A love letter to Gillian Anderson: Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is everything the girls have ever wanted — and we’ll thank you for the new horror movie forever | Daily Reports Online
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Dear Gillian,
When I close my eyes, my version of heaven is you sprinkling rose petals across the bedroom of a deserted log cabin while any song from Sade’s Love Deluxe album hums softly in the background. Now, when I open them, I can see exactly that in Teenage Sex and Death in Camp Miasma.
It’s an understatement to say that Jane Schoenbrun’s third movie was my most anticipated movie of 2026, and that was before I knew anything other than the cast list.
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The world’s worst-kept secret is that amongst queer women, you’re considered to be “lesbian God,” thanks to The X-Files, The Fall, Sex Education, and the time you said that the Guess remix featuring Charli XCX and Billie Eilish was your most listened-to song on Spotify in 2024. I’d argue that you’ve even overtaken Cate Blanchett in that respect.
Add Hannah Einbinder, the woman we’ve vicariously lived through since season 1 of Hacks, into the mix, and I knew audiences would have something special in their hands. But I really didn’t foresee just how profoundly, life-changingly moving the end product would be.
There’s a lot of spectacular dynamics at play to make this possible, but I think that the beating heart at the center of it is you. As Billy Presley, the reclusive former ‘final girl’ of the Camp Miasma horror franchise that director Kris (Einbinder) wants to reboot, we get yet another piece of the never-ending puzzle that is your multi-faceted craft.
Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is more than just a LGBTQIA+ horror movie — it’s an epiphany
On the surface, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma should be a straightforward, almost stereotypical horror movie premise. When Kris is asked to direct a reboot of the disgraced Camp Miasma franchise, she visits original movie final girl Billy, who still lives at the summer camp where it was set. Cue an inversion of reality where the pair are literally running for their lives away from the “big bad,” Little Death.
But actually, there are no villains here. This is all just a facade to get you hooked on the true meaty substance of the movie: the subconscious fear in pleasure. For Kris, this manifests in her sexuality, struggling to fully let herself go in the presence of another person. Billy’s confident command in leading Kris towards the light (that is, sexual freedom) is… well, satisfying in more ways than one.
Everything is sexy and sensually charged, but nothing is ever gratuitous. It’s almost as if Einbinder was inside my own brain before instinctively making her character choices, with every decision Kris makes being the one I’d have chosen myself. She makes no secret of her immediate fascination and hunger for Billy… and isn’t that how we react to you as it is?
By now, the internet has worked out that “Little Death” is also how the French describe an orgasm, but I think the significance of the trio’s relationship runs so much deeper than just sex. Our spear-wielding villain signifies loneliness, a lack of self-understanding, and a self-imposed inability to give and receive love. Schoenbrun’s previous two films, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair and I Saw the TV Glow, explore these phenomena beautifully, but by God, has she achieved an all-timer here.
Across the board, everything is elevated, from the movie’s scale and production design to its soundtrack and grasp on moving through time. Aesthetically, we land directly between fantasy and reality, with hand-drawn backgrounds often representing Billy’s romanticized version of her Camp Miasma truth. Kris is the conduit between the two, but when she finally gives herself over to Little Death, she exists in a blissful, ever-moving fantasy that I would now do anything to claim for myself.
The act of pleasure in itself can look like just about anything, and you all innately understand that. As Little Death sits in his video palace with a completely different understanding of what the Camp Miasma movies can mean, I find myself wanting to be brave for them all. I want to scream, cry, and grasp hold of joy for them. I want to meet myself at my most basic, primal level.
But back to you, Gillian
But enough of this… let’s get back to you. Armed with a Dolly Parton-esque accent, a bucket of fried chicken and a lifetime’s resistance against assimilating back into the real world, Billy Presley is the new-age horror hero I didn’t know I needed.
Kris might be the bridge between the world of Camp Miasma and real life, but Billy is our guide between harbored shame and unrelenting freedom. She understands life in a way that most of us never do, perhaps because we’ve long left our sense of whimsy and suspension of belief behind. To her, Little Death is as real as you and I, and I’m starting to believe the same thing.
You’ve simultaneously made Billy into the most mysteriously sexy woman alive and an adult posing as the frightened, unsure teenage girl who never grew up after the release of the franchise’s first movie. She’s a beacon of never-ending wisdom, yet has absolutely no understanding of how the outside world works. She’s the embodiment of how people can be everything and nothing all at once, and that is a pleasure to behold in itself.
If she could trap me under that picturesque starlit sky while little on the porch of the cabin she now calls home, I’d never move. If she reached for my hand to stay close through a woodland storm of bloodied clothes and peach skies, I’d walk forever. Kris felt the same way, and now she gets the blissful, blood-soaked happy ever after with her lover that the LGBT+-friendly side of cinema has only let us have a handful of times. The one so many of us long for.
Kris gets it. Einbinder and Schoenbrun get it. And now, I get it too. Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma isn’t just a movie, but a life-altering experience, and you made sure of that. In a twisted sort of way, sex, death, and the life we live in between the two have never been more appealing.
Thank you for keeping us grounded in our own pleasure, whatever it looks like.
Yours,
Jasmine Valentine
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