Oh, Showtime. Oh, bravo, really, well done. I’m not sure how you figured out that all I’ve been dying for in my televisual diet is something where Lizzy Caplan studies human sexuality while wearing alternatingly prim and glamorous 1950s-era outfits. I truly can’t imagine you coming up with a show like Masters of Sex unless you decided to scrap the focus groups altogether and just secretly scan my dreams.
The series allegedly focuses on “William H. Masters and Virginia E. Johnson, a research team who began investigating human sexual responses in 1957 at Washington University in St. Louis,” but we both know it’s going to be a lot more about Lizzy Caplan’s burning yet somehow sarcastic stare, and all the things she understands about carnality that her partner never will. Who even plays the other guy? Doesn’t matter.
Uncle, mercy, I give! I am hopelessly skewered on the hook, all right? Just promise me you’ll go easy on me, I don’t want to come out of the first season writing fan fiction about this stuff. Only give me the gentle illusion that I am maybe cool enough to hang out with Lizzy Caplan, that’s all I ask. Any more might kill me—i.e., your entire demographic. And then who would moderate the Facebook page? Exactly.