Let me state, right off: this is the bravest, most thought-provoking, groundbreaking series of the year. It’s not even operating on the same level as the often silly, crowd-pleasing Doctor Who Specials. It has more in common with Battlestar Galactica, and even more than that in common with the British mini-series State of Play.
The alien threat in Children of Earth is– in a classic convention of the scifi genre– entirely unimportant. It is an external pressure that allows the writers to examine their real subject: human nature. When faced with annihilation, with a threat we cannot hope to face, what do we do? Does morality mean anything in the face of death? What constitutes “acceptable loss”? The real monsters in Children of Earth are human beings, more to the point, they are the politicians sitting in Whitehall. Children of Earth asks us to take a long hard look at our governments and leaders; though it was written in October last year, Children of Earth feels jarringly topical, set against the background of anti-terror legislation and debate, MPs expenses scandals and the potential threat of swine flu on the horizon. Politically, this is subversive stuff, taking on issues that rarely make an appearance on TV, especially out of the confines of “topical programming” and especially not during prime-time on BBC1.
The brilliant Peter Capaldi (who you might just remember as foul-mouthed Malcolm Tucker from In The Loop or The Thick of It) plays Mr. Frobisher– a small-time civil servant who just happens to be Torchwood’s contact in the government. He is a middleman, brought to prominence in these world-changing events precisely because he is unimportant. To the political establishment, he is expendable. He is most emphatically not a monster, and yet he participates and colludes with actions that are monstrous. This is where Children of Earth is at its hardhitting, politically slimy best. It demonstrates with chilling effectiveness that politicians are concerned with politics, and that is an entity entirely separate from everyday life. The discussions in Whitehall, witnessed by Frobisher, are the best parts of this story. The writers nail the slipperiness of diplomatic language (calling children “units” to depersonalise them), spending far more time discussing how to spin their actions into a media-friendly narrative than even the practical consequences of their decisions. Their closed-door conversations demonstrate the logic, the terrifying ease with which we can slip from appeasement to self-protection to protecting people-like-us. That at the heart of eugenics is the protection of the in-group rather than a blind hatred of the out-group is a subtle, telling distinction, and Children of Earth nails it.
Children of Earth is a wonderful introduction to scifi and its possibilites, and– with its move to BBC1’s primetime slot of 9pm– it achieved audience figures of around 6 million for each episode (and that’s just overnights, not including viewers on BBC HD, +1 and iPlayer). Clearly, it was a mainstream science fiction event. In terms of five solid hours of television, whatever your genre, you could do a lot worse. The creators and writers should be justifiably proud.
Unfortunately, if you were already a fan of the somewhat silly, over-the-top, dark and yet hopeful scifi series that was Torchwood Seasons 1 and 2 you will be justifiably shocked. This is not Torchwood as we know it. It is a reboot in everything but name that has built upon the deaths of two of the main characters in the Season 2 finale by killing off another main character, breaking another one to the point that taking up his role as team-leader of Torchwood seems impossible and leaving the other one behind, heavily pregnant in a world that has been fundamentally altered by the events of the series. Whether a Season 4 is greenlit or not, there can be no return to the format and style of Season 1 and 2, nor can there be any real reconciliation of the message of Children of Earth with the overarching message of Doctor Who, and Torchwood: that the universe is filled with wonder and that human beings are flawed but fantastic creatures.
In the drive to mainstreamise and create a BBC1 event, Torchwood abandoned its own conventions and decided upon a much darker, unpleasant path. It broke its generic contract with established viewers, but gained a huge number of new ones in doing so. (Not to mention, it created something beautiful and daring.)
I think Torchwood can be seen as one of the first, highly visible examples of an issue that’s only going to become more prevalent in television as shows adapt themselves to the new conditions of a medium-free, content-driven market in which the product itself is in flux. Torchwood did not only exist as two long-form episodic serials of 13 episodes each, it also existed in the form of tie-in novels, behind-the-scenes blogs, audiobooks and radio plays.
