Jane Schoenbrun’s third feature film, the strikingly titled Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, follows a young director, Kris (Hannah Einbinder), who is tasked with bringing the Camp Miasma slasher franchise back to life, but when she visits the original films final girl, Billie (Gillian Anderson), who lives in the cabin of the first instalment, their lives begins to get lost in a world of desire.
Schoenbrun’s previous film, I Saw the TV Glow, was met with mixed reactions from some. Criticisms of the alleged obviousness of its overarching metaphor of transition, as well as its apparent similarities to their first film, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, shroud what are two films cloaked in more cognitive mystery than some give Jane credit for. It makes perfect sense that the striking title of Camp Miasma dutifully reflects the double-edged sword of its tonal surprise, as Schoenbrun turns the previous criticisms of its apparently obvious metaphors on its head; a film that is filled with vast amounts of strange humour and intentionally direct allegories, yet still manages to feel engaging in its vast enigmas.
Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is a film that is teeming with self-referential confidence; its meta-physical layers pile on and reveal themselves in equal measure, as the movie reaches a literal climax. TV Glow and World’s Fair are two fairly depressing movies to say the least, but what is so beguiling about Miasma’s confidence is its ability to slip briefly into the upsetting ambiguities of their previous features, without ever being compromised by its humoured approach. Its moments of sadness are met with a catharsis that is shared by its link between pain and pleasure, as visual sensuality becomes a metaphysical function of their film. At times, the grainy nature of the celluloid creates a distance between us and the main feature here, an intentional facade that only deepens in formal texture as we enter the world of the franchise’s previous instalments, as Jane’s heavy hand on the film’s texture adds to the battle with its own clarity. Perhaps my favourite visual touch is the deliberately fake matte paintings, inserted into its backdrops as an aching inclination for observable pleasure leads to faux representations of what we, and filmmakers, most treasure in cinematic beauty.
Schoenbrun’s somewhat autobiographical career takes a turn into the world of sexual repression here, this time through the lens of our protagonist, Kris. Camp Miasma is a film about a filmmaker who struggles with their own identity; this isn’t the first time that Jane has visualised their self-discovery; the added literal and physical self-insertion here adds more than just a sense of progression but also confidence to look back on their partially self-referential career and how it has impacted their own environment and the way they interact with the levels of a camera and an image of an image. Besides that, this movie materialises Kris’ difficulty in having an orgasm through film and the slasher death; an evolution of actualisation advanced from their usual questions.
Whilst there will be many out there that relate to the core aspects of this film much more than I, I found that beyond Schoenbrun’s motifs, their depiction of Kris’ unfiltered obsession with cinema is touching in a way that never allows cheesy cinephile cliches to overcome its unique playfulness. Their levity is let loose, yet they always manage to pull it back under control when it needs to be. I’m sure Jane, a massive fan of David Lynch’s work, particularly Twin Peaks: The Return, was ecstatic to get Patrick Fischler, a collaborator of Lynch’s, on board with this project, which in itself enacts a cinematic desire that the film so frequently breaks a sense of its own reality with, perfectly captured by the opening first person POV shot, of the films slasher villain Little Death wandering through a film set.
Above all else, Jane Schoenbrun’s self-voyeuristic Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is a welcome entry into the world of queer films; so many succeed in being entirely subtle in their trans commentary, but this film excels in being aware and snug in its directness, and yet it still finds a way for its narrative frictions to linger in the mind. As the clash between digital zoom meetings, celluloid grain, and VHS tape playout, Jane’s journey alludes to assurance, but there is still an air of obscurity about every intentionally obvious moment.
★★★★
Played at Cannes 2026 and SXSW London 2026 / In UK cinemas on August 21st / Hannah Einbinder, Gillian Anderson, Jack Haven, Patrick Fischler, Eva Victor, Jasmine Savoy Brown / Dir: Jane Schoenbrun / MUBI / 18
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