It’s quietly revolutionary in its portrayal of gay/straight friendship, it’s as funny as it is emotional, and watching it will give you the opportunity to say ‘ah yes, I remember one of his earliest shows’ in a few decades’ time when Rooke is picking up his Lifetime Achievement gong at the BAFTAs. You don’t remember Gamu? Tough!Ī Corrie episode prompted me to come out as gay to my family after three yearsīut Heartstopper’s success proved the sky’s the limit for the popularity of LGBTQ+ projects, and so I sincerely urge – nay demand – anyone who has yet to investigate Big Boys to go and give it a spin on All4.
Still, though, it’s a gay-led show, and make no mistake: Big Boys is gay as hell.įrom the casual use of the phrase ‘sloppy bottom’ to the magnificently niche pop culture references (Konnie Huq’s stint on The Xtra Factor here, the drama of Paul Cattermole’s S Club 7 exit there), it’s full of queer excellence – Jack may need pal Yemi (a brilliant OIisa Odele) to go over some of the basics, but beyond that, nothing is over-explained or feels watered down for a mainstream audience. Shout-out also to anyone who was ecstatic to see Hollyoaks super-villain-for-the-ages Rhiannon ‘Summer Ranger’ Clements popping up as Mad Debs. The supporting cast is just as fab: Camille Coduri plays mum Peggy beautifully, Harriet Webb as cousin Shannon delivers the best Harvester order ever seen on television, Katy Wix is just the right amount of cringe as student union officer Jules, and Izuka Hoyle makes Corinne the kind of perceptive pal every struggling young person needs. Rooke writes him perfectly, and without giving anything away, Pointing’s performance actually had me in full-blown tears on more than one occasion. Here, though, we have the much lesser-seen ‘straight male best friend’ – and not since Maxxie and Anwar on Skins do I remember being so invested in such a partnership outside of the soaps.įrom the casual use of the phrase ‘sloppy bottom’ to the magnificently niche pop culture references, it’s full of queer excellenceĪnd Danny is far from a two-dimensional stereotype – in fact, by the end of the series, he’s brought just as much heart and inner turmoil to proceedings as Jack. Lots has been said over the years about the age-old ‘gay best friend’ trope and when that trope has been subverted (by a gay male lead having a straight best friend), the best friend is often a straight cis female.
It’s quietly revolutionary: despite initially seeming like your typical womanising, lager-guzzling, ‘oosh-oosh-oosh’-ing lad’s lad, Danny has precisely zero problem with Jack’s orientation and is soon his No1 cheerleader – gamely supporting him through his gay awakening, escorting him to one of his first hook-ups, and learning all the words of the LGBTQIA acronym before even he does. But what really makes the show sing and truly unmissable telly is its central friendship the one between Jack and his new straight housemate Danny (Jon Pointing).
Getting to grips with his sexuality is a key part of his story, from questioning whether he’s letting his late dad down to receiving helpful guidance on the benefits of a butt plug. He also, notably, has a fish named after his favourite journalist – Alison Hammond.
Created, written and narrated by comedian Jack Rooke, it’s the semi-autobiographical story of a university fresher in the early-2010s (played by Derry Girls’ Dylan Llewellyn) moving out, coming of age and dealing with a close family bereavement.