Mainstream audiences have always found it easy to draw a distinction between “the show” appearing on TV and all of this so-called “supplementary material”. All of this “extra stuff” is thought of as material for the hardcore fans, the crazies, the niche (though of course, let’s remember, the Long Tail and others tell us that it’s this loyal, smaller fanbase that generates a large quantity of a show’s revenue in this merchandising and DVD-sales driven market, they’re the ones that purchase the novels, attend the cons, convert their friends to watching the show, stick with it through its transformations). But Children of Earth has problematised this distinction by messing with the format of “the show” itself. By shifting from a weekly, 13-episode season to a nightly, five-episode “televisual event”, the creators changed the very nature of the stories it would tell. Just as radio plays tell different kinds of stories to television, and novels tell different kinds of stories than audioblogs. So when a show is spread so wantonly over so many media, when its nature is to transform and adapt its content to the form it is currently taking, then how do we pin down the “essence” of the show itself? (Is there such a thing?)
The big question: can we separate form(at) from content? I think we’re going to have to expand our notions of the “canonical”, get used to a product that’s less fixed and certain. But I do also think that creators are going to have to assume a greater responsibility to define and maintain an integrity of content and character across these different media. Battlestar Galactica’s webisodes and TV-events are excellent examples of this: they created short-form, event television that nonetheless maintained the flavour, characterisation and paradigm of the parent-series.
A more practical question: is Torchwood’s move brilliant or flawed? They’ve highlighted an important issue in the televisual marketplace. Who makes more money for a show, particularly a scifi genre show? Is it a small, dedicated group of fans, or a larger, more mainstream audience? Have they made a mistake in breaking their contract with their radio-play-downloading, DVD-buying, con-attending fans? On the other hand, in doing so they have generated huge public interest, debate and viewing figures that have surprised even the most optimistic of commenters. (Tangentially, but importantly: Children of Earth’s is probably going to generate some ire from fans and supporters who were pleased to see a gay couple on their mainstream TV screens. Understandably so, as it was marketed specifically to the gay and mainstream press as groundbreaking in this respect, claiming to treat its queer relationships just like it treats its heterosexual ones but then ending up Burying Its Gays, with a declaration of queer love followed by death.)
In my opinion, their mistake was in setting up this distinction in the first place, as I believe it’s an unecessary one. You can please the fans and create new, mainstream ones– look at JJ Abrams recent Star Trek reboot, which changes the tone and style but preserves and respects the “essential character” of the original. But why wasn’t Torchwood: Children of Earth able to do the same thing?
But here, then, is my big caveat about Children of Earth: the agenda dwarfed the characters, story and sensibility– ultimately, Torchwood were somewhat irrelevant bit-parts in a grand political drama. As slickly produced as it was, by Day Five it was unremitting bleakness and darkness. A nihilism that was shocking to see on prime-time television (and simply for the novelty, it is admirable) and yet, we are left, at the close, grappling with humanity as the show describes it: craven, weak, alternately monstrous and powerless, shameful, insignificant and small. I was disappointed that Children of Earth held up a mirror to the darkest parts of the human soul, but then failed to provide any alternative, any small shred of hope for change or betterment. While it’s fascinating and fantastic to see a mainstream, prime-time series that confronts the idea that sometimes, in life, truly good choices do not exist, and we must pick amongst the greys, I’m unsure of the moral worth of suggesting that we are not worth saving because our nature itself is flawed. We are incapable of our own redemption. What then, is the point of showing us the horror and callousness of which we are capable? What is the point of creating a series that paints so beautifully our easy descent into cruelty and destruction if we are given no alternatives or opportunities to change?
The everyday heroism of human life is what is truly missing from this series, and it is deliberately excluded in favour of a political message: our leaders care only for politics, and in their pursuit of political power lose touch with real life, and we the people are too apathetic and powerless to stop them. We did not see any true revolt from citizens and, more importantly, parents, as their children were taken from them. Yes, we were given many scenes of weeping, screaming, protesting mothers outside school gates but apart from Rhiannon and Johnny on the council estate we do not see the mothers and fathers of Britain refuse point-blank to hand their children over to armed thugs and police. (And yes, I really do think that if armed soldiers attempted to take a seven-year-old from her home, her parents would resist, utterly and rabidly, to the death– the entire series plays on our notion of “the children”, the ultimate heartstrings-tugger, the sacrosanct, the innocent, and yet, fails to acknowledge on screen that a parent confronted with the loss of their child is a fierce and primal force to be reckoned with, even by a government with militias and money at their disposal.) We saw no resistance from other governments of the world, which was suddenly and curiously unified behind the British decision to appease.
