We’re five episodes into Miracle Day now, and anyone expecting a twist in the middle of the tale won’t be disappointed. Sadly – once again – the same can’t be said for the rest of the episode. Last week’s trailer showed so much promise, but this episode failed to deliver. Until, that is, the last few minutes.

 

Despite the brightness of the LA locations, this was a dark, grim episode. Much of the usual Torchwood humour and banter was missing (although Jack’s gag about Rex being his lover was right on the mark), but this was apt considering the episode dealt with extermination camps. Tonally, episode five saw a big shift, one that feels more in line with the previous series Children of Earth. It’s a moment of genuine unease when it’s revealed that surviving humans have been categorised and thus marked for extinction – if the peg is blue for category two, red is dead  – one that’s heightened when Vera Juarez is shot and dumped into one of the ‘modules’ where she will be incinerated. This is grown-up stuff and, in true Torchwood style, there’s nothing subtle about it, making the shock all the more effective. The first half of the series has truly ended with a bang.

 

Yet, despite this, there’s still much to pick at. Are we really meant to believe that Gwen, a woman wanted by the CIA, is able to travel halfway around the world, to meet with her family, who apparently aren’t under surveillance – you know, how Esther’s sister was last week? Perhaps it’s something to do with geography, although that never seemed to matter before. Still, it’s a charming scene when she meets up with Rhys in the airport and the heartstrings are pulled when Gwen attempts to rescue her dad.

 

Going back to Esther, she asks Jack if he thinks she’s stupid (I shouted “yes!” at the TV) and then uses her own name to infiltrate the staff and computer system of the Overflow Camp? Saying that, if the rest of the army are as pathetic as Maloney’s lackey, she’ll be able to fight her way out of the camp armed with a toothbrush; unless she is stopped by Maloney himself, who seems destined to be the creepiest pen-pusher I’ve ever seen on TV.

 

Anyway, while all this is going on, Jack is left back at base, the only man in the world who can be hurt and killed. While the good Captain has reasons to lack his usual ebullience, he feels wasted as a shadowy figure to pursue Oswald Danes. I’d like to see Jack remain heroic despite this setback, rather than hiding from it; the Captain Jack of Miracle Day isn’t one I’m used to seeing.

 

Still, Jack certainly doesn’t lack courage; anyone who can watch Oswald Dane’s speech in its entirety is a brave man. Then again, he didn’t have to listen to the ‘rousing’ music in the ‘background’ that almost drowned out the new messiah’s life-affirming words “We are all angels,” Danes claimed, then spoke of his revelation before the PhiCorp logo exploded behind him. I’d like to think Jack had his eyes closed when Danes attempted what looked like an old break-dancing move with his arms, one that still got the people on his side. I’m interested in his choice of words, once again wondering if this is going to be more about perceived religion, that the big bad will be an entity rather than an alien.

 

Let’s face it, for a team that were formed to protect the Earth from extra-terrestrial threat, there’s precious little ET action in Miracle Day so far. Perhaps Rex has hit the nail on his head when he says that Torchwood is just a name, that it doesn’t exist anymore, not like it used to. It certainly feels that way; I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something missing, and it’s not just The Soulless, that enigmatic cult with creepy masks that haven’t been mentioned for weeks now.

 

Opinion seems split over this series. Of three friends, one doesn’t watch it anymore, while another thinks it’s great. The third, much like myself, keeps watching in the anticipation that something special is going to happen.

 

It needs to. Episodes four and five have felt like fillers that could have been condensed into one tighter, much more dramatic hour; the scene has been set, but feet have dragged in getting us to the shocker at the end of this episode. The transference across the Atlantic has made Torchwood feel as if it’s made to formula (why have five episodes when we can have ten?), losing the love and care that the original UK episodes showed; for all its faults, the first series at least had charm.

 

The concept of this series is brilliant, acting and direction has been superb, but there are several moments that make me wince (I’ve already mentioned the music, and the continuity is sometimes absurd – watch Jilly’s legs cross and uncross when she’s in the car with Oswald) for each one that impresses me.

 

Will I keep watching? Of course; I’m sufficiently hooked at the end of each episode to await the next, and I know – it’s happened before, so I just know – that Torchwood will eventually deliver to my expectations, one of which was to have several ups and downs. Well, we’ve had them, and it’s now time for Miracle Day to knuckle down and be the adult sci-fi series we all hope it can be.

 

 

After a shaky start, Torchwood’s second and third episodes showed a marked improvement on the first. Each was better than the other, climbing the series high in my estimations. The trouble is, the higher it gets, the greater the potential fall; and, with episode four, the plummet is spectacular, a rollercoaster-style drop that makes me cover my eyes and scream.

 

I won’t hide the fact that I’m disappointed – very disappointed. As such, this review is going to reflect that. Those of a sensitive disposition or a blind love of Captain Jack and his crew should turn away now.

 

Episode four has ‘filler’ written all over it. What happens in an hour could have taken five or ten minutes, easy. It’s sad that after what was, in my opinion, gripping viewing last week, the best of this episode is the last five or ten minutes followed by the trailer for next week. If that preview had been poor (or if I wasn’t reviewing the show for Starburst) I would have been tempted to give up all together. Yes, I’m that disappointed.

 

What did work for me was the scene with Gwen and Jack being held at knifepoint by the mysterious assassin, who I assume became a damaged soul following his treatment at the hands of The Hitcher. For me, this scene had everything; tension, true jeopardy, dialogue that moved the plot forward so that I’m now intrigued by Jack’s suggested responsibility for all of this. Yet, it takes us almost fifty minutes to get there. While Rex arrives to save the day (more on that later) I did find it hard to believe that he shot the assassin in the throat just as he was about to make the Big Reveal; surely the body is a better target when your comrades are in dire straits? Anyway, that convolution serves to keep the true nature of the villains (thus far, they are only a spinning triangle on a screen) away from us until – hopefully – next week.

 

The Torchwood team have relocated to LA this week, where it’s all sun, sea and primary colours. Before they go, though, Esther decides to visit her sister. Despite being on the run from all the authorities, despite being told it’s not safe to do so, she turns up at a relative’s house. And guess what? There’s a mysterious black car parked close by, one she doesn’t even notice. Sorry Esther, but you’re an idiot; Agent Scully would never have done anything so stupid.

 

You’ll never believe it, but Esther is tracked to LA, where our mysterious assassin takes photos of Gwen while she is on the phone to Rhys. Don’t the Torchwood team know that mobile phones can be tracked and hacked? The family thing is continued when Rex visits his father (he lives in LA, how handy) for a brief moment of conflict that isn’t particularly dramatic. I’m not sure how Rex’s father or Esther’s sister will fit into the plot, other than to give them something to cry about; at least Gwen’s family situation drives her.

 

Torchwood set up their new base in another grubby location and get their laptops fired up. While Esther tells them it’ll take days to sift through Jilly Kitzinger’s files, it’s only moments later when she finds something. A plan is formed; Torchwood will infiltrate PhiCorp HQ and swap a server with one they’ve bought on Amazon or somewhere. Trouble is, to get access to the server room, they’ll need the fingerprints, voice and retina pattern of Professor Frumpkin, a man who doesn’t look like his surname suggests (come on, we’re grown-ups, did he have to have an ‘all-American’ name? ). They get all three – in a chuckle-worthy scene from a comedy version of Spooks – but our mysterious assassin does too, although his methods are predictably gruesome.

