nobody's children at all, after all
Friday, 4 September 2009 10:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freckles_and_doubtI should be processing credit transfers. And checking board schedules. And catching up on plaintive curriculum advice emails. So I'm going to make another cup of Earl Grey, assault the packet of TimTams I raided from the Evil Landlord's cupboard this morning, and talk about Torchwood instead. I'd witter on about District 9, but it's still percolating. Memo to self: get new job. Preferably reviewing science fiction. This one isn't leaving enough brain space.
I think that on the whole Season 2 of Torchwood was stronger than Season 1, and "Children of Earth" is stronger than either. It is also a production rife with the heavy hand of Russell T. Davies, which means it's flawed as hell, with the characteristic Davies flaw I've come to realise is about enormous emotional impact at the expense of actual logic. "Children of Earth" hits hard but cheaply, plugging right into the current British paranoia about children's safety. The premise is quite simple: enigmatic alien intelligence holds world to ransom extremely effectively by communicating its demands via the earth's children, who are plugged into some kind of global wavelength so that they all stop, instantly, at the same moment, or chant cryptic messages in unison. It's frankly freaky. Even more freakily, said enigmatic alien is demanding a tithe of the children themselves or it'll obliterate the human race. Oh, and it wants the kiddies to splice into themselves as the sort of equivalent of an enormous, immortal spliff, because their hormones feel good. Yr kiddies, give me them. To mainline.
The premise is sufficiently elegant, but it's not worked out elegantly, because this is Russell Davies rather than Stephen Moffat (and I have to say I'd love to see what the latter would have made of it). The story is at its most chilling and brutal in its focus on upper-echelon British politicians trying to negotiate the situation without sacrificing their political careers, and the scenario horrifies most when you realise that the safety of the children is not the primary concern. The decision is a dreadful one to have to make - do we stand up to the bad guys and risk the entire world, or do we cheerfully condemn millions of children to icky alien servitude in order to save billions? But even more dreadful is the rapid descent from expediency to nastier political implications - random selection nothing, if we're going to sacrifice children, let's sacrifice the lower classes, the ones in "not good schools" who are going to end up in hoodies on street corners anyway. Oh, and the children of anyone around this table are exempt. Except when they aren't, to make a political point. I have to say, the Prime Minister in this series is quite the nastiest piece of work I've seen in a fictional leadership role in years, and he's all the more horrible because he's perfectly believable.
These issues are difficult, but I think the narrative shies away from dealing with them properly - it dilutes them, ramifies out its instances too much. 12 children were sacrificed by Captain Jack in the past; the government offers to sacrifice 60, then 300 000. In the end Jack sacrifices one, his own grandson, in order to chase off the alien (in what's frankly a perfectly gratuitous and illogical plot kludge). The whole thing skirts around the issue of whether or not it's ever right to sacrifice children; we're never invited to suggest whether the fierce protectiveness of the story's various parents is right, or over-emotional, or short-sighted, or selfish, or natural and praiseworthy. The moral centre of the story blunders around a lot; if it's trying to make the point that there are no acceptable choices here, it makes it fumblingly, and with too much emotional backwash.
This is a smaller, tighter Torchwood, bereft of much of its interesting character interactions and of the Hub itself, which I rather miss. Gwen and Jack offer more of the same, really; poor Ianto, one of my favourite characters, gets arbitrarily offed. It's actually the non-core characters who shine, Lois and Frobisher and the aforementioned Bastard Prime Minister. Frobisher, in particular, is dreadfully compelling, the classic career civil servant and basically decent man trying to come to terms with awful necessity and, ultimately, betrayal. Peter Capaldi is an excellent actor, and carries you with him on every step of his tragic arc. (He was the Roman father in the Pompeii episode of Doctor Who, incidentally. This time he doesn't get to save himself or his kids).
I really enjoyed this mini-series, possibly more than I did any previous episodes; its emotional impact is effective, wrenching. But beneath the emotion it doesn't really hold together, simply because, I think, Davies doesn't think it's important for it to do so. He's not a science fiction writer in the sense that he doesn't have a commitment to thought experiment, to rational logic. He's terribly pleased with himself about effect. He'd be infinitely better a writer if he paid more attention to cause.
That was all a bit heavy, so have some Friday Hee: a Lemony Snicket Advice Column. "Dear Mr. Snicket: I recently discovered that a family of rabid ermines has taken up residence within the belly of my eighteenth-century Rococo chaise lounge. What would you, sir, suggest to be the best way to envelop them with the spirit of the holiday season?"
