And there's a great big black hole at the centre in the shape of John Barrowman. He's pretty and the 1940s greatcoat is enviable, but that's it. He smirks, he quips, he flaunts, but he doesn't have soul. He's a throwback to those cocky, American TV heroes of the 60sand 70s- like Napoleon Solo or James T. Kirk or the Tony Curtis character in the Persuaders- whom we tolerated for the sake of their much groovier sidekicks.
Torchwood is being sold as an adult show, but adult ought to mean something more than the odd lesbian snog or particularly bloody death. The latest episode- with our heroes running all over the shop to escape the stompy cyberwoman- was base-line Who and could easily have gone out at tea-time. Dr Who at its best- The Girl In The Fireplace for example- is much more grown up than anything we've seen from Torchwood thus far.
Teething troubles or fatal flaw? I wonder how the viewing figures are holding up?