Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma (2026)

Score: 5 / 5

Jane Schoenbrun does it again, and this time, in a film that feels tailor-made for me personally. Have you ever felt that way about a film? Scholar and writer Pierre Bayard suggests that we all have a book inside ourselves that is always looking for its perfect match from an external artist, and that our preferences in art are shaped by how well (or not) new art "fits" our mold. I don't know how they did it, but Schoenbrun did that for me here.

Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma concerns, like their previous work, the power of pop culture/art to inform and even determine the identities of young people who consume it. Specifically, it targets fans of '80s slasher franchises who grew up with endless sequels in which Jason and Freddie and Michael are illogically killed and resurrected ad nauseam, roving the American landscape to slaughter sinners from rural Texas to suburban Illinois to Manhattan itself. During this film's opening credits, we're treated to dated and merchandised material related to a fictional version of such IPs, the Camp Miasma franchise, which clearly owned a major stake in the cultural milieu of the in-film world.

Yet, in Schoenbrun's hands, the film is not merely an homage or satire of Friday the 13th. It knowingly and explicitly recalls so many pop horror references -- including name drops like Neve Campbell and Heather Langenkamp, among others, that felt surprising and perhaps even a bit unethical considering their lives and continued careers -- that it often feels less like a fictional film and more like a film student's capstone project. There are also constant overt references to noir and queer films, the most obvious being Sunset Blvd and Sleepaway Camp, which add to the heady mix of cerebral and sensual pleasures offered once the story gets going.

And while I won't get into the plot much here -- it's perhaps the single element that might pull the uninitiated through the otherwise queer horror fever dream -- I do want to recognize that, despite its flamboyance and metatextual fictionality, this might be Schoenbrun's most grounded and accessible feature film yet. Their previous two films -- both excellent, if more understated and quietly disturbing -- premiered at Sundance as experimental and off-kilter entries, garnering cult praise and status as a result. Similarly, in this film, the main character (played by Hannah Einbinder, fresh off Hacks) has just debuted her film at Sundance; we're told it was basically Psycho from the perspective of the shower head, which had me cackling aloud. She's now been tasked with reviving an old, problematic slasher franchise for a studio hoping to capitalize on the queer and progressive niche-to-fringe audience market. After all, you get enough of the weirdos and freaks onboard, and suddenly the niche is mainstream.

In doing so, she becomes obsessed with the original star of the first Camp Miasma film to the point of tracking down the recluse, who has bought and currently lives isolated in the setting of that original film. Enter Gillian Anderson as the unbelievably erotic and insane glamazon who challenges the young filmmaker at every step while inviting her to be more human, less idealistic, and to create real meaning in her art. I was reminded more than once, too, of Chuck Tingle's Bury Your Gays in this film's unabashed lampooning of what happens when big business attempts to dictate new art. Frankly, that the slasher villain of this franchise is a queer mess of a person who wears a sort of camera obscura on their head that is at once vaguely vaginal and reminiscent of characters in Silent Hill; the killer is also called "Little Death," which leads us to lots of potential conversations about violence, orgasms, and one of the most articulate artistic explorations I've ever seen about how and why queer women might especially love these kinds of "unwoke" horror series.

Schoenbrun's direction and writing here is unparalleled in its constantly multiplying layers of meaning. Taking inspiration from classical art, they even manage to pull off an embedded story by showing much of the original "Camp Miasma" film that made Anderson's character a star (and a Norma Desmond wraith haunting the site of her own peak and rot). Humor abounds, especially in the first act, including a few sequences with excess of food -- both candy and fried chicken in gluttonous quantities each -- that had me attempting to stifle my laughter in the chillingly quiet theater. Much like the cartoonishly stylized violence we'll be subjected to in the film, these moments indicate for me that Schoenbrun is adding even more themes here about the consumables that plague artists seeking satisfaction. When in the throes of writer's block or creative drought, we so often gorge on unhealthy sensory things that feel instantly gratifying but never quite fulfill. 

And this is all just the tip of the iceberg. The backgrounds of many scenes are painted in matte style, almost glaringly obvious. A vibrant and emphasized color palette keeps things gay and dreamy. Offbeat needle drops imbue a semi-nostalgic sense of calm and comfortable unease throughout. This film will have many more screenings in my living room, so if you missed it in its limited theatrical release, please know that I'll literally never not want to watch this with you. It's very possibly my favorite film of the year. Let's get into it.

