Culture Editor Thomas Deakin reviews Jane Schoenbrun’s newest film, labelling it a tribute to the history of trans cinema that carves a route for the movement’s future.
Ever since the infancy of the art form, cinema has shone a light on perspectives from overly marginalised groups. This focus on inclusivity has allowed queer and trans cinema to become an artistic mode independent of the cultural hegemony of Hollywood. However, Donald Trump’s anti-trans Executive Order 14168 and the UK’s Supreme Court ruling in favour of For Women Scotland’s case against the Scottish government has unfairly alienated queer and trans people in a way that has forced their cinematic expression to adapt.
Modern trans cinema has since evolved, particularly through the work of the non-binary filmmaker, Jane Schoenbrun. After starting their career with the 2018 documentary ‘A Self-Induced Hallucination‘ about the Slender Man creepypasta, they explored the connection between the internet and being trans with 2021’s ‘We’re All Going To The World’s Fair‘ and 2024’s ‘I Saw the TV Glow‘. Whilst both films captured the devastation of internalised transphobia, Schoenbrun limited their outlook by avoiding the liberation of coming out of the closet.
In contrast to their first two films, 2026’s ‘Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma’ takes a more literal approach towards analysing the aftermath of living openly as a queer person in a world where they are often commodified or marginalised. Yet, this literalism works better than the endless horror of Schoenbrun’s earlier features. They construct a small chamber piece of two characters to optimistically show how queerness can not just exist, but prevail in the anti-trans environment of the 2020s through pride in one’s trans identity.
This is embodied through the film’s main character Kris Williams, played with an authentic sense of emotional evolution and palpable shyness by Hannah Einbinder. Assuming the role of a surrogate for Schoenbrun themself, Williams is an openly non-binary, queer and polyamorous film director hired to resurrect the fictional horror franchise ‘Camp Miasma’. Despite being aware of the franchise’s transphobic reputation, Williams agrees to reimagine the franchise because of her fascination with the first film’s reclusive star Billy Presley, who she goes to visit for inspiration.
Brought to life by Gillian Anderson, Presley embodies the sexual liberation, individuality and passion that Williams lacks. Yet the duo’s shared passion for the ‘Camp Miasma’ franchise develops into a relationship that allows Williams to transcend her shyness and embrace her queer identity as something complex, bodily, and active, not limited to just pronouns and name changes. What this characterisation thus shows is Schoenbrun’s focus shifting from journeys towards self-actualisation, to journeys that enjoy the changed state of the trans body.
The relationship between Williams and Presley also enables Schoenbrun to examine how queer and trans people ironically find solace in historically transphobic films. Williams notes early on in the film that her queer awakening was the original ‘Camp Miasma’ film despite its villain being a genderfluid murderer called Little Death, portrayed by non-binary actor Jack Haven. This references the 1983 slasher ‘Sleepaway Camp’ that features a transgender female murderer, which some transgender writers have reclaimed as gender affirming for trans people.
Schoenbrun emulates this sentiment by having Williams achieve her fantasy of becoming a final girl. The sequence that makes up the last act of the film therefore sees her massacre the Hollywood company that is trying to limit her vision, including a ‘Queer Assistant’ played by the similarly ambitious and internet-obsessed trans filmmaker Louise Weard. Though certainly not subtle, this rejection of sycophancy for commercial gain legitimises Schoenbrun’s optimism through Williams’ newfound confidence that allows her to mirror Presley by the end.
Besides horror films and films showcasing bad trans objects, Schoenbrun’s film merits comparisons to two recent staggering works of optimism by trans woman filmmakers: Alice Maio Mackay’s queer horror ‘T Blockers’ (2023) and Vera Drew’s hilariously personal ‘The People’s Joker’ (2022). Unlike these two films, the sexual undercurrent and intimacy of this chamber piece transforms Schoenbrun’s film into something that is entirely unique: Schoenbrun implements their $10 million budget subversively to carefully prioritise emotions over maximalism.
Some viewers on sites such as Letterboxd have criticised this emotionality as anti-intellectual for ignorantly insisting on events relating to horror and sex being simply ‘play’. Contrastingly, I interpreted Schoenbrun’s usage of ‘play’ in this movie as another cinematic reference to Jacques Rivette’s ‘Celine and Julie Go Boating’ (1974), which similarly uses a growing relationship between two female characters to delve into their own fantasies and rediscover themselves by removing negative influences.
Such a notion of ‘play’ as a rebellion against the sociopolitical structures that attempt to regulate or commodify queerness evokes the complexity of Jack Haven’s character of Little Death. As Williams’ reimagining of her ‘Camp Miasma’ reboot repositions this transphobic villain as a traumatised trans person watching the world from underneath a lake, Schoenbrun provides a counterpoint to the liberation of Williams and Presley that reinforces the previous political sentiment of their first two works: there is still time to come out, or you will avoid the play of self-discovery.
In spite of Schoenbrun’s film being easily their most optimistic yet, it becomes a masterpiece because this liberation does not entirely synthesise the pain of being queer in a world of unfair discrimination. ‘Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma’ ends with Williams remarking to Presley that she knows the despair of Little Death will return. Presley agrees, but the two decide they must carry on. Therefore, this ending perfectly encapsulates why trans cinema must continue to persist because living authentically is the most rewarding symbol of bravery.
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