TV
All a Bit New: How ‘Torchwood’ Formed an Unexpected Gateway to Horror (and My Own Queerness)
As a repressed teen with a burgeoning interest in horror and a big lesbian awakening coming her way a decade later, Torchwood was something of a foundational show for me. It was one of the first pieces of media I can remember watching that made me question the concept of heterosexuality as the default setting. It was far from perfect in its presentation of this concept, but it was better than I was getting elsewhere.
And best of all, it could be scary. I was hooked.
Like a lot of nerdy kids growing up in Britain in the early 2000s, I had a major Doctor Who phase. During showrunner Russel T. Davies’ first tenure (2005–2010), I watched each new episode religiously, had action figures lined up along my windowsill, and even got some artwork featured on the kid-friendly companion show Totally Doctor Who (2006–2007). Yeah, I was just that cool.
My dad, a life-long science-fiction fan, was fully supportive of this phase and didn’t bat an eye as I rolled seamlessly into watching Torchwood, Who’s adult spin-off show, when it arrived on BBC Three in 2006. But while he would occasionally sit down with me for an episode of Doctor Who, he wasn’t particularly interested in Torchwood, so I watched it alone in my bedroom, unsupervised and unexamined.
I’m grateful for that. If my parents had looked a little closer at the show, I doubt I would have made it past the first episode, because Torchwood started as it intended to continue: splattered with blood and pretty damn queer.
As a repressed teen with a burgeoning interest in horror and a big lesbian awakening coming her way a decade later, Torchwood was something of a foundational show for me. It was one of the first pieces of media I can remember watching that made me question the concept of heterosexuality as the default setting. It was far from perfect in its presentation of this concept, but it was better than I was getting elsewhere.
And best of all, it could be scary. I was hooked.
“Modern” Talk and Subversive Stereotypes
When Doctor Who made its triumphant return to British screens in 2005, I was 12, living in a small, insular town on the east coast of Scotland. Homophobia ran rampant in my high school and the community at large. When I look back on my lonely, confused teenage years and wonder why I didn’t realize I was queer sooner, the answer is painfully clear. It was easier to hide, even from myself.
The British television landscape didn’t help. Queerness was largely absent on mainstream TV at the time; where it did appear, it was typically presented for laughs. Some of those jokes are still funny. Many cut deep, even now.
Openly gay showrunner Russel T. Davies certainly wasn’t afraid to insert queer jokes into Doctor Who and, later, Torchwood. But the humor tended to stem from the absurdity of homophobia, rather than coming at the expense of the queer characters themselves. In the Who episode “Gridlock” (2007), for instance, an elderly lesbian chastises Thomas Kincade Brannigan (Ardal O’Hanlon) for insisting on calling her and her wife “sisters,” with Brannigan responding that they should “stop that modern talk — I’m an old-fashioned cat.” The episode is set five billion years in the future on the planet of New Earth and Brannigan, a humanoid cat, is in an inter-species relationship with a human woman with whom he’s had a little of kittens. But two women being married? Still considered “modern talk.” Good fun.
But Davies’ queer influence on Doctor Who went much further than jokes. With the introduction of Captain Jack Harkness (John Barrowman) in the very first season of the revival, Davies gave Who not only its first-ever openly queer character, but a horny “omnisexual” who subverts stereotypes by looking and acting like an archetypal masculine hero, all while flirting with everyone in sight. Harkness even kisses both Rose (Billie Piper) and the Doctor (played at the time by Christopher Eccleston) on the mouth before his heroic self-sacrifice in “The Parting of the Ways” (2005).
As Davies told Pink News in 2020, he was “thirsty for that kind of material” growing up — and he clearly wasn’t the only one. Captain Jack immediately grew a fan following, making him the obvious candidate for a spin-off show.
That show is Torchwood, which continues Jack’s story following his death, resurrection, and realization that he has become accidentally immortal. Believing the Doctor can “fix” him, Jack hunkers down in Cardiff to await the Doctor’s inevitable return, joining and later leading the Torchwood Institute — an organization set up by Queen Victoria to defend the Earth against alien and supernatural threats — along the way.
