Masters of Sex, Season 1, Episode 9: “Involuntary”
Written by Noelle Valdivia
Directed by Jennifer Getzinger
Airs Sundays at 9pm ET on Showtime
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The most noteworthy aspect of “Involuntary,” as it relates to Masters of Sex‘s long game, is its redemptive take on Estabrooks Masters. As played by the great Ann Dowd, Estabrooks displays a heretofore unseen openness about matters of sex and sexuality that mirrors her son’s, while making clear that she has no illusions about her own failings as a parent. It’s an unexpected but not entirely inorganic character pivot that feels very much in keeping with the series’ fondness for unconventional depictions of period characters.
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That pivot is one of the more successful elements of “Involuntary,” a hit-or-miss hour that offers a handful of strong moments, alongside a few significant missteps. In one key scene, the series’ flaws and virtues are both on full display: Libby’s key confrontation with William, wherein she impresses upon him the need to move beyond their respective failings and soldier on with their marriage in a respectful manner, is stirring and refreshing for its no-nonsense approach – at least at first. But the scene carries on a little too long, straining for a conclusive thesis that, when it arrives (“we’re your echo”), feels awfully labored, no pun intended. The decision not to show us Ethan and Libby conceiving this child – though it’s unclear if there was any actual sex involved – is an odd one, but it points to another serious flaw in the episode.
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While Masters of Sex did a fine job at first of giving us a balanced portrait of Virginia and William, the focus seems to have shifted to William’s favor in a serious way over the last few installments. Sometimes this shift is subtle (notice how it’s not until William looks in the porn shop’s peep show that we are witness to its contents), but other times it’s simply about glaring omission: where did Virginia’s kids go, for instance? Actually, those issues are indicative of another problem Masters of Sex has: it’s presented us with too many characters this season to do them all justice. To its credit, nearly all of these characters have value, but I still often find myself wondering what happened to Walter the handyman, or Betty (AWOL for some time now), or Virnigia’s smarmy ex-husband. It’s better for a series to take on too much than too little, but in this freshman outing, Masters of Sex seems overeager to move onto the next thing when we’re not quite done with what’s already in front of us.
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And yet for all of the speedy narrative structuring and character introductions, here we are, still following Ethan, who this week breaks off his engagement with Vivian Scully and, in a truly groanworthy development, seems to find his way back into Virginia’s good graces. Again, as before: if the ultimate endgame of Ethan’s season arc is to humanize him right before he reverts to his abusive ways, that would be sort of a stroke of genius. But between the scoring and the writing, it really seems like that’s not where things are heading. Simply put: yikes.
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Luckily, to counterbalance that awfulness, we have Helene Yorke doing very fine work as Jane (line reading of the episode: “Well…generally, I…masturbate!”), who articulates some very interesting points about the study this week. Watching the footage of her involuntary reactions during masturbation, she feels a discomfort she has trouble articulating clearly: she feels that by having this footage viewed, she loses somethng essential about her own enjoyment of the act. She loses the sense of interiority. In a sense, Jane is articulating the difficulty of orienting a TV series around sex, as well: so much of the act and the feelings that surround it are beyond easy description or depiction. When Libby rants about how William’s work doesn’t constitute a life, she’s not wrong, but she’s not entirely correct: you can’t build a life around the data, but the data does inform us of some basic, primal truths, and it’s the curse and blessing of Masters of Sex that it gets to approach those truths in the form of a serialized, densely constructed drama. Its search for balance and depth, as a result, is singularly difficult, so it earns a little extra patience.
