Meta: CoE- I don't know whether to hug it or punch it in the face
Sooooo- I know people have posted all these effing reviews, but I felt the need to do one because I have jumped off the deep end without looking back, certifiably insane because of this friggen series, not even joking.
Type your cut I'm not going to write an extensive play-by-play, because other people have already done it, and done it better than I, but just my general views:
I am super conflicted. SUPER CONFLICTED. Which was probably Bastard-Davies' goal in the first place, and if it was, I grant that he has prevailed like a super-villain from a kung-fu movie, complete with the beard stroking and the diabolical laughter and the killing of my sensei. Except instead of killing my sensei he raped my sensei in the ASS with a big spork, and yet SOMEHOW managed to do it in a realistic and sensitive manner. Yeah, I don't know how either.
To quote Michael Scott: it feels like somebody took my heart and dropped it into a bucket of boiling tears. And at the same time, somebody else is hitting my soul in the crotch with a frozen sledge hammer. And then a third guy walks in and starts punching me in the grief bone, and I'm crying , and nobody can hear me, because I'm terribly, terribly alone.
I can't decide whether I need to seek professional help because quite honestly, the last time I remember crying this hard and being this upset about something was when my father had a heart attack and nearly died. And Jack's screaming of, "I take it all back, but not him!" now lives in the same corner of my mind as my brother's screaming of, "She's on the road... she's DEAD!" when my dog got hit by a car in the ninth grade. I need some valium, seriously.
My reaction to finishing episode five was to get raging drunk and go out to the club in a dress too low cut and short to be appropriate for anything, buy a purple fishbowl in honor of fallen heroes, and watch a blue-haired drag queen pour cheap champagne over a bunch of twinks for the Boys of Summer contest. When the confetti finally settled, I feel that Ianto would have approved of my contrived wake for him. Except for the confetti and the champagne everywhere. But I suppose it was his wake so someone else ended up cleaning it up anyway.
I kept telling my friends I was in "deep mourning" all night and when creepy guys hit on me I ended up asking them if that was any way to talk to a widow. I apologized to my friend Jessi for being obsessed and she drunkenly replied, "Psssh, don't worry about it. I can totally appreciate your flavor of crazy-train."
This morning I woke up clutching my Ianto doll with a pile of used tissues on my bedside table with no recollection as to how they got there. I consider it a win.
And the whole thing I hate about this series is I can totally. see. it. happening. The writing was devastating, the acting was superb, and the entire situation presented was entirely heart-wrenching. I can't really be PISSED at the writers (except I really can) because it was brilliantly executed.
There's that small part of my mind that is glad because they didn't jump the shark, they made it very true to real life, that things like this happen and there is no magic fix-it-Deus-Ex-Machina button. But THEN I start asking myself, "Do I watch Torchwood for the gritty realism and the stark reading of the disgusting aspects of human nature, the tragic moments of life?" And I must answer a resounding, "No. Hell no. I watch it for the glitter and the camp, and most importantly, the Ianto."
If I wanted a Greek tragedy, I would have stuck with Sophocles, thanks very much.
If this were any other TV show, I wouldn't have any problems with it at all. I would be praising it to the sky and not be so damn conflicted. But the truth is, the reason I feel so messed up is that I was not in any way expecting this type of story from Torchwood. Even series 2, though tragic, ended on a message of hope within the pain. It's like I went to the candy-store, ordered some chocolate with sprinkles from the kindly old, erratic and flamboyantly gay shop-keep, and bit into it to discover it was filled with razor blades and poison. I kept eating it because I thought that surely, SURELY, the kindly old, erratic, flamboyantly gay shop-keep wouldn't do this to me. But I was wrong, and have spent the days after I ate the candy bar of poison being violently ill and upset to the point that I thought I might die.
Some random thoughts:
Ianto's death was gorgeous. I hated it, but at least it was acted and written beautifully. This does not, however, mean that I am okay with them glossing over it in episode five. Even Tosh and Owen got the tasteful closure of a montage of the team packing their shit up. I WANT MY MONTAGE, DAMMIT!
Additionally, it's realistic that Ianto died the way he did, but so intensely tragic that he only died while trying to do something. He made Jack better, and then kicked the bucket so Jack could revert even further back to pre-Who Jack. If Ianto HAD to go out, I would've preferred him going out in some blaze of glorious saving the world self-sacrifice. But he didn't. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Jack is a total dick, but I can't help but want to hug him because I honestly don't know what I would have done if presented with the same situation.
I have absolutely no idea how they're going to do a series four. Some cautiously hopeful part of me still wants to see them bring Ianto back. Because I know it's lame but I would prefer a completely ridiculous resurrection to them continuing the show without him.
I am completely furious that Gwen gets off scott-free. She gets her baby and her husband and her normal life while Ianto and Myfanwy and Janet lie somewhere in a morgue or hopefully an alien cryogenics holding chamber so that maybe we can resurrect them later. If Owen gets to walk around for half a season as a whiny corpse, I don't see why Ianto can't borrow some of Jack's immortality juice.
