While watching Sex Education season 3, I was reminded of a relationship in high school with a person I really liked, but the spark had gone. Everything had become predictable. Nothing was fresh or new. This is now the kind of relationship I am forming with this show.
For the uninitiated, Sex Education follows the misadventures and personal discoveries of precocious teeangers in England living in a small town called Moordale, with a bizarre John Hughes-esque ‘80s aesthetic that gives the show’s setting a sense of timelessness (aside from the smart phones). Each character represents a different archetype of teenager, then subverts those expectations of character completely, one of the show’s greatest strengths. The central premise revolves around the protagonist Otis (played winningly by Asa Butterfield), as he helps students at his high school get in touch with their sexuality, while pining for Maeve Wiley (played by Emma Mackey, a relative newcomer who has shined in the show since the pilot episode), a tomboy “bad girl” who’s smart as a whip, with a heart of gold.
What once felt fresh about the show is now becoming stale. Sex scenes abound, but instead of focusing on the little moments that occur during sex, whether awkward or serendipitous, they are now replaced by shock value. The season premiere starts with snapshots of all the main characters engaging in individual promiscuous activities, culminating in a overwhelming sex montage. Things only get more ridiculous from there. Each episode has a cold open of characters engaging in sexual activity in some form, and while some openings this season are stale, some are refreshing and devilishly funny (you will never want to keep your cat near your microwave after watching; just watch the show).
Many of the main characters this season, such as Otis and Maeve, are sidelined to focus on minor characters that have never had the chance to properly shine. In particular, the character of Ruby (Mimi Keene), the cutthroat popular girl at school, finally gets a story arc, as she decides to finally show her vulnerability in a relationship and is left completely broken-hearted in one of the best moments in the show.
The real MVPs in terms of performance this season are Connor Swindells as Adam Groff, a troubled loner trying to come to terms with his bisexuality for the sake of his new boyfriend, Eric, and Gillian Anderson as Jean, Otis’ sex therapist mother who holds the entire show together as its anchor. Anderson is brilliant at navigating an unwanted pregnancy that occurred in Season 2, while Jakob (played by Mikael Persbrandt), Jean’s Swedish lover and father of her child, tries to regain trust in her after she becomes physically intimate with her ex-husband. Both delve into their roles with aplomb. In fact, never have I seen a show that has such a winning cast getting regrettably little recognition for their performances.
While the writing in terms of developing character arcs was not the best this season, particularly with regards to Otis and Maeve (the incessant “will they or won’t they?” question hanging over their heads is getting very tiresome), the writing team succeeds when bringing in characters that give the show more sexual diversity. In particular, there are two welcome additions. This season introduces Cal (Dua Saleh), a non-binary student from America who is new this school term, and Isaac (George Robinson), a young man also in love with Maeve introduced in season two, who happens to be a quadriplegic). There’s a scene later in the season where Cal helps Layla, another non-binary student, with binding their chest. Layla has been trying to wrap their chest tighter and tighter with ACE bandages, and they have the bruises and scars across their body to show it.
“I did it for a while with ACE bandages,” Cal tells Layla, “Until I nearly broke a rib.” Cal gives Layla a safer alternative: a chest binder compression undergarment made out of spandex and nylon.
Layla looks into the mirror with the new garment on, and a joyous smile overcomes their face.
“It feels so much better,” Layla says.
In these moments, when the characters feel as if through discovering something new in their sexuality, it is a victory for them in their quest for self-discovery and positivity, which is where the real alchemy of the show lies. There are fewer moments like those scattered throughout the season, making this leg of the show a dud in what is otherwise one of Netflix’s best television offerings.
Streaming on: Netflix