Ultimately, the storyteller is responsible for the message that his story sends. And I think that Children of Earth failed, on Day Five, to deliver a message that was useful, morally coherent and worthy. Shocking and frightening us with the potential of our own brutality was step one, but it was not followed by a step two– and step two is what true maturity is about. Without step two, what we are left with is nihilism, nullity. A world in which the good are brutally cut down, where standing up is a brave but pointless act, where we exist only in our worst forms. Tragedy is not, in itself, more worthy. The human experience is complex, and to reduce it to merely our best or indeed our worst natures is reductivist, simplistic, shallow. We are not monsters, and we are not angels– but what Children of Earth seems to sidestep is that we do have free will. The ability to choose our own future, to change and learn and grow. Ignoring this is not brave or intellectually superior or realistic; the quality and political astuteness of Children of Earth therefore demands more than this easy conclusion.
But, the very fact that it generates these questions and prompts this debate is, I think, in of itself a triumph. It’s why Children of Earth will probably be the best five hours of television you have seen recently, if you give it a chance, despite my gripes. It has all the elements of greatness: tight pacing and writing (especially with the political segments), some impressive ensemble performances, shining moments of humour, and an involving, absorbing emotional journey. It aimed high, and achieved an epic scale within five episodes that dealt with topical political, social and moral issues head-on. And though I wanted more from it, I have no doubt that we will remember it as a classic, a gamechanger that opened doors for years to come because it demonstrated with style that people will watch questioning, brazen, ambitious and difficult mainstream prime-time drama. And with any luck, they’ll buy the DVD after, too.
Good blog, McMeg. I agree for ze most part.
RE: Relentless Bleakness: Now, not having seen the rest of it, I can’t comment properly, but was the woman keeping the baby meant to be the ‘ray of hope’?
The happy(ish) ending where the PM gets his? I mean the kid totally gets fried yus…but maybe I didn’t find it so bad since I didn’t know who he was. (The scientist dude in that scene was a little hammy with the acting which is a shame)
I think the recent vogue of equating ‘dark’ with ‘realistic’ is getting to me. As you say, tis but half the story.
P.S. Saw the video at the start and thought of you :)
Hrrrm. I think Gwen keeping the baby is meant to be a ray of hope, yes. But the very last shot her crying in the dark, in a world in she/we are unsure whether we would actually want to bring up a child. And Jack, who has represented the mystery, wonder and largeness of the universe to her, cuts and runs. (Understandably, considering everything that happens to him through this– which you haven’t seen, dammit.) But she (and by extension humanity) are left alone in the dark, undeserving and unready for whatever wonders or threats may come from above.
The PM gets his– but who takes his place? The female politician that suggests the “lowest performing 10%” would be the best choice for their ’sacrifice to the pagan gods’. (I think that might have been in Day Four, so you didn’t see it– but I think she is portrayed as a more deeply frightening and sinister figure than the Prime Minister, who is merely self-interested.)
Dark is just dark. Dark can be a hell of a lot of fun, and very interesting, but it isn’t an end in of itself. That said, do watch the other episodes. I genuinely think you’d enjoy Days 1-4, and even Day 5 despite my caveats– especially since you enjoyed State of Play.
PS- And yeah, RTD is totally stealing my angsty videoblogs, man. :P
P.S. Peter Capaldi was definitely the best thing I saw in it…although I was expecting to break into a swearing massacre at any point…
It’s a shame you saw Day Five already, actually, because I think the conclusion to his character arc was pitched perfectly on the right side of the darkness and tragedy. His behaviour, precisely because we are asked to sympathise him, is far more morally and psychologically complex than the craven politicians who can be dismissed as selfish bastards.
(I kept thinking WHAT HAPPENED TO MALCOLM’S ACCENT?!)
I’ll add this shit to the list of things to watch. It’s just hard to do, what with having that job and all…woe, woe woe…but I WILL get to it. I WILL
Excellent article hitting many of the things I felt while watching CoE.
#1 – Torchwood were somewhat irrelevant bit-parts in a grand political drama.