Coyote vs. Acme (2026)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Much like other films of its ilk -- Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Space Jam come readily to mind -- Coyote vs. Acme manages to straddle the age gap with aplomb, offering plentiful laughs and thoughtful cleverness suited for all ages. That this film was shelved for so long and almost scrapped entirely by the studio is a chilling reminder that our presence and financial support of titles at the box office matters and is consequential in terms of what gets produced and distributed!

Opening with a bizarre and delightful notice that the film is "based on a true story," we begin with a prologue indicating that a crime caper is underfoot. An animated Dr. Lorre (modeled after the late great character actor) flees armed Acme agents in his lab, using all kinds of strange company products to deter and stall his pursuers. He's leaked intel to a mysterious contact, but he's caught before he himself can escape. This plot will pick up again later, and while it's not the main focus of this film, it does inform the eventual climax, in which a massive company seeking ever greater profits in order to monopolize and rule the world is brought low by underdogs who have finally had enough of its abuse and exploitation. Hmm... perhaps it's no surprise Warner Bros. nearly axed it for a fucking write-off.

Anyway, screenwriter Samy Burch (whose magnificent work in May December feels like a far cry from her work here, yet she's clearly one of the most capable and insightful new voices we have) masterfully crafts a fun, silly story that should appeal to all ages. After a thrilling opening, she shifts us to a classic setup that feels equally nostalgic and hilarious: Wile E. Coyote, the famous emaciated and nonverbal predator, uses an endless supply of Acme products to attempt to catch and kill his nemesis, the impossibly fast-moving Road Runner. Visual and aural gags abound in this raucous sequence that had some of the loudest laughter I've ever heard in a cinema, and I was easily the youngest person present. 

There's a purity of purpose and of joy in a film like this, thanks to Burch as well as director Dave Green, that doesn't hinge on franchise continuity or on product placement. This movie isn't trying to get kids to buy new action figures or lunch boxes, and there's no annoying music or slapdash action. To be sure: there is action here, but it doesn't have the frenetic editing and obnoxious score that plagues most animated fare for kids these days. This movie knows its primary audience may well be millennials and older generations who could bring their kids or grandkids to appreciate something a bit more mature in nature.

Which sounds weird when so much of the film involves an animated homicidal canine attempting to use rocket shoes to catch his prey, but it works surprisingly well.

The story proper, as indicated by the title, concerns Coyote's ennui about constantly failing in his compulsion. He turns to legal action against Acme after seeing an ad for Will Forte's legal firm. I don't remember Forte's character's name, but it doesn't really matter. He's the "nice guy" lawyer who probably started with a sense of purpose and has been so battered by life that he really only exists to settle cases now. His settlements, moreover, are almost always in favor of Acme itself, who pays pittance to cartoon characters with grievances. In this world -- a strange one that perhaps other films in the IP have addressed, but that depicts cartoon characters living in tandem with the real world, despite having a fairly tertiary role as entertainers instead of fully-fledged citizens -- nobody else seems to care what happens to cartoons as long as they're funny and fairly inconsequential.

At first annoyed and then begrudgingly inspired by Coyote's determination to bring Acme to task, Forte -- along with the audience -- gets swept up into a hybrid mystery-action courtroom drama saga and eventually decides to go for Acme's jugular. They're making, he discovers, intentionally flawed products for cartoons as test subjects, so they can refine their products for much larger and more devious purposes in the "real" world, for humans. Of course, Foghorn Leghorn is the owner of Acme, but he's basically untouchable behind his cadre of sycophants and bullies, led by John Cena and Tweety Bird. Forte is the film's everyman: a down-and-out guy who finally finds a calling, a purpose, and whose earnest efforts to that end are a foil to the rambunctious and often self-sabotaging efforts of Coyote and the other cartoon characters. Even the other humans are a bit ridiculous, but fittingly so. Lana Condor plays the other emotionally affecting role as Forte's assistant (and niece), and their paired performances are so well attuned to each other that it's remarkable to think they're often sharing the screen with invisible scene partners.

Some people might take umbrage with the oft-reiterated mystery plot line, and some might balk at a somewhat inflated runtime. But those are small potatoes when the film's boons keep returning on our investment. I can't even begin to recount the sheer joy of cameos by some of our favorite animated characters in unexpected ways, including Taz, Daffy, and of course Bugs himself. Luis Guzman's strait-laced judge is an absolute pleasure, as is Martha Kelly's deadpan legal partner. There's a car chase, an insane asylum, a tunnel with a train, Goldbergian machines, vaudevillian slapstick, clever puns and adult humor, and a surprisingly touching theme that coalesces in the denouement about the duality of friendship and purpose. We're all chasing our roadrunners, but what do our roadrunners think of us?