid episodes in between to bring me back. The promise of James Marsters didn’t hurt their case either.
The second season (premiering Saturday at 9PM) begins with the group trying to take out a alien/demon without their fearless leader who disappeared at the end of the last season. (My Buffy eyebrow is officially raised.) Just when things are at their most dire… Jack reappears to save the day and drop an obligatory wink and “did ya miss me?” They did, but like all sidekicks, they’re still bitter he left in the first place. James Marsters shows up dressed as some sort of alien drum major before any of this is addressed. Masters’ character (John) and Jack engage in an obligatory make out session before their lust escalates to a well choreographed ass-kicking as Blur plays in the background. It’s possibly the hottest thing ever put on television, but the allusions to Marsters’ TV roots go a little past flattery.
After the initial canoodling, Jack goes on to make passes at both Gwen and Ianto, and we resume the sexual seesaw that is Torchwood. This rampant and insincere bisexuality might actually be offensive if it wasn’t so depressing. The lamentable portrait of Jack, the immortal hero, as a lonely wonderer, drawn to working with a team but aware that he’s always a few inches too far to ever really connect with burns almost every scene in the season premiere. What he doesn’t know is that his team is no better off than he is. They hump each other to find solace from their dark line of work, but all they do is alienate each other and themselves. It’s like a subtle, twisted argument for abstinence.
Torchwood has admittedly reinvented itself this season. The writing is sharper, the actors are more comfortable with their characters, the production quality is far superior and the humor is… existent. There’s also this slight and unexpected shift in tone. Sexuality that was soapy camp is now dark and slightly desperate. This change coincides with the characters’ acceptance and even the temptation of their own mortality – an inevitable watershed in most science fiction series. It’s curious that the Torchwood team would find themselves at this place so soon in their run, but the show’s rapid maturity doesn’t seem to be anything but an improvement.
