Masters of Sex opening credits: a journey into innuendo
Posted by Iain Robertson at 22:30 on 12 Dec 2013
OK, there's a boy and a girl. She appears to have only one arm and legs twisted horribly out of shape. Is this going to be like Cronenberg's 'Crash'?
Er, OK. It's a flower opening up. Thought this show was about to be about sex?
A giant cock? How's that relevant?
Some kind of rocky opening. Perhaps it's about people who get off watching 127 hours? But then we're into the weird amputee stuff again. Not sure I like where this is going.
Aww, look, a little kitty. All very cute and all that, but I fail to see what stroking a pussy has to do with sex.
And now someone's smearing cream over a pair of buns. Still no idea why that's rude. It's all gone a bit Great British Bake Off and now I'm having sex thoughts about Mary Berry, which is just wrong.
Oh look, Michael Sheen's in it. So if you've ever had sex dreams about Tony Blair, David Frost, Kenneth Williams or Brian Clough, this is the programme for you.
That nice Lizzy Caplan's in it too. She was in Cloverfield, True Blood and one of those short little Avengers spin-off things that only fully-fledged geeks watch. She must be playing a train driver.
Genuinely no idea what's going on here. There's some cream. After that, I'm struggling.
And we're back to the food symbolism. They'll probably have someone jerking off a cucumber in a minute.
Nope, it's a long thin object being inserted into a dark hole. Sure it's meant to be symbolic of something, but not sure what.
Now I'm just getting a mental picture of overweight, middle-aged women shagging, which, frankly, is worse than the Mary Berry image.
There's a cork popping. There should be no cork popping halfway through the credits. That's just plain inconsiderate to your partner.
Ah, now her balloon's popping. Almost simultaneous I suppose. Also, a pretty good demonstration of how to make a bunny shadow puppet. Not to mention the obvious 'tiny prick' joke.
'Hands clutching bedsheets to signify mind-blowing orgasm' shot ©The Terminator (dir: James Cameron, 1984).
Again? So soon? Is this show about 15-year-olds or something?
Right, it's all gone far too Naked Gun now. Also, kids, if yours is this shape, see a doctor.
He's fucking knackered. She's barely broken a sweat. And apparently he's so good in bed that her arm's grown back.
So, in conclusion, it's a cookery show, with some stuff about flowers, animals and a possibly underage animated couple from the 1950s getting it on. Something for all the family, in other words.