Who Reviews The Twelfth Doctor Vol #1 Comic Book Review by Tony J Fyler

Tony Fyler gets stuck into the collected works.

The first collected Volume of Twelfth Doctor stories from Titan Comics is just ridiculously good. Sorry, but let’s take a leaf out of the brusque Doctor’s book and cut to the chase: just go and buy it now, then come back and we can read along together, it’ll save time.

Calling it a collected volume might come across as just a little cheeky, given that there are just two stories, but one of them’s The Swords of Kali, so you’re getting a good deal before we even get to the first story, Terrorformer.

In terms of stories, Terrorformer’s a bit of a mish-mash – it’s what happens if you smash the Tenth Doctor’s 42, The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, a dash of Robots of Death and an episode of Red Dwarf together. If that sounds like it shouldn’t work on any level, we’ve misled you – it does work, but it’s simply solid, rather than staggering or exceptional. That said, the pre-credits sequence here, which is where Robots comes into play, is superb and chilling and the kind of thing that you’d pay good licence fee money to see translated onto the TV screen. The story itself is a straightforward ‘luxury custom-built planet’ idea – thank you, Douglas Adams - where the terraforming goes nuts because Something Else is controlling the process, to the chagrin of those who think they’re controlling it – thank you, Red Dwarf.

There are some neat, original, horrifyingly believable touches along the way in Robbie Morrison’s story though – animals with copyright marks on their skin is the gruesomely efficient and logical end-product of the kind of marking and tagging the human race currently does to dairy herds to identify animals belonging to one farmer or another – and the dialogue between the Twelfth Doctor and Clara is first class. There’s a chance some readers will find it all a bit of a re-tread of some David Tennant stories when it flings them into a backstory of ‘Big Bad versus an old-time alliance led by Rassilon of the Time Lords’ (the Tenth was a Doctor who seemed especially beset with grisly enemies that had previously led wars against the Time Lords, or had come from ye olde times – Carrionites, Racnoss, the Beast etc), but the storyline is well constructed, and the solution nicely technological, for all it ends a little abruptly. Anyone familiar with Morrison’s work from the likes of the Tenth Doctor masterpiece, The Weeping Angels of Mons, will know he has a very special knack for honing in on the core character of his particular Doctor, and managing both to deliver a pitch-perfect version of the Doctor you know from the screen, and to extend that version in subtle ways, so you end up with a comic-book adventure that feels very televisual, but often with better budgets and visuals. There’s no sign of that slackening in Terrorformer, though in all fairness, it would probably be a viable mid-season episode, better than a Kill the Moon, but not quite an (insert your favourite episode of the always-contentious Series 8 here).

On the subject of those better budgets and visuals, there’s good work in Terrorformer from Dave Taylor and Mariano Laclaustro, helping to give the story a scope and a pace that feels very Twelfth Doctor, very much always moving forward, even during flashbacks. So – good story, great Doctor-Clara dialogue, and art that helps push the pace forward while, when given a newly terraformed planet to envision, also giving us plenty of pretty multi-coloured things to look at. Where’s the bad?

That would be ‘nowhere’ you’re thinking of.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, then comes The Swords of Kali.

The Swords of Kali’s in a whole other league in terms of the big ticks it deserves. Unusual settings – India, in the past and future – big tick. Really sharp – no, really, really sharp artwork and a use of colour that’ll make your eyeballs want to thank you for buying it – big tick. A number of genuinely innovative set-pieces, including a monster chase that exceeds the bounds of the strip’s panels, and a Clara cliff-hanger panel that should be a poster, right now – big tick. Tom Baker – big tick. A lesbian love story, and evidence of the progress of humanity over time in its social grooviness about that love story – big tick. Genuinely creepy monsters, particularly when ‘doing a Silence’ and hanging from the ceiling – big tick. Spot on Capaldi Doctoring, and a chance for the Twelfth Doctor to define himself in a way he only managed once or twice across his whole first on-screen series – ‘Man loves woman. Man loves man. Woman loves woman. Who cares? People hating each other, that’s what bothers me. That’s when the trouble starts.’ – Big ti- Note to self: get a bigger box of ticks next time we review Morrison’s work.

