By George & Josh Bate
“Gen Z is afraid of sex – and for good reason.” “Sexless America: Young Adults Are Having Less Sex.” “Gen Z Isn’t Having Sex. They’re Doing This Instead.” These are just some of the (many) headlines of articles that have been published in the past year about the sexual repression facing younger people in contemporary society. With his first movie in 14 years, filmmaker Gregg Araki explores issues related to the sexual timidness of Gen Z in an erotic and comedic thriller that never ceases to enthrall and makes Babygirl look like a family movie in comparison, even though it’s ultimately marred by a somewhat mean-spirited message.
Screening at this year’s Chicago Critics Film Festival, I Want Your Sex stars Cooper Hoffman as Elliot, an awkward and bumbling young man who secures a position as the assistant to renowned artist Erika Tracy (Olivia Wilde). Assistant isn’t the only position Elliot assumes after he agrees to become Erika’s sexual muse, a role that fulfills his wildest fantasies, although he eventually finds himself out of his depth with wild sex, obsession, betrayal, and murder.
Araki’s film moves at such a breakneck pace that one hardly has a moment to contemplate, or even identify, its faults. In propelling forward so rapidly, I Want Your Sex fosters a viewing experience that mirrors the journey of Hoffman’s naive and anxiety-ridden Elliot. Things move so fast and prove so thrilling for Elliot that he hardly has a moment to catch his breath, never mind reflect on whether his relationship with Wilde’s Erika is healthy or brings him happiness. Like Elliot, the audience finds itself enraptured by the colorful, quirky, and unabashedly sexual story and characters that we seldom have a moment to discern whether the film is converging on an admirable, stirring message before the back end of the third act.
Until that moment arrives, however, I Want Your Sex makes up for exhilarating and uproarious entertainment. Unfolding in a world that feels just heightened enough to imbue the film with levity but not too heightened as to entirely lose emotional groundedness, the movie proves unwaveringly unafraid to embrace its incendiary subject matter. Elliot chews gum that is used to give three-dimensions to a piece of art depicting a vagina. Erika penetrates Elliot with a dildo. Elliot wears what appears to be a baby’s outfit, licks Erika’s shoe heel, and regularly crawls on the ground for his boss. This is all but a taste of the depths of horniness and sexiness Araki embraces with open arms in his film.
In addition to the wild sex acts put to screen by Araki and commendably portrayed by Wilde and Hoffman, much of the film’s humor comes from the juxtaposition between Elliot and Erika. Bumbling, stiff, and lacking any semblance of sexual confidence, Hoffman’s character embodies the Gen Zer the aforementioned articles make reference to. His awkwardness and anxiety are relatable and engender Elliot with great approachability and likability.
Wilde’s Erika, meanwhile, is the antithesis of Elliot. The provocative artist known for creating bizarre and overtly sexual art is the personification of confidence and sexiness. Her vampirish demeanor both intimidates and mesmerizes Elliot, who quickly becomes fixated on a powerful older woman who fulfills his wildest fantasies. Wilde and Hoffman share magnetic chemistry and bounce off one another (both verbally and physically) to tremendous effect throughout the film. The dynamic is strange and even off-putting at times, and yet one can’t take their eyes off a story that sees a sexually liberated older woman transform the life of a sexually repressed younger man.
As I Want Your Sex encroaches on its third act, however, the film increasingly elicits discomfort. What initially appears to be the best experiences of Elliot’s life eventually reveal themselves as decidedly more complex and even harmful. This would be an appropriate tonal shift if Araki intended to evolve his raunchy sex comedy into a poignant piece about the thin line that unfortunately can exist between consent and harassment, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.
Instead, Araki conflates sexual liberation with sexual harassment and targets being prude as something to admonish, rather than understand and empathize with. Araki seems to be putting his hand out to Gen Z to encourage them to be more sexually liberated, and yet does so with a story that occupies morally murky territory and positions a toxic employer who repeatedly pushes boundaries and takes advantage of an employee as a somewhat decent person worthy of obsessing over. The message is admirable, and certainly timely, but the targeting of younger generations for being timed with their sexual desires comes across more mean-spirited and didactic than eye-opening and heartwarming.
In missing the mark with its commentary, I Want Your Sex doubles down on its pitfalls with a disappointing and unearned ending. Nothing in the story would suggest that the film should or will converge on the conclusion that it ultimately arrives at, although Araki seems committed to ending his story on an unnecessarily ambiguous and morally questionable note.
VERDICT: 6.5/10
Gregg Araki returns after 14 years with an erotic and comedic thriller that never ceases to enthrall and makes Babygirl look like a family movie in comparison, even though it’s ultimately marred by a mean-spirited message. I Want Your Sex moves at a breakneck pace that forces the audience to overlook its questionable commentary and, in doing so, mirrors the frenzied obliviousness that Cooper Hoffman’s Elliot experiences as he becomes the entranced sexual muse of Olivia Wilde’s Erika Tracy. Hoffman and Wilde share magnetic chemistry and bounce off one another (both verbally and physically) to tremendous effect. As the film approaches its third act, however, the raw entertainment value that characterizes the preceding film fades and, in its place, a palpable discomfort. Araki attempts to champion sexual liberation to a generation, as numerous articles would suggest, is no longer comfortable nor interested in having sex. However, he grossly missteps in conflating sexual liberation with sexual harassment and targets being prude as something to admonish, rather than understand and empathize with. Coupled with a disappointing and unearned ending, I Want Your Sex leaves one feeling much like Cooper Hoffman’s lead character, thoroughly enjoying an exhilarating adventure along the way before ultimately re-evaluating everything we’ve experienced as more toxic and disturbing than we initially thought.