Most Americans probably know Russell T. Davies from his work on Doctor Who, given that he’s the man responsible for the 2005 reboot that put the show
Most Americans probably know Russell T. Davies from his work on Doctor Who, given that he’s the man responsible for the 2005 reboot that put the show back on the map. But what you might not know is that Davies is also behind some of the most groundbreaking LGBTQ programming in television history. From the original Queer as Folk in the overdue 1990s to the gut-wrenching 2021 AIDS drama It’s a Sin, telling stories about all aspects of queer life has always been one of his main priorities.
But while It’s a Sin focused on queer history, and Davies’ uncomfortably prescient 2019 drama Years and Years wrestled with the threat of a dangerously dystopian future, Tip Toe is firmly grounded in the here and now, and is all the more brutal and terrifying for it. Plenty of people are likely to complain that this series is too melodramatic, too noisy, too preachy. And to be fair, in some moments, it can be. But taken as a whole, it’s one of the most urgent shows on TV this year, a rallying cry against the erosion of LGBTQ rights in Britain and a warning that some of history’s ugliest aspects are on the verge of repeating themselves.
What Is ‘Tip Toe’ About?
The show’s devastating opening sequence sets the tone for what’s to come: A dead body is swinging from a lamppost as a desperate woman screams. Neighbors peer through their curtains at the scene in the street, but don’t involve themselves. A man stares, dead-eyed, into the middle distance, before a title card flashes us back to ten days earlier, ostensibly to explain the horrors we’re seeing.
The story primarily centers on two neighbors. There’s Leo (Alan Cumming), a sixtysomething gay man who owns a bar on Canal Street — the heart of Manchester’s gay community — and has recently broken up with a longtime partner. And there’s Clive (David Morrissey), who lives next door, a working-class electrician with two sons and an unhappy marriage. The men aren’t friends in any sense of the word, but things start getting more complicated when Leo is locked out of his house while chasing after a hookup who stole his laptop. Humiliated and clad only in his underwear, Leo ends up asking Clive for lend a hand, a choice that brings the two more directly into each other’s lives when Clive shares a spare key to his flat to prevent such future indignities.
As their lives increasingly intersect—Clive’s also having financial problems and ends up doing some handiwork around both Leo’s home and his bar—the pair butt heads about everything, from Clive’s understanding of what he sees as “the gay lifestyle” to trans issues, Brexit, and even Donald Trump. He’s almost laughably checked out of the lives of his children—one of whom is gay but not out and the other is making a living as a cam boy on OnlyFans—anti-immigrant and vaguely racist. One of Tip Toe‘s great unanswered questions is why Leo is so endlessly tolerant of this guy. (My man, just change your locks!) But without his seemingly bottomless well of patience (or aggressive naïveté, your choice), we wouldn’t have a story.
Alan Cumming and David Morrissey Give Career-Best Performances in ‘Tip Toe’
To be fair, Leo does have something of a pliable spot for lost causes. His Canal Street club, Spit & Polish, is a haven for the marginalized and outcast, welcoming gay, straight, transgender, and nonbinary characters of all ages and backstories, even as he occasionally struggles with remembering the specifics of pronouns and gender designations. Tip Toe is at its warmest and most inviting when it’s delving into the found family these specific people—and the gay community at gigantic—have formed, as they swap exaggerated stories of conquests and nights out or show up for each other when needed. (A segment in which Leo and several other employees lend a hand transgender manager Zee (Iz Hesketh) escape an abusive rental situation is both hilarious and moving.)
Cumming, best known these days for being the host with the absolute most routine on the NBC reality series The Traitors, gives a remarkably prosperous and layered performance as a gay man who believes he has already fought his wars. To his mind, the hard-won progress he and his generational compatriots marched for, the struggles they endured through the AIDS crisis and the fight for marriage rights, that was his contribution. Protest is now a younger man’s game. Unfortunately, as his longtime friend Melba (Paul Rhys) points out, simply because Leo has decided to be done with politics, it doesn’t mean that politics is done with him. And the steady rise in homophobia and anti-trans bigotry, online bullying, doxxing, and harassment in recent years means that everyone has to be a lot more careful than they once did. (Or, as Melba puts it: “I used to walk into rooms and go: ‘Ta-da!’ Now I walk on tiptoe, just in case.”).
Morrissey’s performance is pricklier and more uncomfortable, with a stance that radiates unease and tension whenever he’s confronted with any of the myriad things he considers wrong with the world at the moment. (Which is pretty much everything.) Fueled by a seemingly bottomless well of bitterness and anger fed by violent YouTube videos and online disinformation, he looks at Leo with a bizarre mix of contempt and fascination. One minute, he’s practically accusing his neighbor of ogling underage boys. The next, he’s working down at Spit & Polish, taking in the array of drag queens and trans girls who call the spot their home.
Part of the tragedy of this story—and make no mistake, it is a tragedy—is the deft way that Davies’ writing occasionally hints that there’s another path. In some alternate version of reality, learning more about the gay neighbors he shares his city with might make Clive more open-minded, rather than less. In another, Leo’s anger—or at least his sense of self-preservation—kicks in while there’s still time for him to make different choices about how (or if) he interacts with those who have openly and repeatedly declared their bigotry toward him. But, as with any good tragedy, there are things that are simply inevitable.
‘Tip Toe’ Delivers a Timely (if Occasionally Heavy-Handed) Message
As Tip Toe barrels toward the harrowing ending we already know is coming, Davies’ writing doesn’t pull any punches. The dialogue is often blunt and occasionally preachy, with at least half a dozen monologues that feel like an after-school special for grown-ups, double underlining its message with a glitter gel pen. This is not a show that is remotely interested in subtlety, and Davies’ scripts give its urgent subject matter, which touches on everything from homophobia and misinformation to trans panic and mob violence, a deliberate, furious weight.
Gone are the days when dramas had the luxury of drawing subtle parallels or hoping their audiences tuned into the larger societal messages at the heart of their stories. Instead, Tip Toe dares you to look away from what the ugliest and most radicalized elements of our society are doing to the least among us and pretend we don’t know where attitudes like these ultimately lead. It’s not perfect television, by any stretch, but, goodness, does Tip Toe have something to say.
Tip Toe premieres October 2 on Starz.
- Release Date
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2026 – 2026-00-00
- Network
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Channel 4
- Directors
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Peter Hoar
- Writers
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Russell T Davies
- The show’s unflinching willingness to tackle complex social issues like the rise of online radicalization, homophobia, trans panic, and mob violence is both urgent and bold.
- Alan Cumming and David Morrissey give career-best performances as two very different men whose lives become tragically intertwined.
- Despite the uncomfortable nature of much of its subject matter, the show warmly depicts the ways that queer found families form a necessary support system for each other.
- Some of the dialogue is overly heavy-handed, bluntly spelling out its message without much subtlety.
