The Last American Virgin (1982)

The Last American Virgin is the rare teen sex comedy that earns its laughs and then quietly pulls the rug out from under you, revealing something bracingly human about wanting to be loved in a world that doesn’t always play fair. Set in sunbaked early-’80s L.A., it rides a terrific pop soundtrack and a scruffy, lived-in energy as its characters stumble through hormones, bad ideas, and the kind of bravado that’s really just fear in a louder outfit. Lawrence Monoson gives the movie its beating heart, letting you feel the ache beneath the awkwardness, while Diane Franklin brings a grounded sweetness that keeps the film from turning cynical. It’s definitely not for everyone—there’s plenty of raunch and some heavy subject matter—but if you can handle the crude comedy, you’ll find an unusually honest, surprisingly emotional coming-of-age story that lingers long after the last song fades.

The Last American Virgin is clearly aiming for a raunchy teen comedy with a surprisingly earnest, downbeat streak about unrequited love and growing up in early-’80s L.A. The problem is that a lot of the humor leans into grubby, mean-spirited antics and sexual gross-out gags that can feel more sleazy than funny, and the script treats sensitive topics with the bluntness of a locker-room dare. That said, it has a couple of genuinely human moments and an ending that commits to emotional honesty rather than the usual wish-fulfillment. If you’re looking for a feel-good teen romp or something remotely nuanced about sex and relationships, this one will probably irritate you; if you can tolerate crude material for a harsher coming-of-age punch, you may find it oddly memorable.