Inherently, quietly, the series’ characters understand that Brian, like a dinosaur stuck in tar, is trapped in perpetual adolescence. His power over the lad and lassies of Liberty Avenue has diminished significantly over the years. At first, they adored him; his chutzpah left them awestruck. Now he’s somewhat of a joke, a kind of black hole of feeling and responsibility. At one time, the other series characters wanted to be like him, or, at least, to be with him. Not anymore.

Clearly, Brian’s once co-dependent best friend Michael (Hal Sparks) has moved forward in his life with a vengence. While Kinney is still obsessing over his latest conquest, or gnashing his pearly whites over the cock that got away, Michael is enjoying business success, as well as personal fulfillment with a loving spouse, children, true friends, and a savvy, tart-tongued mother.

Two seasons ago, I gave up trying to understand why Justin Taylor (Randy Harrison), Brian’s impossibly cute, extravagantly talented, live-in fuck buddy, puts up with him. Justin could have any gay man in town, including the blonde bombshell that recently rebuffed Brian.

Brian’s love for Justin is “the love that dare not speak its name” for the new millenium. And it hasn’t uttered its name even once since they meet in 2000, when Justin was barely legal. In denial about his feelings for Justin, Brian treats him disgracefully, cruelly, rubbing his nose in his extra-relationship sex-capades. Apparently Justin’s love for this queer Peter Pan is deaf, dumb, and blind.

During Season Three, Justin left Brian Kinney for a musical prodigy, Ethan Gold, played by the incredibly sexy Fabrizio Filippo. If I’d been a Queer as Folk producer, I’d have opted for letting Justin overlook Ethan’s sole sexual indiscretion, staying with this basically amazing, young guy, and creating a life with him. It would have been fun to see Brian lose permanently something of value. As it stands, the only something of value that Brian Kinney has lost permanently is a testicle. The real producers opted to have Ethan Gold’s indiscretion send Justin fleeing back into Brian Kinney’s emotionally abusive arms.

To his credit, Brian comes to the aid of his Queer cohorts in a pinch, but the pinch has to be bloodletting, cataclysmic, before he’s moved to action.

By and large, I still love Queer as Folk, but I’m bored with Brian Kinney. He’s one note--all sizzle, no steak. We’re 76 episodes into this series, and I’ve longed for Brian Kinney to show me something new for at least the past 34 installments. He’s the guy at your reunion who states truthfully, “High school was the best time of my life!” And this is your 20-Year Reunion.

If for Brian, life is still “all about the sex,” then, clearly, sex is not enough to sustain interest in a lead character for five seasons.

Having said my piece, I admit readily, regrettably, that the character of Brian Kinney is true to life. Television characters, both gay and straight, resist change, and, in the real world, people of every sexual orientation, battle against development and growth.

In real life, I’ve met scores of Brian Kinneys. I emphasize met, because I try not to spend much time with them. The Brian Kinneys of the real gay world are do-or-die determined to drag adolescent beliefs and behavior into adulthood, middle age, even into their golden years. The real-life Brian Kinneys are the oldsters who spend more time on a barstool than Cheers’ character Norm Peterson. Speak to a real Brian Kinney, and you learn that he’s at the bar because it’s lonely to be home alone, and, at 52, he still hasn’t anything better to do.

If your brains are in your crotch at 16, then your personal development is probably healthy and normal. Fifteen years later, if your raison d’être is still headquartered between your legs, then, chances are you’re in the Express Lane to Patheticville.

Brian Kinney thinks he lives in Pittsburgh. In truth, his address has been Patheticville for some time now. Pity, he’s the last one on the series to know.

Read recaps of Queer as Folk Season 5

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