Generally speaking, the “Stoner Comedy” genre is aimed at an audience of “stoners,” and if you’re not one, you probably don’t get the appeal.

If you are, though, you’re likely to enjoy “The Wrong Girls,” the new indie from screenwriter Dylan Meyer in her directorial debut, which began a theatrical release on Aug. 14. The plot is ridiculous, the humor is lowbrow, and you won’t find any substance in it except for the ones that get consumed onscreen – but that’s exactly the reason why it’s pretty much perfect for anybody who loves stoner comedies, and the fact that everyone involved commits to it whole-heartedly might just makes it all the more so.

Starring Kristen Stewart (Meyer’s real-life spouse) opposite Alia Shawkat as a pair of broke, directionless best friends who share an L.A. apartment and spend an impressive amount of effort finding new and elaborate ways of consuming cannabis, it opens with them facing a financial crisis; Frankie (Stewart) is thousands of dollars in debt for a scholarship to Stanford – even though she failed out before graduating – and Molly (Shawkat), who dreams of being a professional chef, channels her creative cooking skills into creating off-the-wall recipes for cannabis-infused snacks. To make matters worse, rent is due, and – as usual – they are short.

Their situation gets a sudden surprise windfall when Frankie (through a freak case of mistaken identity) ends up in possession of a briefcase full of a mysterious liquid they assume is some kind of drug. Thinking they can sell it for rent money, they decide to try it for themselves, first, resulting in a pink-and-bubbly hallucinogenic experience in which they can hear each other’s thoughts (and their cats’ thoughts, too) – an effect that lingers even after the “trip” subsides.

Their plan to sell the substance hits a snag, however, when a cadre of gun-toting Euro-thugs in dark suits show up on the scene trying to get their hands on it. Forced to go on the run, they eventually learn that the substance they took is a top-secret experimental drug, developed by a scientist (Kate McKinnon) researching human consciousness – and that the Europeans work for a dangerous rival who wants the formula for his own nefarious purposes. Can two 20-something stoners successfully elude and overcome a team of international mercenaries on a mission? Probably not, but the superpowers they seem to be developing might improve their chances – if they can figure out how to use them, that is.

Cut from the same cloth as every weed-centric movie farce you’ve ever seen, “The Wrong Girls” leans into most of the genre’s usual formula points, first and foremost of which is that it doubles as a buddy comedy. From Cheech and Chong, through Jay and Silent Bob, to Harold and Kumar, these films have always relied on the goofy chemistry between two friends, and Mayer (who wrote as well as directed) makes a special point of following that blueprint – because it’s also where her film sets itself apart from most of the other examples within a traditionally male-dominated genre by making the buddies female instead.

It’s a simple switch, and it really doesn’t have any significant impact on the general “vibe” of the story; the dynamic is more or less the same familiar back-and-forth banter between two people who have spent years getting high together, and their antics are just as stupid. Even so, in another way, flipping the usual gender of its protagonists makes an essential difference, simply because we’re so accustomed to seeing it the other way around – but women also like to get high, so why shouldn’t we see them doing it in the movies? After all, the now-legendary Comedy Central series “Broad City” (to which “The Wrong Girls” also owes a debt of inspiration) brought a pair of stoner chicks to TV over a decade ago with the epic pairing of Ilana Glazer and Abbi Jacobson, so it’s high time (if you’ll pardon the pun) we see the same on our big screens, too.

There are other twists that spruce up the formula too – a boyfriend (Zack Fox) who sparks girl buddy jealousy by asking Molly to move in with him; the crashing of a party thrown by a corporate douchebag (Tony Hale) who provides a great target for the anti-establishment satire that’s almost obligatory for the genre; and a plot thread about giant squid biochemistry that adds an air of comedic mysticism while tapping into the “cephalopod awareness” trend that has wriggled its way into our cultural discourse around ethical seafood consumption. All of it is written and executed with a cleverness that makes it easy to laugh at all the “dumb” comedy without it feeling too much like a guilty pleasure.

Steward and Shawkat, needless to say, carry the film; they find just the right blend of authentic friendship and “train wreck” energy to make their relationship both wacky and relatable. LaKeith Stanfield brings an admirable seriousness to his role as the guy who delivers the briefcase to the wrong person before becoming a comic foil and ending up a reluctant ally; stoner movie veterans Seth Rogan and Kumail Nanjiani amusingly lend their voices to the girls’ two cats; but it’s McKinnon who raises the bar, entering the story late in the game to become the hands-down MVP in a comedy that is only improved by her proven gift for stealing every scene she’s in. It’s also worth noting that Geena Davis turns up for a memorable appearance that feels like a nod to that grandmother of all girl-buddy films, “Thelma and Louise.”

