Based on Greg Cope White’s memoir The Pink Marine, Boots tells the story of Cameron, a bullied, gay high schooler who joins the U.S. Marines alongside his straight best friend, Ray, at a time when being gay in the military could literally destroy your life. What follows is a gripping and heartfelt coming-of-age story set against the unlikeliest backdrop: Marine Corps boot camp.

From the start, I could tell Boots had a different vibe than Cope White’s memoir. The series leans slightly more optimistic than the book’s anxiety-fueled tone, and that choice really works for TV. There’s a sense of camaraderie and tenderness threaded through the tension, which keeps things from feeling relentlessly heavy.

The show also takes some creative liberties, and I think they pay off. I especially loved how Cameron’s internal monologue was visualized. Watching him talk to himself, both literally and metaphorically, gave the audience a window into his mind that felt natural, cinematic, and sometimes funny.

This show’s pilot might be one of the best pilots I’ve seen all year. The pacing is tight, the performances are grounded, and the soundtrack is good. It’s one of those episodes that immediately makes you go, “Okay, I’m in.”

Rossif Sutherland and Kristin Kreuk were great in Murder in a Small Town earlier this year, but Boots introduces a cast that feels brand-new and brimming with energy. I especially loved how the show fleshed out supporting characters like Sullivan, Ochoa, or even Bowman and his twin brother; those storylines add depth and tension to the platoon dynamic. It’s nice that the show isn’t entirely centered on Cameron, because those little side stories make the world feel lived-in. Sullivan’s subplot alone is fascinating and honestly one of my favorite parts of the show.

Another thing Boots really nails is showing how all these recruits come from completely different backgrounds (poor, privileged, lost, idealistic) and how the Marine Corps molds (and breaks) them. The series show a human side of Boot Camp and also expands on perspectives that were only briefly touched on in the book, like Cameron’s mother. I loved seeing more of her story; it adds some emotional texture to Cameron’s journey.

The show dramatizes a lot. In fact, it gives some story points from Cope to other characters in the show; it adds elements that weren’t in the memoir – or maybe restored parts that were too delicate for the page. For most of the season, it feels like Boots is a story about embracing your identity and finding strength in authenticity. But by the finale, the message seems to shift into something more unsettling.

It almost feels like Boots says, “Let’s kill our queerness and serve the very system that rejects us.” Harsh? Maybe. But that’s how it lands. If I hadn’t read The Pink Marine, I’d probably walk away a little frustrated, but knowing Greg Cope White’s real-life story, as told in the book, makes it more complex. He really did serve for six years. The show forces you to sit with that contradiction: the pride of service and the pain of erasure existing side by side.

In the book, Greg strived to belong without losing himself. The show, though, reminds you of the grim reality of being gay in the military at that time – the constant fear, the hiding, the impossible choices. It’s not an easy watch, but it’s a deeply human one.

Even with its imperfections, Boots is a show that stays with you. I loved the tone, the characters, and the killer soundtrack. It’s dramatic, funny, emotional, and more layered than it first appears. And honestly, I’m crossing my fingers for a second season. I’d love to see more of Cope’s life after boot camp, how he survived, who he became, and whether he ever stopped looking over his shoulder.

Boots takes Greg Cope White’s memoir and reimagines it with compassion, style, and tension. It might stumble in its messaging by the end, but it’s still a bold, well-acted, and emotionally charged series that’s well worth watching.

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