The queer film event of the year has finally arrived. Following a rapturous reception at Cannes in May, and a US festival and press tour that lit up our social feeds, writer-director Jane Schoenbrun’s third feature, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, opens in select theaters this Friday, August 7th before expanding nationwide on Friday, August 14th.
Thematically rich, on one level it is about the power that certain movies have to penetrate deep under our skin, to speak to our subconscious, the very cores of our being, and stay with us for a lifetime. Perhaps even unlocking something within us if we let them. Sometimes we are uncertain exactly what it is that we are connecting with, but we keep returning to these films time and again.
With its delicious dialogue, sumptuous production design, haunting score, inspired use of familiar pop songs, sublime performances, and virtuoso cinematography, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma has fast become one of those films for me. In fact, I’ve already seen it three times over several months and fallen further under its spell with each viewing. When I saw it for the first time I wanted to rewatch it immediately. It took me back to my adolescence when, if I really vibed with a movie I’d rented on VHS, I’d watch it two or three more times during the 24 hour rental period before being kind, rewinding and returning it to the video store. Including horrors—that both terrified me and formed part of my sexual awakening—which remain seared in my memory. Schoenbrun has pulled off making a film about that kind of cinematic power while creating a movie that has that same enigmatic potency itself.
Visionary feels like the new masterpiece in film criticism and marketing. It is a word that gets thrown around a lot on movie poster quotes, but in this filmmaker’s case it isn’t hyperbole. With their first two features, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair and I Saw the TV Glow, Schoenbrun proved themselves to have a rare gift for world-building, creating a unique tone and atmosphere that utterly envelops the viewer. The same is true here, but Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma has a far more playful, healing spirit than those more tortured films. Invitingly warm, it beckons us to experience unadulterated pleasure along with its protagonists. To indulge ourselves in the delights that the film offers, just as the characters do on gummy candy and KFC slathered in dipping sauce.
The film’s intriguing, and very funny, opening credits sequence neatly sets up the plot while it succinctly immerses us in the history of the fictional Camp Miasma movie franchise through pithily headlined newspaper clippings, stacks of VHS tapes, posters, and tie-in merchandise. The montage takes us from how it all began with a hit movie series turned cultural phenomenon to ever diminishing returns with a production line of progressively outlandish Miasma sequels, leading right up to recent online think pieces reexamining the movies through a contemporary lens. Through the headlines, we learn that the original movie’s scream queen, Billy Preston (Gillian Anderson), never acted again and has become a recluse. While Sundance darling, queer writer-director on-the-rise Kris (Hannah Einbinder), has been “handed the keys to the franchise” and is set to helm a Miasma reboot, charged with resurrecting this “zombie IP” into a box office hit. The studio wants a reimagined origin story that absolves them for the sins of the original movie’s transphobic backstory.
With her distracted agent (a hilarious Sarah Sherman) interested only in the deal not the art, and a raft of studio executives impatient for her pitch, Kris decides to track down Billy Preston. She discovers that she has sequestered herself on the remote abandoned summer camp where the first Miasma film was shot 35 years ago. Kris’ girlfriend Mari (Quintessa Swindell)—who also has a “bisexual king” moustached hipster boyfriend named Thor (Aren Buchholz)—jokes that in hiding herself away from the world Billy is like Sunset Boulevard’s Norma Desmond. When she creeps up on Kris–and us—from the shadows, Billy seems to revel in that perception of her as an eccentric recluse, dressing like a Golden Age movie star out on the town, wrapped in a plush fur coat, with her nails, makeup and hair done to perfection, or covered with a Norma Desmond-esque turban, and the cinematography plays along with that vision too.
A woman of her own invention, Billy speaks with a measured theatricality in an enchanting Dolly Parton-like Southern accent. The genius of Anderson’s delectable turn is that she captures the character’s flair for the theatrical, performing for her house guest, while simultaneously giving us the raw truth of the human behind the actress. When Billy and Kris are in conversation, cinematographer Eric Yue (reuniting with Schoenbrun following their collaboration on I Saw the TV Glow) draws us in with visceral close-ups of the women’s faces and features, while editor Graham Mason allows the frame to breathe and for us to inhale the intensity of the pair’s magnetic performances.
