As sexy as Ireland has become thanks to the twin Sally Rooney adaptations beamed around the world, it’s all a bit serious. It’s a landscape where sad girls and moody monosyllabic men roll around in a single bed, their bones jutting together like forks in a cutlery drawer. It’s a different kind of collegiate fantasy, not exactly the grim realism of the mould-infested bathroom and the tang of Tyskie flavoured kisses, but not as bawdy as our American cousins.
Ever since John Belushi spat a chewed up sandwich into the faces of the preppies in Animal House, the hallowed halls of Ivy League schools have been presented as some kind of orgiastic wonderland — for boys.
Girls were either presented as irritating uptight scolds or “loose” floozies to be humped and dumped. College life never seemed as carefree for the gals. Teen dramas usually stopped at high school graduation and the few that explored university days were less than thrilling.
This is not a Lena Dunham-style genital-warts-and-all tale or the nightmare fuel of Euphoria
We had Joey Potter in Dawson’s Creek swishing across campus in her boot cut jeans consumed by thoughts of Dawson and his ample forehead. In Gilmore Girls, Rory may have swanned about her grandparent-funded “sex pool house” but this was during her breakdown, when she wore a swimsuit as underwear and appeared to have undergone a lobotomy after abandoning her studies.
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Now in an era of sex scandals, the ongoing reckoning of the MeToo movement and conversations around consent, comes Mindy Kaling’s The Sex Lives of College Girls (Tuesday, RTÉ2) ready to tackle the intricacies of the modern experience.
The premise is boilerplate sitcom fare, four wildly different freshers arrive at the fictional Essex College to find that they are now roommates. There’s the blonde bitchy bombshell Leighton (Reneé Rapp), the secretive soccer star Whitney (Alyah Channelle Scott), oddball comedy obsessive Bela (Amrit Kaur) and the small-town nerd Kimberly (Pauline Chalamet, sister of the more famous Timotheé).
Aside from its risqué title, this is not a Lena Dunham-style genital-warts-and-all tale or the nightmare fuel of Euphoria. There are no preteen gangsters with facial tattoos, and no one is freebasing anything off anyone’s anatomy. The Sex Lives of College Girls is strangely chaste and mostly adheres to those traditional, familiar sitcom fish-out-of-water tropes.
It is when it digs into the perceived freedoms of college life for girls and the confusing nature of nascent sexuality that it becomes more interesting, with Kaling’s stand-in Bela the star of the show. She arrives in a whirlwind of aggressive desire like a smutty Tom Haverford talking about being ready to “smash some Ds”, asking Leighton’s brother’s friend to lift his top to show his abs, and chirps the phrase “sex positive!” as if it’s her personal theme tune. When she is shut out of the college humour magazine, The Catullon, because the “female spots” have filled up, she decides to confront the boys at a frat party. Misunderstanding her roommate Leighton’s advice to be more charming, she ends up offering sexual favours to the editors in exchange for a place on the staff. It’s a depressing reminder of the position of women in the pecking order of comedy, where men still hold the power, and how the shield of equality can always be dented by the presence of the patriarchy.
The opening episode continues at pace, galloping through the destruction of each of the girl’s relationship dreams to set up the central ideas for the rest of the series. Insecure Kimberley’s long-term boyfriend comes to the campus to have sex with her for the first time before breaking up with her in a bid to “explore” his new life.
Whitney, who only came to Essex because she’s hooking up with the assistant coach of her soccer team, finds out he’s married. And ice queen Leighton, who is constantly dismissing the advances of her older brother’s friend, wonders how long she can keep her sexuality a secret.
Their stories are knitted together with a selection of zingers that don’t always land and can seem slightly clunky. Just like those early fumbles in the dark, The Sex Lives of College Girls might take a bit of practice before it hits that sweet spot.
Love Island
There are plenty of fumbles going on over in Casa Amor on Love Island (Virgin Media Two), where all the boys’ brains have emptied like slowly deflating lilos. Two weeks can feel like two years in that Lynx-smelling pit but the bout of selective amnesia caused by the influx of new girls into the villa is particularly chilling. Jacques, who has the permanent air of a man at a stag do who’s been refused a drink, is giving a masterclass in toxicity.
Having shouted, pouted, cried and wheedled his way into Paige’s affections, prescribing her with just the right amount of insecurities, he is about to “stick it on” another of the girls who is ready to guzzle down his virulent cocktail of aggression and banter. Meanwhile the boys of the Casa have wasted no time in telling Paige some uncomfortable truths. She is now left wondering if being repeatedly disrespected on national telly by a sentient tub of protein powder is worth it.
Not that Ireland’s own Dami has behaved any better. A week ago Dami and Indiyah were odds-on favourites to win the whole shebang due to the unbelievable development that they actually appeared to like each other. Personable and witty Dami won over Indiyah through the force of his charisma and seemed to be happy to spend the rest of his holiday watching the other couples implode, until this week.
Sadly, Dami is another Love Island mirage, when Summer arrived into the villa it caused his head to turn so violently it could have been a deleted scene from the Exorcist. His demeanour has also changed, clicking into “lad” mode, conspiratorially poking Jacques in the ribs, jumping all over the sofas and lashing out at Nick Cave’s fishmonger Luca, who he accused of holding Michael Owen’s daughter hostage.
Love Island will always shoehorn in some celebrity link to give the viewers that familiar IP, the more tenuous the better. I cannot wait for Kerry Katona’s budgie to fly in for the recouping next week.
Dami may have been correct about the over-possessive Luca but he has lost the all-important public support. Our only chance for some Irish success rests on the painfully pale shoulders of Ronan Keating’s son Jack, but since he has been M.I.A (presumably he’s been kept in a vat of Calamine Lotion until the sun sets) it doesn’t look likely he’ll have the opportunity to charm any of the girls and nab a spot in the main villa.
It’s up to Love Island’s main character, the glorious Turkish delight Ekin-Su to save the day. Her Italian snack Davide may not remember who she is right now as he’s carousing a selection of haunted receptionists, but once he returns to the main villa there is a chance that the Den and Angie of Love Island will graduate from entertaining students of the game to legendary alumni.
