Gloriously camp: new sitcom Vicious with Ian McKellen and Derek Jacobi

Growing up in the 1980s I was desperate for any glimpse of gayness on television. I still remember every thrillingly uncomfortable landmark from Colin and Barry scandalising the square in EastEnders to THAT kiss in Brookside. I longed to see two people of the same sex do the things I feverishly imagined but was in such denial about.

Since then we’ve had Queer as Folk, Will & Grace, Gimme, Gimme, Gimme and it seems every character in Hollyoaks is L, G, B or T. Glee is a delightful jazz-hands mash-up of sexualities and genders with jocks and geeks all getting along and getting it on. Television would appear to have come out with the rest of our culture. Yet, as Vicious shows, the closet is not entirely empty.

In this sitcom we have two old queens, Ian McKellen and Derek Jacobi, playing two old queens, Freddie and Stuart. Freddie is a washed-up aaa-ctor voted 10th Best Doctor Who Baddie Ever. Stuart is his “friend”. Together for “48 hideous years”, they are locked in a battle of wits. If camp was a currency they’d be billionaires. It’s the sort of perversity ITV might have made a documentary about when these two started their careers but it’s now a six-part prime-time sitcom. This is progress.

Freddie and Stuart like to think they’re Wildean. On their way to a screening of Freddie’s one big TV moment he asks Stuart, “What can I do to look younger?” After a suitably theatrical pause, Stuart snaps: “Don’t go.” Vicious in name and nature the script minces from barb to snark. “I never know when I am going too far,” says Freddie. “But I am so glad when I do.” Both Sirs are clearly having a gay old time — you sense them sniggering off-set and when the jokes turn to Freddie’s failed acting both stars struggle to suppress smiles.

Like Blanche DuBois they live in shaded darkness, the curtains are always closed and the lamps are low. The interior is grannified with doilies and the mantelpiece is lined with urns full of the ashes of pet pooches past. But it’s not a mausoleum — it’s a slightly dusty monument to a life lived together. Freddie and Stuart are a success as a couple and this is the unquestioned foundation for all the comedy. There is always tea in the pot or vodka in the bottle for the constant stream of callers. Violet is the compulsory fag hag — it’s just possible Frances de la Tour isn’t having to reach too far in this role. Clad in devoré velvet, she purrs and growls delightfully, giving both her boys the audience they crave. “Everyone’s very proud of their vaginas now,” she says, cougarishly. The literal and metaphorical straight man in all of this is Ash, a leather-jacketed young man who rents a flat in the building they all share. Wide-eyed, dark-haired and new in town, he exerts a heavy Northern charm.

When Ash throws the curtains open Freddie and Stuart recoil from the light like vampires. Here is the real source of the comedy: ageing. Freddie and Stuart fear wrinkling just as much as Violet. They visit a trendy department store and Freddie says: “These young people make me nervous … skittering about like mice, desperate to get back on to the internet.” Violet wonders if Zac Efron is a person or a place. They are, as we all should be, bemused by the existence of Peaches Geldof. One day in the future we won’t know our lolz from our legbomb.

Vicious successfully pioneers new ground with an old format. Without Mark Ravenhill as co-creator this show could go seriously wrong.

Critics will say Freddie and Stuart are stereotypes. They’d be right. Violet is too. But like all stereotypes, they have their roots in reality. I have known, and loved, such acid-tongued old queens still not out to their dear mothers, life-long partners still referring to their “friends” and other gay men as “family”. I’ve been the canned laughter at their cocktail parties. They’d hate us for saying it, but they’re our gay grandparents and have much to teach us. They are a product of their time most of which was spent in active combat winning freedoms for the likes of me. It’s no wonder they find it hard to stop fighting.

Showing surprising depth, Ash dumps his girlfriend because, he says, “I want the kind of love Freddie and Stuart have”. Don’t we all? Vicious is a victory if not a total triumph.

Damian Barr’s memoir, Maggie & Me, is published by Bloomsbury. Vicious is on ITV from next Monday at 9pm