Cómo tener sexo

I think any parent of a late-teenage child will be mortified at what goes on when three girls head off to Heraklion in search of sun, sea and sex. They arrive full of beans - determined too have a good time and to get laid. We quickly learn that "Tara" (Mia McKenna-Bruce) has yet to experience that, and she is keen to tick that particular event from her bucket list. Together with pals "Skye" (Lara Peake) and "Em" (Enva Lewis) they hook up with the folks whose balcony is next door. "Tara" takes a bit of a shine to tattooed, van driver, "Badger" (Shaun Thomas) who is there with his friends "Paddy" (Samuel Bottomley) and "Paige" (Laura Ambler). It's on their third night that the film stops being a video-diary of hedonistic behaviour as her friend "Badger" gets blown away by a poolside experience and she finds herself on her own, then on the beach with... What now ensues begin the elements that provides the crux of the point of the film. When is what we want not what we want, when does yes not really mean yes - or it means yes because you just want to get something over with, or yes because you are just curious, or yes because you are too stoked up to think anything through - and are in the arms of a charismatic person? This isn't a violent film in any graphic sense, but it does have quite an emotionally potent impact for a while as the very much on-form McKenna-Bruce juggles her outward, bouncy and lively persona, with a young woman who is still very much growing up - and vulnerable. I didn't love the last twenty minutes - they robbed the film of the much of the ambiguity that hitherto had made it poignant and a talking point. At this point the behaviour becomes just plain wrong and odious - before they all head home. This is a story about a girl, but it could just as easily be about a boy - under self and peer imposed pressures to perform/conform unaware of the longer-term consequences of sand getting everywhere. Snag for me is that the film is just too much of a fly-on-the-wall documentary for the most part. We have to wait too long before the story starts to make it's point effectively, and then I think it rather rushes and compromises the message. It's still worth a watch, though - and McKenna-Bruce is very confident and impressive.

This impressively naturalistic and quietly devastating exploration of consent focuses on sixteen-year-old Tara as she takes a trip to Malia with her best friends, the envy-prone Skye and the empathetic Em, to celebrate the completion of her exams - and, perhaps, to distract her from the anxiety surrounding her soon-to-be-released grades - by drinking, clubbing and maybe, just maybe, hooking up with some strangers. The trip holds extra importance for her, as she's the last of her friends to still be a virgin and feels the need to rectify this before she returns back home (largely due to societal pressure pushed by her peers - or, rather, one in particular). Strikingly realistic in its every aspect, the picture plays out like an authentic coming-of-age slice of life and keenly cuts to the core of a feeling all too familiar with so many of us, particularly women. While it does generally have a fly-on-the-wall vibe, it also makes use of distinct cinematic techniques to draw you wholly into its hero's headspace. It's an intimate, often incredibly uncomfortable picture that has a lot to say and isn't afraid to say it. It doesn't so much start a conversation as it does make its point and let you chew on it; the ethics surrounding its central issues are pretty black and white, and they aren't intended to be debated so much as communicated. Indeed, 'How To Have Sex (2023)' actually has an implied 'Not' in the title. Whether it reflects someone's own experience and makes them feel seen or challenges someone's behaviour and (hopefully) makes them be better in the future, the film will likely resonate deeply with everyone in its audience. Its power grows the longer you have to sit with it, and its true brilliance is only really evident in retrospect. It's a powerful picture, for sure, arguably because of - not in spite of - its general subtlety. It's essential viewing for, well, pretty much everyone, really.

It's many decades since I was a teenager, and over 10 years since my own kids navigated that period for themselves, but if this really is representative of what it's like for the current generation (and I guess I have to believe it is, at least somewhat), then it's kind of sad, I think. I wish them well.

As a film, this takes its time to find a balance, IMHO, but the core characters come through pretty well by the end, although personally I found some of them seriously underwritten (e.g. The lesbian couple) and would have preferred them either silent or absent, or given more to do. However, this is a first-time filmmaker, so perhaps that's a bit harsh.

