Director Jane Schoenbrun, known for their explorations of childhood media fixations in films like "I Saw The TV Glow" and "We’re All Going to the World’s Fair," returns with "Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma." This latest project, Schoenbrun's most high-budget to date, delves into the intersection of thanatos and eros, examining problematic VHS horror through a painterly, albeit occasionally grating, lens. The film seeks to deconstruct and recontextualize a notorious fictional slasher franchise from the 1980s.
"Camp Miasma" centers on Kris Williams (Hannah Einbinder), a queer indie filmmaker tasked with rebooting the titular '80s slasher series. While the studio pushes for an "elevated horror" approach, Williams aims to address the original franchise's transphobic past. To achieve this, Williams seeks out Billy Presley (Gillian Anderson), the reclusive original star who now resides on the campgrounds where the film was shot. As their conversations about art, intimacy, and the nature of media unfold, the lines between reality and fiction begin to blur, mirroring the emergence of a killer figure from the film's narrative.
A central point of fascination for the film is a specific frame from the fictional "Camp Miasma" series: the killer, known as Little Death, reflected in Presley's eye during a climactic scene. Williams is driven to understand their complex relationship with this piece of violent media, and Presley seems eager to revisit the past.
The film positions itself as both a critique and a participant in the trend of academic reassessment of genre filmmaking. Williams, serving as a clear stand-in for Schoenbrun, is portrayed as overly anxious and verbose, frequently articulating and dissecting their artistic vision in a manner akin to an extended online film review. The movie explicitly references inspirations and comparisons, such as "Sunset Boulevard," "Wes Craven’s New Nightmare," and "Sleepaway Camp," before audiences have a chance to draw those connections themselves. Its metaphors are often presented overtly, with more nuanced elements sometimes overshadowed by the on-screen violence.
Despite the script's occasional abrasiveness, Schoenbrun's directorial talents are evident. The film excels in its ability to render specific imagery and craft compelling visual language. There is a sense that Schoenbrun's distinct vision might benefit from applying their directorial skills to material less personally defensive, as evidenced by early reports of their work on "Secretary." "Camp Miasma's" apparent defensiveness detracts from its potential, which, like much of queer cinema and psychosexual horror, could thrive by embracing decadence. A sequence featuring a killing spree set to the music of Counting Crows exemplifies this potential. Ultimately, "Camp Miasma" feels like an internal dialogue, a conversation with itself that hesitates to fully engage external perspectives, despite its ostensible aim of exploring a warped, personal connection to exploitative media.