There are few genres as well-trodden as the coming-of-age tale — stories that chronicle an amiable entry into man- or womanhood over a life-changing period of years or months. The best ones feel cringingly, sometimes painfully familiar, while the worst tend to only skim the surface of true experiences. How to Have Sex — written by Molly Manning Walker, who also makes her directorial debut here — is a striking example of the very best, even as it logs just a few heady days of girlhood.
A bittersweet slice of life, the film follows three British teens — Tara (Mia McKenna-Bruce), Skye (Lara Peake) and Em (Enva Lewis) — as they vacation on the Greek island of Crete. After the summer trip, Em will head to college, while Tara and Skye are less certain of what awaits them. It makes for a simple, intoxicating routine: Day after day they drink, dance, party, repeat. Somewhere in there, they squeeze in a burger and a nap.
For Tara, however, there is a key objective: to “finally” lose her virginity. The goal seems very attainable once the girls meet a group of cute boys and girls staying at the hotel room across from theirs. A match is lit; the two groups ping-pong between the two hotel rooms, the pool and the club. Time is a non-concept. It’s an alcohol- and crush-fueled roller coaster, neon-bright and directed with a light and trusting hand; it’s enough to make you feel hungover as you follow the cast from scene to scene.
In fact, How to Have Sex plays as if Walker stumbled onto a very real teenage summer, and happened to bring her camera along. Dialogue feels effortlessly improvised, from silly flirtations to tense moments. The three leads are remarkably natural with each other. While Skye has a tendency to be a bit of a bitch and lets her envy get the best of her, Em is all heart and curiosity. Tara is diminutive, sweet and naive. It’s a tender chemistry.
But it’s McKenna-Bruce who owns this film. Relentlessly charming and an emotional force, she gives the kind of early-career performance we so rarely get these days. Earlier this month, the actress won the BAFTA Rising Star Award, beating out A-listers including Jacob Elordi and Ayo Edebiri and demanding a well-deserved spotlight of her own. And How to Have Sex is the type of film that relies almost entirely on its star. Although a fair portion of the film is spent settling into vacay mode, it does take a sharp tonal turn. The fact is, it’s rare to spend time with a group of teenagers without jealousy, insecurity and social pressure muddling it all.
As the film’s tone shifts, the endless clubbing and drinking suddenly feel like one long migraine, and no amount of sleep is enough to wash away the shame and unease from the night before. That’s particularly true for Tara, who in an unexpected encounter finds herself at the sometimes-blurry intersection of desire and consent. Just like that, loneliness enters the island, along with stark confusion, a sense of regret and fear.
It’s a stomach-churning recipe, and one that’s familiar to many young women exploring sex at a young age. It had me revisiting some troubling memories of my own, achingly bringing me back to my own coming of age. It also reminded me how this sort of experience, unfortunately, is practically a common experience for so many young women, when all they may want to do is have a good time with their girls while on vacation in a beautiful place.
Despite what the title suggests, How to Have Sex is far from a guide. It is, however, very much a mirror, subtly reflecting the all-too-familiar experiences of many girls and young women. Still, the camera carries no judgment of these young women. And in a way, it feels like a salve I wish I’d had when I was in Tara’s shoes; all these years later, I felt seen.
Horny, raw and hazy, How to Have Sex is ultimately a tricky cocktail: Spring Breakers meets Skins meets … The Blair Witch Project. Like its lead, the film is a firecracker, screaming and demanding your attention. Don’t ignore it.