As we mentioned at the start, if you enjoyed Peter Capaldi’s Doctor on screen, you’re going to love the collected Twelfth Doctor Comics, Volume 1. If you weren’t sure, or still need convincing, there may well be enough expansion here to help seal the deal. Only if you happen to be a Claraphobe should you avoid this collection – she’s rendered very clearly in these stories as played by Jenna Coleman – the chirpiness, the smart-alecry, the ongoing backchat to the older incarnation of the Doctor, it all comes screaming across from the TV version, and she’s a big enough part, certainly of The Swords of Kali, for a dislike of her to ruin an otherwise gorgeous combination of tight writing and superb artwork. Personally, we say go for it. The first collection is a combination of a solid mid-season story and a tightly epic marvel that will repay your investment with multiple re-readings.

Who Reviews The Fourth Doctor Vol #1 Comic Book Review by Tony J Fyler

Gaze of the Medusa, Part 1

Tony’ll be behind the sofa if you need him.

There are events in a modern Who-fan’s life that carry a charge of excitement right from your eyeballs to dance up and down your spine and, like a slightly dodgy 1970s visual effect, turn you into a squealing eight year-old all over again. Tom Baker joining Big Finish was one of those moments. Probably, for the younger Tardis-tykes, David Tennant joining Big Finish will be another. Prepare yourself for another shiver of electro-static joy and nostalgic connection, because the Fourth Doctor is in comic-books again! What’s more, there’s none of the ‘inventing companions to have comic-book adventures with’ malarkey so often necessary.

No no, oh my geekbrothers and nerdsisters, this is the real deal. The dream team. The Fourth Doctor and Sarah-Jane Smith are back on the case in two dimensions, and big hairy men up and down the country and all around the world have a little tear in their eyes and are tempted to snuggle up behind their sofas with their Doctor Who scarves and a favourite teddy bear, to digest every single glorious panel of their adventures, helping them beat their enemies with their concentration.

It’s Saturday night in the mid-seventies again, and everything’s right with the world.

If you think there’s no point to this nostalgic ramble, you clearly haven’t been paying attention to fandom for the last forty years. Releasing a series of Fourth Doctor comic-books carries an enormous hit of nostalgia, and that’s important in terms of selling it. Every Doctor had their unique skills and selling-points: Hartnell the mystery and the avuncular grandfather. Troughton the clown with the Beatle haircut. Pertwee the handy dandy ‘Hai!’ karate man. But when Baker took the role it was the first time it felt as though, just possibly, the Production Team had found a real alien to be the Doctor. For the next seven years, that infinitely-bescarfed, goggle-eyed, sudden-smiling alien was our lodestone in an increasingly scary universe. He was the Doctor as long as any two other incumbents put together, and there’s a sense in which he’s still twice the Doctor almost any other Doctor has been. But more than that – it was in Tom Baker’s era that Doctor Who in comic-books became a serious proposal. He was the Doctor when Doctor Who Magazine was launched, and he played a large part in there being enough of an audience for it to exist in the first place. He was the Doctor in whose world Abslom Daak was born. The Doctor of the Iron Legion. Try as you might, you can’t name comic-book stories before Tom Baker’s era that were as serious, as intensely drawn, as unsentimentally grown-up, or as cleverly fun, as anything that came during his time. I’m as much of a fan as anyone else of the great Dalek comics of the sixties, but the Tom Baker comic-book era was a real quality-Rubicon. It informed the aesthetic understanding of generations of fans, and gave them a sense of what the realistically-drawn science-fiction universe could look like, beyond infinite shiny cities and golden-balled Dalek Emperors.

So – no pressure, then, Titan. Annnd go!

Gaze of the Medusa, Part 1, in some ways, takes no chances with the legacy either of the comic-book Fourth Doctor or the on-screen version, and there’s a sense of perhaps printing the legend for a wide range of fans from all eras just tuning in or catching up with this ‘Governor’ of incarnations. The Doctor’s in Victorian London, wearing his Talons of Weng-Chiang outfit, taking Sarah-Jane to see the Wild West Show of Buffalo Bill. So there are visual lodestones to cling to, dabble-fans, and a scenario that plays to one of Baker’s most well-appreciated stories and looks, as well as a touch of Western action to draw in the transatlantic trade. But what else is there?

