The Uncompromising Legacy of Queer as Folk: 25 Years On
Ah, 1999. The year of Tony Blair’s still-shiny premiership, Y2K panic, and Queer as Folk, a show so unapologetically audacious that it seemed to smack the British public across the face with its unvarnished depiction of gay life. It was as if Russell T. Davies decided that if TV was going to tell gay stories, it wasn’t going to tiptoe around with tea and biscuits—it was going to shout about it in all its messy, sexy, gloriously chaotic glory.
It wasn’t exactly a gentle climate for a show like Queer as Folk to waltz onto our screens. The age of consent for gay men was still being thrashed out in Parliament, and Section 28, that ghastly bit of legislation banning “promotion of homosexuality” in schools, was still stinking up the statute books. But in the midst of this, Davies, with the brazen audacity of a man who’s seen enough polite repression to last a lifetime, birthed a show that was anything but polite.
Canal Street, Manchester’s queer epicentre, was the backdrop for the story of three men navigating a world of thumping basslines, snogging in dark corners, and, yes, rimming on the first date. This wasn’t just another drama to be tucked away in the post-watershed hours; this was a celebration, an unflinching portrayal of gay life that made no apologies for its explicitness. And oh, did it ruffle feathers.
The casting process for this game-changing show was as fraught with nerves as you’d expect. Aidan Gillen, Craig Kelly, and a pre-Sons of Anarchy Charlie Hunnam stepped into roles that would come to define them, and, in some cases, haunt them. Kelly, in particular, nearly walked away from it all—”gay porn” was how some of his fellow actors sneered at it—but instead, he went on to embody Vince, the shy, sweet, and sexually tentative heart of the show.
And then there was Hunnam, barely out of his teens, and walking onto the set with the kind of raw magnetism that made everyone in the room pray he could act. He could, of course, and as Nathan, he electrified the screen—a beautiful, brazen 15-year-old exploring the world with a mix of awe and reckless abandon.
Davies knew exactly what he was doing when he made Nathan so young. It was a choice that could have ended the show before it started, in a cloud of outrage and moral panic. But Davies wasn’t about to create a queer show that played by the rules of straight respectability. Nathan wasn’t just a character; he was a mirror for a whole generation of young gay men who were discovering their sexuality in a world that still wanted them to feel ashamed.
The sex scenes were notorious—and rightly so. While other shows might throw in a bit of nudity for titillation, Queer as Folk made sex integral to the story, exposing both the thrill and the complexity of desire. Aidan Gillen’s Stuart, cool and aloof, rimmed Nathan in the first episode, a moment that still reverberates through TV history for its audacity. But it wasn’t just about shock; it was about showing a sexual act that wasn’t even on most people’s radar, pushing the boundaries of what TV could depict, and what audiences could accept.
Critics, predictably, clutched their pearls. The press largely ignored the show in the run-up to its debut—until it aired, at which point the gloves came off. Stonewall and other gay rights groups condemned it for not being responsible enough, for daring to show gay men having fun, falling in love, and—heaven forbid—having sex without an educational pamphlet on HIV slipping out of their pockets. Meanwhile, the gay scene in Manchester was torn between pride and indignation, with some regulars on Canal Street muttering that the show had set them back decades.
Yet despite—or perhaps because of—the controversy, Queer as Folk left an indelible mark on British television. It was a show that refused to behave, that insisted on showing gay life as it was—messy, joyful, tragic, and yes, sometimes crude. And while the actors have gone on to varied careers, from Hollywood blockbusters to voiceovers that paid the mortgage, they all carry a piece of Queer as Folk with them. It wasn’t just a show; it was a lightning bolt that lit up the dark, showing a generation of queer people that their lives, their loves, and their stories were worth telling—loudly, unapologetically, and without a hint of shame.
And as for the possibility of a reunion? Well, Davies might dismiss the idea with a wave of the hand and a quip about middle-aged men, but the legacy of Queer as Folk is too potent to ever really fade. It’s a touchstone, a reminder of a time when television dared to push boundaries, and when a group of brave actors and creators decided that the world needed to see gay life as it was—not as a cautionary tale, but as a celebration. Perhaps it’s time to light that spark again.