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Dying for Sex — An emotionally naked look at matters of mortality

Dying for Sex — An emotionally naked look at matters of mortality
Jenny Slate as Nikki in Dying for Sex. Photo: Sarah Shatz/FX
Noelle Adams
By Noelle Adams
11 Apr 2025
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The best way to describe new comedy drama Dying for Sex, on Disney+, is as something both life and death affirming. Michelle Williams and Jenny Slate star in this adaptation of the sex-positive terminal illness podcast of the same name.

We’re in a new age of media adaptations. Once limited to sourcing material from page and stage, films and series are now being based on Reddit threads, and, more commonly, podcasts. New FX series Dying for Sex (streaming on Disney+ in South Africa and Hulu in some other territories) is one of the latter, using as its foundation the award-winning 2020 Wondery podcast of the same name.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4WAcOJ5bvo

While the television comedy drama flashes a disclaimer about taking certain creative liberties with the true story that inspired it, Dying for Sex is built using the same real-life pieces.

In her early 40s, Molly Kochan (Michelle Williams) learns that the breast cancer she once beat is back and has metastasised. Diagnosed as Stage IV – and facing down statistics like a 15% survival rate after five years – Molly decided to tackle her bucket list. She surprises the people in her life, and audiences as well, with the lead item on that list: an orgasm with another person. So, Molly embarks on a “sex quest”, walking out on a marriage leached of passion, and relying more than ever on her best friend, the ferociously loyal if scatter-brained Nikki Boyer (Jenny Slate).

Dying for Sex likely won’t appeal to everybody. Anyone in need of some colourful escapism from trade wars, government fractures and their own personal stresses won’t find that here.

Dying for Sex doesn’t avoid big, scary life moments, the things you don’t want to think about. Rather, the series barrels through them. In line with real-life Molly and Nikki, the show and its makers (Only Murders in the Building’s Kim Rosenstock and New Girl’s Elizabeth Meriwether) clearly want to provide relief and reassurance through empathetic catharsis. Which they do very successfully.

Michelle Williams as Molly in FX's Dying for Sex. Photo: Sarah Shatz/FX



Jenny Slate as Nikki, Michelle Williams as Molly in FX's Dying for Sex. Photo: Sarah Shatz/FX


Tasteful, but always frank


It’s this yanking back of the curtain, or Band-Aid, that is the show’s greatest strength. Dying for Sex is positive in its depiction of kinks, and tasteful – but always frank – when it comes to its sex scenes.

That said, the sexual content seems primarily present for R-rated comic relief. At one point, Molly finds herself in a dominatrix role, relishing her authority over men such as scruffy-but-sweet Neighbour Guy (Rob Delaney). Dying for Sex is most powerful, though, in the raw, real moments in-between. 

In one instance, Nikki’s resentment towards her loving partner, Noah (Kelvin Yu), overflows because their priorities have become so misaligned. He feels Nikki is neglecting her life in service to Molly, while Nikki can only see a future without her best friend and is repulsed by any time devoted to the mundane before that.

Sissy Spacek also appears as Molly’s mother, representing parental grief and guilt at outliving their child. Rather unsurprisingly, given the material that they get to work with, performances are especially strong in the series, across the board. That said, it’s really up to Williams and Slate to carry the show as, ultimately, a love story between two very different BFFs.

Michelle Williams and Jay Duplass in a scene from Dying for Sex Pictured: (l-r) Michelle Williams as Molly, Jay Duplass as Steve. (Photo: Sarah Shatz / FX)



Jenny Slate as Nikki in Dying for Sex. Photo: Sarah Shatz/FX



Dying for Sex can be an emotionally painful watch owing to its razor-sharp insight, but also beautiful. And funny. In terms of the former, the final stages of death described by a chipper palliative care nurse, and later shown onscreen, are potentially comforting for anyone facing the loss of a loved one from terminal illness. Meanwhile, much more light-hearted are Molly’s efforts to troll the distant relatives who inevitably scurry out of the woodwork once they hear of her diagnosis.

Tonally, Dying for Sex is walking a slackline more than a tightrope. Its first few episodes are particularly jarring, but from that point, the series finds its balance. Or maybe it’s more a case of audiences achieving an understanding of what to expect from the show, which is something unusually both life and death affirming. 

Consisting of just eight episodes, each in the 30–40 minute bracket, Dying for Sex makes for an easy binge watch, even if it isn’t conventional “easy” viewing. Expect tears but also laughs, and then maybe some more tears… but of the good, bittersweet kind. DM



All eight episodes of Dying for Sex are on Disney+ from 4 April.

This article was first published on PFangirl.

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