Alex Casey and Madeleine Chapman reflect on the devastating, traumatic, yet… fun(?) experience of watching this singular new rite-of-passage movie. 

Alex Casey

It was leaving the Civic after watching How to Have Sex in the film festival last year that I had my first of many revelations about this extraordinary, horrific and entirely singular film. My hands were still shaking outside the theatre when it dawned of me: this movie is what happens when you gender flip The Inbetweeners Movie (2011), capturing the vastly different experience of teenage boys vs teenage girls. 

Compare the blurbs: 

“Will, Simon, Jay and Neil go on a holiday to Malia island. But it turns out to be a nightmarish experience for them until four beautiful women come into their lives and change their trip forever.” 

“Three British teenage girls go on a rites-of-passage holiday – drinking, clubbing and hooking up, in what should be the best summer of their lives.”

One reads like a laddy sex comedy (accurate) and the other reads like a horror film (also accurate). Following a group of teenage girls as they head to Crete with a suitcase of bikinis, mesh dresses and the Love Island soundtrack on repeat, the reality that meets their expectations of cute boys and summer love is beyond bleak, and lays bare just how different it is to navigate the world of sex and consent as a young woman. 

Although extremely Gen Z in its aesthetics, in How to Have Sex I saw of all my friends in the mid 2000s, swigging Vodka Cruisers at Christmas in the Park, equally terrified and thrilled by the boys circling us in the dark. I saw us again in the early 2010s, getting groped on the dancefloor at 3am, holding on to the promise of a night that didn’t exist. I also saw the nights where things went much, much worse for us. 

I don’t want to say too much more, partially because it’s hard to express just how bold this film is in the experiences it captures, and how deft yet realistic director Molly Manning Walker’s choices are in her onscreen depiction of them. What I will say is that I have not stopped talking and thinking about How to Have Sex. No other film has so accurately captured the horror and complexity of being a young woman in the world.

Apart from Carrie, maybe. 

Mad Chapman

I wanted to watch this movie at the film festival months ago but couldn’t bring myself to do it. As much as the title suggests a fun holiday romp, maybe starring Miles Teller, I just knew that it would be devastating and I wasn’t in the mood to be devastated. Instead, I’ve seen mentions of How To Have Sex consistently for the past four months, all positive, all insisting that it was actually really fun and everyone should see it.

I finally did, with my girlfriend, and it was fun and it was incredible and I was devastated. If you went in cold, you’d think – based on the first 60 minutes of it – that the film is a (very well done) comedy about teenagers going on a girls trip. The three friends are immediately likeable and, more importantly, feel as though they genuinely like each other. They’re unpretentious, caring, crack up and just want to have a good time while awaiting their final exam results. And they have a great time. I found myself smiling throughout their exploits, shuddering at the thought of all-night benders at my ripe old age, and cheesily reminiscing on the pure joy of teenage girl friendships.

Then there was the rest of the movie. I knew it was coming. We all, deep down, knew it was coming. A movie about three teenage girls getting blackout drunk on holiday and hoping to lose their virginity? Of course there was going to be something. A lesser movie would’ve leaned into the suspense and the dread, or employed a creepy villain you could spot from a mile away, or revealed a deep and evil betrayal from one of the friends. But this film didn’t need to do any of that, and in turn is one of the most realistic portrayals of both young female friendship and sexual violence I’ve seen maybe ever. 

While Tara (the incredible Mia McKenna Bruce) was dancing in a sweaty club, I was laughing along and quietly hoping nothing else happened. When her friend felt moments of jealousy and made some offhanded remarks, I groaned while also knowing how extremely normal that behaviour is. And when the inevitable something happened, there were no jump scares or ominous music. In fact it was so underplayed as to be shocking, because every woman (at least) watching would have known a moment like that – unfolding so mundanely it’s easy to forget how traumatic it is.

Most surprisingly was how engaged the audience was in every part of the movie. Unlike an action comedy or a horror movie, How To Have Sex is ultimately a drama. And yet I’ve never been in a drama screening with so many verbal reactions from the audience. In the early scenes there were groans during each swig of vodka or when Tara pissed between two dumpsters. When the seeds were planted of Something Happening, there were gasps. And when Something Happened, one woman, seemingly involuntarily, yelled “no!” 

Despite all of this, the film is an enjoyable watch, and keeps its line to the end, refusing to become a dreary cautionary tale. Because as in real life, Tara knows that she will continue to live her life, albeit forever changed.

When we got home, my girlfriend and I each shared our own experiences with sexual violence. They were unpleasant stories to tell but it wasn’t an unpleasant experience to share them. And that’s really what the movie is about – the ability of young women to enjoy themselves, love each other and live freely, despite the very real dangers that may surround and impact them.

How to Have Sex is now playing in cinemas nationwide