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.

How Torchwood Led Me to the World of Horror

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.