Plenty, as it happens. There’s a veiled women who probably isn’t Madame Vastra, but who does a neat line in creepy-as-hell. There are gibber-speaking mono-optic giants with vision-beams (because why wouldn’t there be?), and there’s an intrepid duo of possibly-Victorians, a father and daughter team with Greek names and an intense interest in ‘chronautology.’ That’s time travel to you and me. The storytelling structure from Gordon Rennie and Emma Beeby (seriously, how do you get a gig like this?) is reminiscent of classic Tom Baker stories, the alien creepiness showing itself first, before a switch to incongruous Doctor-and-companion action, a run-in with alien thuggery and human friendliness, a companion-kidnap and a plan to rescue them. You couldn’t get more mid-seventies than this. Sarah-Jane doesn’t twist her ankle here, but is extracted from a London street by one of the one-eyed gibber-giants, coming over all King Kong to her Fay Wray. The tone of the dialogue is pure Hinchcliffe-Who too – the chronautology-enthusiast father and daughter acting, at least in this opening episode, like a more clued-up Jago and Litefoot, the Doctor stepping out in front of their would-be assailants and delivering his own fine line in alien gibber, though (and for this we’re oddly grateful, as it would feel like one step too far into the territory of hitting marks) refraining from offering them a jelly baby. Perhaps most crucially, the veiled woman is still enough and says little enough to convince as a potential (but by no means certain) villain of the piece. When she and Sarah-Jane are alone, her knowledge is almost prosaically delivered, with a twinge of dangerous humour, that culminates in an absolutely classic, 100% with extra gothic sprinkles effective cliff-hanger that actually makes you shudder, even if you’re 40-odd and beardy and really should know better. That, friends, is the mark of effective Who-writing.

It's also of course, given the comic-book format, the mark of effective Who-art. Let’s talk about the art for a minute – there’s plenty to say. Brian Williamson steps up to the plate for this gig, which as we spent a few hundred words explaining, is loaded with traps and ways to fail, ways to let down the legacy.

So does he?

It would be difficult to argue that he does. Again, the Victorian setting is both a gift and a restriction – there’s plenty of room for grubbiness of streets, fantastic architecture and a glorious intensity of clutter, and Williamson delivers that atmosphere expertly. One of the cardinal errors that lays open to an artist on the Fourth Doctor comics is getting close to Tom Baker, but not quite achieving him. There’s no need to worry on that score here though – Williamson delivers a range of Baker expressions, some of which you’ll have seen before, and others which simply smack of Baker’s Doctor as he would be in the scenarios he encounters here. Sladen’s Sarah-Jane too is pretty faithfully rendered into two dimensions, meaning the nostalgia hit never wavers by way of careless companion-art. Williamson is to be congratulated too on the scale and clarity of his eye – delivering monstrous bearded one-eyed trolls (given the Grecian theme, one is tempted to say Cyclopses) with aplomb, and fitting them into the otherwise ordinary scale of Victorian London, adding some horse-related action sequences, both in the Western show and with a London cab, and, for instance, imbuing the clutter of the chronautologist’s lab with a clarity and sharpness that allows nothing to be background, that makes every thing something real, as though it could be the star of its own life story. His delivery of the veiled woman’s house too is realistic, carrying a certain Gothic heaviness in tone and grain that informs our brains of where and when we are. And – did we mention this? – he draws a mean cliff-hanger.  Colour work here is by established colourist Hi-Fi, so you know this issue’s got the tones right to invoke both creepy Victorian streets and the brightness of contrasting moments at the Western show, in the chronautologist’s lab and when showing the actions of the cyclopses.

So – one to buy then?

Is Tom Baker the Doctor?

Really, it’s that much of a no-brainer – of course you’re going to buy this one, because Tom Baker rules all and in very many ways, he still informs what’s essential Doctorish behaviour to this day, meaning on some level Tom Baker will always be the Doctor, and the Doctor will always be Tom Baker. The nostalgia is strong in this one, delivering more than a pang in every Sarah-Jane panel. If the first issue grounds us in a very safe world for the Tom Baker incarnation, there’s certainly enough that’s new to make it a very different trip to Victorian times. The art is crisp and intensely textured, the mystery intriguing enough to draw you in, and the Greek connection makes you look forward to even madder things to come. From your first ‘Woohoo!’ at the cover to your fist-pump at the cliff-hanger, rejoice, geeks of the world – the Fourth Doctor is back in comics!

