I have a confession to make.
I appreciate "Queer as Folk."
That is, I do not solely consume the series as escapism; at times I actually take it seriously, and I do not always temper my enthusiasm with the requisite disdain.
It seems to be customary within both educated progressive Queer circles as well as within sophisticated cultural mileus to dismiss QaF outright, either because it is understood (by progressive Queer circles) to uncritically celebrate "shallow" urban gay male cultures or because it is deemed (by sophisticate cultural milieus) lowbrow and contrived. And should one own up to one's enjoyment of the series, it must always be acknowledged as a guilty pleasure. This may all appear self evident, as QaF is a soap opera, and it goes without saying for many that soap operas themselves should never be taken seriously.
And indeed the series has been artistically inconsistent, repeatedly pushing the limits of credibility with arbitrary "issue" storylines that sacrifice character continuity. Who could forget "out and proud" Emmett Honeycutt's sudden and inexplicable 1st-season descent into self hatred as a member of an "ex-gay" movement, or the fourth season storyline chronicling Justin Taylor's overnight tranformation into a gay vigilante (itself a wasted opportunity for more complex consideration of radical activisms... but perhaps sympathetic and layered representations of radicalism are too much to ask from any mass cultural text.)?
Politically, too, QaF is often reprehensible. Brian Kinney's rapid consumption of top-of-the-shelf capitalist lifestyles goes uninterrogated as "up-by-the-bootstraps" American mythologies are reinforced through the characterization of the working-class but always-unflappable Debbie Novotny, who serves as the series' moral and ethical center... In QAF's atrocious gender dynamics, women provide nurture and stability while men occupy public space as doers and actors. Despite the fact that both of its lesbian characters possess interesting careers that might provide ample material for storylines (Melanie is a human rights lawyer, Lindsey an art dealer), QaF's writer's can find little more for them to do than argue and breed (in addition to mothering the men themselves, "Mel and Linds" mother the children of multiple male characters), rarely allowing them to exit their domestic sphere. QaF's writers proved so unable to conceptualize broader lives for these women that they even reversed an earlier story detail that prevented Melanie from becoming pregnant, as every dyke ought to have a baby. Also, QaF's generally white-washed world is intermittently punctuated with racial "exotics" who provide sexually suggestive comedy, have little dialogue and possess sufficiently "ethnic" first names.
Nonetheless, as the first mass media product to depict a homocentric universe, to cast Queer characters as the stars of their own lives, "Queer as Folk" has many saving graces, particularly where its sexual ideologies are concerned. To use the language of Michael Warner, the series doesn't just combat the stigma of gay identity, but also the shame of homosexual sex. The show's characters frequently espouse a sexual ethics that is similar to what Warner calls "dignity in shame," recognizing their own hypocrisies and inconsistencies rather than making exclusive claims to "appropriate" sexuality. One particularly strong second season episode critiques gay moralism as officials from the local Gay and Lesbian Center refuse to give Brian Kinney a deserved award because of his past indiscretions and reputation; a well-known gay writer advocate of sexual "respectability" is exposed as a compulsive barebacker; and an upstanding and committed suburban couple (who coincidentally resemble a similarly upstanding couple on the fictional TV show "Gay as Blazes") are revealed as swingers. My favorite story arc involves the 3rd season mayoral race of a homophobic police officer who powers his campaign through an attack and crackdown on Queer public spaces. When the stories are character-driven rather than arbitrary, the show's underrated cast (Scott Lowell, Peter Paige and Sharon Gless are particularly strong) absolutely shines. Scott Lowell's depiction of Ted's struggle with meth addiction was particularly riveting (although his subsequent recovery was botched by oversimplification).
"Queer as Folk's" final season -- which my boyfriend and I just finished netflixing -- presents the series at its best and worst. True to QaF form, the denouement is ignited by an implausible, out-of-left-field melodramatic event that at least provides a much-needed shot of adrenaline and allows several actors opportunities to impress. Most of the season presents an obnoxious and reductive binary between "assimilationist," pro-marriage "Stepford Queers" and anti-marriage pathological party boys with "Peter Pan" complexes. The anti-marriage position of Brian Kinney is characterized as reactionary immaturity rather than a principled ethical concern over sexual hierachies.
