‘I Want Your Sex’ & ‘Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma’ – Review
‘I Want Your Sex’, ‘Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma’ and Gen-Z’s Sex Crisis
Spoilers for: I Want Your Sex (2026), Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma (2026), Poor Things (2023), Babygirl (2024), and Together (2025)
Gen Z has a problem. We are experiencing a sex crisis, and it’s reflected in our media. As reported by Suzanne Blake, as of 2025, “[…] one in five U.S. adults said they never had sex; that figure was staggeringly high for Gen Z, of which 48 percent said they were virgins […] The report discovered that 48% of Gen Z adults have never had sex, significantly higher than the 26% of millennials who said the same.”
Admittedly, there are contributing factors to this that differentiate us from our millennial counterparts; the cost of living crisis, the global pandemic, and instant digital gratification are all partially responsible for this, yet these issues continue to worsen, and our media is beginning to reflect our outwardly perceived prudish nature.
Mike Faist, Zendaya and Josh O’Connor in ‘Challengers’
This time last year, when entering the final year of my undergraduate degree, I had no idea what I wanted to write my dissertation about until I walked out of a showing of Michael Shanks’ Together. The film had been marketed as a ‘crazy freaked-out film’ about a couple whose bodies begin to morph into one. I left the cinema enjoying the film, but feeling underwhelmed; a feeling I was all too familiar with. This led me to create a couple of videos in August last year surrounding ‘freaky cinema’ and what films I thought were ‘actually freaky’ amidst what felt like a ‘fake freak epidemic’. These videos did very well, and the comments were intriguing.
I knew we were in a sex crisis, but I didn’t fully realise how bad it was. It had never occurred to me that people would be shocked by the depictions of sex in films like Sinners (Coogler, 2025) and Challengers (Guadagnino, 2024). Challengers is almost visually sexless, and Sinners shows quick sequences of cunnilingus and a glimpse of heterosexual sex, with minimal detail. There was even one commenter who stuck out to me because of how shocked they were that Superman (Gunn, 2025) had Clark Kent and Lois Lane kissing on the kitchen counter. It was no surprise to me that these people nearly died when presented with Emerald Fennell’s works.
Michael B. Jordan and Miles Caton in ‘Sinners’
For a while, it felt like contemporary cinema was never going to get down and dirty ever again. Filmmakers felt too frightened, and audiences were shocked by the smallest depictions of sex. It felt hopeless looking for meaningful depictions and explorations of sex in contemporary cinema, as when I did find a few, it felt like general audiences were purposefully misunderstanding those films. An example of this, largely cited comparatively to Saltburn (Fennell, 2023) in my dissertation, was Halina Reijn’s Babygirl (2024). Admittedly, I did initially struggle with this film on first viewing, but grew to understand and adore it on my second.
The film is a challenging exploration of how sex and feminism co-exist with one another, and how external expectations of what female empowerment should look like can affect our sexual preferences. Romy’s sexual desire conflicts with her outward, desirable persona, causing issues in each respective sector of her life, challenging audiences to question the consequences of suppressing our own desires.
Nicole Kidman and Harris Dickinson in ‘Babygirl’
Similarly, I also discussed Poor Things (Lanthimos, 2023) in conversation with Babygirl and in contention with Saltburn. Whilst it would be untrue of me to say that Poor Things received the same amount of slack and misunderstanding that Babygirl did, there was still a loud minority of people who struggled with the challenging concept presented.
A child’s brain in a grown woman’s body exploring her sexuality as she travels across the world obviously raised some eyebrows and ethical concerns. However, the film is concerned with destabilising social norms, specifically oppressive social norms targeted towards women, and ultimately informing spectators of a socialist-feminist message.
Whilst both films are challenging, I’ve come to conclude that I believe Reijn’s film is perceived as more confrontational because of its grounded approach. The story is grounded within the everyday corporate reality, breeding familiarity with spectators, meaning they struggle to distance themselves from the film and suspend their disbelief. Comparatively, Poor Things takes place in a fantastical steampunk 1890s, allowing for distance between diegesis and spectator.
Emma Stone and Ramy Youssef in ‘Poor Things’
Similarly, I also discussed Poor Things (Lanthimos, 2023) in conversation with Babygirl and in contention with Saltburn. Whilst it would be untrue of me to say that Poor Things received the same amount of slack and misunderstanding that Babygirl did, there was still a loud minority of people who struggled with the challenging concept presented. A child’s brain in a grown woman’s body exploring her sexuality as she travels across the world obviously raised some eyebrows and ethical concerns. However, the film is concerned with destabilising social norms, specifically oppressive social norms targeted towards women, and ultimately informing spectators of a socialist-feminist message.
Whilst both films are challenging, I’ve come to conclude that I believe Reijn’s film is perceived as more confrontational because of its grounded approach. The story is grounded within the everyday corporate reality, breeding familiarity with spectators, meaning they struggle to distance themselves from the film and suspend their disbelief. Comparatively, Poor Things takes place in a fantastical steampunk 1890s, allowing for distance between diegesis and spectator.
