It’s a Sin (Spoiler-Free) Review

It’s a Sin, the sensational limited series from Russell T. Davies (the acclaimed showrunner behind the original Queer as Folk and the first four seasons of the modern Doctor Who, among others), chronicles a decade in the lives of several friends (most of whom are gay men – although there is one straight woman in the mix) as they deal with coming of age in London during the AIDS epidemic. When it comes to stories dealing with the horrors of that particular time for gay men, two things are almost always true: first, the story usually takes place in New York or San Francisco, and second, the story is often weighed down by the tragedy of the time.

There’s a good deal of tragedy within It’s a Sin, and you will likely find yourself weeping at several points along the way, but as someone who has seen my fair share of AIDS-centered stories, this one felt different – more lived in, with complex and interesting characters who are given the chance to become multi-dimensional prior to being forced to reckon with the silent killer within their midst. We are given the chance to watch these young men grow and find their way within the gay community, as we meet them all as they leave home for the first time, to go to university or to take on an apprenticeship in the big city. Each searching for something beyond the generally close-minded and closed-off communities they have spent their entire lives within. And, as is so often the case among LGBTQ+ individuals, they create a found family that cracks but never shatters, even as they face their own mortality at far too young of an age.

Getting to spend time with the characters over the course of several years of their lives, before the specter of AIDS begins to cast a shadow over their immediate future, deepens our relationship with them (something that is rather remarkable, seeing as this is only a five episode limited series – yet by episode two you genuinely feel like you know each character and care for them). We know that there is a direct line to be drawn from Roscoe’s (Omari Douglas, equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking) experience getting kicked out by his Nigerian family to his highly campy and bitchy persona – while he certainly delights in his self-expression, he also uses it to prevent himself from having to be vulnerable with others. Colin (Callum Scott Howells, giving a beautiful performance) is an observer and seemingly the most innocent of the lot, but revelations that come about late in the series make his arc all the more powerful.

Then there’s Jill (Lydia West, who is the heart of the series), the straight woman within a group of gay men, tasked with trying to protect them (via protesting government inaction) and keep them safe, often at the expense of having her own independent life. While you know she wouldn’t trade the time spent with those she loves for anything in the world, you can’t help but wonder if she’s become so tightly enmeshed with this group as a means to protect herself from living her own, independent life. Last, but certainly not least, there’s Ritchie (Olly Alexander, the soul of the series), who attacks the world head on, damn the consequences for him or anyone else, while continuing to live in the closet when it comes to his family. If there had to be one central character in the story, it would be him. After all, his mother is played by the excellent Keeley Hawes (The Bodyguard), who gets a sensational arc of her own, so you know he’s meant to be our main character.

The story hits a number of familiar beats – calling out the massive failure of the British government to recognize the danger of AIDS and then provide help for those suffering since it seemed to only impact the marginalized gay community, how families who had often washed their hands of their children when they came out would return to pull them away from those who had loved and supported them once they got sick, and how the diagnosis of AIDS came with an almost certain death sentence in the early years of the virus, causing men to fear getting tested lest they find out their life might be over. But Davies is able to shade the narrative with additional elements that set it apart from similar stories that came before. Simply setting the action in London already creates a removal from the often American-centric AIDS story, showing us how those outside of the epicenter of New York City had difficultly finding information about the virus and how many assumed it couldn’t jump the Atlantic (especially if you avoided sleeping with Americans).

And Davies makes sure not to turn the free-wheeling sexual appetites of several of the show’s characters into indictments of their actions. By creating such rich, layered characters, we can wholly understand the motivations of each as they choose (or choose not to) fully embrace all facets of their sexuality. Just because a character is sexually promiscuous doesn’t mean they deserve to catch a deadly virus. These are young people having fun and exploring their identity – if the story were about straight men doing the same in the 1980s, there wouldn’t be the sort of stigma attached to their actions that is traditionally attached to gay men doing the same. That isn’t to say that Davies doesn’t stress the irresponsibility of a particular character who refuses to learn his status and then continues sleeping around (he absolutely does), but he makes sure to draw the line between showing sex as a fun, crucial part of life and the dangerous actions of blindly continuing to engage in unprotected sexual activity once one thinks they could be infected. It’s a fine line to walk, and Davies handles it masterfully.

Which makes It’s a Sin the perfect example of why representation in film and television matters. As an openly gay may who came of age during the 1980s, Davies is the perfect person to tell this story. He’s gone on record stating that he based elements of the limited series on his own experiences watching close friends die of AIDS, and the character of Jill is closely based on his best friend, Jill Nalder (who happens to play Jill’s mother within the series). There was one particular speech, late in the series, where a character stresses that he wouldn’t trade any of his experiences for anything in the world – that even knowing he would become sick, it was important to remember that his life was more than just the disease that ended it. And that the freewheeling sexual escapades he participated in were fun. It horrifies his mother, who still hasn’t fully come to terms with his sexual orientation, much less that he’s dying of AIDS, but it’s a speech that I could never envision a straight writer putting together. Because in Davies’ capable hands, these characters are fully formed humans, the sum of all their parts, and not just a statistic or a tragic death. And that matters so much to creating a story that resonates and doesn’t just preach to its audience.

It’s a Sin is the rare series where writing, directing (Peter Hoar helmed each installment of the series), and acting come together in perfect harmony. It allows the audience to become fully swept into the tale, embracing the characters and investing in their lives. And it makes their loss even harder to stomach. As the AIDS epidemic continues to fade away into the past, it becomes more and more important to remember and recognize those who lost their lives to this plague – and to remember how ineffective (and downright criminal) governments around the world were in terms of their inaction and refusal to take seriously a disease that seemed to only impact the marginalized in their cities, states, and countries. It’s a Sin does all of that while also asking us to keep in mind that these were real people, who had fun, families, and friends – and that they were all loved and lovable.

It’s a Sin is now streaming on HBO Max.