Winner of the Un Certain Regard Prize at Cannes 2023 and the debut feature from writer-director Molly Manning Walker, How To Have Sex is a fully immersive party girl experience that slowly, almost imperceptibly transforms into work about the tangled web of sex, consent, and adulthood. Three British teenage girls—Mia McKenna-Bruce as the sole virgin, Tara; Lara Peake as prime instigator Skye; and Enva Lewis as Em—head out for a short vacation to Malia, where they plan to stay awake for as many hours as possible, drink everything, and hook up with random guys. But in the background of their lives, the girls have all just taken exams that will determine where they can get into university, and none of them feel great about their results. What determines a young woman’s self worth is a major theme in this film, and in many ways, it informs every decision made.
The scene in Malia is sun-drenched, bass-pounding chaos, but the filmmaker manages to narrow her focus somewhat on Tara, who has the party-girl vibe down. They meet the people staying in the hotel room next door, including a guy she’s attracted to, Badger (Shaun Thomas) and his idiot friend Paddy (Samuel Bottomley). Badger seems to have a sensitive side, but his lifelong friendship with Paddy makes him blissfully unaware of some of his pal's unhealthier qualities, including how physically aggressive Paddy can get when he drinks. Tara’s eagerness to lose her virginity and Paddy’s forward behavior lead to a sexual encounter that strains the definition of consent and leaves Tara feeling regretful about much of this trip, including her choice in friends at some points. The story of How To Have Sex isn’t so much told; it’s more like it emerges from the noise, lights, drinking and dancing without us realizing it until we’re neck deep into a searing drama.
What happens to Tara after the beach encounter is fascinating, and to some eyes, it appears she enters an alternative universe of people in this community that actually like her and want to take care of her. I’m being deliberately obtuse, but the film isn’t. This is a hard realization for Tara when she comes to understand that there are people in this world who would never have allowed her to be alone with a person like Paddy, and it shakes her to her young core. She returns to her hotel room a changed person, having gone through an unfortunate rite of passage that opened her eyes to everyone she has chosen to surround herself with, and it saddens her to no end. A second, clearer-cut encounter with Paddy (who basically ignores her after the beach) only makes matters worse and all the more devastating and insightful for Tara.
What seems like an embracing of party culture subtly becomes a condemnation of it, and McKenna-Bruce’s transformation during the course of the movie is nothing short of astonishing and heartbreaking. She’s unprepared to voice her pain to her friends, but she wears it on her face so convincingly that you almost want to look away. Everything about How To Have Sex feels authentic and complex, as the shifting nature of young friendship is tested. Without saying much, Tara is deciding which, if either, of her friends she will carry with her into the next phase of her life, and it’s a traumatic experience. This feels like a movie made by and about young people, but its emotional resonance is ageless.
The film is now playing exclusively at the Alamo Drafthouse Wrigleyville.
Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting Third Coast Review’s arts and culture coverage by making a donation. Choose the amount that works best for you, and know how much we appreciate your support!