 

Next, it’s access time. Spooks again, with Rex and Esther mentoring events in a van parked outside. Esther tells Rex that everything is on-line – despite the huge monitor at her side with OFFLINE written in great big letters. Esther’s upset, though, as her sister’s kids have been taken into care. I’m not sure what she expected to happen, but I’m sure this is meant to be a heart-wrenching moment. Instead, Rex gets annoyed with her, much as I already have. Anyway, thanks to phone-tapping (oh, they have heard of it) and lacklustre security in the deliveries area, Jack and Gwen get in, swap the server and get into trouble, captured by the assassin (he’s had enough screen time to lose his mystery).

 

It’s now up to Rex to save the day, which he does. Although he’s surprised he can’t use the lifts while the fire alarms are going off (didn’t CIA HQ have any procedures), he climbs 33 floors of stairs (that’s 66 flights, Esther handily points out) and, although knackered, is able to shoot a man in the throat. Good job, sir.

 

So, what’s everyone else doing while Torchwood’s version of Mission: Impossible is going on? Well, Dr Juarez’s conversion from medic to glamour model appears to be almost complete; her relationship with Rex appears to be agreeing with her. I like it too. Juarez is involved in a ‘ship the sick to abandoned hospitals and hide them away’ scheme, cleverly wandering around the place in high-heels and a mask she quickly gives away. The people cry out for hope, but who is there to deliver it?

 

Oswald Danes, that’s who. As his TV coverage has been reduced thanks to the Dead Is Dead movement (don’t worry, Oswald; they’ll be introduced at the beginning of this episode and be disposed of by the end, ensuring they’re only a brief blip on the radar to fill up some time and provide a ‘comedy non-death’ moment), Danes decides to venture into the hospital. There, he speaks of his change, how he has been offered redemption and promises the same for these poor people. He picks up a baby and even extends his arms out, crucifixion style, after talking to a patient with flowing hair and a beard…

 

Still, Pullman’s performance remains solid this episode, Danes remaining as creepy as ever. He’s becoming a real presence whenever he’s on screen. As is Lauren Ambrose, who imbues Jilly Katzinger’s apparent ditziness with a slightly sinister edge; there’s got to be more to her than meets the eye, how else is she always in the right place at the right time? Their scene in the hotel room reminds us of Danes’s vile crimes; even Jilly is wary of him, unable to look at his hands without thinking what they’ve done.

 

It’s not entirely bad, then, although I expect so much more. This is an adult drama; while the themes and underlying concept are very mature, the deliverance lacks consistency. For example, we’re not even shown The Soulless, who were apparently everywhere a week ago. Last week, I’d have recommended Torchwood to anyone. This week, the tone has shifted so much that even I don’t know what to make of it anymore. Next week, we’re promised much by the preview, and I hope that what we’ve seen isn’t simply the last few minutes.

 

On a final note, can someone please do something about the music? It’s driving me to distraction, especially considering how good I know Murray Gold can be. Possibly it’s just too loud, set at high volume to let us know what emotion we should be feeling, but good script and acting should do that, with music in the background rather than being hammered into our ears.

While watching episode three of Torchwood: Miracle Day, I heard a noise in the background. Not the cat trying to get outside or the grinding of my teeth in frustration; this was the simple clicking sound of everything falling into place, and what a joy it was.

From the off, Torchwood are go! Agent Rex breaks into his CIA boss’s home and puts a gun to his head. It can’t kill him, Rex admits, but could damage his brain. Picture immortality with no memories, Rex threatens, and it’s enough for the boss to give him his mobile phone. Outside, Captain Jack waits; he’s getaway driver, assisted by Esther who’s sat at a computer, monitoring the locations of police cars. As Jack and Rex drive away, Gwen runs interference by throwing a stinger across the road; tyres burst, the police car can’t continue on, and team Torchwood return to base, job done.

It’s good to see the four of them working together, but even better is the banter once they return to their rotten-apartment hideout. Gwen and Esther debate the variances in language on each side of the Atlantic, and there’s genuine warmth between these two. Rex even joins in; sure, he’s loud and crass, but less of a caricature than he was in the first episode. While he and Jack are somewhat confrontational, there’s a friendliness lurking behind it all, along with the underlying suggestion that Jack and Rex aren’t that different after all – men of action, but from two different eras. Watching these scenes put a smile on my face, seeing the characters are all finally settled in their roles within Torchwood. Writer Jane Espenson has captured the essence of these individuals brilliantly, blending all four together in what could prove to be an ideal combination.

Back in plot land, and our team have a lead. After stealing a car (a nicely shot moment in which everyone tries to be subtle before Gwen simply smashes a window – “got one” she says while the alarm blares) they pay a visit to the warehouse of pharmaceutical giant PhiCorp. Difficult to believe that such a place would have only one guard, but he’s taken out so well by Gwen, the wit glosses over the fact. So far this episode, I’ve smiled and I’ve laughed. Wow.

Inside, the warehouse is full of… drugs. Why this comes as a surprise to the team is beyond me; it’s almost as if they’d expected teddy bears or sporting goods. Fortunately, they’ve got Rex there, who can identify the contents as… drugs. It’s all very generic, but we are at least told they’re pain killers (Rex is the expert, after all). There’s a moment of humour when another warehouse is revealed, one that appears “bigger on the inside”.

After this great revelation, how do our team react? They argue in an alley. It’s a dramatic moment, as Rex accuses Jack of killing the old Torchwood team. Jack argues that they were his friends. “Dead friends” Rex counters before driving off to visit Doctor Juarez for some painkillers and a shag. Jack does much the same, wandering into a gay nightclub, where he cops off with the barman who likes his coat. Gwen and Esther have a chat, and it’s good to see Gwen’s motherly instinct shine through as Esther tells her how scared she is; Gwen can sympathise, having been in the same position as newcomer to Torchwood. We’re even treated to more emotional moments as Jack phones Gwen for a heart-to-heart, only for her attention to be usurped by a satellite link-up with Rhys and baby. It’s contrived timing-wise, but touching nonetheless.

  

Doctor Juarez now comes to the fore, finally accepting Jilly Kitzinger’s invitation of PhiCorp as well as Rex’s request to spy on the corporation while she’s there. Rex returns to Torchwood’s base (along with an amusingly hungover Captain Jack) and a plan is formed. It’s good to see tech from old series’ being used here in the form of the contact lenses, and Gwen’s lie that only she can use them did make me chuckle. The meeting turns out to be more like a lecture, as PhiCorp reveals its plan to allow all prescription drugs onto the open market; while making them accessible, it will handily increase their profits.

Meanwhile, Gwen is inside the building (let in through an unguarded side door by the good Doctor Juarez) and then into Jilly Katzinger’s office. As only happens in TV and movies, she’s able to access and download files with great ease and speed (although there is a moment of tension as Jilly returns to her office) then get out of there. Rex, meanwhile, has set up a meeting his old mentor – The Only Man He Can Trust – but even he is being monitored; fortunately, Rex is stood outside their arranged meeting point when the hordes of armed police arrive. Back at base, the stolen cellphone rings; although there is no voice at the other end, the mysterious triangle logo appears on the screen. Rex is delighted as they pack up to move to another location, “we’ve got them worried”, and for Torchwood the game now certainly begins.

It’s a hallmark of all good stories that villains should be active while the heroes are moving forward, and this is the case with Oswald Danes. Like the rest of the episode, Bill Pullman’s acting has shifted up a gear. Suddenly, Danes isn’t the bleary-eyed, slack-jawed ex-con (perhaps his diet of junk food is working wonders on him?); instead, he’s coherent, conniving and – for a short moment – almost sympathetic.

