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Sep 30, 2013 By Chris Tinkham Web Exclusive

Showtime’s new one-hour period drama, Masters of Sex, is a tease. Maybe that’s appropriate for a series that chronicles the scientific research done by William Masters and Virginia Johnson in their pioneering studies of human sexual response. And perhaps the show’s drawn-out plotting and early preoccupation with secondary characters works well for binge watchers. But for viewers who want to stick with the series week-to-week on Showtime this fall, their patience will be tested.

Masters of Sex, set initially in 1956, is a sumptuous-looking production with an enticing selection of veteran performers and relative newcomers. As should be, Michael Sheen (as William) and Lizzy Caplan (as Virginia) are the most alluring presences, with their characters facing complicated dilemmas, personally and professionally, from the outset. Arrogant and tightly wound, William is a respected gynecologist at the Washington University hospital in St. Louis. For years, he’s been passionate about the mysteries of human sexual behavior, but his scientific pursuit in that area has been dissuaded by his mentor and friend, Provost Barton Scully (Beau Bridges). The prospect of such studies, in an era when Elvis’ television performances are inciting an uproar, would be frowned upon and cause for scandal. Barton tells him: “The world isn’t kind to mavericks, Bill. You want to lead an unconventional life? You gotta learn to hide in plain sight.” As a consequence of this view, William conducts his observations of sexual activity by asking prostitutes for permission to peep on them as they attend to their customers.

At the same time, William’s wife, Libby (Caitlin FitzGerald), wants to have a baby but is having difficulty getting pregnant. She believes that she is “barren,” and William lets her think that. But, as we learn from William’s younger colleague, Ethan Haas (Nicholas D’Agosto), who is treating Libby at the hospital, William is “shooting blanks.” Ethan keeps this information from Libby yet spills it to Virginia, with whom he’s having clandestine sexual relations.

Virginia is a progressive-minded, twice-divorced, single mother of two who’s landed a job as a secretary at the hospital. Previously, she sang at a club where her ex-husband was the band leader. Ethan, smitten by Virginia, makes his desire for her known to William. When it’s suggested to William that his studies need a female perspective, he considers taking Virginia on as an assistant, to conduct research and observations at the hospital. They even begin to recruit doctors and nurses there as test subjects.

We’ve seen the dynamic of the pent-up, poker-faced male doctor and the sexually candid patient or assistant in plenty of other works. Recent film titles include A Dangerous Method and Augustine. William repeatedly is accused of being infatuated with Virginia, and some of his proposed research methods seem motivated by this assumption, but neither Virginia nor the viewer is given any other signs. He offers her no smiles, no affection, and little professional encouragement despite her unwavering support and enthusiasm for the work.

Their complicated relationship and the findings in their research are the most enthralling facets of the story through six episodes. But it all develops in fits and starts because the writers are planting seeds for entanglements with other characters down the road. That’s the luxury of television, having peripheral characters weave in and out until they become relevant to the primary drama, and crafting story arcs that allow minor characters to be multidimensional. However, that can be problematic for the viewer watching week to week if each episode doesn’t pack its own punch. Episode three, written by Sam Shaw, seems to do that best. It’s the funniest of the first six, capitalizing on the then-shocking preposterousness of Masters and Johnson’s endeavor, and yet the episode also reveals dark secrets by its end.

Episodes one, three and six all end with dramatic bombshells being dropped, but because the research between William and Virginia is spread so thinly across the first six episodes, it feels as though the show is holding out on viewers. Episode four has a nice, narrative structural twist as well as brief flashback moments to William’s childhood that resonate. However, there are times in the fifth episode where Masters of Sex feels like any other hospital drama with its cast of eccentric characters and intra-office liaisons. And by then, we have William’s mother (Ann Dowd), Provost Scully’s wife (Allison Janney) and daughter (Rose McIver), and Virginia’s ex-husband (Mather Zickel) all brought into the tangled web of relationships. While these characters flesh out the early proceedings, it doesn’t feel as though they’re pushing things forward. A curious sight is the appearance of Mae Whitman for a brief speaking part in episode three, as she does not return over the next three episodes.

Sheen has flourished before in award-winning films such as The Queen and Frost/Nixon, so his command of dramatic self-conflict here is laudable but not surprising. For Caplan, however, this is a breakout vehicle that stretches her talents. She’s been memorable in comedies, both in supporting roles for high-profile titles (Mean Girls) and lead roles for cult favorites (Party Down), but this time her streetwise pluckiness comes with layers of empathy and vulnerability. Of the supporting characters, Caitlin FitzGerald, as Libby, is the one to watch. Early on, her performance comes across as stereotypical of a dutiful wife and maybe a tad off-point emotionally. The show’s writers keep her interesting, though, and her idiosyncrasies begin to make more sense as the character steps to the fore.

There’s a shot near the end of the first episode, directed by John Madden (The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel), where William’s reflection is superimposed on a two-way mirror as he watches Virginia prepare a couple, recruited from the hospital, for lab sex. The image encapsulates how strangely fascinating and visually seductive this series can be if it doesn’t veer too far off this track. For a show whose subject offers artistic license to depict sex and nudity, there doesn’t feel to be a gratuitous amount compared to other Showtime titles such as Californication and Shameless. The first shot of nudity in Masters of Sex occurs about 26 minutes into the first episode, a far better showing of restraint than Homeland‘s first episode. More often, the graphic depictions of sex appear in montages and sometimes for levity. The show could stand to have more humor, especially considering Caplan’s experience in comedy. The social and political climate of the era also could be better established. Although the characters don’t exist in a complete bubble—there are references to Elvis, Peyton Place, Eisenhower, and the Russians—it takes six episodes before we hear Freud’s name, and by then there’s still no mention of Alfred Kinsey.

The creative team behind Masters of Sex clearly seems to be planning for a marathon run. Here’s hoping that the series shows more kick down the entire backstretch, rather than just the last five minutes of each episode.

sho.com/sho/masters-of-sex

Author rating: 7/10