Camp Miasma Wants To Have Its Cake And Splatter It Too

Kumail Nanjiani’s 2010s podcast, The X‑Files Files, devoted a significant portion of its airtime to dissecting the show’s playful subversion of sexual archetypes. In its early years, Dana Scully—portrayed by a young Gillian Anderson—was depicted as aloof, stoic, and wrapped in oversized coats, a portrayal that intensified fan reaction. Only in recent years has Anderson publicly acknowledged her own sexuality, a revelation that may have further inflamed the fandom.

Jane Schoenbrun, known for her atmospheric works I Saw The TV Glow and We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, has returned with her most ambitious project yet—Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma. The film probes the delicate dance between mortality and eroticism, blending lush visuals with a provocative narrative. While its aesthetic is undeniably striking, some critics argue the film’s intensity may alienate viewers.

In Camp Miasma, Hannah Einbinder—renowned for her role in Hacks—takes center stage as Kris Williams, a queer indie darling tasked with reimagining the 1980s slasher classic. The studio aims for a chic, sophisticated horror experience, while Williams seeks redemption for the original series’ transphobic legacy. To achieve this, the director reaches out to Billy Presley—Gillian Anderson’s character from the original cast—who has retreated into seclusion on the very grounds where the original show was filmed. As their conversations about art, intimacy, and identity evolve, the boundary between reality and fiction dissolves, culminating in a relentless killer emerging from the lake.

A striking still from the film captures the killer, Little Death, reflected in Presley’s widened eye during the climactic moment—a visual cue that underscores the film’s nostalgic homage. Williams is intent on reconciling her complex relationship with the violent imagery, while Presley eagerly embraces the opportunity to participate in this new chapter.

Camp Miasma seeks to both claim its place and paint it in splatter. It simultaneously parodies the earnest, pseudo‑scholarly re‑examination of genre cinema while actively contributing to that very discourse. The protagonist, Williams—clearly a self‑insert for director Schoenbrun—exudes an over‑wound, neurotic energy, delivering monologues that feel like an extended Letterboxd critique. By the time you might be ready to draw parallels to Sunset Boulevard, Wes Craven’s New Nightmare, or Sleepaway Camp, the film has already done so for you. Its metaphors are stark and overt, while any subtlety is drowned in gore.

Despite the script’s abrasive tone, Schoenbrun’s directorial prowess shines brighter than ever. Their knack for crafting vivid, precise visuals and constructing a compelling visual language is consistently impressive. It would be fascinating to see them tackle a different writer’s material—after all, their recent table read of “Secretary” has already borne fruit. Unfortunately, Camp Miasma’s persistent defensive stance is a missed opportunity. Like many queer‑themed and psychosexual horror works, it truly excels when it embraces decadence, exemplified by a memorable killing spree underscored by Counting Crows. The film feels like an internal dialogue rather than a collaborative conversation, even though it ostensibly aims to forge a deeply personal connection with video nasties.