Lighting Until the End

Terms of Endearment may be the most successful “cancer movie,” as James L. Brooks used the incident of a cancerous disease to explore familial relationships over the course of three decades. It may seem inappropriate to direct criticism at the rise of “cancer dramedies,” which have become more common in the past two decades; however, it's evident that their prevalence has ensured that viewers are fairly knowledgeable about the nuances that come with the diagnosis. Even examples that’re based on true stories tend to fall into repetitive cycles, as it’s often that they mistake authenticity for insight.

Dying for Sex is based on a form of new media that allowed for greater access to its subject’s intimacies. After diagnosed with cancer for the second time in 2015, Molly Kochan (Michelle Williams) began a podcast with her best friend, Nikki Boyer, which detailed the day-to-day reality of a terminal illness. Molly’s podcast, and her subsequent memoir that was released posthumously, were unflinching in their assessment of the philosophy of facing an end of days. However, they were distinguished by her frank discussions regarding the sexual liaisons she conducted within the last months of her life.

This element of raunchiness is likely what made Dying for Sex well-suited for adaptation, as the “hook” of sexual hijinks could attract the attention of an audience that would otherwise show no interest in another morbid examination of fleeting mortality. Given the sharp, modern sensibilities that showrunner Molly Kochan established with her work on the Fox sitcom New Girl, there was potential for Dying for Sex to be the definitive feminist take on this unique subgenre. Williams’ involvement gave Dying for Sex enough star power to generate buzz, and gave the Oscar-nominated actress a juicy role.

The best quality of Dying for Sex is its refusal to be saccharine. Dying for Sex is frank in its depiction of being marked for death at a middle age; Molly’s too young to have lived her life to its fullest potential, but too old for her death to be so abrupt that a support group would bend over backwards to appease her every wish. Molly isn’t granted any freedom, as she’s directed to spend time on the fulfillment of responsibilities, and not the pursuit of any lifelong fantasies.

The burden is put on Molly to determine what she wants, even if her decisions may open her up to criticism. Among her first moves is to separate from her partner, Steve (Jay Duplass), whose hapless, banal attitude is too irritating for her to consistently entertain. The point made by Dying for Sex is an insightful one, as it’s often passiveness that can weigh down a relationship; nonetheless, Duplass’ characterization is monotonous, as Steve’s only inserted at points where Molly must be instigated for narrative reasons.

Williams, one of the best actresses of her generation, is erratic, belligerent, and emotionally deposed as her symptoms become more prevalent. However, the vulnerability of her performance is often at odds with the more elegiac takeaways Dying for Sex is designed to produce. Williams’ depiction of Molly is one of a flawed person, who hasn’t fully considered the effect that her death could have on those that care about her; unfortunately, the repeated suggestion that Molly’s unpredictable misadventures can be laughed off as idiosyncrasies is counterintuitive to the perspective of the series.

Although the pitch of cancer as the inciting incident of a sex romp is creative, Dying for Sex is frustratingly devoid of anything deeper. Much of the series’ second half is centered on Molly’s fling with her obnoxious neighbor, played with hilarious clumsiness by Rob Delaney; although it’s a character that’s never elevated beyond cliche, Delaney’s blunt sense of humor is the perfect antidote to the show’s scattershot slapstick. More interesting is the performance by Sissy Spacek as Molly’s mother, as their reunion prompts an uncomfortable conversation about childhood trauma.

The best of Dying for Sex’s supporting cast is Jenny Slate as Nikki, as the point-of-view of the “best friend” character has rarely been detailed in such depth; although Nikki’s initial branch of kindness is intended to be selfless, her receptiveness to Molly’s newfound agency is confused. Nikki’s desire to conduct her life in a similar way, in which she can prioritize her self-worth, doesn’t reckon with her privileges. Nikki’s dependance on Molly to give her purpose isn’t developed nearly enough, but it's elevated by Slate, in the best performance of her career.

Summing up, the straightforwardness of Dying for Sex as an exercise in realism leaves something to be desired.