If anyone hears ANYTHING about them moving forward with series 4, or any statements from RTD or anyone else that might possibly explain what the fuck that was, let me know.
Type your cut I'm not going to write an extensive play-by-play, because other people have already done it, and done it better than I, but just my general views:
I am super conflicted. SUPER CONFLICTED. Which was probably Bastard-Davies' goal in the first place, and if it was, I grant that he has prevailed like a super-villain from a kung-fu movie, complete with the beard stroking and the diabolical laughter and the killing of my sensei. Except instead of killing my sensei he raped my sensei in the ASS with a big spork, and yet SOMEHOW managed to do it in a realistic and sensitive manner. Yeah, I don't know how either.
To quote Michael Scott: it feels like somebody took my heart and dropped it into a bucket of boiling tears. And at the same time, somebody else is hitting my soul in the crotch with a frozen sledge hammer. And then a third guy walks in and starts punching me in the grief bone, and I'm crying , and nobody can hear me, because I'm terribly, terribly alone.
I can't decide whether I need to seek professional help because quite honestly, the last time I remember crying this hard and being this upset about something was when my father had a heart attack and nearly died. And Jack's screaming of, "I take it all back, but not him!" now lives in the same corner of my mind as my brother's screaming of, "She's on the road... she's DEAD!" when my dog got hit by a car in the ninth grade. I need some valium, seriously.
My reaction to finishing episode five was to get raging drunk and go out to the club in a dress too low cut and short to be appropriate for anything, buy a purple fishbowl in honor of fallen heroes, and watch a blue-haired drag queen pour cheap champagne over a bunch of twinks for the Boys of Summer contest. When the confetti finally settled, I feel that Ianto would have approved of my contrived wake for him. Except for the confetti and the champagne everywhere. But I suppose it was his wake so someone else ended up cleaning it up anyway.
I kept telling my friends I was in "deep mourning" all night and when creepy guys hit on me I ended up asking them if that was any way to talk to a widow. I apologized to my friend Jessi for being obsessed and she drunkenly replied, "Psssh, don't worry about it. I can totally appreciate your flavor of crazy-train."
This morning I woke up clutching my Ianto doll with a pile of used tissues on my bedside table with no recollection as to how they got there. I consider it a win.
And the whole thing I hate about this series is I can totally. see. it. happening. The writing was devastating, the acting was superb, and the entire situation presented was entirely heart-wrenching. I can't really be PISSED at the writers (except I really can) because it was brilliantly executed.
There's that small part of my mind that is glad because they didn't jump the shark, they made it very true to real life, that things like this happen and there is no magic fix-it-Deus-Ex-Machina button. But THEN I start asking myself, "Do I watch Torchwood for the gritty realism and the stark reading of the disgusting aspects of human nature, the tragic moments of life?" And I must answer a resounding, "No. Hell no. I watch it for the glitter and the camp, and most importantly, the Ianto."
If I wanted a Greek tragedy, I would have stuck with Sophocles, thanks very much.
If this were any other TV show, I wouldn't have any problems with it at all. I would be praising it to the sky and not be so damn conflicted. But the truth is, the reason I feel so messed up is that I was not in any way expecting this type of story from Torchwood. Even series 2, though tragic, ended on a message of hope within the pain. It's like I went to the candy-store, ordered some chocolate with sprinkles from the kindly old, erratic and flamboyantly gay shop-keep, and bit into it to discover it was filled with razor blades and poison. I kept eating it because I thought that surely, SURELY, the kindly old, erratic, flamboyantly gay shop-keep wouldn't do this to me. But I was wrong, and have spent the days after I ate the candy bar of poison being violently ill and upset to the point that I thought I might die.
Some random thoughts:
Ianto's death was gorgeous. I hated it, but at least it was acted and written beautifully. This does not, however, mean that I am okay with them glossing over it in episode five. Even Tosh and Owen got the tasteful closure of a montage of the team packing their shit up. I WANT MY MONTAGE, DAMMIT!
Additionally, it's realistic that Ianto died the way he did, but so intensely tragic that he only died while trying to do something. He made Jack better, and then kicked the bucket so Jack could revert even further back to pre-Who Jack. If Ianto HAD to go out, I would've preferred him going out in some blaze of glorious saving the world self-sacrifice. But he didn't. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Jack is a total dick, but I can't help but want to hug him because I honestly don't know what I would have done if presented with the same situation.
I have absolutely no idea how they're going to do a series four. Some cautiously hopeful part of me still wants to see them bring Ianto back. Because I know it's lame but I would prefer a completely ridiculous resurrection to them continuing the show without him.
I am completely furious that Gwen gets off scott-free. She gets her baby and her husband and her normal life while Ianto and Myfanwy and Janet lie somewhere in a morgue or hopefully an alien cryogenics holding chamber so that maybe we can resurrect them later. If Owen gets to walk around for half a season as a whiny corpse, I don't see why Ianto can't borrow some of Jack's immortality juice.
If anyone hears ANYTHING about them moving forward with series 4, or any statements from RTD or anyone else that might possibly explain what the fuck that was, let me know.