Torchwood. The mere name sent me into spasms of middle age geek excitement. An anagram of Doctor Who, concepted by the brilliance of Russell T Davies who not only revived Dr Who but wrote the extraordinary Queer as Folk, set in Wales so it wouldn't be full of annoying Americans, an incredibly funny, sexy, shag anything that moves spin off character. What was not to love? The way my kids eyes glazed over every time the promo came on I just knew it was going to be great.
Except it's not. At all. I tried to love it, I really did. I even stayed up to 10.30 to watch the first two episodes. But it just couldn't sustain this kind of devotion because, you know, old and need my sleep.
But I persevered, I bought the entire first series (for the unholy sum of ninety bucks thank you very much) and watched it from beginning to end and my giddy aunt it sucked. Really. Every episode is riddled with stolen ideas and dialogue. Seriously, if there is an original story line in the whole series I'll whistle Dixie, backwards. And the characters, the writers have managed to take a fantastic character from Dr Who, given him his own spin off and completely bastardized every facet of said character. Are they mental? And the supporting cast? Just die, please.
The series arc? Please, we should be so lucky. Nothing happened. No character development, nothing was resolved, no relationships evolved, no overarching theme emerged no lesson was learnt. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I don't think I have been quite so disappointed. Expect for maybe when I found out the true life expectancy of guinea pigs but that is quite another story.
Backyard update - Nil, nilch, nothing. Way to busy over the weekend becoming a trivia higher demi-god.
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