Editorials
The Camp Appeal of Genre-Blurring ‘Wild Things’ [Sex Crimes]
The last installment of this column explored legendary director Adrian Lyne’s masterclass entry in the erotic thriller canon: Fatal Attraction. The 1987 film, steeped in Conservative culture, is as much a warning to heterosexual men about female sexuality as it is a confirmation of the need to uphold traditional (read: nuclear) family values.
It’s almost surreal to compare the politics of Fatal Attraction to 1998’s Wild Things. The latter film arrives just over a decade later, but John McNaughton’s sordid, sweaty ode to Florida is a world apart. Whereas Lyne’s film is a mature exploration of the sub genre’s thematic concerns, Wild Things is a highly sexualized romp that is more interested in provocation and excess, as evidenced by the narrative’s attempts to capitalize on taboo subjects (Threesomes! Queerness! Male Nudity!)
Wild Things is…convoluted. The plot initially appears to be about a poor guidance counsellor, Mr. Lombardo (Matt Dillon), who is accused of rape by two female students, high society Kelly Van Ryan (Denise Richards) and swamp trash Suzie Toller (Neve Campbell). When Sergeant Ray Duquette (Kevin Bacon) and his partner Detective Gloria Perez (Daphne Rubin-Vega) investigate, they discover that the trio are secretly engaged in a polyamorous relationship and the alleged sexual assaults were merely a plot to secure the family fortune from Kelly’s mother, Sandra (Theresa Russell). From there the film regularly (confusedly) recontextualizes everyone’s relationship as Ray becomes embroiled in the sex games, leaving a host of bodies in its wake.
Unlike Fatal Attraction and the infidelity erotic thrillers that dominated the 80s and early-to-mid 90s, in Wild Things, the family unit is completely dysfunctional or entirely absent. The primary familial relationship is the Van Ryans, who openly treat each other with disdain. Eventually it is revealed that Sandra was targeted by Kelly because the girl blames her mother for the suicide of her father. That the film introduces such a trauma-steeped backstory and barely explores it is both a testament to the film’s pulpy priorities, as well as a reflection of the lack of interest in traditional families in the 90s. Case in point: Suzie’s family is basically absent and she lives in a trailer, which is a narrative shorthand to indicate her low-class status.
In Wild Things, every character is out for themselves and there are few, if any, genuinely healthy relationships. Instead Wild Things delights in exploring the hypersexualized, amoral activities of its characters for whom money and sex (in that order) are the only currency that matters.
Now some audiences will quibble with the definition of Wild Things as an erotic thriller. It’s true that the film is more frequently classified as part of the neo-noir sub genre: films from the 70s-present that explore the morals and politics of film noir. Film noir is a sub genre that thrived principally in the 40s and early 50s and maintained a focus on hard-boiled detectives, PIs and photographers, as well as slippery, sexy femme fatales and plots so complicated that even chief architect Raymond Chandler could barely keep them organized.
In that capacity, Wild Things definitely fits the neo-noir bill. Both Kelly and Suzie are femme fatales; Ray is the egotistical cop with the loose morals; and Lombardo is the slimy dupe/patsy. Hell, Wild Things’ ridiculous plot is so convoluted that it infamously requires the entirety of its credit sequence to unpack its timelines and character motivations.
This is where the conventions and iconographies of genre blur and fall away. Genre is an artificially-constructed agreement between filmmakers, advertising and audiences, prone to shifting tastes over time and subject to revisionist interpretations. Wild Things is undeniably *also* an erotic thriller because the film’s entire premise is predicated on sexually charged thrills and murders.
In the wrong hands, this blend could be infuriating and stupid, but screenwriter Stephen Peters clearly understands the pulpy appeal of the material. The same can be said of the actors, especially a delightful Bill Murray, who vamps it up appropriately as a low-rent attorney.
Semantics of neo-noir vs erotic thriller aside, Wild Things works because it embraces its lurid, sordid material. Compare the film to Palmetto, another 1998 neo-noir starring Woody Harrelson and Elisabeth Shue. That film failed, in part, because it took itself too seriously and offered nothing new; by adhering too closely to the familiar tropes of the sub genre at a time when the erotic thriller was primarily the purview of made-for-TV movies on Hallmark and Lifetime, audiences couldn’t justify the night out to see Palmetto. Nowadays the film is barely spoken of.
Wild Things is also reflective of a specific mid-sized studio production that a) was prevalent in the 90s and b) would never be made today. As I noted with Gena Radcliffe and Bloody writer Jenn Adams on our White Ladies in Crisis podcast episode on the film, the false rape accusations and underage sex would both be jettisoned in the first draft.
The film wasn’t a major theatrical hit upon release, grossing only $30.1 million in North America on a $20 million production budget. The film’s legacy, however, persists among aficionados of camp, “tasteless” trash and queers. From its infamous lesbian pool catfight/make-out to little Bacon’s cameo as Ray exits the shower to the aforementioned mid-credits sequence, even in 2022, Wild Things remains a truly wild ride. There’s nothing quite like it.
Sex Crimes is a new column that explores the legacy of erotic thrillers, from issues of marital infidelity to inappropriate underage affairs to sexualized crimes. In this subgenre, sex and violence are inexplicably intertwined as the dangers of intercourse take on a whole new meaning.
