Cucumber: Episode 8

"Right, I'm off for a wank."

And so it ends, with a slow-paced, philosophical and reflective episode to tie things up. And I'll begin with the ending; Henry and Freddie meet for a chat six years later, and Henry (no longer a virgin, although penetration will never be his favourite sexual pastime) finally lets slip the central fact about his character; he still needs to come to terms with being gay. Freddie's generation may be utterly relaxed about sexual orientation, but Henry's generation were the pioneers in the long march from AIDS and Section 28 towards Equal Marriage a quarter century later. He's young enough to have tasted of the fruits of equality but old enough to remember when gay people had no rights at all. Unlike Freddie, Henry sees these rights as precarious, which probably has a lot to do with why he wouldn't marry Lance. And he could be right. Time will tell. Nevertheless, all of Genry's behaviours over the series is interesting to consider in this light, which is why the television grammar of a cliffhanger ending clicks in as soon as Henry says  "Being gay."

Before this, though, we have a whole episode in which Henry's little commune slowly dissolves, hippy fantasies slowly punctured by real life, and his mid-life crisis ends as, with Cliff's assistance and in the episode's most amusing scene, he not only gets his job back but gets a promotion. It's all brilliantly structured, both as an episode and, we can now finally say, as a whole series.

We begin, again, with our usual opening motif of Henry in the supermarket, a sign of renewed normality at first. Yet this time he stalks a fellow shopper whom he fancies, following him all the way to... his wife. This sort of thing is, of course, a universal part of being gay.

The most dramatic part of a quiet episode, and very much harking back to last week, is where Veronica, instinctively disgusted with his Bohemian lifestyle, accuses Henry of being responsible for Lance's death and re-opens a very tender wound. Yes, this is cruel of her, but it stings all the more because she's such a convincing Everywoman. Both Vincent Franklin and Anjli Mohindra are extraordinary here. This is an important prelude to the silent and tense scenes as Henry waits for the verdict on Daniel, which is guilty in spite of everyone's fears.

We end with a nice coda, with everything and everyone being brought up to date in a quiet chat between Henry and Freddie. It's a low key end, but appropriately so. RTD is s master of how to balance high drama with calm. Indeed, on the evidence of these eight episodes, he has a good claim to be the best dramatist currently working in British TV. Cucumber is right up there with the likes of Edge of Darkness and The Boys from the Black Stuff.

Cucumber: Episode 7

"I thought we'd seen the last of this- funerals at too young an age."

After last episode's extraordinary demonstration of Russell T Davies' genius, we get another example of what a master of structure and storytelling he is. It feels as though Cucumber ascended to another level last week and is staying there. Cucumber is not only bloody good telly, it's I, Clavdivs good. Edge of Darkness good. Absolutely superlative stuff.

No supermarket framing sequence this week,it's straight to Lance's funeral. Once again a group of gay men of a certain age are mourning one of their own, as in days of old, but this time there's real anger, especially as Daniel Coltrane is using that tired old "gay panic" defence; Cliff appears to be quite sincere as he offers to kill him. But this is all wearily familiar territory for these Middle Ages men, who have grown up with the spectre of both premature death and homophobic violence. The contrast between this generation and the casually on bisexual generation of Freddie and co is both a big theme of the series and hugely perturbing for Henry. Vincent Franklin is incredible here.

This being RTD, the heavy stuff is leavened by a bit of fun with cock hairs. But this is followed by a harrowing scene of Henry crying, in the gents, too proud and repressed to do it anywhere else. This says an awful lot about him as a character. Earlier in the series he seemed an abrasive and brave choice for a main protagonist, but by now he just seems nuanced, fascinating, not a tragic hero in a plot structural sense but certainly of that lineage. Again, RTD and Vincent Franklin deserve all the plaudits in the world.

Freddie gets further development here, coming to resent, and feel trapped by, Henry's dependence on him, in large part because he was the one who happened to be there during that phone call. He's shallow, perhaps, but shallow people, at least when written by RTD, can be interesting and have hinterland.

