Upon initially encountering the news of Molly Manning Walker’s film How to Have Sex, my premature judgement led me to hastily pigeonhole it as a member of a certain cinematic genre. This genre, in my perspective, tends to diminish the complexity of sexual experiences, presenting them through a lens of light-hearted, simplistic entertainment. Characterised by its superficial approach, it often prioritizes humour over depth, eschewing insightful exploration of its subject matter. Films including The 40-Year-Old Virgin (2005), Superbad (2007), Miss March (2009), and The To Do List (2013) are quintessential examples of this trend. While I do not outright dismiss the artistic merit of these works, they seldom align with my personal predilections for cinematic comedy, often striking me as cringe-inducing and devoid of meaningful, enlightening substance.

A Shifting Perspective: Critical Acclaim and Personal Resonance

However, my stance shifted when I learned of Manning Walker’s feature debut clinching the prestigious Un Certain Regard award at the 2023 Cannes Film Festival, coupled with reading a series of stellar reviews. Critics have drawn parallels between its aesthetic qualities and Aftersun (2022), a film that holds a significant, personal resonance for me, noted for its exquisite beauty. Although critical acclaim and awards do not invariably align with my personal reception of films, How to Have Sex undeniably merited the accolades it received.

The film managed to captivate, unsettle, and ultimately provide a cathartic experience for me. It evoked a vivid recollection of my own untamed teenage years, surfacing events and feelings that had hitherto eluded my capacity for articulation. It unearthed memories that were deeply buried in the recesses of my consciousness, offering me the emotional lexicon to confront and process them. How to Have Sex delves into the nuanced territory of sexual consent, addressing this very deficit of language among young people to describe their sexual encounters.

The Director’s Vision: From Personal Pain to Cinematic Power

As a film critic, I firmly hold the conviction that discussing films without acknowledging our own embodied perspectives does a disservice to the art form. Hence, in this review, I will interweave my own, albeit distressing, experiences. In a conversation with The Guardian, writer and director Molly Manning Walker disclosed her personal ordeal of sexual assault as a teenager. She expressed her aspiration that the film will act as a catalyst, encouraging us to break the silence and articulate our experiences. This approach underscores the importance of personal narratives in shaping our understanding and appreciation of cinematic works.

Character Dynamics and Storytelling: Unveiling Complex Friendships 

The film intertwines the narrative of three 16-year-old girls: Tara (Mia McKenna-Bruce), Em (Enva Lewis), and Skye (Lara Peake). Having just completed their exams, they embark on a celebratory journey, marking the conclusion of their GSCE with a hedonistic excursion to Malia, a renowned party destination in Crete.

Tara, portrayed by Mia McKenna-Bruce, emerges as the central figure. Her performance is nothing short of phenomenal, capturing the depth of emotion through nuanced facial expressions and body language. Tara, affectionately known as Taz, is depicted as a vivacious and persuasive individual, securing a coveted hotel room with a pool view for the girls. Her endearing nature and unassuming honesty instantly draw our affection.

In Malia, their days and nights are filled with exuberant sea dives, inebriated escapades, and spirited karaoke sessions, all under the chant, “Best! Holiday! Ever!” The portrayal suggests a tight-knit camaraderie, but this illusion shatters upon their encounter with neighbours Badger (Shaun Thomas), Paddy (Samuel Bottomley), and Paige (Laura Ambler), unveiling the complex and problematic nature of their friendship.

Skye, in particular, feels threatened by Tara. Meanwhile, Em, being a Black lesbian, is perceived differently within this dynamic. I assume that Em’s sexual orientation prevents her from drawing attention away from Skye. The film, directed by Molly Manning Walker, masterfully reveals the layers of each character. Skye, for instance, struggles with parental neglect and her mother’s alcoholism, subtly alluded to in the narrative. Tara’s budding connection with Badger, a flamboyant party enthusiast, incites Skye’s jealousy, leading her to mock Tara for her virginity.

Tara adeptly navigates these challenges, concealing her profound uncertainties beneath a facade of forced smiles and witticisms. Her reservations, particularly concerning her future prospects and her reticence in matters of romance and intimacy, become evident when viewed through the lens of the film.

While immersed in the cinematic experience, I couldn’t help but draw a striking juxtaposition between the dynamics of the girls’ relationships in How to Have Sex and the sincere sisterhood portrayed in Anna Hint’s Smoke Sauna Sisterhood (2023) documentary, a work I recently explored. It underscores the enduring presence of feelings of inadequacy and the persistent undercurrent of judgment that permeates women’s interactions within our society.

It is disheartening to observe that all too often, when men enter the equation, women find themselves compelled to engage in competition for their affections, perpetuating a regrettable cycle of rivalry rather than solidarity.

Tara ultimately finds herself succumbing to the societal pressure to shed the weight of her inexperience in matters of sexuality. After much contemplation and inner turmoil, she takes the plunge into the realm of sexual encounters. Regrettably, her initiation into this newfound territory proves to be far from the euphoric and liberating experience she had hoped for; instead, it unravels as a deeply disheartening and even traumatic event.

