Cannes Review: Teenage Mortality and Desire at Camp Miasma Is a Delightful Addition to Jane Schoenbrun’s Collection of Intrigues.

      When discussing her influential movie experiences, Jane Schoenbrun has recounted the month she spent at the age of 11 watching all the sequels of Nightmare on Elm Street. It's easy to argue that the foundation for her latest film, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, was established during those four weeks—notably with New Nightmare, Wes Craven’s precursor to Scream that deconstructs a genre he had a hand in creating. However, like many attempts to dissect this unique film, Schoenbrun is ahead of the game.

      This moment occurs during the second act of Camp Miasma, during a conference call featuring Kris (played by Hannah Einbinder, a Sundance-winning indie director), an upbeat publicist, a bold studio executive (Dylan Baker), and a participant on the call referred to as Queer Assistant. The discussion serves as an update on Kris’ proposed reimagining of Camp Miasma—an ’80s franchise reminiscent of Friday the 13th that’s overdue for a revival. The head of the studio, who mentions Jason Blum within moments, seeks only a guaranteed success, but Kris is resolute about including Billy Presley (brilliantly portrayed by Gillian Anderson), the original final girl (and the catalyst for her queer awakening), in a leading role.

      This conflict between niche interests and sexual discovery also featured prominently in Schoenbrun’s prior film, I Saw the TV Glow. Camp Miasma includes moments that reach the exhilaratingly original and darkly dizzying heights of that film—the same qualities that have led to suggestions of Schoenbrun as a potential successor to David Lynch in 2024. The non-binary director noted that the script for TV Glow was penned during the early stages of their hormone replacement therapy, revealing that the film explored their insecurities about feeling trapped in a previous existence, alongside the sorrow of departing from that life. What differentiates the films, and possibly renders this one slightly less compelling, is that Miasma does not seem to arise from a comparable moment of personal upheaval—instead, it reflects an artist relishing a phase of joy and creative playfulness.

      However, whether the contrasting energies of light and dark seamlessly merge in Camp Miasma remains uncertain. The narrative follows Einbinder’s initially introverted filmmaker as she makes her way to Presley’s residence—revealed to be the sleepaway camp where the first Miasma film was shot. On the way, her polyamorous partner (Jasmin Savoy Brown), who is also involved with a bisexual guy named Thor, speculates that Presley may have transformed into a Norma Desmond figure over the years. True to this movie's style, Anderson eventually sports the iconic draped turban of the Sunset Boulevard character for a screening of the first Miasma in her home theater after an early exchange involving KFC. As the two characters sit closely (leaving it to the audience to discern which one symbolizes the director’s ego and id), Schoenbrun raises the tension as they near the scene in which Presley’s character (portrayed in the film-in-film by Amanda Fix) loses her virginity, coinciding with the moment when the creepy boy with her is pierced by the killer’s spear. This creature (whose massive head appears inspired by an old movie camera lens) is known as Little Death—or La petite mort, as the French term denotes post-coital oblivion, particularly in Cannes.

      If one were to catalog every reference, they would be occupied for hours. Each of Schoenbrun's protagonists (much like the director) has been characterized by their fascination with overlooked media—the individuals who explore the darkest recesses of films and TV series in search of patterns and deeper meanings. This obsession led Schoenbrun to create a fully realized, Buffy-esque series for TV Glow called The Pink Opaque, and the latest film similarly elaborates on Miasma’s lore in captivating detail. Much of this groundwork occurs in the movie's impressive opening credits sequence, which depicts the lifecycle of a horror franchise from its box office triumph and controversy to excessive merchandise, cultural demise, nostalgic resurgence, and even reinterpretation through queer and feminist film criticism. (As Schoenbrun fan Richard Brody will likely highlight, there's even a charming New Yorker cartoon.)

      Despite all the captivating details, following up a generational milestone like TV Glow was bound to be a challenge, and while Camp Miasma satirizes the artistic compromise that often comes with success (and studio financing), it clearly doesn't shy away from appealing to the audience. This shift is understandable, especially for a filmmaker who so openly revealed their soul in their previous work, but I must confess that the more playful elements in Camp Miasma—standard Cronenberg and Lynch nods, an ongoing joke with brand-name gummies, a mix of analog and hyperreal textures that sometimes clash—detracted more from the film's