Torchwood by Samuel Blackburn
Illustration by Jon McCormack
Samuel Blackburn is from Northernmost North Yorkshire and studying English at Queen Mary University of London. He is determined to bring a post industrial, working class queer voice to the south and make people laugh in the process. He enjoys period dramas and the V&A cafe.
Picture this: Torchwood is finally entering the world of David Tenant’s Doctor in the (still excellent) finale of Doctor Who series 4, and John Barrowman as Captain Jack Harkness is about to show me my first gay kiss as he leans into Ianto. Even aged nine, I was excited, given that even then little signs of your sexuality are just beginning to stir (I was devoted to the man who taught us football on Thursdays). So, to find my mother’s hand robbing me of that moment as it swooped down and censored my eyes from the horror of same-sex activity, was a let-down, to put it mildly. But also enthusing. From that moment on, there was something rebellious, a little cheeky and intriguing about Torchwood.
For those of you who had friends growing up, I will now explain the show’s premise. This late night show revolved around a group of alien detectives, Earth’s line of defence for when the Doctor did not show up. Cardiff was the location of “Torchwood Three”, built to defend and watch over a time rift that existed beneath the city from which various aliens arose (Nice fact – ‘Torchwood’ is an anagram of ‘Doctor Who’). All said, aliens were always conveniently too dirty for Doctor Who’s teatime television slot: like the busty CyberWoman or an STD alien that killed with orgasms. The Noughties were fantastic, weren’t they? “Torchwood One” was in Canary Wharf – the tallest building with the glass pyramid on it. I do not know its proper name; it will always be “Torchwood One” to me.
Before Torchwood, for me gays on screen had been largely consigned to common stereotypes enjoyed the world over: a mincing, Cabaret figure, largely only present for some light comic relief – a category I gladly fall into. My parents can only recall one gay character on television beforehand: ‘Mr Wilberforce Claybourne Humphries’ from Are You Being Served? His name alone is bad enough.
This is where Torchwood comes in. It brought an awful lot more to us than simply a Cardiff-based featuring sex -with ET’s; it also gave Queer science fiction fans a home. Barrowman’s Captain Jack is an icon, unashamedly himself and giving British television one of its first mainstream – and genuinely complex – Queer men. Jack Harkness was having action scenes, kissing women for the hell of it and crying over his son, friends and family. It meant a lot to me and many others growing up to see that loving those of your gender did not rob you of emotional depth or possibility. It also added John Barrowman to my repertoire of desired men, a welcome improvement given I largely fall for skinny white guys who have no idea who John Barrowman is.
The show came from Russell T Davies, a Queer icon in his own right, who rewrote Doctor Who for the 21st Century. Davies was an expert at normalising homosexuality on screen and was brave to have so many openly Queer characters on a show as historic and beloved as Doctor Who, whose traditional audiences dated back to 1963 – four years before sex between men was even legal in England. He then constructed an entire spin off show around a gay character, Captain Jack, in 2006.
Queer as Folk, Davies’ other success story, faced-off controversy for simply showing intimacy and sex scenes between men. To not give up on gay storylines and take such a risk, less than a decade on, in such a mainstream show, was and is, bold. Unafraid, would probably be the best word to describe the show’s attitude towards sexuality. Star Trek, Star Wars, Babylon 5, even Marvel and DC are all, still, lagging behind Torchwood’s bravery, and if they followed its lead, they would learn that giving characters a complex sexuality and trusting the audience to respect it only serves to enrich the narrative.
I cannot think of any lead Queer characters that command remotely the same popularity as Captain Jack in Torchwood. Even straight kids wanted to be like Captain Jack – he was cool, not because of his Queerness, but because of his self-ownership and confidence. I know this can sound like Queerness is an inherent negative and a defining characteristic, but to many at that point in time it was. Davies and Barrowman changed that with a character who was powerful and intelligent, whilst also being flamboyant and stereotypically ‘feminine’ at times. Torchwood paved the way more than a decade ago, and it is a terrible shame that so few have walked it since.
All that is left for me to do at the end of this article about Torchwood’s general gay excellence and deserved place in The Queer Bible, is to thank my mother and father. Without her covering my eyes, and his uncomfortable silence whenever anything gay (or remotely sexual) happened in or around the Tardis and/or Cardiff, Torchwood would never have gained its mystical status in my youth which propelled me to discover more about it (rest assured, dear reader, they were more than fine when I came out).
Seeing someone be as loved, welcomed and vital to the world of The Doctor as Captain Jack has meant more to me than I can express. I might not have known it then, aged nine, but playing with my sonic screwdriver (not a euphemism) and wanting a long, blue naval coat (something I have since acquired) was not only imitation of Captain Jack, but the start of me learning the most important of lessons – that I was fine as I was, and am fine as I am. And could beat the Daleks.
The Whoniverse, Britain, and Queer culture are all the richer thanks to Torchwood; it had an edge other shows tried and failed to match. It was an edge provided by its overt sexuality, fluidity and Queerness. As Queer people, we understand more than most the surprises and shocks that sexuality and life can bring; Torchwood captured it with aliens. Beat that.
Jon McCormack is an Irish illustrator and storyboard artist based in Barcelona, Spain. His work focuses on surreal imagery, queer identity and absurd humour.
