In typical Masters of Sex fashion, the double meaning of the initiative that gave this week’s episode, “Surrogates,” its title is spelled out in neon for the slow-witted. “Is that really enough?” asks Libby Masters, regarding her husband Bill’s idea of having volunteers help single patients out with their sexual issues. “A stand-in?” “Some people,” he replies, “that’s all they have.” And we in the audience, who by now are aware that Libby, Bill, and the third corner of their bizarre love triangle Virginia Johnson are all seeking attention outside their primary relationships, nod sagely, or something. But I, for one, am fucking thrilled that they’re all fucking, or on their way to fucking, people other than each other. Freed from one another’s clutches, they’re watchable for the first time in weeks.
I have never regularly reviewed a show I like writing about less than Masters of Sex. I’ve reviewed some bad shows before, as you know — Gotham, Homeland, early Leftovers, early Halt and Catch Fire, True Detective Season 2, and now it looks like Fear the Walking Dead — but they’re at least OVER THE TOP. This is just…well, anyway, this episode was better than most, at least, and I reviewed it for the New York Observer.
Tags: masters of sex, new york observer, reviews, TV, TV reviews
It seems as if some of your frustration with the show comes from wanting it to be something it isn’t . . . it’s not a show about how great sex is! It’s a show about sex as a destructive and dehumanizing force in people’s lives, with Masters & Johnson as the unwitting Pandoras who are unable to escape the negative consequences of opening that box. Titillation is a sin in MoS, for which the characters must pay dearly. They suffer, and everyone around them suffers too . . . which makes sense to me, given the subject matter.
yeah, I want it to be something it isn’t alright: good