The Sex on ‘The Idol’ Isn’t Sexy — And That’s the Point

A pop star nonchalantly letting her robe slip so the photographer gets a full shot of her bare breasts. Two strangers impulsively attempt a hookup in a quiet corner of a club. A siren in scarlet lets a man in black into her palace for the night. These are all erotic images that should immediately snap the libido into hyperdrive, but in HBO‘s new drama The Idol, they are played with clinical chill, if not total horror. One episode in and there’s a lot of sex and nudity in The Idol, but none of it is sexy — and that seems to be the point. Lily-Rose Depp‘s pop tart Jocelyn has been taught to sell sex, but to not enjoy it. At least, that’s the case until she meets skeevy nightclub owner Tedros (Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye) and even then, sex seems to be more about currency than connection.

Co-created by Sam Levinson, The Weeknd, and Reza Fahim, The Idol follows international pop icon Jocelyn in the weeks leading up to her long-awaited comeback album. We learn that Jocelyn suffered something of a mental breakdown after the death of her mother and she’s now poised to re-enter the market as a deviant sex goddess. Her first single is aptly titled, “Number One Sinner.” Her choreography is full of thrusts and swoons. Her personal style can best be described as Fredrick’s of Hollywood meets Shein. Everything is perfectly in place until someone leaks a photo of Jocelyn online where her happy face is glossed with semen. Her entourage of hangers-on can’t have that. They can’t sell real orgasmic pleasure, just the impossible fantasy of it.

The first act of The Idol‘s premiere episode hammers home just how much Jocelyn is getting metaphorically fucked over by everyone around her. She is constantly attended to by a swarm of music executives, stylists, journalists, assistants, and other “friends” in her employ. The moment she’s finally left alone for a few minutes, Jocelyn asphyxiates herself with one hand while masturbating with the other. There’s some need, want, or passion there, lurking under her skin, but it’s clearly not being fulfilled.

Enter Tedros Tedros. The rat-tailed underworld king doesn’t seduce Jocelyn with his charisma (as he doesn’t seem to really have any), but rather his candor. He points out that she should be having way more fun. When she plays him her single the next night, Jocelyn explains he’s enough of an asshole to tell her the truth about it. She knows it’s not right. He says it’s because her flat vocal performance doesn’t sell the song’s naughty message. Tedros then pulls Jocelyn’s robe over her head, blinding and asphyxiating her, until he opens up a single hole for her to breathe through with a knife. Now, she can sing.

For months, rumors had been swirling that HBO’s new series would be a depraved “rape fantasy” brought to life. The first episode definitely ends on a sadomasochistic note, but so far it seems to be much more of a warped view of the dehumanization of celebrities. Like the title says, Jocelyn is an idol. She is worshipped from afar, fretted over by those she imbues with power, but ultimately not a true goddess. Jocelyn is still a girl. She is haunted by grief and hungry for connection. It makes her an easy mark for a vampire like Tedros, who can pitch himself as her one true champion in a world of lies.

If anything, the way sex and nudity have been used in The Idol so far highlights the hollowness of both when they come without true passion. Jocelyn’s coldly detached sexy baby act doesn’t ruffle any feathers among her entourage because it’s a safe, shallow imitation of sensuality. Her scenes with Tedros are shot in blood red light or dark shadows to tease that their sex games are a dangerous power play, not real romance. The only time we see Jocelyn embrace pleasure, it’s shameful — a solo act done in private or a PR disaster for those around her. So far, The Idol doesn’t glorify sex so much as it reflects our society’s own discomfort with it.