Don't expect a fun time.

One of the main things I disliked about this film was the title, not because of some misguided belief in the censoring of the word "sex", but because of the conversations that ensued, many times, after telling a friend about the astonishing film I had just seen at the cinema.

Besides that minor inconvenience, the film showcased a phenomenal range of talent in all aspects of the film. Molly Manning Walker shows off her modern and evocative cinematography to truly connect the audience with the characters. Walker also wrote the script which is equally brilliant and manages to capture the essence of youth in each of the characters. Not only that, but she also shows no hesitation in creating a realistic depiction of youth which is extremely difficult to find in films today. Walker has created a film which weaves the innocence of three young adults into a story of loneliness and despair that is strikingly relevant to the world today.

It is obvious that this film is deeply personal to not only Walker but also to the three actresses that played the main parts. A story with such tangible emotion cannot be written without a deeply personal idea at the core. The film will put you in the shoes of three young women and will tell you exactly how women feel today.

The performances of the three young adults was masterful. It was like they weren't even acting. The slow decline of Tara's outward personality to a lonelier and more isolated one is showcased brilliantly by Mia McKenna-Bruce. The comedy that flourished at the start of the film was perfected by the young women's ability to so accurately display the emotions that run through every person's head at that age.

Disturbing and hilarious this film left me in my seat a few minutes after it finished. Unlike any other film I have ever seen it will take you on a journey that you've already had before but always wanted to experience again, the journey of youth, and maybe you'll realize you actually, probably, and in most circumstances, do not want to experience that journey again.

How to Have Sex (2023) is a long way away from a typical teen romp comedy. Director Molly Manning Walker throws a curveball with this deceptively titled film, instead opting for a raw and unflinching look at female friendship, consent, and the pressures of growing up. Three British teenagers, best friends since childhood, embark on a summer vacation to Greece, fueled by dreams of partying and romantic conquests. However, their idyllic plans take a dark turn, forcing them to confront complex issues that go beyond the awkwardness of teenage flirtation.

Walker, drawing inspiration from her own teenage experiences, paints a relatable portrait of female friendships. The bond between the three leads feels genuine, with their playful banter and unspoken understanding ringing true. Mia McKenna-Bruce shines as Tara, the sensitive and introspective centre of the group. However, the exploration of their dynamic falters slightly at times. The supporting characters, particularly Skye (Lara Peake), can feel one-dimensional, their motivations reduced to teenage posturing and insecurity.

The film's greatest strength lies in its handling of consent. Walker avoids graphic depictions, instead focusing on the emotional fallout and the lingering sense of violation. A pivotal scene at a nightclub is particularly powerful, using slow-motion camerawork and an unsettling soundscape to capture the confusion and fear Tara experiences. This isn't an after-school special; it's a nuanced exploration of consent that persists long after the credits have ended.

Technically, How to Have Sex is a solid effort. The cinematography is naturalistic, with handheld camerawork that reflects the carefree energy of the first half and the claustrophobic tension of the latter. The score is subtle yet effective, using atmospheric sounds and electronic flourishes to underscore the emotional beats. Editing is sharp, keeping the pace brisk without sacrificing character development.

While the film doesn't shy away from difficult themes, it's not relentlessly bleak. There are moments of humour and genuine connection, particularly between Tara and Em (Enva Lewis), the voice of reason in the group. This balance between humour and heartbreak is reminiscent of films like The Virgin Suicides or Booksmart, capturing the bittersweet cocktail of teenage emotions.

How to Have Sex isn't a perfect film. The characters, while well-acted, could be fleshed out further, and the ending feels a tad ambiguous. However, its unflinching portrayal of consent and its exploration of female friendship resonate deeply. This is a coming-of-age story that feels both authentic and important, a must-watch for anyone who remembers the complexities and anxieties of those teenage years. A thought-provoking and emotionally resonant film for mature teens and adults.