Well, thank you

Thank you to all the people who suggested I watch the opener for the new series of Torchwood. It was unmitigated crap, and quite possibly the worst writing I’ve seen in years. Feeble jokes, sex references without any sexual tension, and isn’t science fiction supposed to be at least tenuously based in, you know, science? It’s entirely possible to believe that Chris Chibnall was born in the 1550s, and has never heard of Francis Bacon. The US is producing precisely nothing, and this is all the BBC can come up with?

If the BBC really wants to make it better (and I doubt they do, or they’d have fired the entire writing team from last year, and quite possibly shot half the cast for good measure), they should send Jack Harkness into a black hole (with a copy of Spartacus on a portable DVD player so that, relativistically at least, he’ll be watching it for an eternity), and have the rest of the Torchwood team eaten by something large and slimey, before having a look at one of the other Torchwood centres, in the hope that they’re more interesting. And they could transfer PC Andy to work there because, you know, the world can never have enough of Tom Price (no, not that Tom Price).

That’s 45 minutes I’ll never get back. Plus nearly half an hour to get all the IMDb references right. And this blog entry would have made a better episode. Cast James Marsters as the narrator.

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