For those willing to accept its idiosyncrasies, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is a bonkers but brilliant examination of self-identity and the creative process.
Part of what makes Jane Schoenbrun such a unique filmmaker is not just their observations on queer culture, but also on our relationship with media. Their previous film, I Saw the TV Glow, used nostalgic shows to investigate how we suppress identity or growth, culminating in a devastating ending that I still remember viscerally. Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is a mouthful of a title that explores the opposite end of the spectrum: how nostalgic media can serve as a personal awakening. Its conclusions prove wildly creative and enticing, albeit strange to a fault.
Schoenbrun has cited 1998’s Psycho remake as an inspiration, an intriguing facet that lays the foundations for a great premise. A hypnotic opening credits sequence details the backstory with gorgeous brevity: the Camp Miasma franchise was a series of 80s slasher films in the vein of Friday the 13th. Snapshots and memorabilia show that the original remains a cult classic, but the films have gradually lost relevance. In the modern day, studios want to reboot Camp Miasma, hiring queer filmmaker Kris (Hannah Einbinder) to helm the project.
Kris knows she’s only been hired as a socially progressive sticking plaster to counterbalance the original’s transphobia (the series villain, Little Death, is the ghost of a child raised as both boy and girl). Nevertheless, Kris feels a sincere attachment to the franchise. Ambitious about her odds, Kris travels to the Pacific Northwest, hoping to meet and eventually cast the reclusive actress Billy Presley (Gillian Anderson), who played the final girl in the original film. Their meeting begins a series of abstract events that detail the messy joys of finding oneself.
The term “every frame a painting” comfortably applies to this film’s aesthetic. From its bright colour palette to its detailed production design, this is a gorgeous picture as immersed in the world of camp 80s slashers as Kris is. Vast wide shots of snowy landscapes suggest a blank canvas ripe for potential. The painted backgrounds, which Schoenbrun and team make no effort to hide, add to the surreal, dreamlike quality as characters navigate the worlds of film and self-identity. Even the grainy cinematography, courtesy of Eric Yue, reminds one of classic slashers like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Schoenbrun deliberately draws attention to the artificial qualities of the film’s world, thereby enhancing atmospheric intrigue.
Upon meeting her, Kris discovers that Billy has been living in the abandoned campgrounds where the original Camp Miasma was filmed. Parallels to Sunset Boulevard’s Norma Desmond are verbally highlighted more than once, as Billy seems to be an enigma living in the ghost of a former life. From the wooden huts and ancient memorabilia, including the original negative of the first film, the camp is as frozen in time as the lake at its centre. The camp itself has become a physical memory that mirrors the one Kris has of her first time watching the film.
This creates a horror film that evokes unease without any overt reference to typical slasher tropes beyond aesthetics. Yet this opens the door to the film’s metatextual observations on how media, even of the taboo kind, can mark the start of our journeys of self-discovery. Kris has a very academic reading of the original film, citing its problematic representations of the LGBTQ+ community. At the same time, Billy prefers to view the film as purely a tale of sexual awakening, not wanting to miss the forest of the film for the trees of problematising it.
Both readings are valid, and Kris’s engagement with them allows her to uncover not just the hidden depths of the film but of herself. Just as she must reconcile with the original film to achieve her vision, so too must she realise that she cannot live or create by compartmentalising rules that others set for her.
Weaving a level of camp into its craftsmanship, the film is deliberately over-the-top in its performances and mise-en-scene. This creates an outrageous juggling act in which its horror look and feel have a knowing edge. As Kris attempts to figure out Billy and her new film, her reality appears to merge into the plot of the original Camp Miasma. The death scenes are gruesome, but chaotically so, with rivers of blood and imaginative dismemberment bordering on comedic in its macabre nature. The fakery of it harkens back to classic slashers while also celebrating how one finds themselves through the creation of art, even if cynical overseers (be they studio executives or judgemental peers) attempt to force said creations into certain nostalgic or politically correct labels.
Einbinder and Anderson’s dynamic is the beating heart of this bizarre but engrossing tale. Kris is passionate about her work but uncertain of her identity beyond her queerness, her anxiety contrasting with Billy’s self-assuredness. Their personalities work off each other wonderfully, Anderson’s vivacious portrayal of confidence, even with her character’s inherent oddities, acting as a springboard to Kris’s self-exploration. Einbinger’s comparatively grounded performance, at least initially, lays emotional groundwork for the film’s crescendo into graphic absurdity.
There are moments when this absurdity becomes too much. I hesitate to say “style over substance” because both style and substance are beautiful and compelling in equal measure. But there are times when the film appears to get lost in its own creative escapism. Arguably, giving in to imagination is part of the film’s ambitions, and not unreasonably. Still, some of its thematic prowess is obscured by this choice, slowing the pacing and overwhelming the senses. It’s certainly bold and atmospheric, but not particularly scary, despite its heavy themes and slasher genre aesthetic.
However, for those willing to accept its idiosyncrasies, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is a bonkers but brilliant examination of self-identity and the creative process. Colourful, nostalgic and intelligent in its thematic ambitions, it makes an intriguing companion piece to I Saw the TV Glow as a meditation on the connection between our perceptions of self and the media that influences us. Even if one takes Billy’s approach and dismisses the academic readings in favour of something that’s purely about flesh and fluids, there is more than enough to sink your teeth into.
Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is now showing in cinemas nationwide.
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