This affection for chaotic personalities means we’re rarely more than half an episode away from a blowout argument or an ill-advised kiss, letting Queer as Folk scratch the same predictable but satisfying itch as any primetime drama about attractive, charismatic people who spend too much time drinking together.īut there are storylines as well about Ruthie, a trans woman, struggling with a changing sex drive that challenges her sense of self. Mind you, a sizable chunk of them comprise the usual soapy drama about who’s hooking up or lying about it or secretly in love (and many of those involve Brodie’s ex Noah, played soulfully by Hacks‘ Johnny Sibilly).
(The series assigns them two high school friends without a single distinctive personality trait between them.) But its diversity does allow the show to explore a wide array of storylines from a multitude of perspectives. And even more prominent characters like Mingus (Fin Argus), this Queer as Folk‘s resident lovelorn teen, are better developed in some areas than others. Some of the recurring characters, like no-nonsense drag queen Bussey (Armand Fields), end up feeling like accessories in other people’s stories, and we can only hope they’ll lead more stories of their own in future seasons. The expansiveness of Queer as Folk‘s cast comes with a few drawbacks. Thankfully, the show settles into a more comfortable groove by its second or third episode, once all that necessary laying of groundwork is out of the way.
Between the sheer amount of information being conveyed in that first episode and the stark tonal shifts necessitated by the plot, it can all feel unwieldy, even overwhelming. That’s before the shooting, and also the birth of twins to Brodie’s BFF Ruthie (Jessie James Keitel) and her partner Shar (CG) on the same night. Roughly a dozen major characters are introduced in that time, each representing another knotty strand in his tangle of interpersonal connections. The premiere episode wastes no time sketching out New Orleans’ vibrant queer nightlife scene, centering on charismatic but somewhat self-absorbed prodigal son Brodie (Devin Way).įor about half an hour, we trail Brodie as he zigzags across the city to reconnect with his old friends and make new ones. But no prior knowledge of the earlier series (nor of the American version that followed shortly after on Showtime) is required to follow this one. Davies’ groundbreaking gay drama from the turn of the millennium, and fans of the original will spot the occasional Easter egg or pick up on echoes of certain characters or plot points. Stephen Dunn’s Queer as Folk is billed as a “reimagining” of Russell T. And its refusal to define their lives through that tragedy feels like a gift, not only to the characters but also to an audience who has heard far too many news stories just like this one, or maybe even brushed up against some similar horror themselves.Ĭast: Devin Way, Fin Argus, Jesse James Keitel, CG, Johnny Sibilly, Ryan O'Connell
But for the most part, the series allows its characters to be every bit as messy or silly or sexy or serious after the shooting as they were before. Sure, here and there are painful excavations of trauma or equally tear-jerking moments of defiant joy. Yet despite the heavy premise, the series as a whole is surprisingly light on its feet. Most of our main characters are among them, and for the rest of the eight-episode season, they’ll grapple with their lingering guilt and grief, with the unthinkable ways their lives changed that night, with the holes it left in the center of their community. Midway through the first episode, an unnamed shooter enters a New Orleans gay club called Babylon and opens fire on the crowd of partiers. The catalyzing event in Peacock’s new Queer as Folk is a horrific act of violence.