Laughter is generally a good thing, but it can become extraordinary when it pierces through the heavy shroud of a dark time, allowing a crack of light into an otherwise black and stuffy room. And this magic, the power of laughter to humanise and humble us, is as clear as crystal in the new Disney+ miniseries Dying for Sex, which is among very few shows that has had me laughing and crying in a single sitting.
Inspired by the real-life story of Molly Kochan, who detailed her journey of sexual exploration following a diagnosis of terminal breast cancer in a Wondery podcast with her best friend Nikki Boyer in 2018, Dying for Sex is somehow all of the following at once: tragic, hilarious, raunchy, moving, relatable, horny, goofy and heartbreaking.
Molly finds out about her stage-4 cancer during a couple’s therapy session with her husband Steve (Jay Duplass), during which we learn he hasn’t wanted to touch his wife in the three years since he became her carer, rather than lover. Portrayed with astounding delicacy by Michelle Williams, Molly – who according to the New York Post flirted with Orthodox Judaism – decides she would rather spend her remaining time under the care of her best friend Nikki than under the sexless gaze of Steve. Because, with the end of Molly’s life now staring her in the eye, the desires she has yet to fulfil become woefully urgent. Among them is to experience an orgasm with another person and, more broadly, begin to explore the libidinous preferences she has long repressed and denied.
With the end of Molly’s life now staring her in the eye, the desires she has yet to fulfil become woefully urgent
Enter Nikki, played by the lovable Jenny Slate, who takes on the administrative burdens of her best friend’s medical care so Molly can indulge her sexual fantasies to the fullest. Molly learns, through engaging with strangers via a kink app, how to use a male chastity device, and that she quite enjoys acting the master to a man pretending to be a puppy. She also discovers the joy of kicking a man where it hurts, thanks to her willing neighbour (Rob Delaney).
Nikki, meanwhile, is an actor with a chaotic, disorganised purse in which various bits of vital paperwork disappear as if into a black hole, but she is the warm, funny and considerate best friend every woman should aspire to have and to be. She is also Jewish (both the character Nikki and Slate), which we learn when Nikki and her sister celebrate the first night of Chanukah in the hallway outside Molly’s flat, waiting for one of Molly’s conga line of sexual guests to vacate the premises.
Nikki is, as Jews so often are, incredibly funny, and though the show certainly reveals Slate’s capacity for depth and empathy, it also highlights her comedic chops – and how effortlessly laughter can exist alongside pain. Slate is very often crying, but she is just as frequently laughing or trying to make Molly laugh. In one particularly dark moment when Molly is lying intubated in a hospital bed, a sleep-deprived Nikki proceeds to perform scenes from Clueless — interspersed, for some reason, with Shakespearian dialogue – to entertain her friend, and then draws various pictures of vulvas wearing hats.
Perhaps the show moved me as much as it did because of the sincerity of this central relationship, for how credible Nikki’s love for her friend feels. But equally affecting is the depiction of unresolved trauma and where it goes when your time is suddenly cut short.
Molly’s repression – sexual and otherwise – goes back to an assault she suffered at seven years old, the grief for which she only really beings to process in this eleventh hour of sexual discovery. To truly find pleasure in sex, she must expedite a healing process that takes many a whole lifetime to achieve, and it is difficult to observe her struggle without mourning how unfair it is that she isn’t afforded the same.
But the result is that even awkward or bizarre sex scenes (no, this is not television to be watched with immediate family members) are fortified with deeper meaning, and the genuinely tragic moments of Dying for Sex are well earned. When bookended by humour, these moments are made all the more poignant and all the more achingly human.
Dying for Sex
Disney Plus
★★★★★