Somewhere between the two lies Gregg Araki’s latest, I Want Your Sex, marking not only his comeback after 12 years, but a meaningful return to freak cinema. The film follows fresh-faced, 23-year-old Elliott (Cooper Hoffman), who takes an assisting role to renowned artist Erika Tracey (Olivia Wilde). As quickly as Elliot becomes her sexual muse, the film becomes what seems like the answer to the Gen-Z sex crisis. Discussing in his article for the BFI, Blake Simons writes and cites Araki’s response:
“[the film’s] duologues, co-written with Vogue sex columnist Karley Sciortino, are pointed in their challenge to Gen-Z’s repressed attitudes to intimacy. “Erika’s reaction is my reaction: Why is your generation not having sex?” says Araki. “It’s a sex-positive love letter about that generational divide and the circumstances that Gen-Z are facing in terms of how they grew up” (2026).
Araki’s film reminds us that it’s ok to be horny, and rejecting such normal feelings leads us to dangerous and unhealthy relationships with sex. If we aren’t honest with ourselves and with our partners, this prevents us from comfortably and safely exploring our sexuality. The root of Elliott’s sexual frustration is that he feels he cannot comfortably express his sexuality within his relationship with his girlfriend, Minerva (Charli XCX). The two have an almost sexless relationship and cannot communicate with one another. Elliott’s lack of communication leads him to explore other options behind Minerva’s back. When adding the moral implications of his cheating, this exposes him to a vulnerable position and a dangerous environment, as he begins engaging in sex without boundaries.
Olivia Wilde and Cooper Hoffman in ‘I Want Your Sex’
In no way is Elliott responsible for Erika’s treatment of him throughout the film; in fact, the film prioritises the importance of self-worth. Feeling secure within our own sexual expression can minimise the risk of unhealthy relationships as we feel more confident to set clear boundaries. Lack of self-worth, not knowing what we like, and overall negative attitudes towards sex, all synonymous with the Gen-Z sex crisis, leave us vulnerable, and Araki knows this, as the film presents a meaningful conversation surrounding the seemingly sexless Gen-Z culture. It’s refreshing to see raunchier, explicit depictions of sex that aren’t played off for shock value, and actually have something to say about our relationship towards sex, sexuality and ourselves.
Araki’s return is particularly relevant in an era when Gen-Z are encouraged to understand sex through the language of risk and self-protection. Whilst these conversations are important, Araki raises concerns as to what happens when our caution tips into repression. The film prioritises understanding our boundaries, knowing what we like, and how we can communicate this without shame and insecurity. I Want Your Sex encourages spectators to question the consequences of why we have become so uncomfortable with the idea of sex, answering that the problem isn’t the quantity, or lack thereof, of sex Gen-Z is having, but that we need to destabilise the shame associated with wanting it.
Hannah Einbinder and Gillian Anderson in ‘Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma’
Similar to Araki, Jane Schoenbrun has also recently released a film concerning the consequences of repressed sexuality in Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma. The film follows filmmaker Kris (Hannah Einbinder), tasked with resurrecting the beloved slasher franchise, Camp Miasma. These films centre on Little Death (Jack Haven), a killer emerging from a lake to murder the sexually active teenagers staying at the titular camp. One thing Schoenbrun’s film is interested in is questioning why sex and death have become so intertwined within horror cinema.
Traditionally, the sexually active teenager is punished, while the virginal “final girl” survives, perpetuating inherently misogynistic ideals surrounding female sexuality. Schoenbrun subverts these ideals as they intertwine sex and death, exploring how the repression of desire can become destructive. This becomes apparent through Kris’ relationship with actress Billy (Gillian Anderson), the final girl from the original Camp Miasma film.
Kris initially approaches Billy as part of her research for the reboot, hoping to grasp a greater understanding of the franchise. Billy has remained at the location where the original film was made and hadn’t starred in anything since, fusing the fictional world that shaped her identity with the real one. This introduces the idea that the film functions as a language that our protagonists use to understand parts of themselves that the real world cannot accommodate. This becomes particularly relevant within the film’s depictions of sexuality.
When Kris and Billy sleep together for the first time, Kris details how she can’t finish unless she is “far away”, picturing herself as a girl running away from the villain in a slasher movie. Billy enabling and encouraging her to do so is what allows Kris to begin to accept herself and her sexuality. However, this moment is not a straightforward liberation, as Kris can only access her sexuality through the language of fictional horror cinema, demonstrating how cultural narratives can shape our understanding of desire.
Both Araki and Schoenbrun explore what happens when desire is repressed or misunderstood. Where I Want Your Sex challenges Gen-Z’s sex crisis, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma demonstrates how these desires can embed themselves within stories we project ourselves onto. Kris’ reliance on her horror fantasy to experience pleasure reflects how cultural ideas about sex and sexuality can influence our behaviour, even when we believe we are rejecting them. Both films support open understandings of sexuality, prioritising healthy communication and boundaries.
Sex in these films is used to confront and challenge the shame and repression associated with sexual desire within the Gen-Z cultural context. In doing so, both filmmakers demonstrate that the problem is within the cultural narratives teaching us to fear it.
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