With a presumed adult audience, Torchwood was able to turn the queer dial up several notches. But it also leaned harder into the horror elements that the more family-friendly Doctor Who could only flirt with.
Blood and Bodies (and BBQ Sauce)
After a brush with Halloween (1978) when I was far too young, it took me years to build up the courage to start watching horror movies again, despite my growing fascination with the genre. To ease the transition, I read a lot of scary books, looked at the pictures on horror DVD cases, and watched Torchwood.
Torchwood is not a horror-forward series, but it certainly has its moments. The debut episode, “Everything Changes” (2006), sees an alien creature with a face “like Hellraiser” ripping a custodian’s throat out with its teeth, sending gouts of blood spurting in every direction. The third season, known as “Children of Earth” (2009), deals with an alien threat demanding that the human race hands over 10% of its kids, claiming they will “live forever.” When we get a glimpse of the fate that awaits them, the image is truly nightmarish.
And then there’s “Countrycide” (2006), an early episode that feels like a Welsh folk horror take on The Hills Have Eyes (the remake of which was released earlier the same year), complete with corpses stripped down to bloody skeletons and a fridge full of human meat. The true horror of the episode? There appears to be no alien influence at play. When the traumatized Gwen Cooper (Eve Myles) demands an explanation for the murder and cannibalism, the all-too-human ringleader provides one that offers no catharsis or comfort, saying he did it “‘cause it made [him] happy.”
Sure, Torchwood could also be supremely silly — see the sexy Cyberwoman slathered in BBQ sauce getting pecked at by a pterodactyl (“Cyberwoman,” 2006). But I can’t deny that the series sparked my creepy curiosity. Episodes like “Countrycide” made me eager to seek out the films that influenced the writers. I also tracked down several of the series’ tie-in books, which could be even more explicit in their gore. Andy’s Lane’s Slow Decay (2007), involving an alien tapeworm that makes its hosts so hungry they’ll eat anything — rats, other humans, even their own flesh in a pinch — has always stuck with me.
What I appreciate most about Torchwood in hindsight, however, is not its willingness to show blood, which Doctor Who has always been squeamish about, but the way it challenged my small-town understanding of sexuality as a teen.
Quaint Little Categories and Problematic Queers
Jack Harkness’s sexuality was no secret going into Torchwood, so it’s no surprise that showrunners Chris Chibnall and Russell T. Davies seized the opportunity to delve deeper into this aspect of his character. In the second episode, “Day One” (2006), Torchwood’s medic, Owen Harper (Burn Gorman), comments that the only thing they know about the mysterious Jack is that he’s gay, because “period military is not the dress code of a straight man.” Tech wiz Toshiko Sato (Naoko Mori) challenges this narrow notion, noting that Jack will “shag anything if it’s gorgeous enough.” Jack, who was born in the 51st century, later teasingly chastizes his team for their limited 21st-century understanding of sexuality: “You people and your quaint little categories.”
Like Davies’ Who before it, Torchwood does not relegate Jack’s queerness to mere words. Throughout the series, we see him engaged in a will-they-won’t-they flirtation with Gwen in between making out with multiple men, from the closeted World War II captain (Matt Rippy) whose name he stole, to former-lover-turned-enemy Captain John Hart (Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s James Marsters). By season two, Jack is getting hot and heavy with Torchwood team member Ianto Jones (Gareth David-Lloyd). In the final season, “Miracle Day” (2011), he has same-gender sex scenes that were heavily edited for the UK broadcast and lambasted by bigots.
And Torchwood isn’t content to place all its queerness in Jack’s basket, though it struggles to handle its other characters’ sexualities with as much nuance. Owen, Toshiko, and Gwen all have queer encounters throughout the first season, with some even resulting in sex. None of these are what I’d call particularly good representation, however, especially by modern standards; all involve predatory elements and none are ever mentioned again, with the characters going back to exclusively heterosexual relationships afterward. The show’s understanding of gender was also limited, with the episode “Greeks Bearing Gifts” (2006) even shoehorning in an uncomfortably unfunny joke at the expense of an unseen trans character.
