‘I Want Your Sex’ Review: Gregg Araki Is Back in Vintage Form, Throwing a Deliciously Paired Olivia Wilde and Cooper Hoffman Into Sub/Dom Jeopardy

Ever since his breakthrough on the New Queer Cinema vanguard with The Living End in 1992, outlaw indie hero Gregg Araki has been smashing social and sexual taboos with irreverent humor and outrageous erotica matched by pulsing energy and maximalist visual flair. So when Erika Tracy, the visual artist-provocateur played with gloriously depraved command by Olivia Wilde, rolls her eyes about the incongruity of Gen Z’s chronic FOMO and their “retro sex negativity,” it’s impossible not to imagine the director mischievously winking at his audience.

That audience, by the way, has expanded significantly into an age demographic not even born when Araki made his era-defining Teen Apocalypse Trilogy — comprised of Totally F***ed Up, The Doom Generation and Nowhere. His new film, I Want Your Sex, affectionately teases those Zoomers with its playful dissection of consent and control, freedom and enslavement, self-denial and exultant hedonism. And even if it threatens to run out of steam in the late action, the movie is a blast, demonstrating that at 66, Araki has lost none of his youthful spark.

Written with Karley Sciortino, the co-creator of Araki’s sadly one-and-done Starz series Now Apocalypse — a jubilantly horny paean to beautiful people fucking each other’s brains out in a Los Angeles on the brink of alien annihilation — I Want Your Sex is the director’s first feature in 11 years. In an indie landscape with an insatiable appetite for trauma and misery, it’s a breath of fresh air, a fun time that’s also a witty commentary on shifting sexual mores. Putting it in the most rudimentary of pitch terms, it’s Babygirl meets Pillion with a pinch of Sunset Boulevard.

A quick prologue nods to that Billy Wilder classic when smart but directionless 23-year-old Elliot (Cooper Hoffman) is horrified to discover what appears to be his dominatrix boss Erika floating face down in her swimming pool. A cheeky reverse time jump to “9½ Weeks Ago” finds Elliot being summoned to Erika’s office a little over a week after starting his first job out of college as one of a team of assistants at her studio. Or “the hipster sweatshop,” as his acerbic gay co-worker Zap (a droll Mason Gooding) puts it, while they chew gum to be incorporated into a mixed-media vagina.

As seduction scenes go, that interview is one for the ages, with Erika reprimanding Elliot for staring at her inappropriately and flirting in the office — behavior he’s not even aware of — while shrugging off the jacket that barely covers a revealing red strapless number. She dresses for the office like a Kardashian on the prowl. Erika sends mixed signals by asking if Elliot has a girlfriend, and when he confirms that he does, she says that will remove any risk of tiresome romantic attachment from the strictly sexual liaisons she has planned for them. All this naturally comes after confirming that he signed the mandatory NDA.

In quasi-noir mode, the action cuts back repeatedly to Elliot in rough shape in a police interrogation room, being questioned by two detectives (Margaret Cho and Johnny Knoxville, relishing the chance to shove aside their anticonventional reputations and play stern authority figures). “Am I a suspect?” he asks nervously, before proceeding with a blow-by-blow account of his torrid relationship with Erika. He disputes that he was groomed by his boss, maintaining that every encounter was consensual and she was “only 14½ years older.”

Erika’s disdainful business manager Vikktor (Daveed Diggs, hilarious) hisses at Elliot: “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.” But Elliot is like a smitten puppy — literally, when Erika puts a collar and leash on him, one of many S&M accessories she introduces into their trysts. Others include harnesses, a slutty maid’s uniform, a pig mask and a pink rubber dildo of substantial girth. Even when she’s spanking him and instructing him to repeat “I’m a whore,” Elliot seems to mean it when he obediently expresses gratitude for the abuse.

It’s not surprising that he might take to this exploration of dark sexual fantasies he hadn’t even consciously considered, especially when we see the unfailingly cold reception he gets from his girlfriend Minerva (Charli xcx, divine). A med student incessantly studying for her PhD, she constantly bails on their dates and has zero interest in sex. When she does allow it, she asks “Are you almost done?” while he pumps and pants on top of her, his head full of images of Erika.

Elliot’s best friend Apple (Chase Sui Wonders, another of the film’s delights), who ponders if there’s a difference between Erika’s work and porn, also questions why he’s still with Minerva: “She’s like what AI would generate if you said ‘total bitch’.” Elliot’s only justification is that she’s hot. But as Erika’s demands become more unreasonable and Apple gets hurt when he ropes her into participating in a three-way, Elliot starts weighing his losses against his gains.

Wilde is at her best when Erika is imperiously giving orders or expounding — in seriousness or mischief? — on the worthlessness of her field: “Contemporary art is a scam, you know that, right? The real art is convincing people you’re making something meaningful.” But through no fault of the actress, the film starts to sag as Erika morphs from intoxicating vixen to deceitfully manipulative monster.

That said, Sciortino and Araki show real narrative dexterity in an explosive series of events during and after Erika’s major new show, “Ekstasy,” which allows for some wry skewering of celebrity cancellation and commercial redemption when there’s a whiff of tragedy.

The movie circles back to show the full details of what happened that night in the pool, which forces Elliot to see everything in a new light. A jump forward of two years near the end serves as a kind of universal validation of Erika’s view that she would be nothing without her carnal experiences.

As wonderful as Wilde is in what’s easily one of her best roles, the equally fearless Hoffman matches her every step of the way, with sly comic timing and poignant vulnerability as Elliot wrestles with anger, humiliation and confusion over what could be lust or love, in spite of everything. Like Harry Melling’s character in Pillion, he can’t deny that he finds a peculiar freedom in being controlled.

The casting across the board is inspired, including Roxane Mesquida as a French friend who rejects Erika’s gift of Elliot as a sex toy in an amusing hotel rendezvous. Gooding is a hoot as Elliot’s more worldly co-worker, who cares enough to give him a place to crash when he hits rock bottom but casually instructs him to vanish whenever he has a Grindr hookup coming over or a weekend orgy planned. He’s the essence of a classic Araki character.

The director drops Easter eggs for fans throughout, with several familiar faces from earlier films popping up (I ❤️ James Duvall) and plays amusingly with animated inserts and pop-art touches. As always with Araki, the production and costume design is an embarrassment of eye candy. Perhaps it’s the decade-long absence from features or the fact that liberation is as much a part of the movie as beguilement and betrayal, but outtakes on the bubblegum-colored end credits suggest this was a joyful experience for everyone involved.