Directed By Molly Manning Walker

Starring – Mia McKenna-Bruce, Lara Peake, Enva Lewis

The Plot – Three British teenage girls (Antoniades, McKenna-Bruce, Peake) go on a rites-of-passage holiday; drinking, clubbing and hooking up, in what should be the best summer of their lives.

This film is currently not rated

POSITIVES

Even today, films pertaining to sexual exploration from the female perspective are considered taboo, but Walker manages a fearless approach in the depths of her feature length directorial debut, serving her film as a cautionary tale of sorts for the fragility that comes with only being able to make this particular mistake once. It’s a tenderly revealing look not only at the pressures associated with sex-obsessed culture, promoting virginity as something plaguing and pathetic, but also the terrifying realities of not being considered ready, which leads our main protagonist, Tara, on an unforgettably unexpected experience that forces her to re-evaluate her life, perhaps for the better. Walker’s talents in environmental articulation are most impressive, emitting a music-video encapsulation to imagery and interactions that feel exhillarating as a result of boisterously persistent techno score and slow-motion photography that immerse us into the same exoticism that drive the indulgences of our characters, but beyond that it’s her brilliance associated with articulating the dynamics between this trio that I found most impressive, saying so much with body language and comfortability from Tara’s approach to conversation that tells you everything you need to know about who is steering this voyage into sexual escapism. Because everything anymore in cinema feels on-the-nose and obvious in conveying information to the audience, the subtlety and nuances generated here feel all the more refreshing for the urgency they imbed to what’s shown instead of what’s told, making every shot of the film radiate with the kind of meaning and intention that that vividly paints a dreaded disposition of loneliness, which in Tara’s case feels louder than ever in a place built on energy and exubberance. In the insights of a conventional protagonist, my immediate feelings towards this group were that of concern for the extent of a 90 minute narrative, with personalities in people that couldn’t be further than the kind of crowds that I typically associate with, but to my surprise Tara, who initially begins as the most immature of the group, eventually evolves into the one who feels like she’s grown the most, not only for the abundance of time and focus spent persistently with the character, but also in the adversities she’s forced to confront away from the group that plague her with the fear of inevitability waiting in the distance of returning home. Because of such, the mountain of expectations created from losing her virginity obviously never live up to what’s hinted about it, due to circumstances that are tragically out of her control, but the understated realizations about some much-needed changes in her life moving forward couldn’t be more obvious, illustrating a full-fledged evolution that sneaks up on the audience, all the while opening Tara’s eyes to unpleasant realities that hints at life’s greatest moments never quite living up to the ways we expect them to. On the subject of Tara, the performance from Mia McKenna-Bruce is a mesmerizing tour de force of rawness and resiliency for the portrayal, taking her down some darkly devastating scenarios where her silence is the loudest reaction to moments of grim isolation and overwhelming fear. Considering McKenna-Bruce is given a lack of connective dialogue to the other characters, her facial registries must coherently tap into the plethora of complex emotions that she’s continuously being asked to interpret, and with Walker’s photography constantly lingering for a bit longer than normal on the windows to the soul that enclose Tara’s haunting trauma, Mia is able to capably tap into a wandering mind that constantly has to roll with the punches of the crude world constantly persisting surrounding her, materializing boldly crippling reactions that are decades ahead of her limited experience in a starring role. Lastly, while the subject matter of sexual abuse and manipulation might be sensitive experiences for certain audiences, I felt that the imagery and sound designs lend themselves to a responsible approach to depiction that effectively rendered such horrifying realities, without unnecessary exploitation. Because so much of the film’s foundation is built on the experiences that most women can recognize in a simple glance or cold response, Walker doesn’t feel the need to articulate them with anything triggering their vulnerabilities, instead showing us just enough to vividly paint the predicament of what’s taking shape, all without the emphasis in the inappropriate feeling preachy or heavy-handed to the integrity and attention of the narrative. Because Walker shoots so much of her movie away from the glitz and glamour of the club experiences like a documentary, with handheld designs that capably navigate the vast variety of emotional dexterity in every setting, those tender moments of vulnerability never require anything more elaborate than that of the reaction of the person embattled in them, leaving tasteful approaches to moments that are downright dreadful, but beyond that a respect for the very same women who endure these unshakeable nightmares.

NEGATIVES

90 minutes of a run time isn’t an ample allowance to capably pursue the extent of this very intimate story, and while most of “How To Have Sex” did find noteworthy relevance to my engagement, the book-ends between this film doesn’t generate or maintain momentum in ways that feel satisfying. Beginning with the first act, it’s roughly 40 minutes into the film before the main conflict takes shape, with spontaneous scenes that, while effective towards rendering the seediness of the environment, treads a bit towards overkill in not advancing the plot very much between them. To say I was bored during these moments would be unfair to the narrative, as I was very much invested to what was taking shape, it’s just that the stagnant brand of storytelling lacked urgency in ways that rarely rewarded my patience during such stalled moments, in turn leading to introductions with these characters and their various backstories that just kind of lingered before launching into the meat of the material. In addition, the ending also lacks a bit of bravery for me personally, as unloaded emotions give way to a last second inspirational note that I didn’t feel was earned or deserved of Tara’s eye-opening realities. While I can capably understand what Walker was intending for, with women needing to stick together in moments of desparation, I feel like it’s a neatly tied convenience to an overall occasion that states otherwise, lacking the kind of powerful punch that comes with a punctuation point on the material, and instead opting for comforting that I groaned at. Finally, much of the storytelling did remain easily interpretable, despite the thick English accents that adorned their characters, but an unnecessary framing device during the middle of the film overcomplicated the renderings of the aforementioned traumatic event, dividing them into quarters of expositional delivery without anything of relevance for the creative decision. During this time, a character goes missing, and it does feel like the film is inching to get darker tonally in ways that might shapeshift the genre, but it never happens, and instead the inching closer to the big reveal doesn’t excite as much it does annoy, prolonging audience patience with unconventional execution that grows more distracting with each deviation.

OVERALL
“How To Have Sex” is a boldly thoughtful and emotionally deep directorial debut for Molly Manning Walker, who dissects the scolding realities of the pressures and regrets that young women face in the most tender of decisions. With a meaningfully layered breakthrough performance from Mia McKenna-Bruce, as well as authenticity for articulation that feels grippingly real, the film is a fearless call to urgency to protect and promote consent, with one of its own leading the spirited charge.

My Grade: 7/10 or B