But it wasn’t all bad. By far, Torchwood’s best representation outside of Jack comes in the form of the aforementioned Ianto Jones.
Ianto Jones and Coming Into Your Queerness
Ianto undergoes a major evolution during his run on Torchwood, starting out as the unassuming “tea boy” and gradually growing more emboldened, funny, and heroic. At the same time, he’s coming to terms with the idea that he’s not as straight as he (and the audience) originally thought.
At the outset of the series, Ianto is trapped in a doomed relationship with a woman partially converted into a Cyberwoman. But as Torchwood’s first season progresses, Ianto begins to flirt with Jack; the two are implied to have hooked up in “They Keep Killing Suzie” (2006), with season two’s debut, “Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang” (2008), making their relationship official as Jack asks Ianto on a date. Gwen later walks in on a steamy, shirtless moment between the two in the episode “Adrift” (2008).
By the time the third season rolled around in 2009, Torchwood’s already slight core cast had been decimated, creating more space for exploration of Ianto’s relationship with his newfound queerness. The season opens with Ianto nervously exhilarated by the idea that people recognize him and Jack as a couple. When Jack asks if it matters, Ianto admits it’s “all a bit new to [him].” Later in the same episode, in response to his sister asking him if he has “gone bender” (a British slang term for gay, usually used as an insult), Ianto explains that “it’s weird. It’s just different. It’s not men, it’s… It’s just him. It’s only him.”
While I know plenty of bisexuals who aren’t thrilled by the trope of a character only being attracted to one specific person of the same gender, the idea that you might not know you’re queer until you know really struck a chord with me. Years later, when I came to the gradual realization that I was a lesbian in my early 20s, I thought of Ianto Jones. There was no singular dashing Captain who unlocked my queerness. But it was all a bit new to me, too.
Ianto sadly did not survive the season. Following the grand tradition of burying your gays (and Torchwood’s own compulsive need to murder most of its cast), “Day Four” ends with Ianto dying in Jack’s arms, heartbreakingly telling the immortal man that “In a thousand year’s time, you won’t remember me,” with Jack promising that “I will.”
Fans remember him, too. A shrine to Ianto Jones exists in Cardiff Bay to this day.
Torchwood was Flawed Yet Formative — and Often Very Fun
I never finished Torchwood. By the time the fourth and final season rolled around, I was preparing to leave for university, had already dropped off Doctor Who, and was slowly graduating to more explicit horror media. Torchwood wasn’t what I needed anymore, especially in its newly Americanized form. I watched a few episodes but never found out how it ended.
A few years later, I would kiss a woman for the first time, and a few years after that I would finally admit to myself that yes, I was queer (duh). Another deeply queer, horror-tinged TV series, Hannibal (2013–2015), would play a crucial role in that self-acceptance, helping me find a queer community that made it easier to finally come out.
But for all its flaws and problematic tropes and BBQ-slathered sexy Cyberwomen, I can’t deny that Torchwood played a role, too.
TV
Why Max’s ‘Velma’ Failed: A Lesson for Hollywood’s IP Revivals
Hollywood is an industry of extreme risk and reward. In a world where high cost, star-studded films often attracts distracted viewers, studios have relied on a tried-and-true method of mitigating risk: reviving existing IP from their back catalog. At the same time, modern audiences are smarter, more critical, and less willing to be handed reheated slop, as demonstrated by critical and audience backlash to the modern trend of rebooting existing animated franchises for live-action. To stand out in a crowded field where audience discussion goes beyond the confines of the work water cooler to the limitless chatrooms of the internet, a reboot needs a spin, an angle to set it apart from the rest.
Hollywood is an industry of extreme risk and reward. In a world where high cost, star-studded films often attracts distracted viewers, studios have relied on a tried-and-true method of mitigating risk: reviving existing IP from their back catalog. At the same time, modern audiences are smarter, more critical, and less willing to be handed reheated slop, as demonstrated by critical and audience backlash to the modern trend of rebooting existing animated franchises for live-action. To stand out in a crowded field where audience discussion goes beyond the confines of the work water cooler to the limitless chatrooms of the internet, a reboot needs a spin, an angle to set it apart from the rest. So what happened with HBO’s Velma?
