To engage in an open conversation about sex is something that’s still considered taboo until these days. It happens mostly because of the social norm and religious restrictions that have been surrounding it. But when Laurie Nunn’s Hughesian teen comedy Sex Education came a year ago, the show not only managed to turn the table on sex conversation in a more positive area, it also offered us a depiction of teen sex in ways that are charming, delightful, and heartfelt, unlike Skins and Euphoria that portrayed sex with touches of gritty realism.
Though the first season felt like it consists of bottle episodes touching on different topics revolving around sex and sexuality, Sex Education is much broader than what the title suggests: it also talks about the importance of communication in a relationship, childhood trauma, identity crisis, parental negligence, and even internalized homophobia, all wrapped in coming-of-age dramedy exterior that makes it much more digestible. As a result, what could’ve become only as a welcome successor of Freaks and Geeks or Sixteen Candles, ends up as one of the strongest new series of last year.
Repeating the Formula Without Digging Deeper
Released on 17th January 2020, season two tries to retain what makes the inaugural season great in the first place, providing plenty of explorations on sex while expanding its core story of teenagers trying to understand who they are and the world around them. Unfortunately, even though it’s still funny, and Nunn’s approach remains sympathetic, the show begins to feel a little too repetitive, toying with the same formula without trying to delve deeper into what it is they’re trying to say. Of course, efforts to give the spotlight to the supporting characters that have not been fleshed out in the first season are good things, but in doing so, much of the more interesting aspects like Otis’ (Asa Butterfield) Charlie Bartlett-Esque sex therapy or his relationship with his best friend Eric (Ncuti Gatwa) and Maeve (the wonderful Emma Mackey), are getting sidelined.
In season one, the narrative was mostly told through the lens of sex advice given by Otis to his schoolmates. And it worked perfectly because it allowed the dramas surrounding the characters to connect with the show’s progressive and positive message on sex that Nunn wanted to deliver in the first place. So when it ended last year with Otis and Maeve, the founder of Otis’ underground sex therapy business, having a fallout, not only does the second season suffer heavily from it because it struggles to find a seamless way to bridge the dramas with its observation on sex, it also keeps resorting into a cliched and less engaging will-they-wont-they territory that we’ve seen plethora of times in any teen TV shows.
This fallout, however, is what eventually sets the plot of season two in motion. Otis, now dating Ola (Patricia Allison), is confused with his feelings after Maeve is back at school. In addition to his newly found pleasure of masturbation and reluctance of giving any more sex advice in school, this confusion is beginning to distract him and fracturing his already-volatile relationship with his mom Jean Milburn (Gillian Anderson, magnificent as ever), who’s also facing her aging and dating problems with Ola’s father Jakob (Mikael Persbrandt).
Meanwhile, Eric is also having the same dilemma as Otis after his former bully Adam (Connor Swindells) comes back to his life when he’s dating a new student Rahim (Sami Outalbali). Maeve is also not doing any better. She keeps doubting herself, her worth, and her place in the world because of the ongoing misfortune she has to endure. Plus, the reappearance of her heroin addict mom, who claims that she’s been clean for 13 months, also complicates everything even more.
Naturally, these dramas can be mined to allow us to understand them more deeply. But season two fails to do exactly that because, instead of challenging most of its characters to learn something new about themselves, the show chooses to pull them back to confront the same obstacles that we’ve seen in season one. Otis, who has learned to be more communicative and less afraid to express himself throughout the first season, is now shoved back into a character who is clueless about his lack of communication skills and obliviousness of his self-centered behavior. And though Butterfield’s performance remains empathetic, this eventually hurts the way we relate to him because of his arc this season that becomes far less interesting compared to, say, Viv (Chinenye Ezeudu) and Jackson (Kedar Williams-Stirling), whose portrayal of two friends trying to understand each other’s flaws, gives the season its much-needed tenderness, or Maeve who remains as the show’s most complex character.
It seems like Nunn and her writers are reluctant to step out of the first season’s status quo just because it feels comfortable and already looks good. So, instead, they just pile everything up with a familiar trope of love triangle storylines to facade the flaws of the way they shape the characters this season. So much so that it damages the brilliance of the first season to a point where season two’s exploration of sex feels only like an afterthought or a filler between the formulaic romance set-up. Yes, a conversation revolving around pansexuality, sexuality, and even anal douching are still sprinkled throughout the season, but most of the time, it feels like the show just mentions them for the sake of mentioning them and not because they genuinely want to dig deep into it.
