‘Dying for Sex’ Review: Cancer Sucks, But Sex Doesn’t Have To
Death is not a particularly sexy or beautiful ordeal, especially when brought on by a terminal illness. Sterile hospital rooms, shapeless gowns and reams of paperwork tend to put a damper on things, not to mention bodily pain. But of course, even in a time that seems defined by doom and gloom, pain is not all there is. Instead, there might be peace, nostalgia, even new appreciation for the world—or, in the case of the new miniseries Dying for Sex, all-consuming horniness.
Created by Elizabeth Meriwether (the woman behind New Girl and The Dropout) and Kim Rosenstock and inspired by the podcast of the same name, Dying for Sex takes a refreshingly novel approach to some very emotional subject matter. When Molly (Michelle Williams) learns that her breast cancer has come back—now Stage IV, metastatic and entirely damning—she doesn’t wilt or resign herself to her fate. No, she decides to grab what’s left of her life by the balls, leaving her wet blanket of a husband Steve (Jay Duplass) in order to embark on a sexpedition. Molly’s never had an orgasm with someone before, and she’s determined to make it happen while getting in touch with sexual desires that have long been dormant. Her unorthodox approach to the end of her life is supported wholeheartedly by her best friend-turned-caretaker Nikki (Jenny Slate) and the hospital’s palliative care social worker Sonya (Esco Jouléy), though Molly’s doctor (David Rasche) is a bit more hesitant and a lot more awkward.
Molly’s sexual coming-of-age is a gradual, fascinating thing to watch unfold. She navigates dating apps and unsatisfying hook-ups before finding a kinky connection with her neighbor across the hall (Rob Delaney). Monogamy and straightforward sex are deeply uninteresting to Molly at this point in her life, and she’s eager to try out all sorts of things. The show never gawks at its characters’ sexual proclivities, promoting a radical acceptance that makes each and every one of Molly’s sexual discoveries exciting.
Michelle Williams is a big part of Dying for Sex’s success in that area too, thanks to her incredibly committed performance. A five-time Oscar nominee, Williams has built an impressive career out of dramatic, artsy and often quite serious roles; this show has her working in an entirely different register, and man does she have the range. Molly is a deeply layered character, a tragic figure with a wickedly dry sense of humor and a sex drive that not even hormone therapy can curb. Williams does it all, tackling light BDSM and puppy play with the same talent that she brought to Manchester by the Sea and Blue Valentine.
The series’ comedy never strikes a wrong note, with Williams and Slate making for a deliriously delightful dynamic duo. You can feel the friends’ shared history in every deadpan jab or inappropriate joke, the show’s humor building on their relationship as much as it’s inviting you to laugh. Slate is an absolute pro when it comes to comedy, and her frenetic delivery works perfectly for Nikki. She’s in over her head caring for Molly, but she loves her so deeply that she’s willing to blow up her entire life to be there for her friend one final time. Nikki’s a mess, Molly’s dying, but somehow their combined chaos creates balance. The bond that the two actresses cultivate is so sweet and warm and true that it practically transcends the written word; they understand each other in a profound way that’s simply a joy to watch.
With such a great female friendship as the backbone of the series, though, Molly’s difficult relationship with her mother Gail (Sissy Spacek) makes for a frustrating bump in the road. The two women are essentially estranged; one of Gail’s boyfriends molested Molly when she was a child, and Molly wants her mom far away from her in life and death. Spacek only appears in two out of the eight episodes, so this very intense family history comes to a head in a very short span of time. Molly’s trauma creeps in inconsistently as well, taking the form of a man with a blurry face who haunts her intermittently. It’s the show’s only real visual trick, making these moments stick out even more. This troubled past informs Molly’s sex life in the present, allowing for emotional conversations and realizations, but the execution makes for one of Dying for Sex’s only missteps.
The series on the whole is quite special, and cheesy as it may sound, it will make you laugh just as much as it will make you cry. Dying for Sex is an ode to love in all of its weird, messy and slightly gross forms, from a friend who brings vibrators to your hospital bed to a man who gets off by being kicked in the dick. It’s brave and it’s brash, tackling death with vivacity and wit while depicting intimacy in new and vital ways. It’s beautiful, it’s hilarious, it’s sexy—it’s a must watch.