Cucumber is disappointing TV – which is why we need more gay dramas
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Version 0 of 1. It’s hard to overstate the impact of Queer as Folk for those, like me, who grew up gay in the late 90s. The sharply written and uncompromising cocktail of hedonism, humour and human drama saw mainstream TV feature gay characters without resorting to euphemism or couching their sexuality in terms of shame or tragedy. Cucumber marks writer Russell T Davies’ return to Canal Street. Fifteen years after Queer as Folk first aired, it is proving a trickier, more divisive beast. Despite heavy advertising, the show’s launch episode attracted a not-entirely amazing 1.57 million viewers. Critical reviews have generally been of the cautiously warm variety reserved for much-anticipated shows that inconveniently fail to live up to expectations – some tactfully focusing on what the show represents, rather than what it actually accomplishes. This notion of what the show represents is on the minds of some LGBTQ viewers as well. Online reaction seems to fall broadly into two camps. The first is disappointment that the show’s characters portray a negative image of gay men as sex-obsessed narcissists. The second argues that Cucumber shouldn’t have to be all things to all gay people. We should be celebrating the fact that a show uncompromisingly gay enough to feature a lengthy monologue about Ryan Reynolds’ penis is being aired at all. Personally, I fall somewhere in the middle. I’m not particularly concerned about whether I can personally relate to the characters portrayed in the show. On the other hand, I still don’t think Cucumber is very good. The tone is inconsistent, the writing is stilted – weighed down by too much self-indulgent speechifying – and the characters are unpleasant in a way that feels depressing, rather than compelling. If this were any other show, I’d stop watching it. But Cucumber represents more than a promising TV show that failed to deliver. The number of significant British LGBTQ-themed shows that emerged in Queer as Folk’s wake can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Implicit in many of the arguments in the defence of the show is a fear that if the show fails, so does the argument for producing more shows like it in the future. It’s worth mentioning here that Cucumber also comes with a sister show, Banana, broadcast on E4. An anthology series focusing on a broader spectrum of LGBTQ characters, not only is it a sharper, more tightly written show, but it also has the potential to serve as a great springboard for up-and-coming gay writers and performers. It would have been a better, braver choice for a Channel 4 flagship series. Of course, we have made significant strides in gay representation since 1999, and gay characters are more visible in mainstream drama and comedy than ever before. But there’s still a sense that these characters are burdened by a perception of what they have to stand for. When Kate, a lesbian character, was killed off in Sally Wainwright’s Last Tango in Halifax, some argued she was the latest victim of the “dead lesbian cliche”. The character couldn’t be as disposable as an equivalent straight cast member, because she came with the baggage of representing a community. Clearly, this is not a healthy state of affairs – for good writing or for representation. Gay television dramas need to be free to fail, and gay characters to be fully rounded human beings rather than walking issues. The only way to accomplish this is to keep creating them – not at a rate of one show per decade or one couple per show, but consistently, as a reflection of our visibility in real life. As a piece of television, Cucumber may be a misfire. But I hope we don’t have to wait fifteen years for its successor to emerge. |