Sleazy does it

David Duchovny’s decision to enter rehab for sex addiction back in August was unquestionably a trying matter for his wife, Téa Leoni, and their two children. But there’s no denying it provided priceless promotion for the second season of Duchovny’s hit series, Californication (which launched Sept. 29).

Duchovny won a well-deserved Golden Globe award for his portrayal of Californication’s acid-tongued anti-hero, Hank Moody, a slumming novelist who sleeps his way through much of L.A.’s female population. Though the unanticipated intersection of art and real life brings a heightened voyeurism to the proceedings, Season 1 of the Showtime comedy was hardly lacking in risqué business.

In the series pilot, Hank beds a young lady who likes to throw punches during sex, a nasty kink that blackens his eye and comes to haunt his dreams; she also happens to be 16, a fact she coolly divulges after intercourse. Several episodes later, Hank finds himself in a stranger’s bedroom, sharing a joint with a more age-appropriate woman. They engage in some raucous rumpy-pumpy, during which Hank is thrown off the bed and involuntarily vomits on a piece of modern art.

In the first episode of Season 2, Hank and his common-law wife, Karen (Natasha McElhone), find themselves in a horny state at a lavish house party. Karen undresses in a low-lit bedroom while Hank excuses himself to go to the bathroom. It’s a sprawling manse, with lots of confusing hallways. Hank returns to what he thinks is the right room, which is low-lit and has a naked woman splayed on the bed. He proceeds to pleasure her, getting way too far into the act before realizing she’s not Karen.

Created by Tom Kapinos, Californication is founded on a gloriously raunchy concept. What makes it so bracing, though, is its willingness to exploit sex for laughs. For Hank Moody, nearly every tryst ends in tatters.

Hank’s relentless pleasure-seeking is largely a distraction from a colossal creative funk. A native New Yorker, the novelist moved to Los Angeles with Karen and their daughter, Becca, to oversee a film adaptation of one of his books. It’s indicative of the show’s caustic nature that Hank’s novel, God Hates Us All, is turned into a frothy rom-com entitled A Crazy Little Thing Called Love, starring Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. (We never learn what Hank’s original novel is about; it almost doesn’t matter.)

Hank is utterly demoralized by the experience. The inveterate skeptic becomes a bitter cynic, and his self-loathing drives Karen into the arms of another man. She and Becca move in with the doltish Bill (Damian Young), leaving Hank to deal with a bruised heart and a paralyzing case of writer’s block.

While pining for the return of Karen and his muse, Hank goes on a booty bender. Much has been made of Duchovny’s allure – Salon’s Rebecca Traister has written that he’s "basically a walking pheromone, all languid eyes and long-necked eroticism" – but the ease and frequency with which Hank attracts women borders on the preposterous. In bars, gyms, grocery stores, even car dealerships, L.A. women are all hankering for his affections.

There’s a brazen fantasy element to Californication — Hank’s conquests all look like they stepped out of the pages of Maxim. The show may strain the bounds of believability, but it’s saved by the richness of its central character. Hank Moody is a marvelous comic invention, and Duchovny plays him with both gusto and surprising nuance. Hank is a living, stalking id, unashamed of expressing his sexual wants or his elitism; he spends as much time sweet-talking a woman into bed as he does berating her, post-coitally, for crimes against the English language. (In one memorable episode, Hank whinges about a lover’s use of the abbreviation "LOL" in spoken conversation.)

Kapinos and his crafty writers take pot shots at web culture and Hollywood mediocrity, but they’re not interested in making Big Statements. Their focus is on subtler observations about people. The most incisive one may be the fact that while Hank Moody can be an asshole, he’s the rare womanizer who genuinely respects women. More than one bed partner seeks his advice on surgical enhancements; he scolds them for even entertaining the thought. There’s also an undeniable tenderness between Hank and the adorably reticent Becca (smartly played by Madeline Martin). She abides his many flings, secure in the knowledge that his parental loyalty is unyielding. "You’re tragically flawed, dad," she informs him at the end of season 1, "but you’ve got a good heart."

From episode to episode, the sex has become more outlandish. This is to be expected from a show with "fornication" in the title, but the chicanery often gets in the way of character development. Hank is Hank – his misdeeds drive the show. Karen, however, seems ill defined. You can see why Hank still burns for her: She’s intelligent, striking and emotionally grounded. But she’s entirely too blasé about his transgressions.

But then perhaps Karen is like the rest of us: hopelessly charmed by Hank Moody and willing to follow him, week after week, into the depths of depravity.

Season 2 of Californication is now airing on the Movie Network.

Andre Mayer writes about the arts for CBCNews.ca.