Torchwood Episode 212 Recap: “Fragments”

Back at the Blammo Building, we see Jack buried in a pile of rubble up to his waist. His face, however, is miraculously unscathed, so those of us watching primarily to gaze upon the possibly-botoxed beauty that is John Barrowman won’t have any reason to change the channel.

As promos for this episode telegraphed, his “life” now flashes before his eyes, at least the part having to do with Torchwood, and we’re finally into the first of the episode’s four kick-ass mini-back-stories …

Jack’s Back-story or “They Keep Killing Jackie”

A screen title reminiscent of how Six Feet Under used to start says “1,392 deaths ago.” We see Jack gasp back to life in deep pain, screaming because he’s got a bottle rammed through his stomach. He groans, “Not again.”

We know we’re in ye-olden-times because Jack’s got these extra-long sideburns that today would make him some sort of hemp-wearing hippie, and a Vampire-Lestatish outfit and heavy eyeliner that today would make him some sort of Goth.

But the overall effect is Victorian and totally hot, like if I had a Captain Jack doll, this would be the outfit I’d always dress him in. And I’d have him meet up with my Enchanted-Patrick Dempsey doll, who’s totally got the same outfit, and they’d sail away on Ken’s yacht and do things together that even Ianto’s too shy to try in bed.

Jack sees two severe-looking women in Victorian dress staring at him, and he says he was in a bar fight that got out of control. He has a few other quips but quickly realizes these two, unlike me and everyone else watching this show, are immune to his roguish charms.

Jack: Silent types. That’s okay. I used to date a guy with no mouth. Surprisingly creative.

Wow, there’s a mental image I really would have preferred not to have.

One of the women throws him down and straddles him with her crotch, and he makes a crack about them getting a room. Then she chloroforms him. A short time later a splash of cold water wakes him up, restrained to a chair in a vault-like cellar.

Jack: When I said getting a room, I meant somewhere with LINEN! …

I’m with him on the linen thing. Like most gay men, Jack and I have both learned that the only true way to judge a decent hotel is by thread count.

The women attach wires to his chest, and he snarks, “Time was, electrodes to the nipples meant the start of a good night.” Heh. Excellent! I realized during this scene how much I’ve missed the Jack who faces adversity with wisecracks. Other than “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang,” this season has been all “Graaaaay!” and “I’m the Jesus-figure who’ll save you,” and “shed a tear for the old cinemas” morbidness. We’re finally back to Jack the way I like him — funny and sexy and tied-up and tortured by she-devils.

Speaking of which … the women proceed to electrocute Jack. He admires their advanced equipment; they admire the fact that he can’t seem to die. Like the women of The View, they’ve got a real mutual admiration/loathing society going on here.

After shooting him in the head and seeing him revive yet again, they reveal that they’ve been watching him for months and seen him killed at least 14 times. Jack remarks that to him it feels like more times than that (to me too) and that he’s still trying to figure out what’s happening for himself.

Then they start questioning him about “The Doctor,” reading transcripts of Jack drunkenly boring other pub patrons with his pathetic whimperings, the best one being, “You wait ’til I see The Doctor. First I’m going to kiss him, then I’m going to kill him.”

Jack asks why they’re so eager to know, and they announce that they’re Torchwood. Say what you will about Torchwood’s penchant for hiring unbalanced, borderline-psychotic underlings, but they certainly have a long history of gender equality. Frankly, until these two, I thought all Victorian-era women were governesses. And what a tough pair of broads they are; they’re only a couple of sensible pantsuits and a few hundred pounds away from being Cagney & Lacey.