Let’s be honest. Most TV shows about "pioneers" are kinda boring. They usually follow a predictable path where a genius faces a bit of pushback, wins a trophy, and everyone lives happily ever after in a sepia-toned montage. But Masters of Sex series 1 wasn't interested in being polite. When it debuted on Showtime back in 2013, it felt like a cold shower. It was clinical. It was awkward. It was deeply, uncomfortably human.
The show isn't just about people having sex for science; it’s about the massive, yawning chasm between what we do behind closed doors and who we pretend to be in the daylight.
Based on Thomas Maier's biography, the first season introduces us to Dr. William Masters and Virginia Johnson. He’s a buttoned-up fertility specialist with the emotional warmth of a surgical scalpel. She’s a twice-divorced nightclub singer turned secretary with an intuitive understanding of human nature that he completely lacks. Together, they start a study that would eventually blow the lid off the mid-century American psyche. But in this first outing, they aren’t icons yet. They're just two people in a basement at Washington University in St. Louis, watching people through one-way glass and wondering why everyone is so miserable.
The Brutal Honesty of Masters of Sex Series 1
There is this specific tension in the first season that most medical dramas miss. Usually, the "science" is the hero. In Masters of Sex series 1, the science is almost a character that Bill Masters uses as a shield. Michael Sheen plays Masters with this incredible, vibrating stillness. You can see he’s terrified of his own desires, so he turns everything into a data point.
Virginia Johnson, played by Lizzy Caplan, is the actual heart of the operation. While Masters is obsessed with the physical mechanics—heart rates, blood flow, the "Ulysses" camera (a terrifyingly literal piece of equipment)—Virginia realizes that you can't measure a person’s soul with a stopwatch. This ideological tug-of-war defines the first twelve episodes. It’s not just about the "how" of sex; it’s about the "why."
Early on, we see them struggle with the ethics of their own work. They move the study from the university to a brothel because the academic world is too prudish to handle them. Think about that for a second. In the 1950s, the most prestigious doctors in the country had to hide in a house of ill repute just to record basic physiological responses. It highlights the absurdity of the era. The show captures that "Golden Age" aesthetic but peels back the wallpaper to show the rot underneath.
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The Problem With Bill Masters
Bill is a tough character to love. Honestly, he’s kind of a jerk. He’s dismissive of his wife, Libby (played by Caitlin FitzGerald), and he treats his colleagues like chess pieces. But series 1 does something brilliant: it shows us his vulnerability without making excuses for his behavior. We see his struggle with infertility—a cruel irony for a man whose career is built on reproduction.
His relationship with Virginia is where the show really gets messy. Is he in love with her? Is he exploiting her? Does he even know the difference? By the time we get to the middle of the season, the line between "professional observation" and "personal obsession" has basically vanished. When they eventually decide to participate in the study themselves—to "eliminate the variable of the stranger"—it’s one of the most clinical yet erotic moments in television history. It’s also a massive ethical red flag, which the show leans into heavily.
Why the Period Setting Actually Matters
A lot of shows use the 1950s as a costume party. They want the skinny ties and the martinis. Masters of Sex series 1 uses the 50s as a pressure cooker.
You have to remember the context. This was a world where "The Kinsey Report" had already sent shockwaves through society, but people were still desperately trying to stay in the closet. The show explores subplots that felt revolutionary for a cable drama at the time. Take Barton Scully, the Provost played by the legendary Beau Bridges. His storyline—a closeted gay man undergoing horrific "conversion" therapy—is one of the most heartbreaking arcs in the series. It serves as a grim reminder that while Masters and Johnson were trying to shine a light on human sexuality, the world was still very much in the dark, and that darkness had a body count.
Then there’s the role of women. Virginia isn't just a "strong female lead" in the modern, girl-boss sense. She’s a woman navigating a world that doesn't have a place for her. She doesn't have a degree. She’s working as a secretary. Yet, she’s the one who makes the participants feel safe. She’s the one who realizes that women’s sexuality is vastly misunderstood by the male-dominated medical establishment. The "faking it" scenes in the pilot aren't just for laughs; they’re a stinging indictment of how little men actually knew about their partners.
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The Technical Brilliance of Season One
From a filmmaking perspective, the first season is remarkably consistent. The palette is muted—lots of greys, clinical whites, and deep wood tones. It feels like a hospital, which makes the moments of genuine human connection pop.
The writing avoids the "lecture" trap. Even when they’re discussing complex data, it feels grounded in the characters' personal stakes. You’re not just learning about the human sexual response cycle; you’re watching how that knowledge changes the people who are discovering it.
- The Pilot: Directed by John Madden, it sets a high bar for visual storytelling.
- The Soundtrack: It uses period-appropriate music sparingly, letting the silence and the hum of the medical equipment build tension.
- The Supporting Cast: Allison Janney as Margaret Scully delivers a performance that will break your heart. Her realization that her long marriage has been built on a fundamental lie is arguably the emotional peak of the season.
How to Revisit (or Start) the Journey
If you're watching Masters of Sex series 1 for the first time, or if you're circling back for a rewatch, don't expect a rom-com. It’s a drama about the cost of truth. It’s about how hard it is to be honest with yourself.
The legacy of the show is interesting. It paved the way for more explicit, thoughtful explorations of intimacy on TV, like Normal People or Sex Education. But it remains unique because of its historical anchor. It’s a reminder that our current understanding of ourselves didn't just happen. It was fought for by flawed, brilliant, and often difficult people.
One of the most striking things about this first season is how it handles the concept of "normal." Everyone in the show is terrified that they aren't normal. Masters and Johnson prove that "normal" is a myth. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has hangups. Everyone is just trying to figure it out. That's a message that resonated in 2013 and feels even more relevant today.
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Actionable Insights for Viewers
To truly appreciate what the show is doing, it helps to look at the real history behind it. While the show takes creative liberties, the core of the research is factual.
- Read the Source Material: If you want to know what actually happened versus what was dramatized, Thomas Maier’s Masters of Sex is an incredible deep dive into the real Bill and Gini.
- Watch the Performances Closely: Pay attention to Michael Sheen’s eyes and Lizzy Caplan’s posture. So much of the storytelling in series 1 happens in what they don't say.
- Contextualize the Era: Look up the "Comstock Laws" that were still influencing American life during the time the show is set. It makes the risks they took seem even more insane.
- Analyze the Power Dynamics: Watch how Virginia uses her lack of status as a strength. Because people underestimate her, she’s able to get information and build trust in ways Bill never could.
Ultimately, this season is about the end of an old world and the messy, confusing birth of a new one. It’s about the moment we stopped whispering and started looking. It isn't always pretty, but it’s definitely worth the watch.
The best way to experience it is to lean into the discomfort. Don't look away during the clinical scenes. The show is trying to tell you something about the vulnerability of being seen—not just naked, but truly seen for who you are. That’s the real "science" of the show. And honestly, it’s a science we’re still trying to master today.
To get the most out of your viewing, try watching the episodes in blocks of two. The narrative arcs in this first season are tightly woven, often mirroring a specific medical theme with a personal crisis in the characters' lives. Pay attention to the recurring motifs of water and glass; they’re everywhere, signaling the fluidity of desire and the barriers we put up to protect ourselves. Once you finish the season, look up the original 1966 publication Human Sexual Response. Seeing the dry, academic text that came out of all this televised drama puts the whole journey into a startling perspective.