What gives “The Wrong Girls” an extra appeal for queer stoners (and we know there are a lot of you) is that it features two queer stars in a queer-written-and-directed comedy that also features several other prominent queer (or queer adjacent) cast members, despite not having any specifically queer story elements. Maybe it’s the camp sensibility, or the obvious lampooning of overtly toxic heterosexual “types,” or just a general feeling of irreverence and a sharply counter-cultural edge – but somehow, the whole thing comes across as an expression of queer perspective that manages to run circles around the banality that might otherwise easily have turned the movie into an unfunny slog through a territory we’ve all seen plenty of times before.

All that said, it’s important to return to the original point that stoner movies are not necessarily meant for everyone – and fresh as it might feel, “The Wrong Girls” is definitely a stoner movie. There’s a lot of humor (and we mean A LOT) that will fall flat for those who don’t “get it,” and a considerable amount of absurdity and excess which will probably only frustrate viewers without a natural taste for it. Like even the best of the genre, it’s not intended to be deep, or even coherent – it’s all just for the sake of mindless, feel-good fun for those with a taste for it. So be warned by that caveat if you think it applies to you – otherwise, we suggest you grab a pack of edibles and jump on board for the ride.

Sometimes, when you think you know what to expect from a movie, it doesn’t match those expectations. What do you do then?

I’m not talking about the unmet expectations of fans, like those who complain that Kubrick’s “The Shining” made sweeping changes from Stephen King’s novel, or start a social media campaign trashing the latest “Star Wars” or “Marvel” film because of a plot twist they don’t like. Those are complaints about content, about a story not going the way it is “supposed” to go.

I’m referring to the expectations we have when we walk into a movie thinking that it’s going to have a particular tone, a specific style, a familiar formula – essentially that it is going to easily fit into a comfortable box, and stay there. What happens when it doesn’t?

That’s the question I found myself asking as I watched “Maddie’s Secret,” the directorial debut from gay actor/comedian John Early, which is now screening in a limited theatrical release. It’s the story of a humble housewife whose doting husband persuades her to turn her love of cooking into a career as a virally popular “food influencer,” only to find that her sudden success triggers traumatic feelings from her childhood; clearly a contemporized hybrid of the melodramatic “woman’s pictures” of Old Hollywood and the “Afterschool Special” style cautionary dramas of ‘70s/’80s TV, it has all the earmarks of being an exercise in “camp” – especially since Early himself stars as Maddie.

To put it plainly, it’s an over-the-top old-school melodrama combined with modern-day satire of online social media fame, with a gay man in a dress playing the lead. What could be campier than that?

And it is campy, make no mistake. Yet at the same time, somehow, it isn’t. From its opening scene (which shows us Maddie as she jogs to her dishwashing job at the headquarters of an LA test kitchen/content studio named “Gourmaybe”), we expect things to get wacky. The ingredients are definitely present for it, like her aggressively butch co-worker/BFF Deena (Kate Berlant), who is clearly nursing a serious “girl crush”; bitchy TikTok star Emily (Claudia O’Doherty), who demeans her and ridicules her ambitions of being a chef; and boss Zach (Connor O’Malley), a womanizing corporate “bro” who enthusiastically embraces all the toxic traits we associate with that description.

As the story opens up beyond her workplace, there are more elements that feel ripe for the kind of histrionic humor we might expect from a film by John Waters, or the stylish old-school parody of Charles Busch, or even the radicalized sexual transgression of Bruce La Bruce: Maddie’s adorably bearish husband Jake (Eric Rahill) could be made into a goofy caricature with a food fetish, and her estranged, abusive mother Beverlee (Kristen Johnston in a deliciously grotesque performance) is easily monstrous enough to be at the campy center of any “hag horror” from the ‘60s.

And when we finally discover her “secret” (spoiler alert: it’s an eating disorder that returns when the pressures of being a popular social media chef bring up old feelings about her relationship with food), it’s easy to imagine a different filmmaker taking the whole thing in a thoroughly savage direction; the potential for tasteless, excessive, and deliberately juvenile comedy might be limitless, in the hands of a director unafraid of being branded “offensive.”

It’s hard not to see all these possibilities on hand as we watch Early’s film – which he also wrote – and (for myself, anyway) hard not to hope they all play out to maximum outrageous effect.