Danes sneaks out from his motel to a coffee shop, where he is promptly identified and chased by a punk-ish couple. Danes asks two policemen for help, but after driving him away they beat him up “not the face, so you can still look good for TV” and dump him outside the motel. Jilly Katzinger is there – right place, right time as always – in all her red-coated glory, and Danes accepts her offer. He too meets with PhiCorp, but as it’s not a conversation we are shown, the mystery is enhanced.

Despite all this, it’s in his confrontation with Jack that Bill Pullman really shines. Here, he’s genuinely creepy as he tells Jack how he felt when committing his crimes, the pleasure he took from them is apparent on his face, and he’s clever enough to get Jack to understand him before calling for his new security boys to rough the Captain up a little, while he goes off for his next TV appearance.

Fortunately, the now-vulnerable Captain Jack is only given a brief kicking before being flung onto the street. From the pavement, he watches Danes’s broadcast; the man telling the world he has been forgiven his sins, now strikes a blow for PhiCorp and calls for the release of antibiotics to the general public. “Did you touch him?” a woman asks Jack, who’s now horrified that Danes is growing into a messiah figure.

I enjoyed this episode. It’s a great combination of plot and character, one that has it’s moments of tension and emotion. But it’s not just the writing that impressed me; this episode looks good. There are shots that reminded me of The Matrix, colour is used lavishly throughout the episode (the alleyway and the scene where Danes encounters Jilly outside his motel in particular), and the acting is excellent, allowing the words to leap from the page onto our screens. Perhaps controversially, I found this to be better than some Doctor Who episodes of late.

Perfect, then? Not quite. I still find the music annoying, and in some cases it actually pulled my attention from what should have been a gripping scene. While the episode works tonally, it still doesn’t feel as ‘grown up’ as Children Of Earth; three episodes in, and it’s been different every time, as if it’s struggling to find its identity. I’m still not convinced with the cult of The Soulless, yet to see their place within the story. Finally, there’s a distinct lack of otherworldly presence for a sci-fi series, and it’s coming across more like an updated version of The X-Files.

Still, after a weaker start than I’d have liked, Torchwood has baited me, hooked me and – if it continues like this – will start to reel me in. Nine o’clock Thursday night is becoming a time to look forward to.

(Between the demise of the old Starburst and the birth of its new incarnation, there were fourteen Doctor Who stories broadcast that the magazine never got around to reviewing. This is one of them.)

 

Steven Moffat’s take on Doctor Who crashes onto our screens in a blaze of freshness and innovation.

At least, that’s what I was expecting to happen. The truth is somewhat different.

The pre-TARDIS crash sequence ought to have tipped the nod. Some slightly dodgy special effects and an overacting Doctor … it’s very much out of the Russell T Davies book of Doctor Who. And there’s plenty more to remind audiences of the last five years in the next 55 minutes too.

For a start, there’s the plot of the episode. Plot always comes in as runner-up when the story’s that of a newly regenerated Doctor, but Moffat’s borrowing of Series Three opener Smith and Jones is rather more obvious to the regular viewer than Davies’ burglary of Spearhead from Space back in 2005. Which isn’t necessarily the worst thing. There’s one alien on the loose and another lot are on the lookout for it. Well, you need something more than the regenerated Time Lord to be happening. The new Doctor’s dialogue could have been written for the previous incumbent, too; there are moments during The Eleventh Hour when it’s hard not to imagine David Tennant saying the lines that have been written for his replacement. And what’s with that giant eye-in-the-sky? Straight out of the RTD book of obvious aliens. Moffat’s obviously got an eye on making sure he doesn’t alienate the regular viewers, and while we might have hoped for a more novel approach to his first story in charge, he must at least be applauded for not running off to the hills and cackling, “It’s mine now.”

None of this, is has to be said, manages to spoil a thoroughly entertaining episode. Doctor Who is well known for its ability to beg, borrow and burgle, and it’s never been a problem before; it isn’t now. The Eleventh Hour skitters across the screen in a thoroughly entertaining fashion.

Thoroughly entertaining, but nevertheless somewhat less than fulfilling.

The biggest problem with this opening instalment in the story of Doctor Number Eleven, is that although it seems quite happy in the knowledge of what it needs to do (which is to get the new Doctor up and running and acquainted with his new companion in as thoroughly entertaining a fashion as possible), Steven Moffat seems on far less certain ground when it comes to the actual business of doing it.

The Eleventh Hour is brimming with ideas, absolutely brimming with them. There are far too many ideas, in fact. Moffat can’t decide whether he wants his debut in charge to be set in a quiet English village disturbed by aliens (echoing The Daemons) or inside an English hospital where nothing is quite as it seems (Spearhead from Space, again). Or perhaps The Eleventh Hour is a haunted house episode (Ghost Light). But by trying to be all of those things at once, Moffat drops the baton and some of the elements come across quite short of convincingly. This ‘fairytale’ aspect that the new showrunner was so keen to apply (which is almost, almost tangible during the Leadworth sequences) unravels faster than you can say “Nice film sequence on the village green there (although surely a bit too techno for a fairytale village?) – but crikey, does that say 1990 on Rory’s badge?” And whenever the action relocates to the hospital, it all goes a bit ER-with-aliens and the Tim Burton atmosphere gets dropped like a hot Cheshire Cat.

It’s not as if Moffat doesn’t do a fair bit of borrowing from himself, either. The eleventh Doctor’s hopping forward through Amelia/Amy Pond’s timeline is straight out of The Girl in the Fireplace, and the cracks in the wall conceit is from the same armoury as monsters under the bed and scary shifting shadows. In typical Steven Moffat join-the-plot-dots fashion, the way in which the elements fit together doesn’t always make sense (why is Prisoner Zero still around after twelve years on the run? Seriously?) – and sometimes he’ll divert attention from the plot altogether in order to make a joke. “Duck, Pond!” becomes almost something of a running theme by the end of the episode, but we’re never quite sure why.

In fact, it is Moffat’s seeming insistence that dialogue be amusing as well as expository, that helps towards this creation of a whole to which the parts don’t quite add up. If it ain’t funny, it doesn’t get into the script – and the one who suffers this treatment the worst is Amy. Almost everything Karen Gillan (who strikes me as capable enough) is given to do or say seems designed to show her off as kooky and amusing; never are we given a sense of her as a human being, just a collection of psychological quirks and one-liners. Making her a “Kiss-O-Gram” comes across as nothing less than an excuse for the producers to outfit her in something titillating and inappropriate, and her relationship with Arthur Darvill’s Rory Williams is massively unconvincing (although it has to be said that the supporting cast are wheeled on for their cameos and off again so quickly, we never get to see them as three-dimensional characters either, so much as fodder for more jokes, and as a result, the entire environment in which The Eleventh Hour is set comes over as rather insubstantial); were it not for the manner in which she first meets the Doctor, we’d be extremely hard-pressed to understand why he comes back for her at the end at all.

But ah yes, the opening sequence in which the young Amelia first makes the Doctor’s acquaintance.

For if there’s one thing The Eleventh Hour gets absolutely, utterly, shockingly right, it’s Matt Smith as the Doctor. It’s a brilliant piece of casting, and Matt’s choices on screen are never less than just as brilliant. As written, the eleventh Doctor could have been played just as cocky and smug as his predecessor occasionally was, but in the hands of a young and extremely talented actor, and one who is very evidently crafting the part to fit himself, the Doctor is as new and as convincing as the rest of the episode needed to be. The opening scenes with Amelia are sublime; managing at once to be fresh and newborn and wide-eyed, and yet knowing and wise and responsible, Matt Smith spars with Caitlin Blackwood on an absolute level, leaving both actors looking smart and making the whole thing seem effortless and natural. It’s an extremely classy piece of television.

