Tony’s in for more than
a routine procedure.
There’s a flippant
observation that can be made about most great literary or TV detectives: sooner
or later, they become the equivalent of a Jonah, attracting death and
devastation wherever they go. It’s the inevitable product of a meta-universe:
we the audience want more from them, more murder, more mayhem, more of them
getting to the bottom of unspeakable crimes, ergo more unspeakable crimes
happening around them than would be the norm for any real human being. In
essence, our desire to see them solve cases makes their life less believable
than it technically should be.
We mention this because
there’s something of that vibe about Torchwood – Visiting Hours. Torchwood
itself of course has a get-out-of-WTF-Free card: it has a rift on its doorstep
to deliver it monsters of the week or weirdness by the bucketload – that’s its
job, so for most of the Torchwood crew, alien weirdness is their bread and
butter. But Visiting Hours, by class act David Llewellyn, stars Rhys, Gwen’s
anchor to normality and chips, and his mam (it’s a Welsh thing, go with it),
Brenda. They’re actually the anti-Torchwood, the norms, the anchors, the
honest, ordinary Welsh people into whose lives Torchwood has been thrust
because come rain, shine or the end of the world, Rhys loves Gwen, and Gwen is
Torchwood. That means Brenda should be able to have a routine hip operation
without attracting the attention of nasties from Elsewhere.
When it turned out that’s
actually not possible, there’s an intellectual disconnect to a the
non-Torchwood Torchwood story that follows, involving only Rhys and Brenda
against the weirdness that would normally be Torchwood’s business – it feels,
to come full circle, like they’ve been hanging around the weirdness too long,
so now they’ve become an anchor for it, because we the audience want to hear
how they’d cope on their own.
That said, Visiting Hours
gives a believable lesson in the way that being around alien weirdness changes
the way you think, be it Torchwood, or the Doctor, or Sarah-Jane’s crew, or
UNIT. You stop thinking in the lazy, easy, comfortable clichés that are the
bread and butter, the sunrise and sunset of most people’s lives. You learn to
spot things that are wrong, that are out of place. Presumably, you drive people
stark raving mad by a kind of hyper-alertness to potential weirdness in what
they just accept as the world. Remember in Who when the bees were disappearing?
Once you’ve been exposed to enough alien weirdness, presumably you start to
question headlines like that immediately.
Rhys, played as ever by
the reliably naturalistic Kai Owen, certainly pricks up his ears the instant
weirdness finds him and his mam in this story, and switches from his normal,
everyday mode as haulage guy and mammy’s boy to Children of Earth-style warrior,
survivor, outwitter of the forces of alien bastardy.
Brenda – the ever-peerless
Nerys Hughes making a very welcome return to the world of Torchwood – is in
hospital for a hip replacement. Hospitals of course function very well as an
alien environment: the impersonal surroundings; the anodyne maze of confusing corridors;
the imminent body-horror of surgical procedures and the inherent trust we place
in the hands of strangers, giving up ourselves or our loved ones to the skills
we suppose they must possess. When Rhys, arriving late for visiting hours, is
allowed to stay through the night with his recovering mam, another element of
hospital strangeness is very effectively highlighted here – while by day, they
have the appearance of public access and openness as temples of healing,
hospitals by night have a much more forbidding persona, more in line with
prisons or asylums. There are inmates and there are staff. Except perhaps in
Accident and Emergency, outsiders are generally not allowed.
Anything can happen in a
place like that.
In Visiting Hours,
Llewellyn explores the nature of that fear, with an extra dose of body-horror
that has a resonance in a Britain where there’s a great deal of need for donor
organs, and a donor register from which one has to specifically opt out. One of
the greatest fears of those who choose not to donate their organs is that
somehow, the prize of a bodyful of spare parts begins to outweigh the
usefulness of a living human being, so doctors are disincentivised to do their
best to save their patients, because either way they win, but quite possibly,
they win bigger if older patients die. That’s a fear Llewellyn taps into here.
When Rhys overhears a
group of organ-snatchers from Elsewhere dragging living patients off for
harvesting, Visiting Hours takes on the tone of a Michael Crichton medical
malpractice movie…only Welsh. Dark creepy corridors, a pair of intelligent,
driven organ-hunters with an eye on Brenda’s innards, and only Rhys and what
he’s learned from his wife and her alien-arsekicking mates between his mam and
a body bag. It becomes a base under siege story, with the organ-hunters working
to a very specific – and highly plot-significant – deadline, to at least give
our hero a chance. Rhys and Brenda, the latter bed-bound and morphine-dripped
for the pain of her operation, have to find a way to neutralise the hunters and
survive till morning, when, they hope, the hospital will revert from being a
shadowy place of nightmares and unethical practice back to a place of brightness,
help and healing.
Llewellyn puts the pair
through the ringer, while exploiting their on-screen dynamic and taking it
forward, she is chastising him for his language as he quickly accepts the
necessity of going into warrior mode, he biting back at her for her overly
nitpicking suggestions and directions, bringing up memories of endless trips to
rainy Welsh seaside towns and her back-seat driving when he was a child.
Despite the sniping of these stressful moments though, there’s never any doubt
that this pair is a proper Welsh Mam and Her Boy – her pride in his
accomplishments is cast iron to the point of absurdity, his love and gratitude
to her makes him do the things he needs to do for her, because above all else,
he wants her to be ‘right,’ to be comfortable and as happy as she can be.
Visiting Hours is not just
a nightmare run through dark corridors, outwitting two rent-a-baddies though.
Llewellyn’s a better writer than to bother creating rent-a-baddies, and his
villains here are villains only in the absence of context. Seen through another
lens, as we get to see them eventually, they’re fighting for their own loved
ones, just as Rhys is doing, and there’s a handful of late exposition that
could well make Visiting Hours the otherwise-enclosed beginning of another
series arc. These organ-snatchers are absolutely from Elsewhere…but where?
When? And why do they need to come here to get organs? There are hints
here that will set your mind reeling with possibilities and theories of what’s
to come.
Those late developments,
and the questions they make us ask, give an underpinning to Visiting Hours that
stop it from being just ‘Rhys and Brenda Versus The Baddies.’ Not that there’d be
anything wrong with that – even on that level, Visiting Hours would be an
entertaining listen, because the double act of Kai Owen and Nerys Hughes in
these roles, clearly relishing each moment of their time together, is both
heartwarming and hysterical, and the idea of what someone like Rhys, who’s been
exposed to the necessities that Torchwood’s fight entails, but isn’t one of the
‘cool kids’ with the weapons and the brilliance, would do when he finds himself
forced to defend his family against the forces of a mundane evil, would be
quite enough to make Visiting Hours what it ultimately is – one of the easier
Torchwood audios to listen to, bombing along on the creepy environment, the
threat of the hunt, and the relationship and the dialogue between these two
Everylistener characters. But the extra twists that come towards the end give
Visiting Hours a solid forward-spin of plotting and potential, without having
gotten in the way of all the running throughout this funny, scary, ultimately
heartwarming hour.
You’ll come back to
Visiting Hours when some of the Torchwood audios’ more emotionally draining
hours feel like too much (Yes, Broken, we’re looking at you), but when you want
something darker than, say, the frothy fun of PC Andy’s Ghost Mission. The balance
between the character dynamics, the continual chasing pulse of the threat, the
creepification of the hospital environment, and the plot-seeding at the end
makes Visiting Hours an attractive listen on whatever level you want, giving
you things to think about once you’ve finished, without necessarily keeping you
up at night.
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