Hannah Einbinder: No divas allowed

There is a certain magic in finding the perfect balance between fear and joy, and that is exactly the tone Hannah Einbinder brings to her work. As co-lead of Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, Einbinder champions a cinematic vision that is provocative, joyful, and deeply kind.

The film itself offers a wonderfully puckish deconstruction of horror movie lore, but for Einbinder, the deeper fascination lies in the personal journey behind the scares. She shares how her own experience with growing up watching too many scary movies—a feeling that instilled a kind of dread—mirrors the experience of her character, Kris. This personal connection grounds the film in something profoundly relatable: the tension between wanting to hide and the need to embrace inner desires.

When approaching the role of Kris, Einbinder found that a body-forward approach was key. She sought inspiration not just from the script, but from the visual language of other cinema. She drew parallels with iconic looks and mannerisms from films like Secretary, focusing on the idea of clothing as a shield and a means of self-expression. This process allowed her to manifest Kris’s discomfort physically, making the emotional journey tangible for the audience.

Einbinder also sought references across the horror landscape, leaning into the psychological and supernatural genres. Her love for films like The Exorcist, The Grudge, and classic slashers, combined with ecological horror and the works of Cronenberg, provided a rich tapestry. This broad appreciation allowed her to tap into the full spectrum of cinematic fear, realizing that horror is simply a manifestation of universal emotional discomfort.

The creative process was further shaped by the mentorship of director Jane Schoenbrun. Einbinder found that Schoenbrun’s direction was gentle, supportive, and deeply feeling-first. Schoenbrun’s incredible emotional intelligence—her ability to perceive feelings with what Einbinder describes as “X-ray vision”—created an environment where Einbinder felt safe to explore difficult, intimate scenes.

Working with Schoenbrun felt like an intimate unfolding of a shared vision. It was thrilling to witness someone who doesn’t shy away from difficult truths, allowing Einbinder to connect with the vulnerable, joyful core of the narrative. The film’s ultimate message—liberation from shame and the embrace of desire—resonates as a universal human truth, highlighting how deeply our community experiences and understands discomfort.

Ultimately, Einbinder’s work reminds us that great art isn’t created by mad geniuses inflicting suffering, but by empathetic artists who understand people. Her focus on warmth and vulnerability sets a powerful standard, advocating for a cinema that is not only entertaining but genuinely humanizing. It is a powerful affirmation that joy and darkness can coexist beautifully on screen.