Velma’s Bold Reimagination: A Scooby-Doo Without Scooby
When Warner Bros.’s adult animated show Velma was announced in 2021 with executive producer, screenwriter, and voice actress Mindy Kaling aboard to voice the titular character, fans of the Scooby-Doo franchise seemed somewhat excited, though hesitant about the premise of an adult-orientated Scooby Doo show. This speculation was only amplified as outcry emerged at reports of the show race-swapping existing members of the Mystery Incorporated gang in an attempt to approach the characters’ origins through new, more contemporary lenses. Further criticism was thrown at the show upon the reveal that the series’ mascot Scooby-Doo would not be featured, sending fans spiraling before the show even premiered. However, while Velma’s creative reimagination does at times cause confusion, it isn’t what ultimately causes the show to fail despite two seasons and a Halloween special.
Upon its 2023 premiere, Velma almost instantly gained fire from all corners of the internet, as out-of-context clips of the show filled the internet’s timelines. Fans immediately criticized the show’s new tone, which failed to modernize and age up the franchise’s humor by instead resorting to potty humor and jabbing at millennials and ‘wokeness’. For most viewers, the show didn’t resonate as anything more than an adult comedy with a Scooby-Doo paint job.
Fan Backlash: Race-Swapping and Tone Missteps in Velma
While the show attempts to engage with its own history, it fails the most in its conceit, reimagining Velma as less of a clever, critical investigator and more as a loud-mouthed troll who annoys her way through her mysteries while occasionally connecting two plus two. The show’s supporting cast is reimagined to some success, with Glenn Howerton portraying a spoiled, physically & emotionally stunted Fred, Constance Wu bringing an attitude and a criminal mischievousness to Daphne, and Sam Richardson trying his hardest to defy Shaggy’s stoner archetype. Though the voice cast succeeds at delivering the occasional joke or absurdism, the show’s tone is perhaps hampered by its ambition.
Velma aims not only to break new ground as an adult-orientated Scooby Doo adaptation, but also create new, modernized versions of the characters, incorporate high school hijinks, and establish a sense of risk and mystery that engages an older audience. Scooby Doo as a franchise has almost always been procedural, with your classic monster-of-the-week or man-in-a-monster-mask-of-the-week storyline. Most of the payoff from the original show and the more beloved movies is that each episode delivers on mysteries, monsters, and hilarious hijinks as the more competent members of Mystery Inc. fend off Shaggy and Scooby’s incompetency. Velma is the second attempt at a serialized Scooby Doo show after Scooby Doo! Mystery Incorporated, a show intended for older child audiences that continued to engage with the monster-of-the-week format while developing character relationships and a multi-season arc. However, Velma abandons the weekly mystery that was critical for Scooby Doo! Mystery Incorporated needs to have a foundation to hold onto as that series’ serial elements develop. At almost all opportunities, the show seems like it’s doing too much, juggling too many storylines, reimaginings, and trying its hardest to cram in parody and humor.
Where Velma Went Wrong: A Weak Mystery and Overloaded Plot
From the get go, Velma follows the origin of Velma’s mystery solving, detailing how Velma’s curiosity resulted in her mother mysteriously disappearing with few clues to aid in her rediscovery. Two years later, a traumatized Velma blames herself for her mother’s disappearance and swears not to solve mysteries again, even as the brains of popular local girls start disappearing, creating a rumor mill about a local serial killer. Most of the show’s issues come from the fact that the show fails to find interest in the group dynamics of Mystery Inc, instead stapling together loosely related plotlines for not one, but two seasons without officially assembling Mystery Inc. Even after critical and audience outcry at the show, the second season doubles down with a continuation of the storyline about Velma’s missing mother and how she’s tied to weird doings in the town. While the show tries to respond to some of its outcry by incorporating more existing Scooby Doo characters, it never quite figures out what it’s trying to do, once again resulting in a season that feels like a poorly rebranded adult comedy forced into a Scooby Doo mold.
