As the groundbreaking Will & Grace takes its final bow on May 18, IN Los Angeles looks back on the highs, the lows, the frequent guest stars, the naughty gags, and the legacy this important show leaves behind.

By Ken Knox

It began with a simple enough idea. On the heels of the success of the 1997 Julia Roberts comeback vehicle My Best Friend's Wedding, David Kohan and Max Mutchnick–two former writers of The Wonder Years–pitched an idea to NBC execs about a classic love story between a man and a woman. There was just one twist: The man would be gay. The rest, as they say, is history.

Will & Grace debuted in the fall of 1998, with Canadian newcomer Eric McCormack cast as Will, a single gay lawyer who takes in his ex-girlfriend-turned-“fag hag” Grace (Ned & Stacey's Debra Messing) when she breaks up with her boyfriend. With two scene-stealing sidekicks (Sean Hayes as Will's flamboyant best friend Jack and Megan Mullally as Grace's perennially under-the-influence assistant Karen) to offer support, the show admittedly mirrored the basic scenarios of traditionally hetero-leaning hits like Mad About You and I Love Lucy, but its gay sensibilities were unmistakable.

The show was not an instant hit. Nor was Will's sexuality placed front and center in the promo spots for the show before it debuted, since NBC wasn't sure how to package a sitcom with a gay male lead. Of course, the show would go on to become one of the network's top-rated shows, securing its subsequent move from Tuesdays to NBC's more high-profile Must-See Thursday line-up in 1999, when it won the People's Choice Award for Favorite Television Comedy (tying, ahem, with the short-lived Christina Applegate vehicle Jessie) and scored its first Emmy nomination (for director Jim Burrows). The following year, it won three Emmys: best comedy series, supporting actor (Sean Hayes), and supporting actress (Megan Mullally), and would eventually go on to win many more.

At its best, Will & Grace tapped into not only the pop culture zeitgeist, but also the progressively liberal sensibilities emerging during the Clinton administration and the gay liberation movement–which often seemed to go hand in hand–of the 1990s. Meanwhile, its subversive tweaking of the classic TV duo was not the only thing twisted about the show. Like Seinfeld, W&G presented a fearsome foursome of vainly neurotic characters whose incessant narcissism bordered on the psychotic, but whose dedication to each other was unquestionable. Raunchy jokes about alcoholism, drug abuse, fellatio, anal sex and lesbianism were delivered flippantly and casually with no apology, while more serious issues such as HIV and AIDS were dealt with sparingly, and even then only through the show's endearingly warped sense of humor–which came courtesy of some of the snappiest, bitchiest and most clever writing found on a modern-day sitcom and delivered, with brilliant aplomb, by the immensely talented cast.

At its worst, Will & Grace served as a painful reminder of just how far the gay community has to go before we are truly embraced by the mainstream—Will wasn't given a boyfriend until the show's seventh year!—and devolved in its last few years into a smug, self-satisfied parody of itself. An endless onslaught of stunt guest appearances by Hollywood notables (Kevin Bacon, Cher, Macaulay Culkin, Demi Moore, Luke Perry, Britney Spears, Madonna, et al, ad nauseam) stole the focus from the central foursome, who went from lovably self-centered narcissists to almost irredeemably callous malcontents in seasons five and six. The show began to turn itself back around in the second half of season seven by returning to its roots and restoring some much-needed heart and soul to the characters. This final season, while not quite on par with the razor-sharp wit of seasons two, three and four, has at least let Will, Grace, Jack and Karen go out with a good bit of dignity.

Many have dismissed the show for perpetuating stereotypical notions of the gay community, and accused the producers of cozying up to the mainstream. And while to a certain extent those summations would be right, to focus on such criticisms would be to ignore an important milestone in the visibility of gays and lesbians in the mainstream. Will & Grace was not perfect, but then again, what show ever has been? Even Seinfeld had its darker days. W&G put openly, unapologetically gay characters into the living rooms of Middle America week after week for eight years. No matter what the show's detractors might say, that is something for the producers to be proud of–and for us to recognize and honor. To condemn those characters for being too gay (read: queeny) only reveals our community's ongoing struggle with internalized homophobia. Don't we all know characters like Will and Jack, and don't we still call them our friends?

It's a bit naïve to think that any sitcom could change the world; it's also unfair for us to heap our hopes and dreams for social acceptance onto the shoulders of a show that had its own agenda–which was just to have fun. And if there's one thing that can be said about Will & Grace, it's that for eight years the show was definitely a whole helluva lotta fun.

And really, in the long run, isn't that a big part of what being gay is all about?