Camp goes to camp in sly ‘Teenage Sex and Death’
There are few things more liberating than discovering your true self, even if it takes decades to reveal. It happened for acclaimed trans filmmaker Jane Schoenbrun in their 30s. Suddenly, everything made sense, dramatically altering their view of the world. For me, it was being diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder in my 60s. So it was quite easy for me to relate to their clever, very meta, allegorical take on identity, “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma.”E
It’s Schoenbrun’s third and most personal feature, and one that not only satirizes 1980s horror franchises such as “Halloween” and “Friday the 13th,” but also creates a convincing approximation of the sorts of terrors that are a part of transitioning. The irony isn’t lost on Schoenbrun that the horror genre has not been kind to trans people, from “Psycho” to “The Silence of the Lambs.” Yet, it’s as much a part of their film’s lifeblood as its two mesmerizing lead performers, Gillian Anderson and Hannah Einbinder.
Not since the pairing of Bette Davis and Joan Crawford in “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane” has there been a more dynamic duo at evoking eerie eccentricity. Likewise, their chemistry is undeniable, as the actors deliciously throw caution to the wind in an anything-goes display of raw, uninhibited sexuality. Well, not at first.
In the opening scenes, Schoenbrun puts us inside the mousy head of Einberger’s Kris, a Sundance darling fresh off her directorial debut. For her follow-up, she’s entering the mainstream by resurrecting the long-dormant “Teenage Sex and Death” franchise featuring the seemingly indestructible homicidal maniac Little Death (Jack Haven). It’s Kris’ desire to convince the original’s first girl, Billy Presley (Anderson), to reprise a role she played once and vowed never to portray again.
As Kris drives north through the heavy snow toward the Canadian border to visit Billy, she knows her chances of success are slim, but remains determined. Heck, even if Billy turns her down, it’s still an opportunity to meet a legend who long ago went full Greta Garbo by fleeing public view in favor of living out her life on the very grounds where the original “Teenage Love and Death” was filmed.
The references to “Sunset Boulevard” are not lost on us, nor are they meant to be, just as the snow and isolation are meant to invoke “The Shining,” two of the many films Schoenbrun pays fanboy homage to along the way. That’s a large part of the fun to be had with this cheeky tale of emancipation and seduction. But the reason for buying a ticket is Anderson’s literal drop-dead turn as the kook with the unisex moniker.
It’s a career-best rendering by the former “X-Files” star, as she relentlessly chews scenery as Kris’ dream-girl nightmare. But what first resembles a traditional cat-and-mouse motif quickly defies expectations by morphing into a bizarre love triangle between the two women and, indirectly, Little Death (a French term for orgasm), who may or may not reside at the bottom of a nearby lake.
To Schoenbrun’s credit, there are no attempts at reining in Anderson’s shameless vamping, sporting lavish evening gowns and a Norma Desmond-inspired turban as she speaks in a haughty Southern timber that’s equal parts Dolly Parton and Jodi Foster. Billy is also notably frank about her views on sex, making Kris blush, especially when the interviewee turns the tables by getting deeply personal in probing the love life of her painfully shy, junk-food-junkie guest. Einbinder can barely contain Kris’ awe at being in the presence of an icon, particularly one so interested in her comparatively mundane life and polyamorous romance with her two-timing partner, Mari (Jasmin Savory Brown).
The film begins to sizzle when Billy treats Kris to a private screening of the first “Teenage Sex and Death” flick, a show within a show much like Schoenbrun’s last picture, “I Saw the TV Glow.” Their new film has the look and feel of a true relic from 35 years ago, featuring “nubile” young stars, including young Billy (Amanda Fix), playing camp counselors about to FAFO courtesy of Little Death, a spear-toting ghost whose head is hidden beneath a large wooden box shaped like the housing of a ceiling fan. The story, told to the others by Will (“Severance’s” Zach Cherry), begins with Little Death being murdered for being trans. Ever since, his spirit has been exacting revenge on narrow-minded camporees.
Might this group be next? Dah! Cue the murder spree, capped by a nearly 5-minute bloodbath set to the Counting Crows’ hit “A Long December.” It proves a gory thing of beauty in its dual purpose of being celebratory of the horror genre as well as an indictment of the sexism and misogyny that helped earn the cult classic its modern designation as a “problematic fave.”
It’s no small miracle that the actual movie works on multiple levels, with the emphasis placed on learning to step outside your mortal body to see and understand who and what you are, and doing it without assigning labels. Here, obtaining that nirvana is equated with achieving an orgasm, the moment everything comes (literally and figuratively) together. It’s a clever concoction, but one that might perplex or repel traditional horror fans blind to the existential subtext. Even if that’s the case, the movie depicts more than enough kill shots to please any diehard.
Just don’t expect “Teenage Sex and Death” to be a LOL delight. And that includes a couple of clunky drop-ins by “SNL” star Sarah Sherman as Kris’ clueless manager. I grinned a lot, but I never found it side-splittingly funny, despite appreciating its tongue-in-cheek critique of transphobic horror franchises, which is just about all of them. After all, what more do you need when you have Anderson and Einbinder obliterating passe tropes with such unbridled glee? Like Little Death, they’re killer. So come on in, the murder’s fine.
Movie review
Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma”
Rated: R for some language, gore, drug use, bloody violence, graphic nudity and sexual content
Cast: Gillian Anderson, Hannah Einbinder, Sarah Sherman and Zach Cherry
Director: Jane Schoenbrun
Writer: Jane Schoenbrun
Runtime: 111 minutes
Where: In theaters now (limited), expanding Aug. 14
Grade: B+