Matt carries the rest of the episode too, in an instalment designed to show off as many different aspects of his new character as possible. And towards the end, when he bursts out of Doctor Ten’s face (in a sequence that the script bends over backwards to include, rather unconvincingly), we are entirely persuaded that he is the right man for the job, and that the eleventh Doctor’s tenure will be a joy to be witness to.

Fingers crossed the rest of Steven Moffat’s Doctor Who can get its act together and match its lead actor’s consistency. The Eleventh Hour is an odd beginning, equally delightful and frustrating. But never less than thoroughly entertaining.

 

(If you’d like to go further into the programme’s past, I’ve collected together various reviews and articles that I’ve posted online over the years here: http://watchingdoctorwho.weebly.com/)

(Between the demise of the old Starburst and the birth of its new incarnation, there were fourteen Doctor Who stories broadcast that the magazine never got around to reviewing. This is one of them.)

 

If The Eleventh Hour was something of a false dawn for the new showrunnership, then The Beast Below must surely be where Steven Moffat makes his mark.

           

It starts enticingly enough, with some lovely special effects and the demonstration of just how magical flying in the TARDIS can be (we don’t often get to see these lighter moments); as Starship UK hoves into view, there’s a real sense of the new fairytale aspect of Doctor Who hard at work, and this enchanted quality continues throughout the episode. In the end, it’s what saves The Beast Below from sinking.

           

Starship UK is itself a strange combination of the Dickensian and of Moffat’s 1970s childhood, and into this atmosphere our time travellers wander, Amy seemingly not having had time to change out of her nightie. Hmmn. Another example of titillation and inappropriateness at the expense of realism? It’s not long before Moffat throws a googlie, though, with the Doctor exhorting his brand new companion, of just a few minutes’ standing (not long enough even to have changed out of her night-clothes), to go off and explore this future, outer space environment on her own. It’s almost a challenge to Amy to prove her companionship mettle (surely something she ought to have done before becoming a companion in the first place?), and is extremely out of character both for the Doctor and for Doctor Who. It smacks of Steven Moffat wanting to split the Doctor and Amy up and not knowing how otherwise to achieve it.

           

It’s a portent of what’s to follow, as the next 40 minutes becomes a barrage of manufactured crisis, concocted coincidence and the kind of jumping to conclusions that can mar even the most sophisticated of set-ups. Best to turn off your brain and enjoy the look and feel of The Beast Below, and try not to think too hard about how it all fits together.

           

Liz Ten, for instance (if you can ignore Sophie Okonedo’s accent for a moment or two), is quite an inspired creation. Descended more from Miranda Richardson’s Queenie than she is from the real Elizabeth the first, she’s fun and funny, an extrapolation of how a Royal personage in space might actually be, and bearing an iconography borrowed from the romantic period fiction of later centuries and the other side of the Channel. She’d be quite at home in V For Vendetta – which is surely where the inspiration for her appearance and character came from. Quite an inspired creation then, albeit with the inspiration having come from elsewhere.

           

Speaking of which, the central mystery at the heart of The Beast Below must be disconcertingly familiar to Doctor Who fans of long-standing. The Star Whale, around which the plot revolves, (and the presence of which the pre-publicity for the series flagged up, thus undermining the creature’s eventual reveal) seems to have been borrowed from The Song of the Space Whale, a famously unproduced Pat Mills and John Wagner script that might once have been an adventure for the fourth or fifth Doctor. Mills and Wagner are presumably turning in their missing gratuities.

           

The Smilers are The Beast Below’s monster-of-the-week, as the publicity building up to the episode constantly reminded us. Steven Moffat’s forte lies elsewhere; the writer usually preferring to throw a concept at the screen rather than an actual monster. Small wonder that the Smilers have precious little to do, seem badly versed in the art of communication, and beg the question of how essential to the story they are at all. But Moffat knows he has to include the monsters, lest the toy manufacturers, children’s audience (and their parents, of course) and higher-ups at the BBC complain. A suitably sinister concept, then, chilling in their execution, but ultimately an unnecessary presence. They do have their moments, though, one notable instance being the Winder whose head revolves to reveal the Smiler within.

           

Terrence Hardiman is yet another example of a great actor being invited to take part in the series and being given little more than a cameo role, the part of Hawthorne, the chief Winder, hardly being a stretch for this or any man. It’s a shame that Moffat’s wonderfully constructed universes don’t extend to the characters that inhabit them. It’s something that he managed so well with The Empty Child, Blink and his fourth series Library episodes (all under the auspices of Russell T Davies, and yet not – we are told – under his actual care), so you do have to ponder what’s gone wrong. There’s a sense of the magician becoming so enamoured of his trickery, he’s forgotten how to sell it to an audience.

           

I’m not going to speak about the monumental leap of logic that Amy Pond makes in order both to re-establish her companion credentials with the Doctor and simultaneously save the day, nor about the other leaps of faith and fidelity (both in plot and character terms) the audience has to make for the climax of the story to work. Suffice it to say, if you turned off your brain when earlier advised, then the last ten minutes of The Beast Below will have been a whole lot more satisfying and enjoyable as a result.

           

On the other hand, if you managed to keep up with the plot and an eye on the detail, then the denouement on offer here will have seemed like nothing so much as the contents of the stomach the Doctor and Amy earlier found themselves within, hung out for inspection and found similarly fishy. But as an early example of where Steven Moffat might want to take his Doctor Who, The Beast Below actually shows an awful lot of promise. It just needed a tighter hand on the tiller, and a keener eye closer to home than its horizons (which were fine), and it could have been as brilliant and as beautiful a first instalment ‘away from home’ as was Russell T Davies’ The End of the World.

           

Still, we’ve got Daleks in Churchill’s back yard next week, as promised by a very Hartnell-esque cliffhanger, so things are looking up. 

 

(If you’d like to go further into the programme’s past, I’ve collected together various reviews and articles that I’ve posted online over the years here: http://watchingdoctorwho.weebly.com/)

(Between the demise of the old Starburst and the birth of its new incarnation, there were fourteen Doctor Who stories broadcast that the magazine never got around to reviewing. This is one of them.)

 

After invoking comparisons with anything from The Ark in Space to The Christmas Invasion in the previous two episodes, it was inevitable that old school traditionalist (and author of The Unquiet Dead) Mark Gatiss’ third story of the new series would itself raise memories of some classic from the series’ past, and Victory of the Daleks soon finds itself in very similar territory to that once occupied by The Power of the Daleks, in which the eponymous pepperpots pretend amicable servitude in order to inveigle their way into a position of superiority. So far so familiar.

           

Problems immediately arise. “I am your soldier,” might be a catchphrase designed to evoke memories in those whose knowledge of Doctor Who spans the previous 44 years, but the original, “I am your servant,” – that chilling motto uttered by the Daleks in such sinister fashion in Patrick Troughton’s debut serial – at least resembled something these mechanised cuckoos might be called upon to say. “I am your soldier,” is simply an unwieldy contrivance, and is an example of many such devices that dog what might otherwise have been an excellent script. Another is the flip and abrupt dismissal by an otherwise excellent Ian McNeice as Winston Churchill, of the very reason he called upon the Doctor to visit in the first place. It’s an illustration of how Doctor Who in 2010 seems to be working: if they wanted Churchill to make a surprise appearance at the tail-end of the previous episode, then they’re not going to let having a good reason for him so to do get in their way.