Einbinder brings an endearingly goofy energy and effortlessly natural quality to Kris along with the precision comic timing that one would expect from her Emmy-winning run on Hacks, but this role allows her to go even deeper and show more range, proving herself as a compelling lead actor. Key to the success of the film is the spellbinding chemistry between Anderson and Einbinder, with some hysterical moments as their characters seem to be speaking a different language, separated by generations. “I don’t know Polly”, says Billy, when Kris talks about being polyamorous, before adding “isn’t that cheating?” As the sexual tension builds, the candles are lit and rose petals sprinkled, with the movie romance really kicking in with Sade’s No Ordinary Love. This seductive sapphic fever dream threads the passion and beauty of Carol and Portrait of a Lady on Fire with the tension and gore of Friday 13th via “Frightmaster” Wes Craven’s New Nightmare.
Kris shares that she first encountered Camp Miasma when “she had no business doing so” aged eight and that she has been obsessed with it ever since, along with the franchise it spawned. When Billy convinces Kris to stay overnight with her, as the snow cinematically falls, the two watch Billy’s private print of the film projected in the camp’s movie theater. As Kris and Billy sit captivated, with the projector light beaming behind them, the scene recalls Sunset Boulevard, while the shot resembles Nicole Kidman’s “We come to this place for magic” AMC ad. Fitting for a film that explores and celebrates the power of movie magic while creating its own and has a helluva lot of fun doing it.
As Kris becomes more absorbed in watching the original Camp Miasma movie, we too are immersed in that film, complete with its transphobic murder and subsequent revenge exacted by the film’s villain Little Death (Jack Haven, delivering so much through their physicality and expressive eyes). The name of the character—who penetrates his victims with a spear—and the French euphemism for an organism is wonderfully obvious. Like his fellow horror icons, Freddy, Jason, and Leatherface, Little Death knows how to make slaughtering teens entertaining, heightened by some resonant heavy breathing dominating the soundscape and some thrilling POV shots. There is an exhilarating extended sequence, likely to be among the most memorable of the year, involving Little Death set to Counting Crows’ “Long December”, recontextualizing the song to the point that it will be impossible not to picture that scene whenever you hear it from now on. The soundtrack also features the dreamy syth bop, “Anorak Christmas” by Sally Shapiro in the film within a film. I won’t spoil things by mentioning every track, but all the song choices really enhance the pleasure of the film right up to the end credits. Be sure to stay in your seat for a brief but fun post-credit scene.
Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is filled with meaningful, sexy, poignant, humorous moments; not a frame, line of dialogue, or breath is wasted. It is clear that Schoenbrun relishes the smallest details. Gas station cashier Flo (Florence Barrett), for instance, is a minor character with minimal screen time, but Barrett’s sweet and touching performance is given space so even she feels like a fully fleshed out character who we can imagine existing outside of this story. The same is true of every character who appears, however fleetingly. Even “queer assistant” (Castration Movie Anthology filmmaker Louise Weard) with just one line, feels like a character we know and feel for with her undervalued place in the movie ecosystem.
At a time when we increasingly encounter AI generated imagery, I basked in the beautifully hand-crafted feel of this film, with its painted backdrops, like the ones that transport us to Emerald City or Munchkinland in The Wizard of Oz, that fire up our imaginations, rather than blocking them or taking us out of a film like showy CGI effects can. Shot on Kodak 35mm, there is a tactile quality that runs through the film.
As Schoenbrun critiques and lovingly parodies the slashers they clearly revere despite their flaws, and Billy and Kris shatter and queer the genre’s traditional cis male gaze while they embrace their sexual desires, this smart, layered film never takes itself too seriously. When Kris arrives at Billy’s camp she is awkward and cerebral, and the older woman hands her a joint and encourages her to loosen up, to connect with her body, and discover her pleasure. Kris has made a name for herself as a filmmaker by exploring Psycho from the shower curtain’s perspective. Whereas for Billy, the appeal of horror like Miasma comes down to something more simple, “flesh and fluids”. No doubt this film will deservingly inspire a raft of academic essays examining its themes and craft, but Schoenbrun also wants us to take heed of Billy’s advice and just enjoy the blissful ride that this romantic, funny, unsettling, and ultimately healing movie offers. “Don’t watch yourself, watch the movie”, as the lyrics of Andy Shauf’s “Satan” encourage. It’s a place to escape to and take solace in, just as Billy has found in the camp itself.
Horror, comedy—and let’s face it, queer films—are often left out of the awards conversation but Miasma deserves to be in heavy contention, buoyed by its Un Certain Regard-nominated, Queer Palm-winning Cannes debut, followed by the Audience Award at the 50th Frameline. I’d love to see Jane, Gillian, Hannah and the production department heads Oscar-nominated for their exquisite work.
By James Kleinmann
Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is in theaters from Friday, August 7, 2026.
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