James Moran's stab at
Orgasms and giant fruit
Clones a parson's nose.
Torchwood: Sleeper
Picture a story about an artificial construct forced to do inhuman things against its will, that craves an emotional bond with ordinary people, that just wants to pursue an ordinary menial existence and provokes genuine sadness when destroyed. A thought-provoking story with exciting action and profundities on what it means to be a human being, encapsulated into a tidy little entertainment package, easily digestible in the space of about fifty minutes.
Sounds good, eh? That's because it's Doctor Who and The Giant Robot by Terrence Dicks, and it's positively sublime compared to the sub-Terminator pablum we've got this week instead.
Sleeper is an unfortunate turkey, and it's mainly down to a lousy script that wastes no time in settling into a mogadonic slump. You remember when Douglas Adams tried to distance himself from his gap year script-editing Doctor Who with the excuse that he couldn't find new writers who had any grasp of what the show was about? This is what he meant; Sleeper views like James Moran skimmed through the series bible, picked up on the broad strokes from the first couple of pages, nodded 'no sweat', and spent the rest of the day re-reading Spider-Man: Maximum Carnage before perfunctorily dashing off the first draft. You can see what Moran is trying to do; but as with Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang last week there is one primary factor around which enjoyment of the episode is largely reliant upon - in this case, Beth's plight and coming to terms with not being human - and if that doesn't work it all falls down like a deck of cards.
"A weak time-wasting whodunnit with the husband and wife"
Because otherwise there's so little substance on offer in the whole first half before the plot finally gets going, that the camera typically has to suddenly cut away from the main 'action'; not to create any sense of tension or mystery (and certainly not to leave any implied violence or bloodshed to our imaginations), but simply to avoid any revelations that might leave the episode high and dry with half the running time still to fill. So having been introduced via a burglary in the teaser, instead of the all-important attention-grabbing audience hook, we're left to stare vacantly at an overturned lamp overdubbed with sounds of rumpus, with no indication at all about who is being attacked by whom, and nothing of any relevance to the programme we happen to be watching, just so they can waste a further time after the titles playing a weak 'whodunnit' with the husband and wife. Ooooooh, aren't you just on the edge of your seat? Craaaaaaaaaaaaaap.
To be fair, Moran does give the humanity angle a good try in painting Beth as the viewer identification figure, as out of all the major characters only she really shares our complete ignorance of what's going on (and everyone else's foreknowledge gets really irritating later). But whereas a stronger, more assertive everyman bad-guy figure like Michael Douglas in Falling Down might have made a big difference, Beth's helplessness and lack of control only servers to make supposed-hero Jack's Gitmo treatment of her to confirm the answers he seems to already know, but isn't bothering to tell us yet, that much more unpleasant to watch. It's back to the unheroic alienation - no pun intended - where Torchwood can pull whatever crap they deem necessary on anyone they target a hazard, and never have to answer for it; only it's even more pronounced now due to the willing acquiescence of proper law authorities to fobbed off, just because they can't be bothered any more either. Gwen at least tries to bring some normality back to the proceedings, but she's still a far cry from the Gwen Cooper created by Russell T Davis who had a flying monkey's to give about civil liberties; she doesn't have a mission anyway, as the production team have finally found a musician capable of out-irritating the Murray with that sodding omnipresent 'cry now' violin in the background. And the good cop/bad cop routine? Give me a break.
Honestly, there's more meat to be had so far in an episode of Stephen Colbert's Tek Jansen. Speaking of which; while I'm all for Ianto coming out of his shell a bit and developing an actual sense of fun, it is really necessary to turn him into Porpy the sidekick? "Aaaaaaaaand Ianto, his zany buddy, speaking all taffy, acting all slutty, guaranteed to get the good lines.... Ianto!" But just like last week, the wet Welshman still managed to leave the most positive impression on me, and after season one it doesn't get much more schadenfreude-ironic than that.
'Aaaaaaaaand Ianto, his zany buddy, speaking all taffy, acting all slutty, guaranteed to get the good lines.... Ianto!'
Once Beth goes under the no-not-the-mind-probe, the electric jolt wakes up Colin Teague who's nodded off with most of the rest of us. Making up for lost time, he directs as if to confirm through his visual style that the edited-out podcast gags about recreational stimulants were actually true, and yet it still manages to remain utterly dull. For such story linearity, the editing is an absolute mess and leaps about confusingly all over the place, even when it isn't a Zabriski Point montage of explosions, shock-effect violence, rag doll physics and flashy graphic inserts. We get some classic moments of unintentional hilarity with the pram and with Gwen's ever-reliable 'stabbing Gareth Thomas' face. And lurching the camera everywhere during a location tracking shot is not dynamic; it just makes the cameraman look like Norman Wisdom.
And nothing the aliens do makes any sense. What's the rest of the 'they're already here' invasion spearhead supposed to be doing while the mighty (and expendable) advance guard of four are softening up Cardiff's - sorry, Earth's - defences? Sloping off for a quick fag? The aliens are completely invulnerable biological Guyver superweapons, until the plot suddenly requires them not to be and turns their forcefields off with the flick of a switch, not having any other way to write out the two suicide bombers who otherwise could have walked out of their respective explosions without so much as a scratch. Even if they weren't using time-delay explosives that stupidly give a dangerous opponent time to get away, let alone themselves.
In writing the invaders as omniscient intel-gathering super spies, the script also thinks it can get away with throwing any old bollocks at us as a statement of true fact without any regard to rhyme or reason. Because, well, the aliens know and accept it, so it must be true. This week's ridiculous Cardiff plot contrivance: the military keeps a stock of decommissioned nuclear warheads in a bunker under the city. But no need to panic, the bunker codes are in the care of an ambiguously-defined council figure, so it's all perfectly safe. Or something. Sorry, what? When did they put UNIT in charge of national security? Why not stick a Thunderbolt missile and a Keller Machine in there while you're at it? And why has Jack, in charge of a group supposedly more influential than the government, not kicked up an almighty strop fit before that there's a f**king great potential doomsday weapon buried under his doorstep?
When did they put UNIT in charge of national security? Why not stick a Thunderbolt missile and a Keller Machine in the nuclear bunker while you're at it?
By the time Beth got to her rather half-arsed 'noble' self-sacrifice, there was no earthly reason left to keep me watching except to see whether they really would wheel out the obvious Nigel Kneale ending old enough to have clunked through the Rift with the plane from Out Of Time, and have Beth's resurgent humanity take the rest of the invasion threat down with her. It was almost a disappointment that they didn't.
Oh well, at least they managed to serve up a genuine surprise in the closing trailer for next week; it's the one with the 1918 WWI pilot. No, the surprise isn't the plot; it's that Helen Raynor wrote it instead of Catherine Treganna, who would have made it three-for-three with episodes about time-displaced aviators.
Where's Peter Grimwade when you need him?
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