           

It’s one of those episodes that so desperately needs for its audience to suspend their disbelief, that the only way to reasonably talk about it is to hang that disbelief from a nearby lamppost and give it a good tar-and-feathering. Most of what’s on display in Victory of the Daleks – and we’ll come to that name and its dual implications in a moment – simply beggars belief of any kind.

           

However, if you’re eight-years-old (and we must still assume that Doctor Who is primarily aimed at the under-twelves, regardless of Churchill’s exhortation of all and sundry to “keep buggering on,” – this week’s example of inappropriateness from the production team), then Victory of the Daleks is almost certainly a simply magical experience. Despite a near two-year absence, the vast majority of children will know who and what the Daleks are (and even if they’ve not seem them before, the reputation and publicity surrounding the Doctor’s arch-monstrosities would leave very few in any doubt), and the moment they appear on screen – in a thoroughly appropriate battlefield green – pretending to be everyone’s friends, children everywhere must have been squealing at their television sets. Forget the “Bank Holiday war movie,” that Gatiss had in mind when fingers first met keyboard, Victory of the Daleks is nothing less than full-on pantomime, with McNeice as the grand Dame and Karen Gillan as the principle boy. There are more moments in this 40-minute story that call upon the audience to thrill to the notion of screaming, “It’s behind you!” or whoop with delight at a turn in the action – the spitfires versus Daleks dogfight in space being the prime example – than can be recalled from many a recent mid-term, single-episode adventure. There are even many similar delights for the adults in the audience (especially those men brought up on a diet of war movies, and assuming spitfires in space isn’t delightful enough), one such example being the “To Victory!” posters bearing a 1940s-stylised representation of the Daleks, another being Matt Smith’s threatening the Daleks with his Jammie Dodger. It’s just a shame the elements couldn’t have been knitted together more thoroughly or more convincingly. The Daleks’ purpose in setting all of this up, and it’s quite a convoluted plot (that would leave David Whitaker’s The Wheel in Space hanging its head in shame), seems rather flimsy to say the least, and the way the Doctor leaves Amy behind at the crucial moment – simply, it seems, for no other reason than to enable everybody in being in the right place at the right time – is exceedingly weak. Another insubstantial apparatus for facilitating under thought-through plot contrivances, then.

           

Don’t get me started on Amy Pond talking a walking time-bomb out of self-destructing. It’s on a par with the old fellows keeping the universe together by reciting numbers in Logopolis.

           

What of this Dalek “Victory,” then? Well, for once you can say, at the very least, that it is a victory. There’s no denying the Daleks make good their escape at the end of the story, fully intent on re-establishing their race and their war on all that is good and Doctorish. But it’s a mightily strange victory, to be sure; this new Dalek Paradigm see themselves as the true continuation of the Dalek line, even though they’re built from 100% synthesised, artificial DNA. The Daleks they destroy on their path to power, on the other hand – the ones they consider ‘impure’ – have been built from 100% pure Kaled DNA, sourced from the Daleks’ own creator, no less.  In engineering a new continuity for the Daleks, Moffat and Gatiss seem to have confused (or deliberately ignored) the significance of the old.

           

As for the Paradigm themselves, the colour scheme is wonderful (if you grew up with the Peter Cushing movies, you’ll appreciate it all the better), but boy are the newly-redesigned Daleks ugly. Too big, too artificial-looking, too differently-shaped. It used to be said that the Daleks had the most easily-recognisable silhouette in Western cultural iconography; not so any more.

           

And what’s with Amy Pond not knowing what the Daleks are?

           

Three episodes in, and in spite of managing to maintain the entertainment levels as set by Russell T Davies over the previous five years, there’s also a very real sense that Steven Moffat’s Doctor Who has failed to properly forge an identity for itself as yet. Moffat’s first two-parter under his own auspices is next; maybe that will mark a turning point. Victory of the Daleks, on the other hand, might have made a brilliant impression if given the RTD once-over (and would have fit quite easily into Series Three, in place of the Manhattan Fiasco), but under the new regime, it’s a bit of a bomb. A thoroughly watchable bomb (and great if you’re young enough not to follow the story very closely), but something of a stinker nevertheless.

 

(If you’d like to go further into the programme’s past, I’ve collected together various reviews and articles that I’ve posted online over the years here: http://watchingdoctorwho.weebly.com/)

(Between the demise of the old Starburst and the birth of its new incarnation, there were fourteen Doctor Who stories broadcast that the magazine never got around to reviewing. This is one of them.)

 

Blink was one of those episodes that happen only once in a generation, when an idea and a design coincide so thoroughly, magic is made. The birth of the Daleks was another such instance in the legacy of Doctor Who, the casting of Tom Baker a further example.

           

It’s important, at this juncture, to note that the Weeping Angels, the token monster at the heart of Blink’s otherwise entirely concept-heavy plot, didn’t exist in the short-story upon which Blink was based (What I Did on My Christmas Holidays by Sally Sparrow), nor did they need to. Their appearance (they simply look like, well, statues), their mode of existence (they can’t move while they’re being observed) and their back-story (they feed on the life that you would have lived now had they not sent you back in time to live it somewhen else) don’t really make a lot of sense; they only work because the three notions form such a brilliant conjunction. It’s a one-dimensional idea that can only exist in the single story it’s been created to serve, and it’s only a good idea because of the excellence of the story it’s in service to.

           

Fast-forward three years, and such was the success of Blink that Steven Moffat has been persuaded that the Weeping Angels deserve a return fixture – and one in which they might actually make the Doctor’s (on screen) acquaintance, at that. And that’s not all, for Moffat’s added into the mix another face familiar from his RTD-sponsored one-story-a-year days: River Song, the Doctor’s ‘wife’. River Song was another idea that would probably have been best left only to the story in which it first appeared. With this much going on, there’s little doubt that The Time of Angels would have to be Moffat’s first two-part storyline under his own, new stewardship of the Doctor Who showrunner’s office.

           

It all starts strongly enough, with a pre-titles sequence that’s as daft as it is lively, and just as filled with the kind of iconic and idiosyncratic imagery that could only come from Doctor Who. River Song’s reintroduction is as breathless as it is bold.

           

We’re then thrust immediately into Aliens territory, our gang of time-travelling wrong-stoppers married up with a platoon of heavily-armed clerics (there’s a message in there surely?); somewhere on this planet there’s a single Weeping Angel! And if it’s not found, we’ll all perish! If it sounds a little like Robert Shearman’s Dalek, then I suppose that’s because it is – to begin with, anyway. There’s even a sequence in which, rather illogically, a ‘projected’ Weeping Angel modifies itself through the use of alien (i.e. our) technology. It’s terrifying, but it makes precious little sense. But then, right from the off, it’s patently obvious that this is going to be another one of ‘those’ stories (that’s right, Steven Moffat’s up to his old trick of forgetting that the bits of story that joint the dots between the images he wants to offer us ought to at least make some kind of sense).

           

But hand your brain in at the door and relax, and you’ll have an absolutely terrific time. Does it matter, anyway, that so little of this makes sense? Watching Steven Moffat’s take on Doctor Who, with its energy and its brio and its brilliant, brilliant images and terrifying ideas, I’m coming to the conclusion that it doesn’t. Doctor Who post-David Tennant is like living inside an increasingly lurid nightmare, where your control over the elements becomes slacker and slacker the more feverish and frightening they become. Part of what’s so scary and effective about it is that it doesn’t, in the cold light of day, make any sense. Perhaps that’s the feeling that Moffat’s trying to evoke.

           

The Maze of the Dead, then, and the Forest Vault. It’s like Steven Moffat asked every child in the country what their exact nightmare would be, and wrote a story of the two most popular choices. For their part, the Weeping Angels are a really effective menace, just as long as you don’t think too hard about what they were about the last time they appeared in the show. And the acting and direction are guaranteed to frighten the life out of any unsuspecting viewer, whatever their age.