There’s a lot of reading left to do in 2026, between the glut of summer releases and the approach of fall, when horror titles get a special push from publishers, but this has already been an incredible year for horror literature.
Some of the biggest names in the genre have turned in outstanding work, rising stars have made their mark, and we’re only halfway through the year.
To celebrate the midway point of 2026, with plenty of horror books still to come, we’re taking a look back at the best horror books we’ve read this year so far, listed alphabetically by author.
If you missed any of these books earlier in the year, consider this your reminder to catch up.
Japanese Gothic by Kylie Lee Baker
A student running from a crime he may or may not have committed escapes to his father’s country home in Japan, only to find himself haunted by strange apparitions, while in the past, a young samurai tries to find salvation for her family and finds a door to the future instead. Kylie Lee Baker’s Japanese Gothic begins with this dialogue between past and present, and then blossoms into so much more, a cross-time ghost story about old wounds and what it really takes to finally heal them. I got so happily lost in this one that I would have read at least 200 more pages.
Persona by Aoife Josie Clements
In this tale of shut-ins, sex workers, artists, and the horrors they both summon and recoil from, Aoife Josie Clements weaves something that feels less like a story to be experienced and more like a psychic wound to be endured, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. Evocative in its prose and nightmarish in its imagery, Persona is a story of the masks we wear, and the understanding that not all of our masks are particularly pretty or even easy to breathe through. It’s a dense, literary, unnervingly vicious book, and while it’s already attracted an audience, it deserves a much bigger one.
Dead First by Johnny Compton
Johnny Compton’s latest novel opens with a throwing down of the gauntlet, a sequence that made me instantly think “How on Earth is he going to top this?” It’s a story that begins with a billionaire hiring a private investigator to determine why, despite trying in many brutal ways, he cannot die. That premise, and the scene which sets it all off, is so alluring and delightfully gruesome that you almost can’t believe it’s the way a book begins, and then Compton just keeps going, delivering a supernatural mystery that I could not put down.
Make Me Better by Sarah Gailey
A woman grieving for the life she wanted visits a mysterious island renowned for the healing salt its residents harvest and sell, seeking renewal and relief. What she finds instead is a strange cult with a twisted history with surprising resonance in her own life, and a people who are more than willing to grant the relief she wants, for a price. Laced with beautiful prose and moments of profound realization alongside folk and even cosmic horror, this is vintage Sarah Gailey.
Partially Devoured by Daniel Kraus
If you love horror film history and analysis, Partially Devoured is an essential. Written by Pulitzer Prize-winner Daniel Kraus, the book is a deep dive into his favorite movie of all time, George A. Romero‘s Night of the Living Dead, complete with exhaustive research into the making of the film and passages of deeply moving memoir woven in. If you’ve ever wanted to know what the eerie music that opens the film is called while also bursting into tears at how horror movies can save your life, this is a must-read.
Wretch by Eric LaRocca
Our reigning King of Extreme Horror, Eric LaRocca weaves books of uncommon beauty out of the most nightmarish parts of humanity, and Wretch is no exception. The story of a grieving man who longs for relief and searches for it amid a strange support group that might be a cult, Wretch is a brutal journey into the darkest part of us all, and explores what salvation we might find when we get to the rotten core of the world and peel back its layers. LaRocca’s on a tear of great work right now that few other genre writers can match.
Headlights by CJ Leede
A mystery, a serial killer horror show, a tribute to Stephen King‘s The Shining. All of these things describe CJ Leede’s Headlights, and yet they don’t begin to cover the full breadth of horror awaiting you in this novel. The story of a former FBI agent drawn back into the cold case that haunts him most, it’s a shocker brimming over with vivid moments that’ll live behind your eyes. CJ Leede has now published three novels, and they’re all bangers, so it’s time to get on board if you haven’t already.
It Came From Neverland by Cynthia Pelayo
Cynthia Pelayo has been one of our finest genre writers for years now, but It Came From Neverland is my favorite thing she’s written, and it’s not even close. A dark take on Peter Pan from the perspective of an adult Wendy Darling living in World War I-era London, Pelayo’s book works as both a satisfying horror narrative and a rich exploration of what it really means to never grow up. The horror never loses its potency, but it’s the search for the meaning behind the Peter Pan phenomenon in our own lives, and what we can do about it, that sticks with me most.
Filth Eaters by Ito Romo
Ito Romo’s Filth Eaters is a slim volume, one you can read in just a couple of hours if you’ve got the inclination, but it has the feel of a generation-spanning epic. The story of a breed of vampires born in Central America, the European vampires who encounter them, and the offspring they eventually produced, it spans centuries and packs loads of juicy lore into its pages while never losing its grip on character and narrative drive. I would read hundreds more pages of this world, but I’ll settle for this uncommonly grand-scale novella for now.
Dead But Dreaming of Electric Sheep by Paul Tremblay
A former pro gamer gets a job at a tech company to pilot a brain-dead human body across the country, and so Paul Tremblay’s sci-fi-horror juggernaut begins. Indebted to Philip K. Dick, the primal snarl of Harlan Ellison, and the quirky comedy of The Big Lebowski, and yet wholly original, this is a towering and ambitious novel by one of horror’s most respected voices. What starts as a high-concept tech thriller soon becomes a startling meditation on the value of stories, who gets to tell them, and what happens when we cede too much control to machines we don’t understand. It’s a stunner.
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