I think that on the whole Season 2 of Torchwood was stronger than Season 1, and "Children of Earth" is stronger than either. It is also a production rife with the heavy hand of Russell T. Davies, which means it's flawed as hell, with the characteristic Davies flaw I've come to realise is about enormous emotional impact at the expense of actual logic. "Children of Earth" hits hard but cheaply, plugging right into the current British paranoia about children's safety. The premise is quite simple: enigmatic alien intelligence holds world to ransom extremely effectively by communicating its demands via the earth's children, who are plugged into some kind of global wavelength so that they all stop, instantly, at the same moment, or chant cryptic messages in unison. It's frankly freaky. Even more freakily, said enigmatic alien is demanding a tithe of the children themselves or it'll obliterate the human race. Oh, and it wants the kiddies to splice into themselves as the sort of equivalent of an enormous, immortal spliff, because their hormones feel good. Yr kiddies, give me them. To mainline.
The premise is sufficiently elegant, but it's not worked out elegantly, because this is Russell Davies rather than Stephen Moffat (and I have to say I'd love to see what the latter would have made of it). The story is at its most chilling and brutal in its focus on upper-echelon British politicians trying to negotiate the situation without sacrificing their political careers, and the scenario horrifies most when you realise that the safety of the children is not the primary concern. The decision is a dreadful one to have to make - do we stand up to the bad guys and risk the entire world, or do we cheerfully condemn millions of children to icky alien servitude in order to save billions? But even more dreadful is the rapid descent from expediency to nastier political implications - random selection nothing, if we're going to sacrifice children, let's sacrifice the lower classes, the ones in "not good schools" who are going to end up in hoodies on street corners anyway. Oh, and the children of anyone around this table are exempt. Except when they aren't, to make a political point. I have to say, the Prime Minister in this series is quite the nastiest piece of work I've seen in a fictional leadership role in years, and he's all the more horrible because he's perfectly believable.
These issues are difficult, but I think the narrative shies away from dealing with them properly - it dilutes them, ramifies out its instances too much. 12 children were sacrificed by Captain Jack in the past; the government offers to sacrifice 60, then 300 000. In the end Jack sacrifices one, his own grandson, in order to chase off the alien (in what's frankly a perfectly gratuitous and illogical plot kludge). The whole thing skirts around the issue of whether or not it's ever right to sacrifice children; we're never invited to suggest whether the fierce protectiveness of the story's various parents is right, or over-emotional, or short-sighted, or selfish, or natural and praiseworthy. The moral centre of the story blunders around a lot; if it's trying to make the point that there are no acceptable choices here, it makes it fumblingly, and with too much emotional backwash.
This is a smaller, tighter Torchwood, bereft of much of its interesting character interactions and of the Hub itself, which I rather miss. Gwen and Jack offer more of the same, really; poor Ianto, one of my favourite characters, gets arbitrarily offed. It's actually the non-core characters who shine, Lois and Frobisher and the aforementioned Bastard Prime Minister. Frobisher, in particular, is dreadfully compelling, the classic career civil servant and basically decent man trying to come to terms with awful necessity and, ultimately, betrayal. Peter Capaldi is an excellent actor, and carries you with him on every step of his tragic arc. (He was the Roman father in the Pompeii episode of Doctor Who, incidentally. This time he doesn't get to save himself or his kids).
I really enjoyed this mini-series, possibly more than I did any previous episodes; its emotional impact is effective, wrenching. But beneath the emotion it doesn't really hold together, simply because, I think, Davies doesn't think it's important for it to do so. He's not a science fiction writer in the sense that he doesn't have a commitment to thought experiment, to rational logic. He's terribly pleased with himself about effect. He'd be infinitely better a writer if he paid more attention to cause.
That was all a bit heavy, so have some Friday Hee: a Lemony Snicket Advice Column. "Dear Mr. Snicket: I recently discovered that a family of rabid ermines has taken up residence within the belly of my eighteenth-century Rococo chaise lounge. What would you, sir, suggest to be the best way to envelop them with the spirit of the holiday season?"
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no subject
Date: Friday, 4 September 2009 10:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, 4 September 2009 10:38 am (UTC)I wasn't joking about the brainspace, it's taken me several days to construct the Torchwood response, and the District 9 one is still eluding me. Did you not get to see it before you left CT?
no subject
Date: Friday, 4 September 2009 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, 4 September 2009 10:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, 4 September 2009 11:06 am (UTC)For those not familiar with South Africa as a particular instance, I saw a video recently wherein Naomi Klein, after a visit to Iraq, spoke of the idea of a "green zone/red zone" world and "Disaster Capitalism" as more generally relevant ideas.
no subject
Date: Friday, 4 September 2009 07:50 pm (UTC)Cheers, Dayle