They don’t. Instead, “Maggie’s Secret” does something so unexpected that it feels, at first, like a mistake: it decides to play things straight.

It’s still a comedy, make no mistake, but it’s not the kind of comedy we think it’s going to be. It doesn’t go for over-the-top anarchy; it doesn’t go for the bitch-slapping catfight between rival divas, or for the running parade of filthy double-entendres, or for the absurd “gross-out” humor that might have emerged from its scenes of binge-and-purge overeating. Well, okay, maybe it does go for that last one, a little bit.

What all this comes down to, perhaps, is that the film gets its laughs – and there are quite a lot of them – without making fun of itself or, more importantly, its characters. The comedy here is built into the story; it comes from its send-up of social media influencers, corporate content creation, media tie-ins, and all the other interlocked microcosms of our “new, now, next” digital culture; it comes from the foibles and fumbles of its characters as they pursue their objectives in the story, from the qualities and quirks of their personalities, from their simply being funny because they feel like being funny; and yes, it sometimes comes from the obvious cliches of form that we recognize, the plot formulas and sudden revelations and shocking twists that have emerged time and time again in these kinds of domestic melodramas, but it does so good-naturedly, in a way that feels like laughing “with” the movie than laughing “at” it.

It also never diminishes or ridicules the seriousness of Maddie’s eating disorder, nor the experiences that come for her when she (spoiler alert, again) ends up going into an inpatient facility to be treated for it; though these later scenes come populated with their own set of stereotypical characters, ready to be exploited, the movie may poke gentle fun, but it humanizes them, too, helping build the film toward an emotional climax that leaves us with the kind of satisfying uncertainty we don’t quite expect from a movie like this one.

Most significantly, perhaps, it never gets its laughs out of the fact that Maddie is being played by a man – and it’s this that makes Early’s film feel more profound than we expect it to be. It’s not a “drag” movie, or a cross-dressing comedy, or anything to do with Maddie’s gender at all. She is a woman, presented without exaggeration or irony, and she just happens to be portrayed by a male actor instead of a female one. There’s no joke involved, just an excellent performance.

This is an apt approach, considering that Early cites Waters’ 1974 “Female Trouble” as his inspiration for “Maddie’s Secret.” Though he sets aside the extremes of that classic in favor of nuance and kindness, he takes his cue from its star – the incomparable Divine, who never called himself a drag queen but considered himself an actor playing a part. Early does the same, and it makes his film into a kind of full-circle moment in queer “underground” cinema (if a premiere at the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival, where “Maddie’s Secret” screened to enthusiastic response, can be called “underground”) which pays homage to the legacy of a past icon while picking up the mantle and carrying it in a new – and unexpected – direction.

That’s the thing about expectations: sometimes they are left unfulfilled – and in answer to my own question, as I watched this uniquely winning queer indie gem, what happens just might be something wonderful.

Greg Araki may not have been solely responsible for the “New Queer Cinema” movement of the 1990s, but he certainly gave it an edge.

From early low-budget groundbreakers like “The Living End” (1992) through his “Teen Apocalypse Trilogy” (1993-97) and beyond, his films have subverted cinematic tropes with queer characters and themes and co-opted them into his own unique brand of filmic storytelling — extreme, campy, and transgressive – in which his queer characters were usually framed as sexual outlaws, flawed and anti-heroic outsiders who disregard not only sexual conventions, but often the law and the social order itself.

In subsequent decades, he’s continued to bring that same fiercely counter-cultural swagger to a surprisingly diverse array of projects, from the melancholy and critically acclaimed “Mysterious Skin” (2004) to the first-ever Cannes Queer Palm winner “Kaboom” (2010). And though it’s been 12 years since his last feature film release (“White Bird in a Blizzard”), he’s brought his twisted talents under the radar to helm episodes of popular TV shows like “13 Reasons Why,” “Riverdale,” and “Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story.”

Now, he’s back to the big screen with “I Want Your Sex,” a new erotic comedy-thriller that proves he hasn’t lost that edge. In fact, he may have honed it to a sharpness that cuts deeper than ever — and he’s aimed it not only at the moralistic posturing of mainstream attitudes around carnality, but at the thinly veiled high end consumerism that drives the world of avant-garde art.