           

Scintillating, involving, invigorating, petrifying stuff. Almost literally, in the latter case.

           

But Steven Moffat makes three errors of judgement that almost completely ruin the experience. Firstly, the Doctor leaves his companion to the mercy of the Weeping Angels. It’s like the pitiful excuse he gives for leaving Amy behind midway through Victory of the Daleks, only infinitely worse, as this time he’s deliberately leaving her in harm’s way. Awful.

           

Secondly, the Deus ex Machina ending; and no, I don’t mean the Big Red Button marked ‘zap Amy out of danger’ that River Song finds while the Doctor’s faffing about. I mean the Cracks in Time. Simply showing the Cracks earlier than you require them to save the day, doesn’t make them any the less of an intrusion from another story when they do so.

           

And finally (and although it’s bound to be a bone of contention with many, I actually found the sight of a Weeping Angel in motion profoundly disturbing; so that’s not included on this list), that ending. Yes, it wouldn’t be Series Five if we didn’t have another titillating and inappropriate moment to discuss.

           

Russell T Davies found a fine line between sexual innuendo and loving relationships and walked it expertly; by keeping the one entirely separate from the other, he was able to write as much of either into his scripts as he felt he could get away with, and managed it with aplomb. By having Amy Pond completely unambiguously offering herself up to the Doctor on a sexual plate, however – and in a scene that bore no relevance to what had gone before or was yet to come – Steven Moffat made a huge error of gratuitous proportions. The seduction was completely out of synch with what Doctor Who has always been, and that’s a family friendly show. Let’s hope it’s a one-off.

           

I’ll give the writer the benefit of the doubt, though, and ignore the fact that River Song seems now to have become merely a plot device to keep the Doctor on his toes. For its atmosphere, its imagery and its chills alone, The Time of Angels and Flesh and Stone (surely they got the episode titles the wrong way around though? The first episode is when Amy’s flesh turns to stone, and the second is when the Angels get sucked into the Cracks in Time…) is a huge achievement. 

 

(If you’d like to go further into the programme’s past, I’ve collected together various reviews and articles that I’ve posted online over the years here: http://watchingdoctorwho.weebly.com/)

This week saw the difficult second episode of Torchwood: Miracle Day hit out screens, and what a punch it was. Faster in pace, more intense than the series opener, its smaller scale made it feel more like TV than an attempt at making something cinematic for the small screen. As such, it was an improvement; Torchwood is going the right way.

The episode starts with a new graphic explaining the concept of the miracle day before showing the expanding world population. It’s a bit Battlestar Galactica, but the effect is a good one; the world is filling up, and fast. I wonder if this is something we’ll see very week, and if it will ever start counting down again? This is followed by a quick review of last week’s happenings, an edit that nicely summarises what has gone before; anyone who missed the first episode can jump safely on board for this ride.

The action resumes at what is supposed to be Heathrow airport, but looks more like the airfield from Top Gear (the American version doubles for Dulles airport later on, but anyone who’s seen Die Hard 2 won’t be fooled), where Gwen and Jack are being extradited to the USA by CIA agent Rex Matheson and another, sinister-looking female agent. It’s a gut-wrenching scene as mother is torn from child, played brilliantly by Eve Myles; in fact, she’s a revelation this week, but more on that as I go.

Titles follow, and then we’re in the aeroplane with Jack and Gwen. At rest, the two share a moment; Gwen’s understandably upset about what’s happening – seeing Jack as the source of the troubles – but the two are genuinely pleased to see each other alive and well. It’s a tight and compact scene, but well-written, and reveals the relationship between the two; again, this is perfect for the newer viewer. Contrast this to Rex, who wants nothing but a drink and some pain-killers; there’s a danger that he may be over the top like last week, but Mekhi Phifer has developed a more subdued approach. His wry humour, while remaining scathing, is genuinely amusing and there’s a scene in the toilets where he ponders what has happened to him. Here is a man who should be dead; when all is put right, what will be his fate?

Just as Rex is starting to grow on me, so is Esther, and it’s not purely because her boss is the bad guy from Jurassic Park. Esther (like Rex later) finds that a huge amount of money has been mysteriously deposited into her bank account. She’s being set up and, during her escape from CIA headquarters, we’re shown a young woman using her wits and charm. She garners our sympathies by being a humane individual having to fight the system, one who will undoubtedly swell the ranks of Torchwood.

Oswald Danes is back, this time a TV chat show guest rather than prisoner sentenced to death. In his interview, Danes breaks down and apologises for his crimes, an attempt to create sympathy for the character. Personally, I found the scene cringeworthy; there’s not a tear shed, and Bill Pullman looks like he’s trying to win a gurning competition. Watching the scene again, I can’t decide if it’s his poor acting, or him playing a man who isn’t a very good actor. Nevertheless, he does gain my sympathy in having to be interviewed by the most annoying man I’ve ever seen on TV. Still, other characters seem prepared to give Danes their forgiveness, as shown in the response of the ‘common person’ runner behind the scenes. Danes also attracts the attention of the seemingly ditzy Jilly Kitzinger, a PR agent who seeks to represent him. Danes rejects her offer; Oprah wants him on her show already, so why does he need her. Yet, there’s something sinister about this young woman in the red coat; her mentioning the devil piqued my interest, and I wonder how far the religious connotations will go, considering the series is called Miracle Day.

Jilly also appears in a scene with Doctor Juarez, who – like Rex and Esther – has a meatier role to play this episode: she cleverly re-assesses the rules of triage before attending a conference of seemingly all-male doctors and scientists; here, Juarez is the voice of common sense and reason, one who uses her new team to formulate the cure that will save the poisoned Captain Jack. It’s possibly all a bit much for one episode, but at least it’s believable.

Let’s go back a bit – Captain Jack poisoned?! That’s right, by the sinister female CIA agent we’d met at ‘Heathrow’. She’s told to do so via Esther and Rex’s boss, who in turn has been given the order by a mysterious triangle logo on his computer (perhaps the emblem of some shady corporation?). This is done while Gwen and Jack begin to bond with Rex, who promises Juarez she will be allowed to examine the only mortal man on planet Earth. Jack, meanwhile, theorises that the Miracle Day is the result of a morphic field, but from where?

Before Jack can assume anything else, he’s in a critical condition. Only Gwen can save him; with the help of the airline staff, Rex and Doctor Juarez, she concocts a potion that will be the antidote to Jack’s poison. It’s a scene – a long one – worthy of McGyver or The A-Team, in which Gwen uncannily finds all the ingredients she needs within the confines of the aeroplane. Yet, it’s also charming and amusing, one that had me laughing out loud. Very tongue-in-cheek, but exactly what the episode needs; again, Eve Myles shines, getting the tone absolutely spot on. I’m not sure if it’s the right tone that Torchwood should be taking, however, but it worked for me.

When the plane lands in ‘Dulles’, Rex receives a call from Esther, who tells him what is going on. Sure enough, he’s now a rich man. Unhappy with being set up, Rex frees Gwen and Jack, twists the neck of the sinister agent, then the trio escape in Esther’s mini. It’s another Gwen moment as she berates Esther’s choice of getaway car, followed immediately by the hilarious look she shares with Jack on seeing the sinister agent with her head on back to front. Gwen’s even given the final line: as Esther wonders how crazy her situation is getting, Gwen gives a knowing smile and says “welcome to Torchwood”.