Very true. They didn’t make Torchwood. They made a political/sci-fi thriller, which they just happened to bolt on to the framework of Torchwood – and in the process removed everything that made Torchwood so enjoyable and unique in the first place.
I have no problem with what they did in terms of content.
Well, actually, that’s not true, I do. I am totally bored with the “we’re the real monsters” and the “it’s only real if it’s nasty, brutish and short” tropes. Been there, seen it already, too many times already.
But if they wanted to write that kind of show, no problem. I just can’t understand why they used Torchwood to do it. And, as you say, broke the generic contract with the fanbase.
Given that, assuming there is a season 4, it will take them a good 12-15 months to get it off the ground, they managed to alienate the group of people most likely to stick around and stay loyal for the new season.
#2 – Burying it’s gays.
According to RTD in the Torchwood declassified, the idea behind this was to put Jack in a position where he has nothing more to lose. In my opinion, it would have had far greater impact and Jack would have had far more to lose if they had forced him to make the final dreadful decision about Stephen in front of Ianto, knowing that it risked losing him the love and respect of the man he had come to care fore so deeply. It would have also given the potential for a very interesting arc for Ianto as he would have to deal with what it means to be in love with someone capable of committing such a monstrous act, and what it says about his own character that he is willing to stick around with the monster.
It felt like they took the easy way out – the emotional equivalent of a big-ass explosion or a topless pretty girl.
#3 – The everyday heroism of human life is what is truly missing from this series
Absolutely. We are expected to believe that not one person in that Cabinet room stood up and said “no, I won’t be part of this.” That not one nation refused to sacrifice it’s children. That people – and not just parents – wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to protect the children. That all the soldiers would obey the order to participate in a massacre of the innocents That only a handful of people were willing to stand and fight.
Which brings me to my final point. Was it actually such great television?
Yes, it got good ratings, but that’s not the same thing at all.
There were terrific set pieces and some lovely moments, but as I said, there was also a lot stereotypes, cliches and plot holes you could drive a bus through.
- We’re the real monsters. Check
- Politicians care only politics and self preservation. Check
- The Americans will steam in and start throwing their weight around. Check
- The ruthless assassin who switches sides when finally realising what kind of bastards they work for. Check
- Plucky Chavs who, despite their rough exterior, have hearts of gold. Check
- The scientist who manages to survive the virus attack that kills everyone who breathes the virus-laden air by getting into a hazmat suite DESPITE the fact that he has already breathed the air before he gets into the hazmat suit. Check
- There is no hope for change or betterment of the human condition because we are ultimately and irretrievably flawed. Check
And on and on and on.
But, ultimately, none of that matters.
The real problem with CoE was it’s relentless bleakness and its unremmitting nihilistic failure to offer any kind of hope for redemption of the human race.
CoE was good television.
But was it great? No.
Not because it went too far. But because it didn’t go far enough.
Thank you– lots of really excellent points there.
#2: I have not seen Torchwood Declassified yet, really ought to, but I’m not sure I would like their explanations. Shall rectify this. But– if Ianto’s death occurred for Jack to have nothing to lose, then he’s committed an even bigger televisual sin. Not only is Ianto a dead queer, but he’s been feminised and suffered the fate of a Disposable Woman– a love interest who is killed simply to develop the protagonist, in this case, giving him the hopeless detachment that allows him to murder his own grandson. The trope itself is irritating enough, but it’s also unecessary. As you mention, Jack Harkness is presented to us as a man with a very murky history and sense of morality. He doesn’t need to lose a lover to be capable of sacrificing one for the good of many, this is in fact, exactly what he did in 1965– leading to the events of the series!
I certainly can’t disagree with any of the cliches that you’ve pointed out– they do exist. But I think it still remains an excellently produced, surprisngly subtle series. And yes, its failure was in not living up to its promise.
Children of Earth is– for me, anyway– a great series not necessarily because it has the answers, or because the answers it provides are satisfactory but rather because it generates the right questions. We’re all asking them now, and that’s got to count for something.
Here is the explanation for all that happened in the last series:
http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/113365/Dr-Who-genius-leaves-for-America
I guess RDT needed to create a storm before going to Hollywood… anny publicity is good publicity, no matter how manny fans it dissapoints.
