How Refreshing to See Female Desire at the Forefront

It’s rare—and refreshing—to see a series that unabashedly celebrates female sexual desire and fulfillment, especially in the shadow of mortality. Hulu’s aptly titled Dying for Sex does just that, delivering a story that’s as bold as it is tender. The series stars Michelle Williams as Molly, a woman whose terminal breast cancer diagnosis sparks a radical and deeply personal sexual awakening. Her tale originates from the true story of podcaster Molly Kochan (1973-2019), her real-life best friend Nikki Boyer, and Molly’s podcast and 2020 book Screw Cancer.

We meet Molly in a therapist’s office, visibly uncomfortable as her husband, Steve (Jay Duplass), drones on about how her cancer treatments have extinguished his sexual desire. His self-pity is grating, his cluelessness striking. When the call comes—Molly’s cancer is back, and it’s not curable—she walks out mid-session and walks out of the marriage, too. Steve may be meticulous about her medical care, but he’s condescending, sexually unfulfilling, and emotionally obtuse. Molly is done.

Enter Nikki (played with warmth and wit by Jenny Slate), Molly’s best friend, who steps up to become her medical proxy and emotional sidekick. What follows is less about bucket lists and more about body reclamation. Molly embarks on a quest to feel alive, to finally have an orgasm, and to hopefully orgasm with another person. She dives into dating apps and finds herself in increasingly absurd encounters—one guy (SNL's Marcello Hernandez!) can't stop saying “clasp,” another won’t remove his puppy costume, even during Molly’s chemo appointments, another wants a strong kick between his legs. These scenes flirt with cliché and sometimes feel too much like a stereotypical parade of "bad date" sketches.

But that’s not where the soul of the story lives.

Molly’s real awakening comes not from the bizarre hookups, but from the way she begins to show up—raw, real, and unguarded—with the people who matter. Her terminal diagnosis activates her life force. She brings new energy and honesty into group therapy, into bravely facing her history of child sexual abuse, into tense conversations with her uptight doctor, into her growing bond with her next-door neighbor (played endearingly by Rob Delaney), into her complex relationship with her mother, Gail (played exquisitely by Sissy Spacek), and into the steady presence of Nikki. The more emotionally present Molly becomes, the more fulfilling—and human—her experiences of sex and intimacy grow.

Yet the series isn’t just about sex. Its deeper revolution lies in its willingness to sit with dying. Our culture often avoids the mess, beauty, and pain of the end of life. But Dying for Sex doesn’t look away. It explores the gritty, mundane, and transcendent aspects of death with rare honesty. While the sex partners may sometimes land like caricatures, the hospice nurse who arrives near the end resonates. She's grounded and heroic—a guide through the most intimate human transition.

In the end, Dying for Sex doesn’t ask us to choose between sex and death. It suggests that both are profound, intertwined aspects of being alive. Viewers might tune in for the racy premise, but they'll stay for the raw beauty of watching someone die with curiosity, courage, and connection. That’s the show’s true bravery.