Perhaps the most upsetting scene, though, takes place afterwards between Henry and Marie, and their huge falling-out on what happens with the house; Henry was not married to Lance, and only has half the rights to it. Worse, she now has possession of all the savings from the joint account that Lance took. There's a subtle homophobia to all her actions and attitudes here. And their dinner descends into deep acrimony with Henry screaming insistently that Lance's death was not his fault. It wasn't, of course- it was Daniel Coltrane's alone- but the cruel unspoken accusation that Henry was somehow responsible hangs horribly over everything.

The scene between Henry, Freddy's and Dean in the car is extraordinary; such a long scene in such a confined space would seem to be more theatrical than televisual, but it works, and is a necessary way of getting Henry to discuss his hang-ups over sex, and how Lance was so good that he put up with no penetration for nine years. The narrative needed this catharsis and, as akways, RTD leavens the harrowing stuff with humour as the three men bond as Freddy discusses the respective sexual plumbing systems of women and men.

We end, as with much of this episode, in a scene of legal brutality; Henry, Freddy et Al are all evicted from their flat, which was only ever an outrageous legal con to steal their stuff. But Henry, his mid-life crisis at its peak, invites all of the newly homeless twentysomethings to his house, much to Marie's outrage. This is the best telly, with the best written parts, that I've seen in years.

Cucumber: Episode 6

"You've taken a wrong turn, but you can turn back."

I hate to simply echo what's being said all over the Internet, but this is one of the finest pieces of television in recent years. It's extraordinary.

We're shown from the framing device at the start that this episode will be different; this time it is Lance, not Henry, in the supermarket. And Russell T Davies gives the game away from the start with a caption: "Lance Edward Armstrong, 1966-2015".

Davies, in a recent interview with the Radio Times, has likened the structure of this episode to Lance's life flashing before his eyes in those last few seconds after the golf club connects. More than half the episode takes place before the start of the series, including Lance's getting together with Henry and the early part of their relationship, from his perspective. But the heart of these early scenes are in Lance's early scenes, his discovery of his sexuality, the difficult coming out and the slow acceptance, Christmas by Christmas, of his father. There is tragedy, too, with the childhood loss of Lance's mother and the loss of a partner to AIDS. All of this rounds Kance as a character and, of course, gets us to emphasise with him so that his death will hurt more. You're a right bastard of a genius, RTD. This episode feels like a punch in the face to a Eurythmics soundtrack.

It's a huge relief that Henry gets to see Lance before he dies, and to finally tell him that he loves him. Lance doesn't take the proffered olive branch, though, and coldly rebuffs him. Instead he goes off on one final, terrible night out.

Daniel gives out warning signs at every moment, as he always has. His behaviour in Canal Street is extremely disturbing yet, as Lance explains to the strange, unreal ghost of Hazel from Queer as Folk, he's handsome enough to be worth it.

These scenes with Hazel, written as a kind of fairy godmother, are the emotional heart of the episode. The fact that she is a ghost adds a note of unreality; RTD has  postulated that, if the whole episode is Lance's life flashing before his eyes, this could be a bit his subconscious has changed. But it's nicely ambiguous, and a nice choice. And dramatically, of course, it's the point of no return.

The final, fateful scenes are in real time, and are masterfully scripted and acted, with Daniel finally acting fully on his suppressed desires, but then lashing out in a fury of denial and gay panic, snuffing out this sweet man whom we have come to know and love. It is sudden, devastating and crafted to hit hard.

And then we have a masterful visual sequence from director Alice Troughton, and tears, and no more Lance. And this is going to leave a huge hole in the world.

Cucumber: Episode 5

"We built cages to keep ourselves civilised."

This is the first thing I've blogged with a little person sitting there sleeping in a bouncer next to us as she watched it. So, technically, the first programme my baby daughter watched was Cucumber. Appropriate or what? Anyway, this is still the best thing on telly right now.

We are alerted to the fact that things are entering a new phase by the difference in the framing device at the start: Henry's monologue takes place not in the civilised, safe, artificial environment of the supermarket, but in the wild and dangerous environment of the primeval forest. 

