The premise is admittedly problematic, and much of the criticism levelled at the show is valid. For some viewers, the fact that Dushku and the other actives are essentially different characters every episode, reverting to benign blank slates when they’re not out on engagements, is a deal-breaker. How do you relate to a protagonist who is not the same person from week to week? It’s entirely subjective; either you can engage with the conceit or you can’t, but this odd setup meant that the show was hindered from the get-go. Personally I was invested enough in the premise, in Echo and in the richly-drawn supporting characters – both Active and non-Active – to stick with it, and for me, even in their wiped doll forms, the actors exhibit enough personality for me to care about their fates. However, it’s fair to assume that this was a major stumbling block for many people trying to get into the series, and all I can say is that it’s worth persevering.

The Dollhouse itself is also conceptually troublesome, which is one of the reasons why the execs at Fox were unhappy with the series. Fundamentally, the idea is pretty icky. Many of the engagements are of a sexual nature, and whether the actives agree to what happens to them or not they are basically being sold to rich businesspeople wanting a willing partner who will conveniently forget about them after the act. Tension is therefore built into the show, particularly in its early episodes, where the breezy tone of the personality-of-the-week adventures bumps awkwardly against seedy undertones of prostitution.

It’s to its credit that Dollhouse does not shy away from the uncomfortable nature of this concept, confronting issues of sexual abuse and slavery head-on in several episodes once it settles into a more arc-based groove. The blurry moral ground on which the Dollhouse, its staff and its clients operate is explored compellingly, and while you may actually come to sympathise with the reasons the characters give to justify their involvement, the show rarely – if ever – comes down on the side of right or wrong. Ultimately, the picture it paints is of a corrupt and often degrading institution run by people who are all, in their own way, trying to do what they perceive to be the right – or at least the necessary – thing.

It’s a fascinating philosophical minefield to navigate, but it sometimes makes it difficult to know who to root for – not an accusation you could really level at Buffy, Angel or Firefly, no matter how far into darkness their characters slipped. However, if you like your beautiful ass-kicking men and women (and they are very beautiful, and they kick a whole mess o’ ass) served with a side order of existential horror and a generous dollop of moral ambiguity, Dollhouse might just be the show for you.

“I try to be my best”

Whether you buy in to the inner lives of the Actives or not, I think it’s safe to say that the supporting cast is as strong as any of Whedon’s other ensembles. From tech wizard Topher (Fran Kranz) to Dollhouse head Adelle DeWitt (played to icy yet subtly vulnerable perfection by Olivia Williams) to house physician Claire Saunders (Amy Acker! Yay! Someone give this woman all the series and films please), everyone who works in the Dollhouse is damaged in some way. They’re all flawed, ethically compromised people existing in a frightening and bizarre grey area, which makes for some seriously thought-provoking drama. Topher, for example, starts the show as a fairly typical wise-cracking genius man-child type, but as he slowly begins to rediscover his fractured morality, his arc is both compelling and ultimately very moving. Even FBI agent Paul Ballard (once you get past Tahmoh Penikett’s slightly peculiar, mannered way of speaking), who starts as something of a cipher, is blessed with an unexpected and interesting character trajectory.