As I got deeper into the festival and more sleep deprived, my second dispatch from Sundance saw some common themes begin to emerge in the films I was seeing. In a matter of two days, I had seen a number of films about sex and desire, tackling those topics to varying creative and successful degrees. Sex seems to be on the mind of many in the year 2026. Gen Z is appearing to be the ‘anti-sex’ generation according to a number of reports recording their dislike of sex scenes in movies and having less sex overall. Younger generations, however, have also cultivated healthier standards when it comes to sex, like a focus on consent and comfortability. The three films I discuss below seem to be wrestling with these contemporary concepts in vastly different ways, though I couldn’t help but draw these comparisons.
Leviticus
What you desire most will literally kill you in “Leviticus,” a striking horror debut from Adrian Chiarella. Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen) live in a small Australian town with a strong religious presence. They both attend the same church and meet up at the deserted factory warehouses that paint the background of their small town. When Ryan and another boy in town are caught together, the church leaders call in a man to cure them of their sinfulness. The man curses the boys, so that an evil presence begins stalking them – only that presence looks like who they desire most.
“Leviticus” does not hold back in its violence. The opening scene is a perfectly haunting taste of what the rest of the film will be — slow zooms, dark color tones, and synth music paint the screen as violence erupts. Despite the violent premise, “Leviticus” is a strong entry into queer cinema. The relationship between Naim and Ryan is tender; their chemistry palpable and felt through their sweet scenes together. These scenes eventually elevate the horror of it all, when the boy that was just kissing Naim is now trying to beat him to death.
Writer director Chiarella uses these parameters to portray the violence communities can inflict on its own people for the sake of something they believe in. The harm that Naim’s mother, played by Mia Wasikowska, and the rest of their church inflict on the boys will not cure them, it will only destroy them. She states that you cannot live without fear. In the ritual committed to the boys, they would have to live in fear of their very desires, constantly running from it or let it literally kill them. In a very clear metaphor for queer suppression, Chiarella crafts not only a moving romance, but a violent depiction of the hate many queer people still experience. We must keep choosing love, because that is what will save us.
I Want Your Sex
Returning to the big screen after a twelve year absence, Gregg Araki’s “I Want Your Sex’ is his take on modern sex and politics. It feels as if the film is a direct response to all of Gen Z’s ‘anti-sex’ attitudes. Araki’s script is full of pop culture references and buzz words that revolve around our discussions of sex today. At first, it feels as if Araki could be shaming the younger generation for being too prudish. He is not afraid to flip that mirror back to older generations, challenging their own obsessions with sexuality. Turns out, everyone is just as terrified of intimacy as the next person.
Cooper Hoffman plays the bright eyed intern Elliot that gets hired at the provocative artist Erika Tracy’s (Olivia Wilde) studio. Still enveloped in his less than satisfying relationship with his girlfriend Minerva (Charli XCX), Elliot enters into a sub-dom relationship with his boss. What ensues is a montage of sexual fantasies played out before the audience. Wilde’s campy performance of over-confident girl boss is comedically self-aware. While the two have their fun, Araki is able to exploit attitudes towards sex in a playful manner. As with his classic 90s new queer cinema films, darkness eventually descends and breaks apart the fantasy.
“I Want Your Sex” takes the ideas of consent, non-monogamy, queerness, and open sexuality and puts them into a blender set to the highest setting. While some observations come off as trite or obvious, there are many instances of compelling deconstruction. Araki’s spirited attitude extends to the film’s aesthetics as well. The striking colors and modern sets are eye-catching, but become grating to the eye. It feels like an overindulgence, just as the sex begins to feel.
“I Want Your Sex” is a confrontation of our current social landscape. Everyone seems to be complaining that there is too much sex in movies, when there is actually much less sex than there used to be. Araki is asking, “Why?” The playfulness in which he approaches this question is refreshing, resulting in a messy yet highly entertaining pop-culture document that is sure to be discussed all year.
The Invite
The same day I saw “I Want Your Sex,” I also saw Olivia Wilde’s new directorial effort “The Invite.” While stylistically it is leagues apart from Araki’s film, “The Invite” also investigates themes of sex and intimacy through the lens of two couples: Angela (Olivia Wilde) and Joe (Seth Rogen), a middle aged hostile couple who have lost touch, both emotionally and physically, with one another. And Pina (Penelope Cruz) and Hawk (Edward Norton), a couple who have recently gotten together and are sexually open with each other — which includes sex parties that keep their downstairs neighbors awake.
Wilde’s one location film is gorgeously shot and blocked, imbuing an exhilarating essence into the conversations these characters have with each other. The cast bounce off of each other, their seemingly improvised dialogue running over each other, producing an organic feeling of conversation. It also allows Rogan to drop some insanely comedic one-liners that almost get overlooked. Not only is the film wildly funny, but it is also a grounded depiction of a couple that has lost touch — literally. The film investigates what happens when we stop talking to each other, stop listening. Each couple is the inverse of each other — Cruz and Norton move as one unit together, constantly touching or even speaking in Spanish together off to the side. Wilde and Rogan are miles away from each other, mostly communicating in small quips at each other. Yet, there are moments of tenderness and connection that can’t help but bubble up between them, just as tensions also rise between Cruz and Norton’s characters.
“The Invite” is an uninhibited, hilarious, and deeply sad look at relationship dynamics. The characters all feel grounded, which makes their relationships to each other feel recognizable, as if these could be friends of yours. As with any relationship, there are layers to “The Invite” that unravel as the runtime goes on, revealing the tenderness and rawness of intimacy. What begins to happen when we close those doors?
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