One of the strangest divides between Millennials and Gen Z is over the presence of sex scenes in films. Elder Millennials, in particular, grew up in the remnants of 1980s media, where sex was prevalent in cinema. From teen comedies where our protagonists were on a quest to get laid to R-rated thrillers with steamy scenes that blended sex and danger, to late-night cable TV, sex was everywhere. The only real difference between the ‘80s and the ‘90s when it came to mainstream sex on screen was the emphasis on condoms in ‘90s media. 

But then came the superhero era, and PG-13 action cinema overtook seemingly every other type of story in the multiplexes. Other than Tony Stark in the first Iron Man movie, none of the Marvel heroes have been particularly horny. At best, those films depict mild attraction, but none of the beautiful people ever seem to want to get physical with each other.

This is part of what makes Gregg Araki’s I Want Your Sex feel so refreshing and subversive. 

The film stars Cooper Hoffman as Elliot, an artsy but somewhat aimless young man who lands a job working for popular contemporary artist Erika Tracy (Olivia Wilde) and soon becomes her sexual muse. Erika is a powerful combination of sexual dominance, creativity, confidence, and exploitation, immediately captivating Elliot and leading him on a path of pleasure and destruction. 

Wilde is excellent, bringing a raw sexuality that feels like an updated version of the classic Hollywood vamp, but with a touch of camp and hypocrisy that would also make Erika fit right in with a John Waters film. She’s confident and creative, but phony in a way that pokes fun at the pretentiousness of contemporary art and the performative nature of BDSM in pop culture.

Hoffman grounds the film with a natural performance. We can understand why he’s immediately drawn to Erika and see how he gets so sucked into her world that he makes a series of destructive choices, plunging his life into chaos. He does a great job of portraying the way Elliot loves the liberation of sexual exploration with this hot, dominant older woman, but also starts to resent the many ways he’s being taken advantage of by her overpowering demands.

Supporting performances from Mason Gooding, Chase Sui Wonders, Daveed Diggs, and Charli xcx round out the primary cast and provide extra layers to the complicated relationship between Elliot and Erika. Margaret Cho and Johnny Knoxville appear as detectives in a framing device peppered throughout the narrative. 

While the film has story elements of a Brian De Palma-like sexual thriller, its visuals offer a heightened style reminiscent of the colorful worlds of Boots Riley’s films. Elliot’s academic-minded girlfriend, Minerva, exists in a world of gray tones, abhors sex, and seems uninterested in art or passion. His best friend, Apple, shares a colorful apartment with him, watches cartoons, and dreams of the kind of sexy spontaneity that feels so adult and elusive these days. Her apartment with Elliot reflects a sense of stunted growth that affects so many young people in their early 20s and serves as a great contrast to the performatively curated red, black, and latex world of Erika. 

We often hear Gen Z say that sex on screen is “unnecessary” to the narrative and feels like filler content—an argument that is impossible to make about a film like I Want Your Sex. The sex is a crucial part of the story, not only showing the power dynamics but also the importance of mutual consent, the pleasure of exploring new things, and the way that lust can be used for exploitation. The titillation is for the characters, not just the audience, and it sets up a story that ends up being about a lot more than just sex. 

This seems to be the deeper reading missing in a lot of the “sex scenes are never necessary” discussions happening on social media. In a world where the youth of the nation aspire to be conservative trad wives or reject sexual intimacy entirely, it’s great to get a story for adults that presents sex as a part of life, and thus a driving force in the cinematic narrative. The characters feel fleshed out, with lust, attraction, sex, and complicated relationships being part of their lives—just like they are for real people.