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Depicting a universe first introduced to the mainstream by Madonna’s Vogue and the 1991 documentary

Paris Is Burning, Ryan Murphy’s Pose unpacks the fragility of a kinship forged among the LGBT subculture of New York’s ballrooms—where people from various ‘houses’ compete or ‘walk’ in stylised dance/ fashion ‘balls’, most often involving cross-dressing. The subculture’s argot can be arcane. Fans of Ru Paul’s Drag Race on Netflix will be familiar with slang like ‘shade’ and ‘reading’. But the glib ballroom announcements that begin with ‘The category is…’ will have most viewers scrambling for the Urban Dictionary.

The ballroom houses are alternative families created by house mothers (or fathers) who adopt members and take on the responsibility of their care. In the early 1900s, the scene predominantly featured white men. But Pose is situated in the ’80s, when houses peopled by Blacks and Latinos were becoming legendary, especially in Harlem. The two lead houses in Pose are both run by transvestite women of colour; each house is also a competitive team, and winning in the ballroom is where they stake their claim to their identities. The pathos runs deep. Even as the houses team up to compete, we are constantly pulled away from the spectacle to the constant desire to belong. Whether it is to be a superstar, be accepted as a trans woman in a gay white bar, or simply to be a woman.

Above and over this sometimes-melodramatic canvas hangs the spectre of AIDS. The glamour of the ballroom cedes to the crass indignity of death by an unspeakable disease (referred to as ‘the Virus’ in the show). More serious and moving than Glee, Pose promises to be Murphy’s best work. It is a vital lesson in queer politics and culture, delivered in a smooth package that only occasionally devolves into platitudes.