HBO’s The Idol was supposed to be the next Euphoria. It wasn’t. Instead, it became a lightning rod for discourse that almost entirely centered on its approach to intimacy, specifically the idol sex scene involving Lily-Rose Depp and Abel "The Weeknd" Tesfaye. People were angry. Some were just bored. Honestly, the biggest problem wasn't even the nudity—it was the weird, clunky power dynamic that felt more like a teenager's fan fiction than a prestige drama.
If you spent any time on X (formerly Twitter) during the summer of 2023, you couldn't escape the clips. The show, co-created by Sam Levinson and Tesfaye, followed Jocelyn, a pop star struggling to reclaim her throne after a nervous breakdown. Enter Tedros, a club owner with a rat-tail and a god complex. The scene in question, which occurred in the show’s second episode, "Double Fantasy," was intended to be a provocative exploration of creative submission. It didn't land.
The Reality Behind the Idol Sex Scene
The backlash was instant. Critics like Lucy Mangan from The Guardian described the show as "more than a little bit gross," while others pointed to the jarring transition from the show’s original female-led vision under director Amy Seimetz to the male-centric overhaul by Levinson.
There’s a lot of talk about "the male gaze" in cinema. Usually, that’s a nuanced academic debate. With the idol sex scene, it was as subtle as a sledgehammer. The camera didn’t just observe; it lingered in a way that felt voyeuristic rather than narrative. For an audience that had grown used to the "ethical intimacy" of shows like Normal People, this felt like a massive step backward.
Why did it feel so off?
Mainly because the chemistry wasn't there. Chemistry is a fickle thing. You can put two beautiful people in a room and give them a provocative script, but if the "vibe" is clinical or, worse, cringey, the audience will feel it. Tesfaye’s performance as Tedros was widely panned as "uncomfortable," but not in the intentional way the showrunners might have hoped. It felt like watching a LARP (Live Action Role Play) gone wrong.
Sam Levinson, The Weeknd, and the "Shock Factor"
Levinson is no stranger to controversy. He turned Euphoria into a cultural phenomenon by pushing boundaries. But with The Idol, he seemed to be chasing a shock that the audience was already immune to.
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During a press conference at the Cannes Film Festival, Levinson defended the show’s graphic nature. He argued that we live in a "very sexualized world" and that the show was merely reflecting that.
"Sometimes things that are revolutionary are taken with a bit of a grain of salt," Levinson remarked, essentially suggesting that the audience just didn't "get it" yet.
But did we? Or was the idol sex scene just a symptom of a show that lacked a coherent script?
The production was famously troubled. Rolling Stone published an exposé titled "The Idol: How HBO’s Next ‘Euphoria’ Became Twisted ‘Torture Porn’," which detailed the chaotic sets and the abandonment of the original female-focused narrative. When you look at the final product through that lens, the sexual content feels less like a creative choice and more like a filler for a story that didn't know what it wanted to be.
Why Cultural Context Matters
To understand why people reacted so strongly to the idol sex scene, you have to look at the state of the music industry. We are currently in an era where the exploitation of young stars—from Britney Spears to the modern K-pop machine—is a constant topic of conversation.
Jocelyn was clearly a composite of these real-life figures. By making her "sexual awakening" dependent on a predatory figure like Tedros, the show touched a nerve. It felt like it was glamorizing the very abuse it claimed to be critiquing.
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There's a fine line between depicting a toxic relationship and indulging in it.
The Idol frequently crossed that line. It tried to position itself as a satire of Hollywood, but it lacked the wit to pull it off. Instead of biting the hand that feeds, it just sort of licked it in a way that made everyone in the room feel awkward.
The Role of the Intimacy Coordinator
Interestingly, The Idol did employ intimacy coordinators. These are professionals whose entire job is to ensure that actors feel safe and that scenes are choreographed with consent and boundaries in mind.
However, an intimacy coordinator can only do so much if the script itself is fundamentally built on a power imbalance that feels exploitative. Lily-Rose Depp has consistently defended Levinson and the filming process, stating she felt supported throughout.
"Sam is, for so many reasons, the best director I’ve ever worked with," Depp told Vogue. "I’ve never felt more supported or respected in a creative space, my input and my opinions more valued."
This creates a weird paradox. If the actors feel safe and empowered, can the scene still be "wrong"?
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The answer is yes, because the audience’s relationship is with the image, not the set. The image projected by the idol sex scene was one of a woman being "broken" to find her "art." That is a trope as old as time, and honestly, it’s a bit of a bore in 2026.
What We Can Learn From the Fallout
The Idol was canceled after just one season. HBO, usually the king of prestige TV, quietly let it slip into the night. But the conversation it sparked about sex on screen hasn't gone away.
- Substance over Shock: You can't lead with sex and expect the story to follow. It has to be the other way around. If the audience doesn't care about the characters, the most graphic scene in the world will just result in them checking their phones.
- The "Cringe" Factor is Real: There is a specific type of modern failure known as "cringe." It happens when a piece of media tries too hard to be cool or edgy and misses. This show became the poster child for that.
- Audience Agency: Viewers are smarter than they used to be. They can tell the difference between a scene that serves the plot and a scene that serves the director's ego.
Moving Forward: How to Engage with Provocative Media
If you’re looking at these types of controversies, don’t just take the headlines at face value.
Look at the credits. See who directed it. See if there were major shifts in the production team mid-way through. Usually, the "messiness" you see on screen is a direct reflection of the messiness behind the scenes.
The idol sex scene will likely be remembered as a footnote in TV history—a "what not to do" guide for future showrunners. It’s a reminder that while sex sells, it doesn’t always buy staying power.
Next time you see a show being marketed as "the most scandalous thing ever," ask yourself if it has anything else to offer. If the answer is no, it’s probably not worth the data it takes to stream it. Focus on creators who use intimacy to build character, not just to generate clicks. Watch shows like I May Destroy You or Fleabag to see how complicated, messy human sexuality can be handled with actual depth and purpose.