‘Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma’ Director on Their Kinky Rom-Com and Soundtracking the Year’s Bloodiest Scene to Counting Crows

Jane Schoenbrun's latest feature, "Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma," now playing in theaters via Mubi, looks set to upend conventional expectations. Though it shares thematic DNA with their earlier atmospheric horror outings—2021's "We're All Going to the World's Fair" and 2024's "I Saw the TV Glow"—this third effort shifts into an entirely different gear. What emerges is a comedic, gleefully campy, and surprisingly tender story centered on Kris (Hannah Einbinder), an aspiring indie filmmaker determined to revive the fictional slasher franchise that lends the movie its title. Her path collides with Billy (Gillian Anderson), the mysterious star of the original film, sparking an unexpected education in the messy intersections of intimacy, mortality, and creative obsession.

In a recent conversation with Variety, Schoenbrun dissected the film's most memorable moments—from a hilariously absurd chicken tender dinner to a gory, chaotic set piece scored by Counting Crows—while explaining why comedy felt like the natural next step and why they remain driven to keep making art. "Every one of my films so far has come out of a mystery I’m exploring in my life that I don’t know how to talk about," they said. "The film becomes a way to investigate my relationship to that mystery—not necessarily to solve it, but to work through something." For "World's Fair," that meant grappling with their trans identity; for "TV Glow," it was summoning the courage to transition and face the fallout. This latest project, however, sprouted from a place of healing. "A year or two into transition, I started to see the benefits of that decision. Dysphoria was healing, and I was feeling like myself for the first time since childhood," they revealed. That newfound comfort unlocked the ability to explore topics long sidestepped, particularly sexuality. "It’s both scary and exciting, in the way the film hopefully is—scary, exciting, joyful, and tender. I wanted to do justice to the strangeness of that experience, which many people go through as teenagers." Notably, Schoenbrun's rise mirrors a broader surge of trans filmmakers gaining mainstream traction, with projects like "TV Glow" earning widespread praise for their unflinching yet lyrical examinations of identity—a development that has reshaped the independent cinema landscape in recent years. Industry observers have pointed to this moment as a watershed, with festivals like Sundance and Berlin increasingly spotlighting queer and trans voices, signaling a lasting shift in what stories get told and who gets to tell them.

The turn toward humor was anything but arbitrary. Schoenbrun recalled seeking counsel from their longtime partner after the emotionally draining shoot for "TV Glow." "She said, ‘I think you need to do something really fun and really gay,’" they recounted. "And I thought that was correct." From the start, the goal was to push beyond familiar creative terrain. "This meant comedy, goofiness, and camp. It’s deeply indebted to romantic comedies—before it’s a slasher, it’s a romance. The horror elements are like seasoning on the soufflé of romance I’m baking." Schoenbrun, who jokes about having been voted class clown in high school, sees humor as fundamental to their worldview. "I’ve always understood the world through a dark, gallows-style, distinctly Jewish lens. It’s in ‘World’s Fair’ and ‘TV Glow’ too, but this project let it shine brighter. That’s not to say I won’t make intense, dark films again, but comedy is here to stay—it’s how I communicate." This tonal evolution also aligns with a wider trend in contemporary genre filmmaking, where directors like Ari Aster and Jordan Peele have dissolved traditional boundaries to channel personal pain through unexpected registers, proving that laughter and dread can coexist to powerful effect. The result is a film that feels both deeply personal and broadly accessible, a balancing act that has become something of a signature for Schoenbrun.

Remarkably, the electric rapport between Einbinder and Anderson wasn't something Schoenbrun fully anticipated until just days before filming began. "I didn’t see it until they read together for the first time, three days before production. We were at a plastic table, me filming on my phone, and I thought, ‘Oh, this is going to work.’" The actors deliberately skipped extensive pre-production bonding, preserving an element of unpredictability. "We shot most of their scenes in the first week, so you’re catching an energy that wouldn’t exist if they were old friends." Junk food emerged as a recurring visual theme, reflecting Schoenbrun's belief in the value of low-culture/high-culture interplay. "It’s like a first date that ends at a chicken tender place. If you know you’ll be eating candy together in an hour, doing something kinky feels less scary." They added, "We think of slashers as junk food, and sex in its best form is lavish—luxuriating in junk food. I knew early on we needed Hannah in bed with candy, pouring Raisinets into popcorn while watching a scary movie. It’s a ritual I know, and I suspect others do too." Einbinder, who broke out with her role in HBO's "Hacks," brings a deadpan delivery that has invited comparisons to a young Kristen Wiig, while Anderson—an icon from "The X-Files" and "Sex Education"—keeps expanding her range by embracing offbeat, queer-coded parts. Their on-screen dynamic has already sparked awards chatter, with critics noting how their contrasting energies amplify the film's tonal tightrope walk.

Addressing the movie's bold centerpiece—a meticulously crafted sequence set to Counting Crows' "A Long December"—Schoenbrun laid out their reasoning. "I grew up with Counting Crows; my cousin was their guitar tech, so I saw them as a kid. ‘Nightswimming’ by R.E.M. was the original pick, but once I realized ‘Long December’ fit, I knew it was better. It’s about a shitty year but a hopeful next one—a resilient triumph that’s core to the movie. Plus, the repeated word ‘Hollywood’ timed with heads getting chopped off felt perfect." The sequence demanded over 100 hours of planning sessions, but Schoenbrun embraced the challenge. "I wrote into the script, ‘Now it’s time for the most ambitious sequence in the movie,’ and everyone was thrilled. I couldn’t be a middle manager on a franchise film—I need to care deeply about every detail. In school, I was a B+ student because I didn’t care, but once I found something I loved, I did the homework. Making films is hard, joyful work, and it’s what I’m meant to do." The song choice, with its bittersweet yet forward-looking mood, underscores the film's central tension between past wounds and future possibilities—a theme that resonates not only with Schoenbrun's personal arc but also with a generation navigating post-pandemic uncertainty. As the credits roll, audiences are left with a lingering question: what happens when we finally let ourselves laugh at the things that haunt us? For Schoenbrun, the answer seems to be that we might just find a way to move forward.