Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma

This was the first time I got to watch a film in the new Theater 3 of The Music Box Theatre and *damn* do I love that new setup. You're so close to the screen and the room is small and everything is lush and new. It feels like you're in the basement of a Hollywood producer at a private screening.

I went into this with low expectations. I had enjoyed this director's debut film years ago, but didn't enjoy their second nearly as much. If their first film was a statement of category (telling stories of trans life through the lens of horror), then I thought the second was a sophomore album - a self-serious pandering to nostalgia. This third film was a jubilant exhortation of the better halves of those first two: unbridled enthusiasm for filmmaking-as-personal-exploration along with a big bloody bite of juicy horror. And I wholly accepted the director's joy into my heart.

I was loving all the music choices. I was loving the beautiful iridescence of the background behind the horror foreground. I was loving the campy candy wrappers under Gillian Anderson.

Please, more of all of this.