The Astonishing ‘Fellow Travelers’ Is Pornographic Prestige

Remember when the phrase “prestige TV” meant something? It wasn’t all that long ago that we all turned into HBO and AMC each week to watch serial television at its highest form—less than a decade, if you think about it. The rise of the streamers briefly fooled us all with their instant gratification and wildly expensive series, suggesting that great new television would forevermore be only the touch of a button away.

What a crock of shit. Streamers played audiences like a fiddle, and our greed for more of the best, in turn, increased demand. Long story short: There are now countless series dressed up to look like prestige television—most with a few big names and little-to-no pizazz—and few actual examples of work worthy of the title. I haven’t seen a single series all year legitimately deserving of that moniker (though I’ve certainly seen a few that have been gussied up to fool viewers with a less discerning eye).

That is, until now. Showtime’s Fellow Travelers—which begins streaming on Paramount+ Oct. 27 before airing on the network Oct. 29—heralds a new day, a bright sun rising over the wreckage of canceled and flailing television shows littering networks and streamers. The series, which follows two U.S. government employees (played with magnificent aplomb by Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey) who enter a torrid relationship amid 1950s McCarthyism, stands to briefly revive the golden age of TV. And it’s for one damn good reason: sex.

Fellow Travelers is the kind of fiercely horny television that used to be a tentpole of pay-per-view network programming. But it’s not just the sex that makes Fellow Travelers so great. It’s also the show’s ability to use wildly erotic fornication as a tool to increase its emotional resonance. The eight-episode limited series looks and feels like classic prestige TV, earning all eight hours of its runtime thanks to cunning writing, terrific editing, and some of the best lead performances of the year. This is can’t-miss television, brought back from its shallow grave.

You’d be excused from wincing at the opening of the show, which establishes that it’s straddling two timelines: one in the ’50s, the other in the ’80s. That conceit has been worn to the bone as of late, tarnishing many a series’ promise by jumping around periods without properly fleshing any of them out. But Fellow Travelers uses this device sparingly and to great effect, introducing us to Hawkins Fuller (Bomer) and Tim Laughlin (Bailey) as they meet for the first time, then giving viewers an idea of where the show will take them by its end. The answer isn’t so easy to take, given that the show portrays Hawkins and Tim as their relationship exists through the Lavender Scare up until the HIV/AIDS epidemic of the late-twentieth century. But Fellow Travelers isn’t so interested in lighthearted fare.

That doesn’t, however, mean that there aren’t plenty of feel-good (and, often, feel-uncomfortably-warm-throughout-your-entire-body) moments. This is a love story, one that adapts Thomas Mallon’s 2007 novel of the same name in a way that makes plenty of space for intimacy. The nuance is evident when Hawkins and Tim meet at an election night party in 1952, celebrating Eisenhower’s win. Bomer and Bailey’s electric chemistry bursts from their first glance, as if Mallon’s descriptions of his character mannerisms have been carefully written into each episode’s teleplay. As if the series’ gorgeous first 10 minutes aren’t enough to hook audiences, the remaining 52 should do the job nicely.

When Hawkins spots Tim on a park bench in Washington, D.C., not long after election night, the two take their sparks to a flame in a matter of minutes. Hawkins, a decorated war veteran and covert homosexual, knows his own kind when he sees it. Tim—a good Catholic boy—is less forthcoming, trying to mask his romantic proclivities under the guise of his plucky do-gooder attitude. He’s come to Washington to land a job in politics after working on Eisenhower’s New York campaign, and it’s not long until he’s got a place in Senator Joseph McCarthy’s (Chris Bauer) office after Hawkins pulls some strings.

This, of course, means that Tim is technically working against his own best interest as a gay man toiling under McCarthy’s mission to root out “sexual deviants” in government jobs, lest their “sensitive” disposition make them subject to Communist influence. It also means that Hawkins has a man on the inside, that’s able to dig up a little dirt for his own boss, a Democratic senator opposing McCarthy’s agenda. Hawkins’ clever maneuvering means that he’s got plenty of reasons to meet up with Tim again, a promise he makes before leaving their meeting in the park: “I’ll spend the afternoon picturing you kneeling in prayer.”

If that kind of sexually charged dialogue, delivered by Bomer with the suave expertise that only an actor who is actually gay could truly pull off, wasn’t enough to make the hair stand up on your arms, buckle up. The sex scenes in Fellow Travelers aren’t just steamy; they’re medium-core porn. This series will infuriate those engaged in the sex scene discourse of late, and all for the better—that’s exactly the outrage the show is trying to recall. Sex between two men at this time should feel illicit and exciting, the kind of pent-up intimacy that comes when two people can only be themselves behind closed doors. And yes, that includes foot-sucking, bareback-fucking, and relentlessly raunchy dialogue. Finally, some scripted television with a little realism!

But something Fellow Travelers does so well is ensuring that it’s not merely explicit for explicitness sake. There is true, recognizable intimacy between these characters, which is what makes their developing, prohibited relationship so engrossing. I can spot the unique elements that are embedded within real queer relationships in how Hawkins and Tim interact, with Bailey and Bomer conjuring some of the most unmistakable chemistry of any onscreen pair in recent memory. (And you thought Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper were intense!) And as the threats of McCarthyism draw nearer, the series crafts gripping, interlocking storylines about trading trust for safety at a time where security was merely an illusion.

Equipped with outstanding supporting performances from Allison Williams as Hawkins’ girlfriend-turned-knowing wife and Jelani Alladin as Tim and Hawkins’ similarly clandestine friend Marcus, Fellow Travelers arrives fully self-aware This is a series that understands that, in the dying age of prestige television, it must be irrefutably remarkable to be anything. And while it does occasionally hit some beats seen in series like Pose and It’s A Sin, Fellow Travelers exceeds the more melodramatic elements of those shows by moving with an absorbing self-assurance. Even the series’ most maudlin moments feel necessary to its whole, and that’s something that can be rarely said about TV these days.

Even for all its showmanship and technical prowess—this is one of the few modern shows that deserves to be described as “cinematic”—it’s Bomer and Bailey who make Fellow Travelers such essential viewing. They have a rare kind of alchemy that helps the show transcend its few weaker moments, elevating it to new heights with each stolen glance and affectionate expression. It’s some of the most realistic acting that I’ve ever seen, true tenderness that glows from the screen and straight into your heart. Forgive me for being a bit saccharine, but it’s not everyday you watch something that makes you remember that television can be more than just good. Sometimes, it can be excellent.