Who Reviews The 3rd Doctor #1 The Heralds of Destruction, Part 1 by Tony J Fyler

Tony gets his ruffles on.

One by one, the Doctor’s lifetimes are being colonised.

Not by the alien threat of the week, but by Titan Comics. The Ninth Doctor has become a regular fixture under the command of Cavan Scott, the Eighth Doctor had a triumphant short run thanks to George Mann, the Fourth Doctor has even joined the fray thanks to Gordon Rennie and Emma Beeby. Now Paul Cornell, long-time writer of intelligent adventures for the Doctor, has begun a series of Third Doctor adventures.

You see this grin? This grin of fanboy glee?

This grin is going nowhere in a hurry.

Issue #1 of the Third Doctor adventures stamps itself firmly in the post-Three Doctors territory, where he of the frilly shirts has got control of the Tardis back, but has yet to properly zip off into time and space again – indeed he didn’t really do that until he’d regenerated into the maniac with the teeth and the curls and the infeasible scarf. Nevertheless, that pinning of the story into a very particular chunk of the Doctor’s on-screen lifetime informs the tone here, Cornell giving us a threat that feels fairly modern and zippy while having its roots firmly in everything Pertwee.

Jo Grant finally makes her way into the comic-book world, and she’s still having an on-off flirtation with Mike Yates. The Brigadier is as large a presence in this issue as he was on-screen, in control of everything he can be, calling the Doctor when he’s not sure what he’s dealing with.

There are moments of air-punching all the way through this issue, placed there like strategic land-mines of joy – The Doctor holding court in what has the feel of a gentleman’s club, a familiar villain revealed, a mechanical, self-resurrecting gang of creatures who look vaguely cybernetic but are something…else, the Doctor’s eyes bulging comically as he’s throttled, Nestene-style, Bessie surprising the living daylights out of a policeman with a sudden turn of speed, Bell, Yates and Benton, the Brigadier calling for an air strike and the subsequent fumefest to which the Third Doctor treats him, the arrival of a UNIT techie with a very familiar name and ailment, and the final panel, which – in true Cornell style – makes you jump up and down and yell, before realising people can probably see you and may not understand.

So – the story so far? Mexican waves of ‘We’re not worthy’ as Paul Cornell applies himself to an earlier era than his usual stomping ground.

In terms of that tone we mentioned, we never got much of an idea from the on-screen Third Doctor about how the Doctor spent his ‘off hours’ once he didn’t have the Tardis’ dimensional circuit to fiddle with, and the Third Doctor has always been perhaps the most content of all his incarnations to adopt the lifestyle of a privileged gentleman, so there’s something inherently right about seeing him hold court to a gang of other notables, and Cornell gets the tone of his storytelling down pat. Similarly, when he encounters Jo in primitive camo make-up, his response is pure twinkling Pertwee, and these things help to genuinely build the world of the Third Doctor in two dimensions.

The Brigadier too is spot on – when the Doctor rages that he hopes he’s happy, having blown the bejesus out of a bunch of aggressive cyborgs, his response is typically Briggish – ‘Thank you, I am.’ Again, it all helps to rebuild in our minds the world of the Third Doctor as we remember it, and more importantly, as it was, while giving it just enough modern spin to excite 21^st century fans in its own right. Big ticks then all the way down the list as far as writing’s concerned. But of course, to some extent, you knew this would be the case – Paul Cornell’s a writer who puts the time in to his tone and his characterisation whatever he writes, which is presumably how you get the gig of writing for the Third Doctor in the first place.

What about the artwork, then? With the exception of the multi-coloured Sixth Doctor (comic-book series any time soon, Titan folk?), the Third Doctor’s outfit is probably the most difficult to get consistently right, though as far as a face is concerned, he’s probably something of a gift.

Christopher Jones, on artwork duties here, nails the Third Doctor to the page most of the time. There are perhaps occasional shots that don’t get him quite right, but for the majority of the time, Jones gives us unmistakeable Pertwee, striding about the place like a frilly-shirted crane. The Brigadier too, while perhaps not absolutely photofit-perfect, is more than good enough to pass strutting muster in the face of a new threat and (though he has yet to know it) an old. Jo’s a rather more moveable feast, sometimes conjuring Katy Manning in the flesh, sometimes looking a little more generic and even on occasions looking a little like Liz Shaw died her hair blonde.

