Cannes Review: "Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma" is a delightful addition to Jane Schoenbrun's collection of enigmas.

      When discussing formative cinematic experiences, Jane Schoenbrun recalls the month spent at age 11 watching all the sequels of Nightmare on Elm Street. It’s tempting to argue that the inspiration for their latest film, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, began during that time—especially considering New Nightmare, Wes Craven’s precursor to Scream that deconstructs a genre he had a hand in creating. However, as with most analyses of this unique film, Schoenbrun anticipates these connections.

      This reflective moment occurs in the second act of Camp Miasma, during a conference call between Kris (played by Hannah Einbinder), a Sundance-acclaimed indie director, a cheerful publicist, a bold studio executive (Dylan Baker), and a woman referred to as Queer Assistant. The call serves as a progress update on Kris’ planned reimagination of Camp Miasma—a long overdue reboot of an ’80s franchise reminiscent of Friday the 13th. The studio head, quick to mention Jason Blum, is primarily focused on safe investments, while Kris is resolute in her desire to bring back Billy Presley (brilliantly portrayed by Gillian Anderson), the original final girl and the person who sparked her queer awakening.

      The juxtaposition of niche passions and sexual awakening also featured prominently in Schoenbrun’s previous film, I Saw the TV Glow, and there are moments in Camp Miasma that reach the invigoratingly original, darkly captivating heights of that earlier work—so much so that in 2024, there were suggestions that Schoenbrun could become a successor to David Lynch. Identifying as non-binary, Schoenbrun mentioned that the script for TV Glow was written during the start of their hormone replacement therapy, revealing that the film addressed their struggles with feeling trapped in a previous existence, alongside the sorrow of leaving that stage behind. One distinguishing factor between the two films is that Camp Miasma does not appear to stem from a similar moment of personal conflict; instead, it reflects an artist reveling in a period of joy and playful creativity.

      However, whether Camp Miasma effectively merges these contrasting themes of light and darkness is uncertain. The narrative follows Einbinder’s initially reclusive filmmaker as she visits Presley’s residence—what turns out to be the sleepaway camp where the first Miasma film was shot. During the journey, her polyamorous partner (Jasmin Savoy Brown), who is also involved with a bisexual guy named Thor, speculates that Presley might have become a full-fledged Norma Desmond over the years. True to this film's style, Anderson eventually adopts the signature turban of the Sunset Boulevard protagonist for a screening of the original Miasma in her home theater, after an initial interaction involving KFC. As the two characters sit closely together (I’ll leave it to you to determine who symbolizes the director’s ego and id), Schoenbrun builds tension as they approach the moment when Presley’s character (played in the film by Amanda Fix) loses her virginity, coinciding with the creepy boy’s demise at the hands of the killer’s spear. This monster, whose oversized head resembles the lens of an old film camera, is referred to as Little Death—or La petite mort, as it is known here in Cannes, the French phrase for post-coital oblivion.

      If one were to enumerate every reference, it would take all day. Each of Schoenbrun’s protagonists thus far (mirroring themselves) has been characterized by an obsession with overlooked media—the kind of individuals who delve into the darkest recesses of films and TV shows in search of patterns and deeper significance. This passion inspired Schoenbrun to create a fully realized program for TV Glow called The Pink Opaque, and their latest film similarly enriches Miasma’s lore with captivating detail. Much of this groundwork is laid in the film’s impressive opening credits sequence, which depicts the life cycle of a horror franchise—from box office success and moral outrage to merchandise exploitation, cultural decline, nostalgic resurgence, and even reinterpretation through queer and feminist film theory. (As keen Schoenbrun admirer Richard Brody may soon point out, there’s even a charming New Yorker cartoon included.)

      Despite all the captivating detail, following up a generational breakthrough like TV Glow was always going to be a challenge, and while Camp Miasma satirizes the artistic compromise that often accompanies success (and a studio paycheck), the film is certainly not shy about appealing to the audience. This shift is understandable, particularly for a filmmaker who so candidly laid bare their soul in their previous work, but I must admit that Camp Miasma’s more self-aware moments—standard Cronenberg and Lynch allusions, a recurring joke involving brand-name gummies, and a blend of analog and hyperreal textures that don’t always sync—detracted from the movie's spell rather than enhance it. However,