TV Eye

Jane Alexander and David Selby in Tell Me You Love Me

I first heard about Tell Me You Love Me a couple of months ago. The new HBO series about three couples at various stages of their relationships who see the same couples therapist got some early ink because of its reputation as "the sex show." "Racy or raunchy?" a Chicago Tribune headline asked. "Soft porn" was another description. Industry insiders were requesting screeners faster than the DVDs could be burned, everyone eager to see if this was going to be the new HBO hit but more so to see if the sex scenes were as steamy as rumored. How crass. How small-minded and pathetic, I thought. I requested a screener immediately.

For those of you only interested in the sex, let me satisfy your curiosity: There is plenty of sex, particularly in the early episodes. This is not new for cable or for HBO. What is new is the perspective, in this case from a presumably heterosexual female, namely series creator Cynthia Mort (Will & Grace, Roseanne) and her nearly all-female production staff, including Anya Epstein, Vanessa Taylor, Kathy Landsberg, Patricia Rozema (who directs the first three episodes) and Lori-Etta Taub. Gavin Polone (Curb Your Enthusiasm) co-executive-produces with Mort. In their hands, the series is not about sex; it's about something much more dangerous and frightening: intimacy.

But let me talk about the sex first. One of the things that bugs me about sex scenes in general is that they are typically from the male gaze. There's a lot of time spent on the female form, focusing on the reveal of female breasts and buttocks. As a heterosexual woman, I'm left hanging. Unless I turn to porn, I'm not going to see an unfiltered image of an upright penis. I confess to pausing on one scene, just so I could make sure that what I was seeing was indeed part of the male package. The other image I paused on was a scene with Jane Alexander, who plays therapist Dr. May Foster in an intimate moment with her husband, Arthur (David Selby). Alexander and Selby make a handsome couple, both silver-haired and trim, but I almost swallowed my tongue when I realized I was watching Jane Alexander with her hand and mouth around what looked like a stand-in penis, pleasuring her very happy husband. (There are still some limits to what is allowed in TV sex. Showing the male member in all of its glory is one of them.) Yes, it was provocative and shocking, mostly for its novelty, but it was also lovely – the image of a couple, who had weathered many storms, at this stage in their relationship: comfortable, still in love, the look of satisfaction on her face that comes from pleasuring her man, the look on his face for having been pleasured. Is there a more delicious expression? As the seasoned "old" couple, Alexander and Selby are most comfortable in the silences (and there are lots of them). There is no soundtrack, no theme song, no violins swelling in the background during any of the sex scenes. That Alexander and Selby can evoke such tenderness without the typical cues is truly marvelous.

Which brings me back to the issue of intimacy. In the traditional hearts-and-flowers approach to love and sex, intimacy is no more sophisticated than pillow talk. In Tell Me You Love Me, intimacy is revealed for what it is: that ability to tell and hear the truth from your partner in the glaring light of day. This is an enormous thing, that intangible elephant in the room that the couples Dr. Foster counsels wrestle with (as do she and her husband but more fluidly). And this is what makes Tell Me You Love Me truly revealing, mesmerizing, and painful. The series is not for everyone and certainly not for the prudish. I'm not sure it's for those who want to watch it because it's been called "the sex show." For whoever's left, it's challenging, appointment TV.

Tell Me You Love Me premieres Sunday, Sept. 9, at 8pm on HBO.