The visual tone, following Cornell’s lead is the 70s show, but fresh – the zipping from place to place, the al fresco confrontation with a band of marching metal numpties, the scenes of Bessie driving over a barren heath with a huge sky taken almost point for point from The Green Death. In essence, Jones delivers a freshened-up 70s, and HiFi on colourwork turns the richness up to make the 70s look like the high-definition here and now.

A faultless comic-book then?

Pretty much. It’s not as yet some grand treatise on a philosophical point hiding in the pages of an action-comic, it is exactly what it says it is – the Third Doctor comic-book – and it delivers pretty much all you could wish for from such a thing. The Third Doctor, Pertweeing his hearts out. A mysterious bunch of metal gits who don’t take kindly to being blown to bits, a hidden hand of darkness among the higher echelons of British society, and the UNIT boys and girls running and jumping and firing their guns and under no circumstances getting to the awkward bit at the end of a date with Jo Grant. It also delivers those punch-the-air points along the way, and they really are worth it all on their own, returning villains, new villains, and new heroes all spreading a broad smile over your face.

Jump on board Bessie with the Third Doctor right now. It’s Paul Cornell, and in Christopher Jones, Titan’s found an artist that can render the period well but give it a freshness to make it feel relevant today. That means only one thing - it’s the 70s (or should that be 80s?) all over again, and it feels wonderful.

Reviews Torchwood #1 Comic Book Review

Tony gets his swagger on: 

Torchwood’s back in the hands of the Barrowman’s.

Torchwood was originally a great idea in the barking mad mind of a Welshman. As a Welshman with a barking mad mind, I appreciate that fully. But like any successful TV show, it stopped being the exclusive property of Russell T Davies very early on, and has found a host of other impressive minds to nestle in and grow. Chris Chibnall was one. The writers at Big Finish have added significantly to the world. But it’s also fair to say there wouldn’t be Torchwood without John Barrowman, anchoring the show as Captain Jack Harkness. Since Miracle Day, John and his sister Carol, have become two of the many keepers of the Torchwood flame, writing a Torchwood novel together (among their other literary collaborations), The Exodus Code, which took Jack and Gwen off on a whole new adventure, collecting a whole new bunch of Torchwooders (Torchwoodees? Ohhhh dear) along the way.

What The Exodus Code made perfectly clear to any doubters is that the Barrowmans can not only write, they can write Torchwood, and they can do it in ways that keep the heart of the original show beating, but free it up to find new strands to its destiny, fresh ideas and adventures in a wider universe.

Well, hellllo!

Torchwood in comic-book form was surely a no-brainer from the start – like Doctor Who in the 90s and early 2000s, Torchwood might have dropped off our screens, but it’s never dropped off our radars. It keeps bubbling away, emerging here and there in new forms – by no means in small part to the relentless (seriously, we think he’s probably plugged into the mains overnight) energy of John Barrowman himself, who, while going on to find new roles in which to immortalise that cheese-cutting jawline and that supernova twinkle, has always retained a sense of passion for Torchwood and for Captain Jack, as well as going out of his way to be good to the show’s fans. After all, you don’t write a novel unless you’re passionate about the subject, so getting The Exodus Code out there was a sign of his continuing commitment to the man in the really good coat, and his eager participation in the Big Finish Torchwood audios has also done a lot to keep Torchwood alive in our consciousness.

Titan Comics is riding high at the moment on a wave of Who – multi-Doctor stories, six separate strands of single-Doctor releases, and it’s also publishing the manga version of the showrunner’s other baby, Sherlock. So what could be more natural than Torchwood in comic-books? Apart from anything else, comic-books are a perfect audience-fit for Torchwood – perhaps perversely, they’re a little bit more grown-up, with a greater freedom for sex and violence, which is practically Torchwood’s signature remit: Who, but human and aimed at slightly more grown-ups. It’s a marriage made in storytelling heaven.

Getting the Barrowman’s on board to write the first Torchwood story in comic-books has a feeling of jigsaw-rightness, of coming home, and of exciting potential. But does it work?

Are you freaking nuts, of course it works!

