Review of "How to Have Sex": A Stunning Debut Feature Shows Teen Girls' Summer Vacation Taking a Devastating Turn
Molly Manning Walker's film, opening in Cannes' Un Certain Regard sidebar, follows three friends as they try to make the most of their summer by taking a trip to Greece.
The three young British ladies at the center of Molly Manning Walker's modest and magnificent debut How to Have Sex are ready for a good time. They've packed neon bikinis, mesh tops, and bodycon dresses. They're sucking water as they arrive in Malia, the Greek beach town where they'll spend the next week drinking tequila shots, sipping on fishbowls of questionable alcoholic concoctions, and dancing on bar tables.
Tara (Mia McKenna Bruce), Skye (Lara Peake), and Em (Enva Lewis) create a fantastic trio. These three teenagers, who have recently graduated from high school and are worried about the future, are in love. The university is on the horizon, threatening their dynamic's strength and purity. This journey is both a celebration and an act of preservation. The stakes are great, but not in the way they may think.
How to Have Sex begins on the beach, with a protective and intimate glance. The camera of cinematographer Nicolas Canniccioni zooms in on Tara, Skye, and Em tormenting each other and splashing in the waves. The waves crash into the sandy beach. The sun rises, showering the three in the golden glow of morning. Their skin gleams. The inherent connection between the actors adds to Manning Walker and Canniccioni's spell. You want these friends to continue to love each other shamelessly, to defend each other, and never change.
But you know that things will change - that's the nature of life. The females go from the beach to their resort, bringing an end to private time and beginning a public one. They find themselves in the midst of a never-ending beach party, surrounded by dozens (if not hundreds) of other groups of young people. The intensity of a reality television program meets the youthfulness of Skin and the warmth of Euphoria in the scenario they inhabit.
The girls eventually become friends with an older group in the room next door. Tara and Badger (Shaun Thomas) are the first to meet. He whistles at her from his balcony as she lines her brows. She pretends not to hear him, but she can't stop herself from smiling. Skye later quips, "It's all very Romeo and Juliet."
Tara, Skye, and Em immediately form a bond with Badger and his two companions, Paddy (Sam Bottomley) and Paige (Laura Ambler). They pregame in the room before heading out to the bars, pool, or wherever the evening takes them. Tara, who wants to lose her virginity during the trip, has her sights set on one of the lads. They begin to pair up, and this is when the high wears off and the pain begins.
How to Have Sex unfolds slowly, elegantly flowing from insignificant to big events. How to Have Sex, like Charlotte Wells' sad Cannes premiere last year, thrives in silences and finely observed moments: See how Skye undercuts Tara and makes her nasty insults into a joke? Have you ever seen Tara withdrawing into herself? And how does Em try to ride the center of her two pals' short squabbles?
You start to put together the thornier aspects of the trio's interaction. When Tara loses her virginity, the rite of passage she had been looking forward to becomes a nightmare for her. McKenna Bruce gives a remarkable performance as a young lady dealing with the truth of her assault, dialing back Tara's vitality so that we can feel the character recede as she recalls more. The lively party princess shrinks, becoming a restrained and apprehensive observer. The incessant carousing around her begins to take on a frightening, ominous appearance.
Manning Walker does an excellent job of creating suspense and adjusting the tone without losing the story's pace. Tara's silences become more noticeable as the week continues. She's always felt inferior to her peers, and this event just adds to her sense of solitude. The later part of How to Have Sex has an eerie quality to it, as it brilliantly conveys the difficulty of processing sexual assault, understanding permission, and simply initiating a dialogue. James Jacob's composition first supports the resort's dizzying, bass-heavy EDM soundtrack, but gradually becomes more quiet, enabling us to hear Tara's silences: labored breathing, garments scraping against blankets as she curls herself into the fetal position.
Skye and Em try to grasp their friend's new demeanor, and it's at this point that the dynamics from prior observations come to us as hints. Em's inquiry and gentle probing land more gently than Skye's nasty comments and cavalier attitude. The bond begins to change, and as it gets more difficult to understand, I wish there had been more for us to hold onto. Peake and Lewis play Skye and Em, respectively, although many of their acts (particularly Skye's treatment of Tara) lack obvious motives. More transparency would have resulted in a more natural connection between the beginning and finish of the tale, sharpening the film's emphasis. Because as Tara adjusts and tries to find new ways to settle into her body, she can't help but remember how she, Skye, and Em played in the ocean: laughing, splashing, and protectively clutching each other.