Camp Miasma Saw Me (Spoilers!)
Jane Schoenbrun’s Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is gloriously queer and picturesque. In addition to gorgeous performances by Hannah Einbinder and Gillian Anderson, the film explores ego death, surrender, and whimsy as a vehicle for pleasure and self-love. Modern, fun dialogue fills the soundscape, and hand-painted backdrops on glass harken to the surreal. Growing up and even in adulthood, I had never felt that seen by a film.
Einbinder’s character Kris is a fun embodiment of an overintellectualized late-20s film nerd, which can really be compared to just about any person who lives so far inside their head and their work they have trouble being present IRL. The performance is rich and believable, and Einbinder disappears into Kris well. Anderson gives us juicy, drippy drawls and succulent indulgances, confirming why she’s such a legend not only as Scully. She is fully clohted and sensual. The chemistry between them screams off the screen, not only in front of the fire on a pile of sweets, but also in the moments where they invite Little Death into their paradigm.
The ego death of Kris is fascinatingly real for me as a viewer. In some ways, this film read me for filth. It said “hey! are you so in your head that you can’t relax? do you think you’re disgusting every time you disssociate?”, while reminding me I am the same age as the awkward protagonist. The way she withdraws into herself when she remembers she has a physical form was a little too real for me, which I guess Schoenbrun anticipates, reminding us, if it gets too real, you can turn it off.
The use of a slasher genre to reclaim misogynist tropes is effective, but it also reminds us not to take ourselves and others perceiving us in vulnerable moments too seriously. What if a little weird guy living at the bottom of the lake had to come stab you with their harpoon in order for you to happily get railed by an older woman? Would that really be so bad? Maybe you look hot covered in blood at a rural gas station, have you ever considered that?
Blood geysers and bong-wielding punks make this movie camp beyond the title, but they serve so nicely as theaters of imagination. Something about this film made me want to cry happy tears. In the many attempts to seriously but lightheartedly find myself in a film, I think this was the first time I felt so seen by one. Queerness and self-deprication can do a number on you, but I can say I happily died a little death with this one.
To letting go and letting the freak in.