Ah, well. I can see how Children of Earth would be an excellent career move in terms of getting to Hollywood, especially considering Torchwood gets better ratings than Doctor Who on BBC America.
The way CoE ended certainly seemed to suggest that they did not intend to continue the series, and even if they did, would be starting it over from scratch, which is indeed, rather disappointing for established fans.
I haven’t seen Declassified yet either, but this is widely reported, by those who have seen it, as RTD’s explanation for the storyline.
So yes, the “Disposable Woman”. I expected more of them.
What I also meant to add when I was making my initial comment about this is that a man who has nothing left to lose, risks nothing. There are no stakes. And I’ve always been taught that it’s all about what’s at stake.
My only explanation for, as you say, RTD committing this vast televisual sin is that he was actually talking about Jack’s leaving when he was talking about nothing left to lose in Declassified, but it was edited in such a way that it sounded like he was talking about the death scene.
Having not seen it yet, I can’t say for sure, but I would hope so, because I am a great admirer of a lot of his work, and I would really hate to think he ended this part of his UK career on that particular note.
Mind you, this is the guy who gave us Owen and pheremone spray so . . .
My DVD arrived today, so I will suck it up, give it a watch, and post a response.
Re: Owen and the pheromone spray. I cannot believe that they did not realise that this made him a date rapist rather than just someone up for “a bit of fun”. Yet another good reason to have more women in the writing room, I think?
I keep hearing that CoE was so well-written… if it was, then can somebody tell me:
• What happened with the SUV? How come Torchwood allowed such advanced technology to remain in the hand a few joyriding teens?
• How come Jack doesn’t contact the Doctor?
• How come Jack goes to face the alien threat with a handgun from WW2, and not some fancy-shmancy energy gun? And why does he take Janto with him?
• What was Jack’s plan in going to confront the 456? Just yell NO at him?
• Why was the building not evacuated of all the unnecessary personnel the moment the 456 landed?
• They knew from 1965 that the alien threatened with a viral infection, so how come people were not wearing hasmat suits in the building? How come there was only one suit available?
• How come an organization as Torchwood doesn’t have an alternative sight? After the explosion, they are left only with the clothes on their back, like a bunch of amateurs.
Well written my foot…
There was some well written dialogue, (not much) but that is not something out of the ordinary for the BBC. The Beeb has standards…
In my opinion, what made Torchwood worth watching was the acting. Some great performances from Jack, Janto, Tosh, Owen, Forbisham, Lois. Gwen’s omission in this list isn’t a mistake.
The fact that Torchwood was worth watching has to do with the way the actors have portrayed the characters in the scenes, not because of the writing, but in spite of it. Well timed silences, discrete facial expressions, telling gestures, interaction… ALL that came from the actors, not the writers.
Those are certainly plot points that they didn’t address, Alzir. Plot holes are almost a convention of the scifi genre, though, and I could forgive them for most because of the fast pace and compressed format they were operating in. But of course, your mileage may vary.
What was Jack’s plan in going to confront the 456? Just yell NO at him?
That was the entireity of the plan, Alzir. The 456 would never expect that! This in particular did bother me, in terms of plot holes– most of which I can usually let go– but their plan seemed to consist of:
Ianto: You can’t take the kids!
Jack: We declare WAR!
456: OK, then.
Jack: OH SHIT.
Ianto: *dies*
On a less whimsical note. The quality of the acting in general is also down to the five-part format. They worked with a single director– Euros Lyn– and he stamps his visual style across the whole thing. This is a much, much subtler performance than we’ve ever seen from John Barrowman. Obviously, filming in one go, with one director who was on the same page in terms of their character development/story made a big difference.
I don’t mind a reasonable amount of holes in the plot. The story has to be moved forward. I only start to have problems with suspending my disbelief, when you can drive an eighteen wheeler truck trough them.
As for acting, I think that Peter Capaldi’s performance was something worth remembering. An artist, not only a professional…
Was interested with the musing on the issue of whether or not increasing cross – media ‘divergence’ between ‘mainstream’ broadcasting and ’supplementary’ material was going to lessen the impact of ‘canonicity’ in the future. Whilst I agree that this is playing with fire in the sense that it may come, in time, to substantively alienate a fanbase who live and breathe ‘canon’, it strikes me such ‘developments’ are, to the contrary, ultimately reversions to an earlier era of television programming.