But by the final episode, the series has once again redeemed itself and provided a surprisingly strong message about Queer diversity and difference (with the aforementioned limitations w/ regard to class, race and gender still present). In one beautifully executed sequence, Michael Novotny, the victim of a recent hate crime, is invited to speak publicly about his experiences by an HRC-esque political body whose spokesperson is a slick Lesbian congresswoman. Michael is mandated to speak to heterosexual audiences as a father and Queer "family man" who is essentially "just like them." His mother Debbie arrives in her usual get-up, a garish red wig and vest covered in gay-friendly political buttons, accompanied by a group of individuals from the diner where she works, including "trannies," "leather daddies," "bears," and other individuals who serve as archetypes of non-conformist and hyper-visible Queer identities. At the congresswoman's behest, Debbie and co. are asked to move from the front to the back row of the auditorium, so that they will be invisible to the television cameras. An incensed Michael throws out the speech provided to him by the press conference's organizers, declaring that in many ways his life is indeed very different from the lives of the press conference's heterosexual audience, as well as from the lives of many other Queer persons. Difference, he argues, is enriching, and it is difference, not similarity that should be the impetus for social and political validation of Queer communities. Although Michael's speech is overly simplistic and somewhat sentimental (lacking a sophisticated analysis of power), it is grounded in what I believe should be the foundation of all Queer politics -- an acknowledgment of both Queer communities and the dominant culture as sites of difference rather than similarity. Although the co-option of the language of the diversity by a text as diversity-impaired as QaF may prove dangerous (I am reminded of the early Ani DiFranco song where she sings, "Your basic average superstar/is singing about justice and peace and love/I am glaring at the radio, swearing/saying that's what I was afraid of."), I believe the speech is useful if it encourages the show's Queer viewers to value pathologized, hyper-visible Queer identities and question the limitations of the strategies of organizations like HRC when they exploit the politics of shame.
Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor's romance also "concludes" on an insurgent note. Brian and Justin choose to cancel their impending marriage ceremony after they realize they are both uncomfortable with the sacrifices marriage will force the other individual to make within their character and life goals. With Brian's encouragement, Justin decides to move to New York to pursue his burgeoning art career. As Justin prepares to leave the apartment for the final time, he declares to Brian they they will inevitably reconnect in the future. Brian reminds him that there is no guarantee that this will happen. Justin notices that Brian has still not returned their wedding rings. He says (paraphrase), "We do not need rings or vows. We already know we love each other." Brian regards Justin with a penetrative gaze that is simultaneously paternal and romantic and says, "You've finally made it. You're the best homosexual you can be." Their final love scene is intense and almost threateningly intimate.
Many of QaF's most literally-minded viewers may interpret this as little more than a "goodbye sex" scene. I saw more. I was reminded of Judith Halberstam's notion of "Queer Temporality." Halberstam argues that Queers possess a unique relationship to time, as many of us never experience the events used to mark the passage of time within heteronormativity, ie engagement, marriage, childbirth, etc. It has been argued that soap operas themselves challenge heteronormativity as the serialized storytelling format constantly disrupts the linearity of heteronormative narratives. On soap operas, happy endings are constantly disrupted. When a couple declares they'll be together forever, it is almost a certain guarantee that their relationship will soon be torn apart by infidelity or catastrophe. Heteronormativity is rarely conclusive and always under threat. As Brian and Justin's love scene draws to a close, Justin dissolves from the frame, leaving Brian naked, prone and alone, haunted by Justin's spectre. Intimacy is simultaneously illusory and tangible. Justin and Brian's final scene celebrates Queer temporality, affirming that their love is simultaneously "outside time," and temporally grounded. Outside time, they produce something that exists intangibly and eternally. Temporally grounded, their connection is fleeting and immediate. Rejecting rings and vows, Brian and Justin also reject heteronormativity's "guarantees" of stability, dependability and permanence, validating alternative forms of intimacy and connectivity. In its final moments, "Queer as Folk" suggests that Queers may possess a special reverence for the magic of the momentary -- a remarkably sophisticated message from a supposed guilty pleasure and contrived mass cultural text.
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