Rosamicula (rosamicula) wrote,

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real men don't eat quiche

I think I am going to devise a new form of fanfic. I finally got round to watching the first two episodes of the first series of Life on Mars last night and thought it was excellent. It probably goes without saying that DCI Gene Hunt triggered the same venal reponse that I get with Ray Winstone, except Philip Glenister is, admittedly, somewhat more conventionally appealing. Growl.

It occurred to me, about ten minutes in, that there is probably an awful lot of godawful slashific about Gene Hunt and Sam Tilley getting out of their flares and getting it on. This really wouldn't do anything for me, slashfic doesn't, generally. What I want is bashfic. I want Gene Hunt to be dropped into Torchwood so he can beat the living daylight out of gormless, spouting Capt Jack and Panto - couldn't act the arse-end of a mule - Ianto. There'd be no more flimsy 'it's always love that saves the planet' storylines and no more end-of-term-play unconvincing 'ooh look! we're so self-consciously edgy and bohemian we're like polyglomeracy in sci-fi form' gay snogs. Gene Hunt would just kill all the aliens and go down the pub, drink 13 points of tan and bitter and then deliver flabby-lipped Gwen, who is so sdripping with feminine empathy she's like a san-pro ad made flesh, the kind of seeing-to she so desperately needs. Then she would finally stop gurning hormonally at Capt 'big girl's nylon frilly blouse' Jack and leave her eunuch-like caricature of a husband. Of course he has to be a caricature because RTD couldn't write a convincing heterosexual male character if his casting couch depended on it.
Tags: great tv, ranting, rubbish tv
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