The fan base obession with ‘canon’ and ‘canonicity’ was, for decades, of no concern whatsover to mainstream programmers – the patterning of the (so-called) ‘classic’ series of ‘Dr. Who’ is a notable case in point. There was never the slightest inclination amongst the actual writers and producers of the programme to establish anything other than the barest outline of continuity between one serial and the next, regardless of the ‘continuing’ context of the programme. This was ultimately a recognition that, to the casual viewer at home, such matters were of no concern; indeed, that the development of a cumulative story would work against the ‘familiarity factor’ so dear to e.g. soap operas, whereby the tendency to repeat the same scenarios with the same characters reacting in pretty much predictable manners week after week ultimately reassures the viewers that they can relax. In this sense, eschewing ‘continuity’ is a deliberately ‘anti dramatic’ move, because it forbids significant real character development (of the sort that might bring a sucessful character to a tragic downfall in a real drama, for instance).
The BBC was never lax, back in the day, in promoting cross media ’spin off’ and yet, because there was no central emphasis on ‘agreed continuity’ from the centre, these ’spins offs’ were also distinctly varied in their approach towards the basic materials of the series. There is very little in common between, say, the comic strip adventures, radio play realisations, cinematic reproductions, and written stories of the 60’s-80’s era, and, indeed, much that is totally at odds with other established ‘facts’ in different media. A prior generation does not appear to have worried too much about reconciling these contradictions, and simply accepted that more than one version of the character’s background and adventures was allowable.
‘Continuity’, in fact, has only become big televisual business in recent years; even in the early 90’s, a show like ‘The X Files’ began its earliest seasons with only the most rudimentary sense that the developments in one episode of the programme should have an impact on developments in later episodes; to all intents and purposes, the investigations of Mulder and Scully were performed in a vacuum – and their behaviour and reactions to phenomena were recast in precisely the same mould week after week.
However, somewhere in the mid 90’s, ‘continuity’ in programming appears to have taken off in a big way, particularly in the US – we now live in a world that is post ‘Buffy’, post ‘The West Wing’, ‘The Sporanos’, ‘Lost’ etc. etc. – and it is clear that when RTD was looking for models for the new ‘Doctor Who’ at least some of these programmes were his inspiration.
Yet, the real truth about the rise of ‘continuity’’s hold over ‘Doctor Who’ specifically is that, for such a long time, the fans were allowed to take over the running of the franchise, and refashion the concerns of the programme in their own interest. ‘Continuity’ has always been a sacred cow of fandom, which obsesses with establishing coherent patterns in relation to favoured texts. When the ‘classic’ series went off the air, the flame of interest was kept alight by the fans alone, who spent most of the intervening decade and a half between the loss of one version of the programme and the rise of another expanding ‘continuity’. Russ Davies was well aware of the fact that the fanbase lobby remained extremely powerful when he revamped Doctor Who, and even went so far as to employ a whole number of old style fans on his writing teams (admitedly, most also had BBC credentials, which will have gone further in establishing their authority at Broadcasting House). Nonetheless, Davies was also extremely wary of pandering too desperately to the fans, and so alienating his ‘regular’ audience, and for the first season, at least, he refused to allow any reference to earlier versions of the programme that might smack of ‘continuity’, unless they were so universally recognisable as to ‘alienate’ no one (e.g. showing Daleks). In a sense, Davies and his team have been fighting a rearguard action against the ‘continuity’ obesssions of the fans ever since, and attempting to return the programme (and its spin offs) to their roots: by reestablishing the notion that the idea of a ’settled continuity’ that is jealously guarded and immutable is of no interest to the casual viewer. They pay lip service to these ideas on occasion, but are now confident that they are in a position of such renewed popularity with the ‘general public’ that sticking to strict ‘continuity’ is not a necessity, even if it puts the noses of the fans out of joint.
I like that you separate fate from destiny. There is something to be said for trying to account for the idea that we can sometimes fail to fulfill our destiny.
Thanks for the review! I want to say – thank you for this!