Henry's life has lost its moorings since that fateful night out; he has lost his relationship, his job, his money and his place in society, and has found himself making some questionable decisions as a result. This is the episode where the consequences of those decisions come home to roost.

Cleo is an extraordinary creation of a character, nuanced and real in a way that fictional characters rarely are. Her reaction to what Henry has been doing on YouTube is perfection in terms both in terms of script and performance. And this is a devastating revelation of the damage done by casually misogynist pornography, done just for fun, on the sexuality of adolescent girls. It's an extraordinary scene.

Elsewhere, Cliff is great as usual, and Henry's relationship with new boyfriend Leigh is quickly unravelling. Not only is Leigh alarmingly right wing, he also wants (gasp!) sex. Henry, being Henry, doesn't so much dump him but takes the easy way out by standing him up, choosing instead to get pissed with Freddie. He still has absolutely no chance with the young Adonis, of course, but the two of them have struck up a moving little friendship of sorts. But Freddie's parents have a few home truths for him, home truth for which he has no real answer. Structurally, this is clearly the episode where we are being invited to examine Henry's recent actions in the light of something big is about to happen. And I'm not just saying that because I've already seen the masterpiece that is Episide Six.

Lance is continuing to pursue the disturbingly laddish Daniel, whose denial about his sexuality is suffused with menace and the simmering threat of violence. Lance's chat in the office with Veronica, who thinks Daniel is weird, is a great big sign that things are going to go very badly wrong.

We end with a conversation between Hebry and Lance, a conversation which Henry badly mishandled. They part on bad terms, and things look ominous...

Cucumber: Episode 4

"You're actually patting my vagina..."

Wow. What a masterful piece of television. Such a triumph of structure and characterisation from Russell T Davies and such an extraordinary revelation of a performance from Vincent Franklin. Where to begin?

The episode is framed around a number of dates, all of them different, leading to sex, or not, and using these things to examine the human condition. Some are quite straightforward: Lance doesn't end up having sex, firstly because he's with a bottom and secondly because he's with a rather I likeable, laddish closet dweller. Freddie is pursued by a girl with a fetish for men who sleep with other men, something not uncommon. And Dean, being Dean, has a very kinky time, thereby wrecking someone else's relationship.

Most movingly, though, this is about Cleo and, of course, Henry. Cleo is tentatively trying to explore sex with an old friend for the first time since having her vagina reconstructed. She gets a moving monologue about how the births of two children have made her vagina fall apart, and how for years the medical profession has not cared; there's a quietly and rightly angry point here about how little society cares about women's sexual pleasure. Henry, meanwhile, has a nice date with a top but pulls all sorts of tricks to avoid sex. Finally, following a chance meeting with Leigh (AJ from EastEnders) in a fast food place in the small hours, he finally gets to confess his neuroses about sex; it's implied here that his fear of sex is bound up, him being the age he is, with the fear of AIDS which must have so affected his youth. There's a real gap here between Henry's generation and the young people with whom he lives. Rather sweetly, though, it looks as though he's got himself a new boyfriend.

This is an extraordinary episode which really pays off the groundwork leading up to this. I hope the four remaining episodes can somehow match this.

Cucumber: Episode 3

"You're a prostitute!"

"Yes. How much money do you make?"

Three episodes in, and the clever little tropes and writerly tricks are coming more and more into focus. There's the repeated use of Henry perving at blokes in the supermarket as a framing device, for one. And there's the way Freddie gets written here; up until now, and even early in this episode, he's this beautiful, arrogant, unattainable Wildean aesthete without any of the money, but we get the truth here; he was abused regularly as a schoolboy by his teacher, Gregory, now a father of two. There are scenes dancing around blackmail, and at the centre is a pop art style wall decoration relating this abuse as an erotic comic strip so that, literally as well as metaphorically, the past of abuse hangs over the narrative.

It is Henry who urges Freddie to expose Gregory, disgusted at the abuse of a schoolboy the age of his fifteen year old nephew. Yet Henry is directing this very same nephew in pornographic "vlogs" in a clear parallel. It's complicated.

