Out With a Bang: Wild Things (John McNaughton, 1998)

I did not want to watch Wild Things. The plot synopsis I saw online — an upstanding and morally impeccable high school guidance counselor, played by Matt Dillon, fights a deadly plague of False Rape Accusations leveled by his female students — sounded ugly and depressing. I knew there was a lesbian makeout scene, in a hot tub or pool, because I heard a lot of high-school-age boys talk about it in awed, hushed tones, like they’d seen it on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Those guys sucked, and I didn’t want to see whatever their idea of “lesbian” was. 

No: There was nothing to recommend Wild Things, except for the fact that it was streaming on Netflix, whereas I’d have to pay to rent everything else I wanted to see that week. But I’m cheap, and now, I am in a bind. For you to properly appreciate Wild Things, you should have exactly the same expectations I had — very, very low ones, based on little or no information — and yet, should I tell you more, you will soon realize that you have never wanted to do anything more than you want to watch Wild Things. 

So I will tell you nothing of Wild Things. Like the Eleusinian Mysteries, those who make the journey will return changed — but we are forbidden to speak to outsiders of what we have seen. Even the all-important Spreadsheet of Sin will be hidden beneath the fold, so that you can come back and discuss it after you, too, have seen Wild Things. Go now, brethren, and return to me once you have received initiation.