The Problem with Eric and Adam’s Storyline
The biggest problem of the season, however, comes from the nature of the romantic relationship between Eric and his former bully Adam. When the first season aired last year, Eric’s queer storyline wasn’t about him discovering his queerness, but rather about him learning to not be afraid of showing it to the whole world despite the bullying he’s got in school or the pressure he received from his family and church. And for the most of season one, his arc was compelling and heartbreaking, offering us a courageous journey of one’s path to self-acceptance. Adam, on the other hand, did not just serve to be an obstacle for Eric, but also a tragic story of toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia.
Both of these two storylines in season one were handled with care and empathy, showing us how dire the strains that bullying and self-loathing behavior can give to someone. But toward the end of season one, Sex Education chose to collide them in a problematic romantic path that sent out all the wrong messages about love and violence to its audiences, as if they perpetuate the idea that it’s okay to justify and redeem a bully when he’s secretly in love and attracted sexually to his victim, which is wrong because no matter how we see it, abuse is still an abuse,
Unfortunately, even though Eric’s romantic journey in this season begins by baiting our hopes up in the form of his new love interest Rahim, Sex Education brings back Adam to Eric’s story once again. Perhaps, the reason is they want us to believe that people, even those who were once a bully, can change to be better, which is honestly not a bad idea at all. But if that is indeed their intention, the show would be much better and acceptable if they just challenge Adam to redeem himself in an arc that’s not confined him to a romantic relationship with the victim of his bullying. Creating a conflict between two love interests can be done in a myriad of ways, but violence shouldn’t be one of them. This is what Sex Education needs to repair next season if they still want us to care about both Adam and Eric. Because frankly, it just feels ridiculous for a show that props itself as a groundbreaking story that challenges our mindset on sex, sexuality, and gender identity, to be this oblivious when it comes to internalized homophobia and violence.
The Power of Female Solidarity
Despite all these major step backs, season two still gives us one strong, remarkable storyline about sexual assault and trauma that the victim must endure. In the third episode, Aimee (Aimee Lou Wood, wonderfully providing pathos and humor at the same time), whose presence mostly serves for comedic purposes, is sexually assaulted on the bus while she’s about to go to school. A man jerks off behind her and ejaculates on her jeans. At first, Aimee brushes her trauma and fear using humor, telling her best friend Maeve that the incident is not something that she shouldn’t worry about. Yet as the season unfolds, it’s clear that she’s still horrified and shaken by it. She begins to feel afraid of taking the bus again, and her intimacy with her boyfriend Steve is also affected by it. But mostly, her trauma comes from visions of her attacker that keep showing in front of her anywhere she goes despite he’s not being there.
Aimee, however, refuses to discuss it because she thinks that it will eventually go away. Of course, that’s not the case. The more she tries to repress her trauma and fear, the stickier it is stuck inside her mind. Through Aimee’s struggle of making peace with herself and her body, Sex Education deftly illustrates that sexual assaults can impact even the smallest and most mundane, daily things in its victim life — Aimee is forced to wear her old sneakers because she rather walks to school instead of taking the bus. The loss of innocence, the disturbance of the sense of safety, and the emotional cost that Aimee must endure are very heartbreaking. And it’s certainly will strike a chord for many of the show’s audiences who have gone through the same tragedy that Aimee is facing. But in telling this story, Nunn’s never overboard at exploiting it, but rather handles it earnestly.
In the show’s best episode yet, the antepenultimate of season two that feels like a homage to The Breakfast Club, Aimee, and five other girls are having detention and instructed by their English teacher Miss Sands to pinpoint what it is that binds them together. Though at first, they are struggling to do the task, six of them eventually find a conclusion after Aimee begins crying. “I’m angry that a horrible man ruined my best jeans, and nobody did anything, and now I can’t get on the f*cking bus,” she says when they ask her why is she crying. Their shared experience of being sexually assaulted by men and fear of putting themselves out in public is what ultimately binds them and probably any women in the whole world too.
It’s at this moment that Sex Education season two manages to show us how scary it is for women to navigate themselves freely in the world. But the message that the show delivers at the end of the episode is rather empowering and hopeful: women can bind themselves together in the power of female solidarity regardless of how unfriendly the world out there might get. Aimee can now begin to feel safe riding a bus again because of the solidarity she gains from Maeve, Ola, Lily, Viv, and Olivia.
Sex Education Season 2: Conclusion
While the performances, production, and humor remain top-notch, Sex Education season two is a regressive step compared to its revolutionary first season. Most of the heart of the show that comes from the delicate relationships between its characters are getting handicapped because of the season’s cliched tropes. And beyond Aimee’s storyline, the show’s exploration of sex and sexuality this season is also beginning to feel like an afterthought. I just hope that with so many potentials it has for season three, Sex Education will find a way to be sexy again.
What do you think of the show’s approach to Aimee’s sexual assault? Let us know in the comments!
Sex Education season two is now streaming on Netflix!
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