Molly (Michelle Williams) is in couples therapy with her husband, Steve (Jay Duplass) -- their sex life has been dormant for years -- when she gets a call from her doctor's office. Her breast cancer is back, and now it's Stage IV. With the phone still to her ear, Molly is confronted with a vision of herself at seven years old (Annabelle Toomey); the little girl is dancing around the room in a pink ballet leotard and jeering at her adult counterpart. As Molly recounts later to her best friend, Nikki (Jenny Slate), "She knew what I'd done with my life, and she was mad about it."
That anger -- at herself, at cancer, at the man who molested her when she was seven -- spurs Molly to devote her remaining days to a single, as-yet-unfulfilled goal: Having an orgasm with a partner. It's a premise that's ripe with dark and dirty comedy potential, but this limited series from Kim Rosenstock (GLOW) and Elizabeth Merriweather (New Girl) has more on its mind than just raunch. Inspired by the true story of Molly Kochan and the titular podcast she hosted with Nikki Boyer, Dying for Sex is a heartbreaking (and at times, very horny) story about female friendship, self-actualization, and the realization that it's never too late to heal.
After the call from Dr. Pankowitz (Succession's David Rasche), Molly takes immediate action: She leaves Steve, moves in with Nikki, and joins a dating app. As the reality of her prognosis sets in -- chemo and drugs to trigger early menopause will give her five years, at best -- Molly greets the avalanche of penis pics in her inbox, and the men who sent them, as a welcome distraction. Cancer is her tormentor, but also her liberator; she no longer has time for self-consciousness as she hustles through hookup after hookup, searching for whatever it is that turns her on. "You're going to be dead in less than five years, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters," she tells herself while ogling a hot guy in a hotel elevator. "Talk to him."
As its title suggests, the eight-episode series (premiering April 4 on Hulu) does not skimp on the sexcapades. In her quest for erotic satisfaction, Molly attends a "play party," gets to know a man (Conrad Ricamora) who likes to wear a dog costume and act like her pet, and embarks on a humiliation-based, dominant-and-submissive relationship with her neighbor (Rob Delaney). Sometimes, the writers lean a little too hard on the sitcommy wackiness of these sexcapades -- Molly doesn't know how to unlock a cock cage, LOL! -- which saps a lot of comedy from the cringe.
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But Molly's "sex quest," as Steve calls it, often intersects with her medical care in provocative ways. During one appointment, Molly asks Dr. Pankowitz if there's anything she can do to help with her vaginal dryness. Shifting uncomfortably, the doctor asks Molly's palliative care counselor, Sonya (Esco Jouléy), to field that question, because "it's a mental health issue." Annoyed, Nikki interrupts: "How is having a dry vagina a mental health issue?" Molly is not just a cancer patient; she's a female cancer patient who's reliant on the male-dominated healthcare industry. Her goal -- achieving that elusive orgasm -- is Molly's way of taking charge of her life, and ultimately, her death.
Dying for Sex is at its most effective when it allows the subtext of Molly's desires to take center stage. Having been robbed of control by the man who molested her as a child, adult Molly finds herself drawn to "topping" -- being the dominant partner in a dom/sub relationship. Hoping to get some pointers from G. (Robby Hoffman), a top she met through Sonya, Molly instead gets a lesson in the importance and power of her own vulnerability. It may sound strange, but this scene -- in which G. and Molly engage in some gentle BDSM in the stockroom of a home goods store -- was one of the most moving things I've watched all year.
Much as the real-life Molly and Nikki did in their 2020 podcast, Dying for Sex combats the bleakness of Molly's prognosis with gallows humor. "You look so nice! If you're dying, why are you f---ing weirdly vibing right now?" demands a tearful Nikki. "Like, glowing from within?" Slate, who is fast becoming Hollywood's go-to for "effortlessly funny, fiercely loyal best friend" roles, provides much of Dying's comic relief -- whether Nikki is apologizing for an outburst in the hospital ("I won't grab my butt at any other doctors") or acting out Clueless in its entirety to entertain a bedridden Molly. The actress also brings an affecting weight to Nikki's own transition from BFF to beloved full-time caretaker -- a role that is as sacred as it is sacrificial.
The superb cast helps Dying for Sex overcome its jokier excesses. Jouléy is warm, grounded, and dryly funny as Sonya, and Rasche brings a befuddled sweetness to Dr. Pankowitz. Delaney manages neighbor guy's evolution from boorish slob to kind-hearted lover with ease, and Hoffman radiates a cool charisma as G. Sissy Spacek is predictably wonderful as Molly's mother Gail, whose guilt over her daughter's molestation led to a years-long estrangement. A special shout-out to casting directors Jeanie Bacharach and Jessica Daniels, who pack the ensemble with standouts down to the smallest role. (Paula Pell as an incongruously chipper hospice nurse! Margaret Cho as Molly's cancer support-group buddy! Zack Robidas as the cock-cage aficionado!)
Williams doesn't have a lot of comedy on her resume, and she isn't the obvious choice to play the sardonic, slightly chaotic Molly. But Molly's humor -- much of which is communicated through inner-monologue voiceover -- is steeped in anger, pain, and grief, all of which Williams commands with the mastery of a five-time Oscar nominee. When the inevitable comes for Molly (pun intended), it is devastating and beautiful.
With only eight half-hour episodes, Dying for Sex is a quick -- I hesitate to say "easy" -- binge. At the risk of being sent to TV Critic jail, I'll admit that I wanted the episodes to be a little bit longer, to allow the series' many thoughtful themes more room to breathe. Even in a smaller package, though, Dying for Sex has the tools to leave you satisfied, and completely (emotionally) spent. Grade: B+