Fucking necessary: 10 horror films where sex actually moves the plot forward

“There are certain rules one must abide by to survive a horror movie,” explains Randy (Jamie Kennedy) in Wes Craven’s 1996 post-mo slasher revival Scream. “Number one: You can never have sex.” Sex and horror movies go together more naturally than just about any else in pop culture, right up there with, well, sex and rock ’n’ roll. So what is it about that particular act—and all of the longing, fear, obsession, excitement, release, danger, and shame that it can entail—that makes it so suited for this genre? Why has it been touched on in everything as classic as Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and as recent as Ti West’s X trilogy? Sometimes, of course, sex is dropped in as nothing more than mere titillation. And there are too many horror movies to count (many from the ’80s) that depict kids getting sliced and diced after doing it for no other reason than it’s a sleazy trope and that, more basically, people like seeing naked bodies onscreen. But what about films where sex is actually one of the most critical aspects of its plot, characters, and themes? What about the ones where, without it, the movie wouldn’t—couldn’t—exist? For our Horrors Week edition of Inventory, we’re surveying just that: those freaky films in which sex actually drives the narrative.       

It Follows (2014) 

Sex is the narrative in It Follows, as Maika Monroe sprints, bikes, swims, and fucks to evade a sexually transmitted demon that constantly lurks just a few feet behind her. The only way to take on the entity is through sexual intercourse, and—despite the protagonists’ most creative efforts—the only real way to save yourself is to pass it to someone else. (It Follows tackled the concept of a supernatural STD long before Ryan Murphy got his hands on the idea, by the way.) But while sex is the through-line, It Follows is not a lurid (or even an erotic) movie by any standard. David Robert Mitchell’s film is far more concerned with the stigmas surrounding sex, as well as the ways it—in this case, literally—often feels like life or death as a teenager. We’ll hopefully have another great entry for this list when its sequel, They Follow, finally premieres. [Emma Keates]

Knife + Heart (2018) 

Yann Gonzalez’s French ode to giallo takes place in and around a gay porn studio, where a gimpish killer with a switchblade dildo keeps penetrating sex workers…to death. Sex doesn’t just drive the plot of Knife + Heart; it’s everything in Knife + Heart. It’s the only way its characters can make sense of its hazy world. Anne (Vanessa Paradis) both investigates these murders and puts on a porn parody of her investigation. As danger approaches with the intimacy of a lover, Gonzalez makes the sleazy subgenre’s undercurrents into text, conveying everything through an erotic lens. And in adult theaters, lesbian bars, and sex clubs, Knife + Heart smartly frames the pleasures of the flesh as both a sanctuary and defense mechanism. [Jacob Oller]

Halloween (1978) 

Sex is everywhere in Halloween, John Carpenter’s fantastic indie-horror phenom that, to this day, is still likely many young viewers’ first glimpse at not only the genre but onscreen nudity. It literally opens the film, in an impressive oner from six-year-old Michael Myers’ perspective as he watches his teen sister make out on the couch and then stabs her after she does the (one-minute) deed with her boyfriend. And it’s also pretty much the only topic of conversation our hero, Jamie Lee Curtis’ Laurie, has with her two pals: the ditzy Lynda (P. J. Soles) and Annie (Nancy Kyes), a truly terrible friend. Does Laurie’s virginity end up saving her? Does high-school horizontal action make Michael kill? Can this guy even get off, considering he’s basically a shell of a kid mentally? The jury is still, all these years later, out—but it’s clear Carpenter & co. are aiming for far more than mere titillation here. [Tim Lowery] 

Raw (2016) 

French writer-director Julia Ducournau leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination in Raw, her excellent and risqué debut feature. Despite all of the body horror, cannibalism, and grotesque violence, what lingers the most about Raw is the feral representation of sex and sexuality. Justine (Garance Marallier) biting her arm off to avoid chomping on Adrien (Rabah Oufella) wouldn’t ordinarily be seen as erotic, but damn if Docournau doesn’t bring immense sensuality into the shot. The film succeeds because it uses little dialogue and a great soundtrack to compound Justine’s transformation into a sex-crazed monster, which doubles as her coming-of-age. None of it exists solely for our viewing pleasure. Instead, sex becomes a tool for Justine to understand herself and her body as it mutates into something far out of her control. [Saloni Gajjar]

X (2022) 