Welcome to Torchwood, indeed. If this is how every episode is going to be, then I’ll be happy. Not as ecstatic as I hoped to be following Children of Earth, but certainly good enough. I enjoyed this episode much more than the first, but it still has its flaws.

Pullman’s acting, for one. Danes is coming across as Hannibal Lecter meets Jim Carrey, and it’s just not working for me. We’ve know he’s a vile man, that message is hammered home, but I’m not convinced that he’s genuine enough for the characters to have any sympathy for him. Hopefully, this will be corrected in future episodes. As will the music; I was stunned to see Murray Gold’s name on the credits. There have been a few scenes where I’ve found the music jarring to the point of distraction, a contrast to the events seen on screen. Tonally, this episode sees many shifts; while this works in isolation, I fear too much of this will create a mess.

Let’s face it, though, this is an improvement on episode 1. It’s a tightly-plotted, well-executed slice of sci-fi, one where all of the characters fulfil their purpose in the story. To be honest, it would have made a cracking first episode, but – with the Torchwood universe having had such previous form – the scene had to be set last week. With the introduction of Jilly Kitzinger and shady CIA overlords, the intrigue has shifted up a gear, and I’m looking forward to episode 3. 

 Well done, Torchwood. I’ve seen you deliver this episode, keep up the good work.

 

It’s nearly here, people. The very long-awaited fourth season of the increasingly-popular Doctor Who spin-off Torchwood hits British screens on Thursday after debutting on the Starz network (who co-funded the show with the BBC) last weekend. Having seen Torchwood develop from the clumsy, slightly-embarrassing older brother in its first two seasons and finally flower into a mature, sophisticated adult drama in 2009’s short-run Children of Earth mini-series, this Starburst writer remains particularly interested in finding out what’s in store in this big ballsy big bucks new series. This preview, then, will avoid spoilers and will try to give you a very brief idea of what’s in store for Captain Jack, Gwen and co as they embark upon their most ambitious adventure yet.

I won’t go into specifics – that’d spoil the fun. We all know the basic premise of Miracle Day, the over-arching title for the series; people all over the world have stopped dying. The injured remain injured – sometimes horribly – the old and frail remain old and frail, the sick remain sick. But no-one dies. It’s a desperate situation and, with the Earth’s population increasing, there’s only so long the planet’s resources can cope before it all goes to Hell in a handcart. CIA agents Rex Mattheson and Esther Drummond are drawn to the secret files of a long-disbanded British organisation known as ‘The Torchwood Institute’ and the realisation that if anyone can find out what’s caused ‘Miracle Day’ it’s Torchwood. If anyone’s still left standing.

Let’s get one thing quite clear. Fans who feared that this new series would be some sort of ‘American reboot’ çan be reassured that this just looks and feels like old Torchwood but with a lot more money on screen. Yes, it’s obviously got that glossy ‘American sheen’ and it’s full of anxious CIA agents and TV news reporters (a favourite Russell T Davies exposition-dumping device) but, simply through the presence of the charismatic Captain Jack (his first appearance will send a shiver up and down your spine because…well, just because…) and the always-likable Gwen Cooper (Eve Myles) and her shouty well-meaning husband Rhys (Kai Owen), we’re reminded that this really is the same clumpy Cardiff-centric show which miraculously (geddit?) made its way through three seasons in the UK when all around it was detectives and hospitals. Other old-series favourites are back too – Gwen’s former Police chum PC Andy Davison (Tom Price) is now a Sergeant and Gwen’s parents, who appeared in a season two episode also turn up. Even one of the unfortunate original Cardiff Torchwood team gets an unexpected mention…

This is, of course, a Russell T Davies script – which means that it races along scarcely pausing for breath, yet manages to find time for some beautifully-observed character moments (especially between Gwen and Rhys and Gwen and her parents), some decent moments of humour and even a pretty unpleasant sequence involving a man who has been literally blown to pieces and yet still isn’t dead. Yuk. In much the same was he showed how easily he had mastered Matt Smith’s Doctor in last year’s Sarah Jane Adventures story Death of the Doctor Davies reminds us that this is his set-up, these are his characters and he know exactly how to move the show forward without derailing it. Miracle Day, on the basis of its first episode (and there’ll be a longer UK edit broadcast this week – no ads!) is absolutely the right progression for the series after the more doomy Children of Earth.

It’s not all perfect though. As a first episode the show has a lot to do and a lot of people to re-establish and introduce and, as a result, some of them get short shrift. Bill Pullman is scintillating as child killer Oswald Danes who escapes death by lethal injection due to Miracle Day and his scenes are electrifying – we just don’t get enough of them. Similarly the Miracle Day phenomenon itself seems to happen too quickly and its ramifications a bit underplayed until, of all people, Sgt Andy spells it out to both Gwen and the audience. CIA agents Esther and Rex play the familiar Davies role of the outsider stumbling into an unbelievable world, a trick he’s pulled in Doctor Who, Sarah Jane Adventures and in Torchwood but it works less well here because we don’t spend enough time with either of them and, as Government agents, they’re a bit more brusque and less identifiable than Rose Tyler or Gwen Cooper, ordinary people doing ordinary jobs suddenly thrust into the madness of aliens and time travellers. Davies clearly can’t wait to get his new characters and his old characters together and Miracle Day itself is ignored for a while in the last twenty minutes or so as Rex stumbles from his not-death bed and travels halfway across the world – seemingly in moments – to hook up with Gwen and her husband in the middle of nowhere in South Wales. Cue the arrival of a helicopter gunship and a familiar man in a jeep with a bazooka, arriving in the nick of time to save the day… Beautiful madness.

I’ll say no more. It’s a bold and rattling start to what is clearly going to develop into a lavish, exciting, intriguing thriller. It’s great to see Russell T Davies back scripting a Doctor Who-related show again and in Miracle Day it looks as if he and his team have taken Torchwood to the next level, the international level it was always aiming for even though it might not always have known it.

Don’t miss this. Just don’t.

Torchwood; Miracle Day begins on BBC1 in the UK on 14th July. In-depth episode reviews will appear in Starburst Magazine shortly after transmission.

Ah, Torchwood. Doctor Who’s big brother, the one who drinks beer and smokes tabs, stays up late and swears, chases men and women alike. The mature one, if you will, who has that charming naughty streak. And now it’s back with series four. Miracle Day; bigger, bolder, brighter – produced in conjunction with American TV corporation Starz.

Before I discuss the season opener, I’d like to tell you about my love/hate relationship with Torchwood.

The series was launched in 2006 and, as an adult Doctor Who fan, I anticipated much and was disappointed. Yet I watched every episode of that series, and bought the DVD (very cheaply, I must say). Why? Well, although much of it didn’t work for me, deep within the sometimes unnecessary swearing, sex and violence, lurked a lofty ebullience; the series was endowed with the warmth and enthusiasm that always shines through the writing of Russell T Davies.

Torchwood moved from BBC3 to BBC2 for its second series, a major promotion for a genre show. I watched the first five minutes of the first episode: from what I can remember there were lots of bangs and crashes, a car chase, a man with a fish head and an old granny saying “fucking Torchwood”. Remote found, TV off, eyes shut, asleep. I gave up, didn’t watch another episode. Series 2 came and went, with barely a flicker on my radar.

Months later, I was fortunate to be at a screenwriting conference where writer James Moran gave a live commentary on his episode Sleeper. While James provided a witty insight into the writing process, I began to appreciate Torchwood for what it was intended to be. Like I say, beneath the bluff and bluster, under the sometimes shoddy effects, there’s that heart of gold beating steadily away.

