‘Dying for Sex’: Michelle Williams Is Horny and Kinky—and Has Cancer

Michelle Williams pees on a man—on purpose, for kinky kicks—in Dying for Sex, and that’s merely one of the many funny ways in which her character copes with impending death.

In response to news that she won’t be surviving her second bout with cancer, Williams’ Molly sets out to explore her sexual horizons—and hopefully achieve a long sought-after orgasm with a partner—in Elizabeth Meriwether and Kim Rosenstock’s funny and heartbreaking series, which premieres Apr. 4 on FX and Hulu. Based on Nikki Boyer’s autobiographical podcast of the same name, it’s a near perfect amalgamation of absurdity and tragedy, and yet another superb showcase for its incredible leading lady.

In couples therapy with husband Steve (Jay Duplass), Molly (Williams) can’t stop thinking about the past lover who orally satisfied her—a memory that’s a respite from talking about how her prior breast cancer diagnosis murdered her sex life with Steve, who “said my bald head made you think about your dad.”

Molly wants to be wanted, but in this moment, what she gets is a phone call from Dr. Pankowitz (David Rasche) informing her that her cancer has returned, this time in her hip. Worse, it’s Stage IV and, having metastasized to her bones, is destined to kill her.

Rocked, Molly heads to a convenience store and buys a two-liter bottle of Good Value Diet Soda (which is apparently as horrid as it sounds) and smokes a cigarette while waiting for her best friend Nikki (Jenny Slate), who’s on her way to rehearsal for a theatrical production involving silly animal and foliage masks.

Molly wastes no time informing Nikki of her dire diagnosis, to which she’s told, “You’re bad at this!” She then watches as Nikki—an irrepressibly loud actress whose “emotions live very close to the surface”—gets into a profane screaming match with the business’ proprietor. Uninterested in having Steve re-emerge to re-assume his preferred caretaker-martyr role, Molly flees to Nikki’s apartment, which she shares with her orchestral percussionist boyfriend Noah (Kelvin Yu) and his tween daughter.

Molly attempts, one final time, to rekindle sparks with Steve, yet he’s a wet blanket who incessantly blames her sexual urges on her childhood trauma, which is almost as annoying as his habit of pronouncing the word as “traww-ma.” Steve is referring to the fact that, as a seven-year-old, Molly was forced by the boyfriend of her mother Gail (Sissy Spacek) to give him a b---job. Though she’s open about this incident, Steve isn’t totally wrong about pinpointing it as a persistent negative factor in her life.

Nonetheless, following her admission to palliative care social worker Sonya (Esco Jouléy) that she wants to have an orgasm with another person for the first time, she realizes the course upon which she wants to embark. She promptly leaves Steve and gets an apartment, with Nikki assuming responsibility for her day-to-day treatment.

Dying for Sex sympathetically considers Molly and her condition while locating the crazy humor in her experiences. Things get considerably sillier when she discovers, thanks to an impromptu interaction, that her slovenly across-the-hall neighbor (Rob Delaney) is game for some BDSM sexplay.

Already entertained and excited by the dating apps which provide her with copious d--- pics, Molly reinvents herself as a dominatrix, not only with strangers but with her neighbor, who despite remaining unnamed until the series’ conclusion becomes a vital new connection in her life. Still, his importance pales in comparison to that of Nikki, whose devotion for Molly is so tremendous that she ultimately detonates her relationship with Noah in order to stick by her side, and whose ferocious (platonic) amour transforms the show into an unconventional love story about the bonds shared by genuine kindred spirits.

Sneaking into a support group for those with less fatal prognoses, Molly giggles over the term “cancer journey” and turns her own into a veritable sex quest, complete with outings to an erotic party thrown by Sonya’s ex, and private sessions with an impressively hung Wall Street guy and another man who likes to dress up as a dog.

Outrageousness of all sorts ensues, including the aforementioned golden shower, with Dying for Sex recognizing that carnality is frequently comedic and that, in order to remain sane, facing the Grim Reaper often necessitates a wry outlook. Rather than pretending that sex is nothing but romance-novel steamy and that dying is just weepie soap-opera mourning and histrionics, Meriwether and Rosenstock routinely find the light amidst Molly’s darkness, and inextricably link them in ways that feel true.

Molly’s story is one of control and powerlessness, and it’s colored with varying shades of joy and fury, hopelessness and contentment, whether it’s focusing on Molly’s weirdo trysts (such as with Saturday Night Live’s Marcello Hernandez, who keeps asking her to “clasp” him in bed) or her childhood abuse at the hands of a man who visits her—whenever she feels love or desire—as a smeary-faced specter.

Molly additionally reconnects with her estranged mom, learns to submit as well as to fight, and recklessly seizes opportunities for happiness. Her sexcapades are both a distraction from her impending demise and a carpe diem means of using what time she has left on life rather than death, and Dying for Sex neither preaches nor unfairly pulls at the heartstrings on its way to her end, capturing the highs, lows, and bittersweet rest of her ordeal.

Alternately despondent and devilish, and rarely without a sense of humor about her circumstances—as when she asks about a young doctor in a Harry Potter hat, “Does he have a permission slip to be here?”—Williams is a marvel in Dying for Sex.

Inhabiting Molly not as a symbol or a device but as a full-bodied woman confronting her fragile mortality, Williams is so great that she elevates everyone around her, including Slate, who makes the headstrong and self-destructive Nikki a witty mess undergoing her own profound crisis. The duo’s chemistry is natural and endearing, and the same goes for Williams’ rapport with Delaney, whose single neighbor offers Molly a surprising last chance at what she wants and needs—which, at one point, involves giving him a swift kick to the groin.

Like that crotch shot, Dying for Sex is equal parts pleasure and pain. Courtesy of Williams’ latest masterful performance, Meriwether and Rosenstock’s series proves a wholly rewarding trip—right up to its sweet and sad climax.