The tone is perfect – it has some fast cutting, it has a good deal of Jack-swagger, it has Gwen and Rhys being authentically Gwen and Rhys, it even has an old frenemy dropping by to do what they do best (cause chaos and kill things), and it also has some Torchwood storytelling staples to make you go ‘Oooh’ and ‘Ahhh’ and do the job of any good writer – get its curiosity-hooks deep under your skin and yank you forward, wondering what the hell happens next, and ready to spend good money to find out.

So if you’re only familiar with TV Torchwood, you won’t be disappointed by this first issue; it has plenty of what you remember of the show: the Welsh, being as dry and down to earth and occasionally divvy as they are; Jack being saucy, and brave and handsome and making it look a whole lot better than your Jack Reacher’s or your Jason Bourne’s could ever dream of; a weird potentially alien MacGuffin, stolen from the safe place it’s been kept for x-number of years, meaning it’s now in disreputable hands; a disappearance from a Welsh beach; and Gwen and Rhys fabulously failing to get it on in a knackered old caravan when Jack comes calling. TV Torchwood fans – buy this thing, you’re gonna love it.

But make no mistake about it – this is post-Miracle Day Torchwood, and the Barrowman’s grab Torchwood fans by any damn thing that dangles loose in this issue to say ‘There’s this book we wrote. Go with it – Torchwood’s moved on from Miracle Day. Here are the new people you’ve missed.’ The Barrowman’s’ writing style allows for the cunning use of captions to bring the TV purists up to speed – there’s a ship which is more than a ship, there’s a crew which look traditionally Torchwood-hot and occasionally semi-naked, there’s an AI with attitude. As writers, they take no prisoners, because they can’t afford to – they have to please both audiences, the TV-only and those who’ve followed the extension of Torchwood through their novel. Do they pull it off? Oh hell yeah, this is the Barrowman’s for god’s sake, you knew they would when you walked in the door.

It’s not just about the balance of expectations for audiences, though. This is Torchwood, we expect innovation, and no, of course they don’t disappoint on that score either – there’s a creepy-as-all-get-out idea right on Page 1, resonating with Series 9 Who on some levels, added to the abduction, the MacGuffin theft and the general Captain Jack brooding that gives the issue its balance between action and zap-pow mayhem and a mood of Something Big A-Coming. The Exodus Code crew bring their own innovations with them, meaning this is a Torchwood with different abilities to the TV version, an expanded sense of scope – without ever feeling remotely invincible (however ironic that may be, given the leading man’s signature move of coming back from the dead).

What’s perhaps more questionable than the Barrowman’s storytelling skills going in is the artistic tone. Torchwood was a show positively dripping in tone from the very beginning, which makes it actually perverse that the tone also changed from episode to episode, from series to series, as dynamics and personnel shifted. That means getting the artistic tone right is crucial – get it wrong and it won’t feel authentically Torchwood, it’ll feel like something that sounds like Torchwood, but doesn’t deliver.

The tone adopted here by Antonio Fuso and Pasquale Qualano on artistic duties is one that stops short of photorealism, but, for instance, never slights the actors who stamped their personalities so forcible on the characters we know and love. Eve Myles has a very distinctive face, frequently used to great effect on the show to invest it with heart and its funny bone, and Fuso and Qualano do her good service here, as indeed they do to Captain Cheekbones – again, get those wrong and Torchwood in comic-book form collapses. Fuso and Qualano knock them out of the park.

The style also brings with it the freshness and inventive flair of The Exodus Code though, bringing a ‘best of both worlds’ feel to this debut issue, a sense helped along by some light-handed colourwork from Marco Lusko, which can deliver the dankness and slither-up-the-spine creepiness of the initial sequence, but make the Welsh seaside look positively idyllic as – jusssst occasionally – it can be, and give the interior of the Torchwood ship a combination of functionality and frolic.

So ultimately, what are we saying?

Well again, you knew this coming in, but we’re saying grab your army greatcoat and swagger to your comic-book supplier of choice. Give them a white-toothed grin, smooch their face off, and lay down your coinage for issue #1 of the Torchwood comic-book. The Barrowman’s take their Torchwood just seriously enough, while lacing it with its TV-traditional tongue in cheek humour, and the artists and colourists that have been assigned to bring Torchwood back in the visual medium know enough of their stuff to let you relax in their hands. If you ever had any interest in the show at all, you’re gonna be jussssst fine with the Barrowman crew.

It’s the 21^st century, and Torchwood is ready for your comic-book collection.