Summer 2009, and Torchwood was shown on five consecutive nights, event TV under the name of Children of Earth. Intrigued (well, more like stunned at the audacity to highly expose the show) I sat down to watch. It started well enough, but improved so much that by the end I was sat there with my mouth open and nothing to say. Well-written, wonderfully-acted, here was the Torchwood I’d always hoped for; a superb concept, filled with gripping drama and high emotions. And how creepy were those aliens? The most sinister, disturbing sight on TV for a long time. Excellent.

My hopes are now high. I know Torchwood can deliver enough to satisfy my capacity for criticism. There’s now a vast canvas on which to paint the tale, more money to spend on special effects and a cast that includes Bill Pullman. All bodes well; following Children of Earth, I’m expecting much, although experience tells me to prepare myself for the spectre of disappointment.

So, given all this, how does the first episode of Miracle Day fare? Well, it’s a mixed bag, I’m afraid. There are flashes of brilliance and moments of downright stupidity, especially considering this is made for an adult audience; disbelief can only be suspended so much. How inept must the trained assassins be if they can miss a house with an RPG fired from a helicopter, sending the missile through a window, across a landing, then out the other window? Worse is the almost laughable scene when CIA agent Rex Matheson pulls out the plugs, gets out of bed and leaves his hospital room; while staggering through the hospital, he takes a random bottle of pills from a trolley and downs them like they’re Sanatogen. I can only hope his CIA skills – the ones that enable him to make it to the hospital exit unstopped, get a taxi that he doesn’t have to pay for, board a plane to the UK, be given a gun in a presentation by some high-ranking English policeman, then drive to Wales while having a conversation on his phone – also enable him to identify pain-killers from their taste.

Any first episode needs to set the scene and show the players, and this one does it very well. We start with an execution, the lethal injection of rapist and killer Oswald Danes (Bill Pullman). It’s a grisly affair, with lots of twitching and shaking, only Danes doesn’t die. Here’s our concept; people the world over (we know it’s the entire world, as we’re shown lots of news channels) are refusing to die, no matter what their cause of death should be. Agent Matheson is another case; while driving at night (on his phone again) he collides with a truck carrying Big Iron Spikes that aren’t tied on very well. They go through his windscreen and his chest, pinning him to his seat. But, like Danes, Matheson refuses to die. Instead, prompted by his younger female colleague, Esther Drummond, Matheson heads to Wales in search of Gwen Cooper.

Esther is intrigued by the name Torchwood, now that all records of its existence have been erased. Even the librarian at the hall of records (a cross between the X-Files vault and the warehouse from Raiders of the Lost Ark) knows this; he’s even kind enough to tell Esther that all the Torchwood records have been taken. If it wasn’t top secret, I assume the janitor would have known. Here, plucky Esther encounters Captain Jack Harkness and a would-be assassin. There’s a big explosion, but Jack and Esther escape by diving into a convenient fountain. They bond for a moment, then Jack erases her memory, Men In Black style.

Meanwhile, Gwen, husband Rhys and their son are in hiding in Wales, living off the land. There’s not a leather jacket in sight, but the visit of two ramblers causes the couple to open their weapons cupboard (a pantry of shotguns and grenades) just in case. They return to civilisation in order to visit Gwen’s sick father; he’s had two major heart attacks and – in a nice twist – wonders if he should be alive or dead. Gwen’s emotional investment is sealed here, and while this is obviously a job for Torchwood, Rhys doesn’t want her to get involved. We know, of course, she will be. It would be a short show otherwise.

Back in the USA, Jack visits the hospital where, posing as FBI agent Owen Harper, he watches the autopsy of the assassin who was blow up at the library. It’s a gory moment, as there’s not much left of this man, and it’s genuinely disturbing as, despite the head being removed, the eyes look towards the doctors. At his hideout, Jack begins to realise that, while everyone else is immortal, he can die…

Esther has been given the last remaining paper records of Torchwood and, working with the bed-ridden Rex (on his phone again, this time in a hospital, although I guess the effect on life support machines is irrelevant now) establishes the whereabouts of Gwen. As mentioned earlier, Rex heads to Wales, where the helicopter gunship is only moments behind. Jack arrives to save the day, a plan which involves attempting to evade a helicopter by driving a jeep across the flattest part of the Welsh coast (looked good, but wouldn’t the hills have been better?). Gwen, back in Torchwood mode with her leather jacket on, blows up the gunship with a rocket launcher of her own. Torchwood are re-united, but Rex has called the police. They’re all under arrest. Danes, however, has been released…

Ok, I admit I’m being flippant and possibly harsh, but this is fiction aimed at an intelligent, adult audience. Sure, we’re prepared for it to be fantastical (it’s sci-fi, after all), but the boat really is pushed out too far at times. So, yes, I’m disappointed. We have a brilliant premise, which has great potential, as yet frustratingly unrealised.

Bill Pullman plays Danes like Hannibal Lecter without the charm. He’s intelligent, knows the law inside out (which a clever man on death row would), and manipulates all concerned to engineer his own freedom. He’s a true villain, a man who claims that his twelve year old victim “should have run faster”. Still, there are a couple of moments when he looks more comical than frightening; heavy eyes and a slack jaw do not a monster make. Although his expression did make me wonder if the lethal drugs are still in his system. Hmmm…

I’m still to be convinced about our two CIA agents. As naive young female and grizzled veteran male, they both conform to expectations and, possibly, cliche. It’s through the eyes of Esther that any new viewers will learn about Torchwood, and we need to be able to empathise with her, warm to her like we did with a certain Dana Scully. Hopefully, this will come in time. Rex feels like he’s going to be a typical tough guy, a foil who will see the error of his ways and turn to Torchwood later. Fair enough, but how many times have we seen that in TV?

Although Gwen’s transformation from gardening mother to leather-jacketed gun-toting Torchwood agent is inevitable, Eve Myles plays it well. There’s humour and warmth in her relationship with Rhys and while the moments with her father are somewhat protracted, they remain emotional. The scenes in Wales jar with those in the USA, but they need to in order to highlight the different cultures. Watching Gwen shoot a gun through the window while holding her baby (I swear the kid is grinning) is outrageous, yet entertaining, an image usurped from John Woo’s Hard Boiled.

And, of course, Jack’s back. Following the events of Children of Earth (which I won’t discuss here, but if you haven’t seen it, go watch now!), he’s a darker and mysterious figure, his humour somewhat subdued. It’ll be interesting to see how being mortal will effect Jack’s relationships and actions. Jack gave me the biggest laugh of the episode, using a drug called Retcon to erase Esther’s memory.

As a first episode, then, this does work. Despite my concerns, I found it to be enjoyable enough, an entertaining almost-hour of TV. For everything that made me cringe, there was something to appreciate; I just don’t want to cringe so often. The scene is now set, so hopefully we can get on with the story. Fortunately, any new viewers haven’t been bombarded with twists and turns, making do with the simple premise: why aren’t people dying and what does Torchwood have to do with it? I’m sure the intrigue will grow as the series continues; it has to last for ten episodes, and will need to maintain its pace.

So, Torchwood. It’s done it again. I know what I want, but my expectations aren’t met. Yet, I maintain my faith in Russell T Davies and his writing team. I’ve seen what can be done, and I’m sure the series will get better. Here we have a decent, yet flawed, re-introduction to characters and the whys and wherefores of their existence. I’m hoping for some good story-telling to come, but watching Torchwood is like taking a bumpy ride.

Come on, Torchwood. It’s time to deliver, and be all you can be.

Torchwood; Miracle Day begins on BBC1 in the UK on 14th July. In-depth episode reviews will appear in Starburst Magazine shortly after transmission.