Masters of Sex - Recap: It Cannot Be Undone

Recap and review of Masters of Sex - Season 2 Episode 7 - Asterion:

Bill Masters (Michael Sheen) is a complicated man. This isn't anything new though. However, "Asterion" takes what should be a fairly straightforward Masters of Sex -- in which we learn the depths to which Bill will go in order to fill the complicated void at his center -- and makes it much more nuanced through the use of a surprising and effective narrative technique.

Yes, this is the "time jump" episode that was rumored to be coming this season, as we skip ahead two years into the future -- not all at once, but gradually -- to see how Bill and Virginia (Lizzy Caplan) are warped by their internecine war with one another. Is it a case of two people who are twisted by the loss of their intimacy with one another, or is it an instance of two people recognizing their true selves through separation from that other person? "Asterion" is staggeringly excellent in its approach, thanks in large part to the seamless nature of the filmmaking behind it, as the show uses subtle scene transitions with more overt alterations signifying the change in time period, such as fashion, scenery, even cars. What we end up with is a feeling of time sneaking up on us -- and sneaking past us before we can catch it. Whether it's Bill going to see prostitutes in a desperate attempt to cure his impotence, whether it's Virginia running into Shelly (Barry Watson) long after their breakup only to realize she remembers virtually nothing about him, or whether it's Libby (Caitlin FitzGerald) finally reaching her breaking point and declaring to Bill that he's far from the only person suffering in this world, this is an impeccable hour of television. Honestly, I'd wager this episode is the best thing Masters of Sex has done so far.

Credit: Showtime

Of course, so much of it is couched in subtlety that I found myself having to go back and rewatch some segments in order to catch something I might have missed. Basically, the story inches forward by months at a time, as Bill now has his own practice in a high-rent building that is doing middling business. On the one hand, Bill is relieved to be free of the restrictions of working in a hospital, as he and Virginia can now freely resume the study. However, in order to do so, Bill had to link his fortunes to that of the study in a very literal sense: in order to obtain the loan to open his practice, Bill had to put up his home and all his other worldly assets as collateral. This, despite a shakier home life than ever before: over the course of the time jump, Libby and Bill have a daughter because a second child (or, rather, "a real family") is something Libby tells Bill she badly wants and needs. It's clear that Bill doesn't want another child, but it's almost as if the dissolution of his sexual relationship with Virginia -- which has apparently robbed him of his virility as well, due to the psychological trauma -- has caused him to just quit fighting Libby on these matters. So it's no surprise that Libby is every bit as lonely herself, prompting her to reach out to Bill's mother Essee (Ann Dowd), who's essentially become her only friend.

As an attempt at atonement, Essee tries to offer Bill the money he needs to pay back the loan before his house goes into foreclosure, leading to a stunning back-and-forth argument between Bill and Libby about their tattered marriage. For Bill, the money simply cannot be accepted, not only because it's not only a poor substitute for the love and care his mother should have shown him as a child, but also because it's an affront to his status as breadwinner. When Libby argues that Essee is simply trying to keep a roof over their heads, Bill goes nuclear, shouting, "I provide the roof! I've always provided the roof!" Naturally, this brings Libby to her wits' end, as she lashes out at Bill for taking out his frustrations on the world over some imagined slight. Of course, she doesn't realize that a lot of his bitterness stems from the end of his affair with Virginia, and that he's not so much angry at the world as he is angry at her. And he manifests this bitterness toward Virginia at various points in the two years the episode takes us through. In a purposely cringe-inducing interlude, Bill drunkenly embarrasses Virginia in front of her latest boyfriend by revealing the nature of her "participation" in the study. Later, instead of apologizing to Virginia for the tirade, he mocks her by telling her all the things he wants her to apologize for (it's a very clever monologue, in that Bill is delivering it in such a way as to suggest that he's apologizing for his behavior). Bill gives her grief over all the men who came before and all who will come after, in addition to condemning her for her "fickle heart", as Bill has basically given up all pretense of not being madly obsessed with Virginia. In a lot of ways, this was an MVP episode for Michael Sheen; an episode that tells us so much more about Bill Masters than we might have thought we wanted to know.

Credit: Showtime

Case in point, even after he's won Virginia back -- as she admits that Bill has "more" of her than just about any man she's been with in two years -- Bill is still not entirely whole. His home life is still in shambles, and the study isn't going as well as either he or Virginia had hoped. Sure, they have new employees on their payroll like the now-divorced Betty (Annaleigh Ashford), and interesting new potential test subjects in the form of Barbara (Betsy Brandt), Bill's former secretary under Dr. Greathouse who apparently has a condition that prevents vaginal penetration. However, this is not the same as having autonomy, as Bill must still rely on his mother's money, which she was able to sneak into the profits of his private practice through a complicated scheme involving Betty and Libby. We never find out the details of the scheme, nor do we need to: what's important here is that Bill is beginning to mortgage little pieces of himself in order to keep this association with Virginia going, such as his freedom from his mother's influence. This is Bill's life's work, yes, but it's also implied to be his future; not just professionally, but possibly in a romantic sense as well.

Credit: Showtime

In fact, it's to the point where it feels as though -- with Bill -- the work now comes secondary to his relationship with Virginia: he doesn't need her to continue the study, but he needs the study to continue seeing her. It's a gross imbalance of power that isn't lost on Virginia, who recognizes the inherent unfairness of one man controlling so much of her fortunes. But Virginia seems to at least understand this unfairness, noting that what they have together "cannot be undone". That said, she still needs some form of solace for herself as well, so she offers the ultimatum that if she and Bill are to continue to see each other sexually as part of the study, she needs him to allow her to anchor herself to somebody outside of it, to avoid feeling as though Bill is all she has (since he, after all, has Libby and the kids). And it's a reasonable request that seems to set things right between them. For now, anyway. If nothing else, having Virginia back has made him more agreeable at home. And what do ya know? They're right back to meeting at the Park Plaza, where Bill is having conversations with ex-bellhop/new night manager Elliott...whom we learn has discovers Bill's true identity, and is able to work out an arrangement to get him free lodging for himself and "Mrs. Holden" as long as he agrees to be the hotel's on-call doctor -- under his real name. It's remarkably savvy, and echoes Bill's own manipulations with Virginia. In short, it feels like everyone is catching on to the way of the world, this week.

"Asterion" is such a strange episode to review in any traditional sense, since it's one of the boldest narrative departures from any premium cable drama in ages, it feels like. Masters of Sex is fraught with narrative complexity, but this still managed to be one of the most engaging hours of television I've seen all year, even if just for the boldness on display in moving things forward so drastically -- and, yes, rapidly.


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