While Velma’s lack of careful plotting and consideration of the show’s source material practically breaks it on a conceptual level, the show isn’t all misses. The voice cast manages to stand apart from long-standing predecessors, lending unique angles and opportunities to set this iteration of Mystery Inc. apart from past re-angles. The show’s humor, while a bit too reliant on the crudeness and depravity of early 2010s adult animation, occasionally hits a laugh by poking apart the show’s own absurdity. At its most meta, the show comes across as clever, tearing at the teens solving mysteries tropes the original set to establish, while struggling to lean into the elements that would appeal to long-term fans. The fact that Scrappy-Doo makes a major appearance before Scooby Doo and the show’s hesitancy to become what is so beloved of the franchise ultimately hits the brakes on being anything memorable before the show’s abrupt cancellation following its Halloween special.
What’s Next for Scooby-Doo: Netflix’s Live-Action Series
Despite Velma’s failings and fumblings, there remains some hope for the Scooby-Doo franchise despite Warner Bros. repeated insistence on canceling completed Scooby-Doo films intended for both direct-to-streaming and theatrical markets. As of April 2025, Netflix is moving ahead with an 8-episode live-action series that will serve as the first television live-action adaptation of the source material. Showrunners Josh Appelbaum and Scott Rosenberg will tackle the origin of Mystery Inc, which multiple Scooby-Doo adaptations have tackled in the past; however, details remain sparse on the project. The project seems to be produced with a production team with diverse backgrounds, with some members hailing from CW projects and other network programming while others have streaming experience.
As a lifelong Scooby-Doo fan, the most I can hope for this new adventure for the franchise is that it continues to rely on the DNA of the show that made it initially successful. From the original series to the many spinoffs and remakes it has produced, the show has always been about solving mysteries, the hijinks needed to solve them, and how what appears isn’t exactly what it actually is. The hope is that this new series won’t forget the mysteries, will commit fully to its new angle at the source material, and remember what is most beloved by Scooby-Doo fans is the characters & how they navigate hijinks. We don’t need a shot-for-shot live-action remake or a gritty rework to be happy, we just need those who are taking swings at the franchise to be passionate and genuine about using it as a foundation to expand upon, rather than create a totally new show with a Scooby-Doo makeup job.
Imagine being an outcast at a prestigious school while also trying to fill the shoes of your predecessor. On top of academic expectations, you’re also navigating a challenging stage in your life where you’re figuring out your identity. In addition to that, you are a literal monster. This is essentially the premise of Aaahh!!! Real Monsters!
This show crept to millions of TV screens via Nickelodeon on October 29, 1994. October couldn’t have been a more perfect month if I had said so myself. I am unsure if the creators Gábor Csupó and Peter Gaffney realized they would be a gateway for introducing body horror to many 90’s kids, among other topics. I should thank them for helping shape the ghoul I am today.
Meet Ickis, Oblina, and Krumm: The Misunderstood Monsters of the 90s
The show highlights three best friends who live in the same dorm at the Monster Institute located under the city sewers. We have Ickis, with crimson skin, long ears, a big Cheshire-like grin, piercing yellow eyes, sharp claws, and long feet. He is often mistaken for a bunny rabbit—a very rebellious and anxious bunny rabbit, at that. There is Oblina, who comes from wealth and has a track record of being a model student. She resembles an upside-down black and white candy cane with big red lips and snake-like eyes. The third member of this trio is Krumm. The best way to describe him is a round ball of pale, smelly flesh with body hair who has to hold his eyeballs with his hands. He is not the brightest of the three but loyal to a fault.
This series had a consistent theme: “Getting in Touch with the Monster in You,” a metaphor for discovering your self-identity. Believe it or not, this show helped me feel better about being different. The portrayal of trauma, worries, and challenges was beautifully executed with iconic character design and vibrant worlds. Who better understands the experience of being different than those marginalized?