Elsewhere, Lance continues in his chase of semi-closeted gay homophobe Daniel, an interesting character, and the swimming pool scene is superbly written. Lance is an interesting character: in control when it comes to Henry but definitely not in the driving seat when it comes to Daniel.

I still think he and Henry will get back together. But there's a long way to go...

Cucumber: Episode 2

"Uncle Lance says you never take it up the bum!"

This episode is perhaps a little shorter on the flashes of brilliance than the last one, but it is again a joy to experience Russell T Davies' writing again. The theme of the week is clear, and stated at the start with the "Henry test" of looking at your partner's last twenty texts- what are the boundaries of faithfulness? At what point does lust for another person, or flirting, make you unfaithful to your partner? Are Henry and Lance still together? This is awkwardly ambiguous. Yet for the younger crowd of Dean and Freddie such ambiguity is happily accepted.

There is a gap between Henry's young hosts in terms of both age and social class- but perhaps we should not separate the two, in our age of austerity which is aimed at the young. It isHenry's  generation which has the property and the good jobs. Perhaps this explains Freddue's more-or-less open contempt.

Oh, and I was wrong about Danny, Lance's friend with the casual homophobia; he's clearly gay and repressed, and Lance clearly likes him.

This episode is just as funny as the last one, and most of the best humour revolves around Henry's sister Cleo,who is fantastic and behaves like a real person. Her reactions to Henry's plight are nuanced and not as one would expect from a character in a drama.

RTD is brilliant at how he shows characterisation- the dialogue, the use of modern social media in TV drama and, of course, people not communicating properly with each other- the main theme of this series. It's all very Marshall McLuhan; the medium is the message.

Cucumber: Episode 1

"It's not my fault they went and invented it."

I'm conscious that the only Russell T Davies scripts I've ever blogged have been Doctor Who. So I should say, for the sake of balance, that I've seen (and enjoyed) Casanova and The Second Coming and, indeed, Dark Season. I haven't, however, seen Queer as Folk which, I suspects, puts me at a slight disadvantage in that I cannot discuss Cucumber in relation to it.

Meh. Anyway, this is RTD's much-heralded "More Gay Men" project, a return to a style of drama grounded in relationships and human miscommunication rather than the science fiction he's written in the recent past. And it is, of course, brilliant. I'd forgotten how much I love his style; the lightness of touch as a means to approach heavy themes, and his signature brilliant dialogue. RTD once explained to Charlie Brooker that his characters, like real people, never quite listen to what the other person is saying; dialogue should not get "ping pong". He practises what he preaches to brilliant effect here as Sunil gets a distracted Henry to let him copy that fateful essay.

But let's step back a bit. Henry is 46, comically grumpy and in a more or less sexless relationship with Lance. He represents the older generation of gay men, who have had to struggle with AIDS and a more overt homophobia, and to whom recent advances like equal marriage are somewhat bewildering. In contrast we have the much younger Dean, who has things much easier in terms of both social attitudes and easy sex.

This is the story, more or less, of how Henry's life fall apart so in the space of twenty-four hours. It looks as though he's lost his relationship and his career, in both cases through an awkward failure to communicate clearly. This basic plot plays out with plenty of wit and hilarity to distract us, as always, from the pessimism about the human condition that always lies beneath RTD's work. 

Vincent Franklin deserves praise for making the prickly and waspish Henry likeable enough to work as a protagonist yet believable for us to despair at his attitudes. Perhaps his attitude has been shaped by his life, though; he's clearly not comfortable with the idea that he can now get married, he's only half joking in his ambivalence to other gay men, and he's never gone all out and had full penetrative sex. He still has one foot in the more repressive era of his youth, days of Section 28 and homophobic tabloids.

And yet we also get funny scenes like the neighbour politely asking him not to wank  where her children can see, and the man with yellow spunk. And yet both of these turn out to be tinged with tragedy.

I'm looking forward to next week. I don't pretend to be any more plugged into gay culture than the next Guardian reading heterosexual liberal, but I'm enjoying this as a drama that is both fun and has something to say. I've missed RTD.