Structured with a nod to “Sunset Boulevard” – it begins with a shocking “face down in a swimming pool” moment that is then explained in flashback – and flavored with the kind of sexual anarchy that rarely manages to penetrate the cultural mainstream, it’s the quintessentially “L.A.” story of Elliot (Cooper Hoffman), a perennially down on his luck 23-year-old would-be podcaster who manages to land a job as an assistant to multi-media artist Erika Tracy (Olivia Wilde), known as much for her domineering personality as for her highly sexualized (and deliberately provocative) work. At first, he is just one of a small army of fellow assistants tasked with helping prepare for an exhibition of new work at her gallery, which ranges from writing emails and scheduling interviews to chewing gum for a conceptual artwork depicting her vagina; but something about him catches her eye, and he soon finds himself taking on the additional duty of being her sexual plaything. 

It’s strictly a business arrangement, of course, and all under cover of an NDA he signed before ever being hired; she needs the sexual outlet to keep her focused on her work, and he – thanks to his unsatisfying relationship with disinterested girlfriend Minerva (Charlie XCX) and his desire to finally pay his share of rent for the apartment he shares with BFF Apple (Chase Sui Wonders) – is happy to be of service. At first, it all feels like a dream come true, as he crosses his own boundaries to become enmeshed in a Dom/sub dynamic with an older woman on whom he’s long had a crush; she’s the Dom, of course, and he soon discovers he has more than just a mild taste for being submissive. But as things progress, he begins to “catch” the feelings he was never allowed to have, while Erika’s manipulation and humiliation of him starts to cross lines that threaten to undermine his tenuous sexual liberation, simultaneously eroding the comfortable relationships that have kept him feeling grounded, if perennially dIsappointed, up until now. Needless to say, things get progressively twisted, and Elliott finds himself ever more haplessly  exploited as the story winds back to that “swimming pool moment” with all the inevitability of a train wreck experienced in irresistibly delicious slow motion.

Yes, it’s all deliberately “shocking” in the sense that it takes us places – both sexually and psychosexually – that a lot of audiences might never have thought they’d be expected to go. There’s plenty of nudity, the kinky sex is “explicit” in the sense that we have no doubt about the physical logistics of what’s happening even if we don’t see it, and the overall sense of “ethics” is pretty much “who cares?” In today’s world of “purity politics,” that might actually be the most transgressive thing of all about Araki’s film.

It’s not all just thumb to the nose at 21^st century morality, however; nor is it merely a chance to undermine our faith in concepts like “consent” or suggest that inappropriate sexual dynamics in the workplace are anything other than toxic. Erika is most definitely a kind of beautiful monster – all the more because her angle, from the beginning, is all about increasing the value of her “brand” – but to frame her as a villain is missing a crucial point in what is essentially, despite its coy pretense at being a thriller, a coming-of-age story wrapped in a dark and de-romanticized rom-com.

Central to Araki’s story is the oft-cited observation that Gen Z people, having come of age in a time of social isolation in which private indiscretion can frequently lead to public shame, are afraid of sex. Elliot himself discusses this generational trope, yet he exposes himself to betrayal and humiliation anyway – and while that choice may take him down a rocky road, it also takes him on the journey of sexual self-discovery that he’s always wanted to have. Erika facilitates this, however unethically she may go about it, and even makes some discoveries about herself along the way; and despite the fact the journey ends up with police interrogations, tabloid scandal, and reversals of fortune not even she can see coming, the sex itself is never really to blame. After all, it’s only sex.

Maybe that’s the main point of “I Want Your Sex,” if there is one: all the stigma, all the prudish judgments and standards of moral “decency” become absurd in the face of the act itself, which – for most humans, at least – only comes naturally and, when stripped of unnecessary shame, can be a joyful experience, no matter how “kinky” it gets.

In fact, it’s not so much the sexual “deviance” or betrayals that Araki positions as the driving force in his movie, but the pretensions of a commercialized art world in which notoriety, controversy, and even tragedy can boost fame and fortune overnight – something that savvy artists, like Erika (and perhaps Araki himself) understand and exploit without qualm. One can make judgments about that, too, but in the end, isn’t that just part of how capitalism works?

In any case, “I Want Your Sex” doesn’t make judgments about any of it, just observations – with wit, slyness, and a refreshingly sex-positive attitude. Wilde and Hoffman deliver superb performances, as does the entire cast – which, apart from others previously mentioned, includes Mason Gooding as Elliot’s super-gay co-worker, Daveed Diggs as Erika’s haughty business manager, and Margaret Cho and Johnny Knoxville in admirably deadpan roles as a pair of police detectives. Shrewd, sexy, and all in good fun, it might well be the most fun you’ll have at the movies this summer.