How ‘Aaahh!!! Real Monsters!’ Explores Self-Identity and Difference
In one episode, Krumm lost his treasured odor on his birthday. This was no ordinary scent; it was so foul that it could wake the dead. Most importantly, it represented a significant part of his identity. Krumm went to speak to his dad, Horvak, about his dilemma, and he found out that losing his odor was a curse passed down in the family. Generational trauma, anyone? Do not worry, though. If you saw this episode, you know Ickis and Oblina stick by Krumm, and Krumm gets his groove back, well, in this case, his stench.
Speaking of dads, Ickis struggled with the fame of his father, Slickis. He constantly felt pressured to live up to his father’s legacy as a famous scarer. This created a sense of competition, making Ickis feel more like a rival than a son. He often felt neglected, as it seemed Slickis gave everyone else the attention that Ickis desperately craved. Eventually, they had an open conversation to address their issues, which helped them develop a healthier relationship. Ickis understood that he was his own monster and that the abilities he inherited from his dad were uniquely his own.
With growing pains of self-discovery as a young scarer come rules imposed by adults. Though these laws seemed more like restrictions to Ickis, Oblina, Krumm, and other students, they were intended as safety measures for their underground world rather than the human world. You could only interact with humans when assigned tasks that involved scaring them. Yes, scaring humans was homework in the curriculum. Scares were also discussed and graded in class. No pressure.
The Gromble: A Gender-Fluid Icon of Tough Love and Leadership
An academy cannot function without rules, homework, and a strict headmaster. Cue in The Gromble, a feared and respected teacher passionate about helping students achieve their full monstrous potential. He was known for strutting the academy halls with red pumps that complemented his four legs. You read correctly: four legs. It can be argued that The Grumble represents gender fluidity: a male monster who enjoys wearing heels, has a goatee and bloodred lips, and possesses both masculine and feminine voices.
The Gromble displayed tough love and patience. While he was clear about the expectations and rules that students needed to follow, he permitted his students to break these rules to learn the consequences firsthand. At times, he also had to take direct action to save the day. He was more than just a headmaster, a queer uncle, if you will.
To this day, I still aspire to be like him—an icon.
As mentioned, there are rules that all scarers have to follow, and for good reason. Monsters have always been used as an illustration of what was deemed unnatural. This series presented plenty of examples of how humans felt about these creatures: fear, distrust, and even something to exploit. Examples include a Hollywood director who exploits Krumm for personal gain. Ickis feels pressured to scare a child’s friends to make the child seem cool, as Ickis somehow befriends this kid. Oblina is pursued by a monster hunter who is determined to capture her and expose the existence of monsters.
Puberty and Fireballs: Relatable Metaphors in ‘Aaahh!!! Real Monsters!’
Revisiting this series as an adult has solidified my appreciation for how real-life topics were creatively presented. I’ll never forget the episode where Ickis had to be taken to the nurse by the Gromble because he was burping fireballs and causing nearby objects to catch fire. Ickis was diagnosed as spontaneously combustible, and the other students began to treat him differently out of fear. You can’t convince me that this storyline wasn’t a metaphor for puberty.
I also enjoyed the story in which Oblina gets braces and develops a crush on a male monster named Gruge. She takes it upon herself to coach him to become a better scarer while attempting to change her identity to please him. However, Gruge ends up using her and moves on. It’s a harsh lesson that many of us understand. Each episode had a strong sense of relatability that resonated throughout.
This show sadly ended on November 16, 1997. Although it is unclear why the show ended, some studio executive action was at play. Sometimes studios don’t know what to do with a good thing. Perhaps The Gromble and the trio decided to visit Nickelodeon to prevent the word of their existence from spreading further.
The series is now streaming on Paramount Plus. Relive the ’90s nostalgia, or watch it for the first time. “Aaahh!!! Real Monsters!” will always have a space in my little scarer heart, and the life lessons will never be forgotten. I am still getting in touch with the monster in me, and this won’t change as long as I keep my fangs sharp, my eyes glowing red, and go bump in the night.
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