In X, the first film in Ti West’s horror trilogy, sex is both freeing and shackling. A group of amateur pornographers heads out to a rural Texas farm to shoot an adult movie, but Howard (Stephen Ure), the conservative owner of the guesthouse they’re renting, is suspicious. He doesn’t know what they’re planning to do, but he suspects something is up. His wife, Pearl (Mia Goth), peers in through the windows and watches Maxine (also Goth) and Jackson (Scott Mescudi) have sex. The poor old lady is just horny and looking for an outlet. And it all goes south when first Howard, then the film’s director RJ (Owen Campbell), rejects her advances. Her longtime husband was one thing, but RJ declining her moves is too much for Pearl to bear. Her eventual killing spree is brutal, her rage fueled by a lifetime of sexual repression. [Jen Lennon]

Dead Alive (Braindead) (1992)  

At its core, Dead Alive is about a man who just can’t bring himself to cut the apron strings and kill his zombie mother. Lionel, the lead of Peter Jackson’s splatter-comic masterpiece, decides instead to care for her and the townsfolk she bites in a demented undead nursing home where the zombie patients keep humping each other. The macabre comedic aside of zombie coitus would be enough (and its frequent return is always appreciated), but catching this zombie nurse biting a zombie priest’s lips off is also necessary for the plot. Jackson and co-writers Fran Walsh and Stephen Sinclair follow the idea of zombie sex to its apparent ends, and the zombie couple has a zombie baby. Baby Selwyn becomes one of the film’s chief antagonists and its mascot, posing philosophical quandaries like: Is a zombie baby born of two zombies ever alive? Is it “dead alive”? Without zombie sex, we’d never reach such heady heights. [Matt Schimkowitz] 

Jennifer’s Body (2009) 

Jennifer’s Body proudly presents its characters as stereotypes to drive home its point. Jennifer Check (Megan Fox) is overtly sexualized as the hot, popular cheerleader who’s well aware everyone wants to sleep with her. (Just look at the way she knowingly bites her lip while talking to absolutely anyone.) It’s no wonder she then uses this power to lure the men she wants to punish. However, in showing how she and Needy (Amanda Seyfried) navigate the minefield of puberty, Jennifer’s Body makes remarkable points about feminism, sexual impulses, desire, and lust. Director Karyn Kusama captures this impressive range of feelings well, particularly during a zoomed-in shot of both women making out tenderly for the first time. [Saloni Gajjar] 

Cat People (1982) 

Either version of Cat People, the 1942 Jacques Tourneur version or the 1982 Paul Schrader remake, could fit into this Inventory. The horniness persists through the decades, as does the fear associated with potentially turning into a panther if one gives into lust and consummates a relationship. Schrader’s version, by the dual virtues of being from Schrader and the ’80s, is the sleazier and (far) more explicit film, making its “if this hot werecat has sex, it’ll turn” premise less psychological and more magical. Also, this time, the cats need to kill if they want to go back to being people. Led by Nastassja Kinski and David Bowie’s howl of “Gaso-lineeeeeeeeee,” Cat People leaps from the shadows of the ’40s and materializes a cerebral, Hays Coded fear of intimacy to a hyper-physical, coked-up fear of sex itself. [Jacob Oller]

Teeth (2007)

Teeth is brilliant even if, or perhaps because, it’s too on the nose. A vagina as a cutthroat weapon, a sexually charged coming-of-age story that doubles as commentary on consent, a parody of teen abstinence—the movie is a lot. As Dawn (Jess Weixler) realizes she suffers from vagina dentata, writer-director Mitchell Lichtenstein imbues her with fear, righteous anger, and desire. Teeth doesn’t just use sex (and a nifty vibrator) to help her understand her sexual prowess. Instead, it becomes a way for her to learn about a cynical world that wants to take advantage of her at every turn. And she’s got the perfect tool—besides, it’s what these men covet—to fight back. [Saloni Gajjar] 

Friday The 13th (1980) 

If it wasn’t for those horny teenagers, Jason Voorhees never would have drowned. That’s his mother’s twisted logic, anyway. In Friday The 13th, sex is the impetus for the plot. It’s what spurs Mrs. Voorhees to kill two counselors mid-coitus at the camp the following year and off seven more employees when the camp reopens in 1980. Only two of the people she murders in 1980 were having sex when they died, but by this point, Mrs. Voorhees’ grief has become twisted and deformed. She no longer blames just the inattentive counselors. It’s the whole damn camp that needs to be taken down. [Jen Lennon]