The Nuanced Territory of Consent: Filling the Language Gap

Tara’s experience, underscores the need for a more humane understanding of consent, beyond its legal implications. In the current epoch marked by the Me Too movement, the discourse surrounding the concept of consent has undeniably gained considerable prominence. However, it is discernible that these discussions, while commendable in their intent, often tend to oversimplify a profoundly intricate issue. The matter at hand transcends the stark dichotomy of a mere ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ While legally, a clear affirmation might suffice, it falls considerably short in ensuring a sexual encounter characterized by mutual contentment, comfort, and genuine desire from all involved parties. It is within this intricate web of complexities that the film in question emerges as a didactic instrument of profound importance, one that holds the potential to equip us with the linguistic tools essential for engaging in nuanced conversations about consent.

The cinematic portrayal of Malia as an oasis for British revellers draws an intriguing parallel to a contemporary bacchanalian spectacle. By night, its streets pulsate with life and fervour, akin to modern-day revelry, only to transform into a desolate and barren landscape under the unforgiving gaze of daylight.

One pivotal scene within the film encapsulates the disillusionment experienced by the central character, Tara, upon her return to her apartment after a significant personal encounter. This scene is a masterclass in visual storytelling, vividly conveying the profound disappointment that engulfs her. We witness her traversing the streets, now strewn with discarded remnants of revelry, clad in a neon dress that accentuates her stark isolation. Her facial expressions serve as a poignant canvas, painting a picture of confusion, melancholy, and a lingering sense of guilt.

The vibrant promises made by the flashing neon lights, the bustling clubs teeming with people, and the reassuring presence of her friends have all been mercilessly shattered. What was anticipated as a night of exhilaration and fulfillment has, instead, unfolded as a starkly empty and solitary experience, casting a piercing light on the multifaceted nature of human desires and disappointments within the realm of consent and sexual encounters.

Cinematic Mastery: Visual and Auditory Storytelling

The film’s cinematographer, Nicolas Canniccioni, whose professional background is deeply rooted in the realm of documentary filmmaking, brings a distinct approach to the visual storytelling of the narrative. This is particularly evident in the dynamic camera work, which is seldom static. Instead, it actively follows the characters, often employing intimate close-ups. This technique allows the us to engage in a deeper observation of the characters’ emotions, effectively capturing the subtle nuances of their expressions.

In the vividly depicted scenes set within the club, there’s a deliberate and skillful manipulation of focus. Characters intermittently blur into and emerge from the background, as the camera executes swirling movements, effectively invoking a sense of disorientation. This is further amplified by the use of flashing lights, which creates a visually blinding effect, momentarily disorienting the viewer.

Moreover, the film’s sound design complements this visual disarray. It fluctuates between muffled sounds and complete silence, save for the isolated amplification of Tara’s heartbeat. This auditory element contributes significantly to the our overall sensory experience, intensifying the feeling of immersion into the scene.

Revisiting Youthful Revelry: Personal Reflection

These scenes possess a profound power, vividly evoking a sense of drunken disorientation so effectively that they transported me back to my own turbulent days of youthful revelry. When I was Tara’s age I grappled with feelings of inadequacy, a sentiment predominantly rooted in my perceptions of my body. Despite not being overweight, I was plagued by feelings of unattractiveness and undesirability. I believed that I needed to adopt a persona of effervescence and humour to gain acceptance.

During this period, as my peers boasted of their sexual exploits, my view of my virginity shifted from a cherished state to a source of mortification, an embarrassment I felt compelled to discard as swiftly as possible. My experience, akin to Tara’s, was a traumatic encounter with someone who subsequently vanished from my life. This event marked the beginning of a precipitous decline for me: habitual school absences, daily intoxication, and relentless partying as a means to escape my accumulating worries and traumas. This descent eventually led to a sexual assault.

When I confided in my friends about the assault, their response was devoid of sympathy; they insinuated that the blame lay on me for associating with dubious individuals. Consequently, I made the drastic decision to abandon everything and relocate to a different country.

Conclusion: How to Have Sex – A Cinematic Journey of Discovery and Healing

In conclusion, though these memories had faded into the recesses of my mind, How to Have Sex resurfaced them, offering an unexpected catharsis. The film has been a transformative and deeply reflective experience. It is worth noting that in the era of the Me Too movement, discussions about consent have become more commonplace, yet they often remain oversimplified, adhering to a black-and-white perspective. How to Have Sex dares to delve into the intricacies lying beneath the surface of consent.

How to Have Sex is a visceral and emotional journey that invites introspection and dialogue. It serves as a poignant reminder of the power of cinema to unearth hidden memories, provoke discussion, and offer unexpected catharsis. Molly Manning Walker’s directorial debut is a testament to the profound impact of storytelling and its ability to bridge personal narratives with larger societal conversations.