Sharp Stick (2022)

Sharp Stick is special because it treats sexual awakening not as a punchline or a scandal, but as a tender, awkward, sometimes funny process of becoming yourself—messy, sincere, and oddly moving. Lena Dunham gives Los Angeles a sunlit, off-kilter intimacy, and Kristine Froseth anchors it all with a performance so open and specific you feel every flicker of curiosity, confusion, and courage as it passes across her face. Jon Bernthal and Jennifer Jason Leigh add bracing texture—one magnetic and complicated, the other wryly battle-scarred—so the film keeps deepening even when it’s simply watching people talk, desire, and misread each other. It’s candid and R-rated in a way that won’t be for everyone, but if you’re up for an earnest, sweetly searching comedy-drama about power, longing, and learning the difference between fantasy and self-knowledge, it’s quietly hard to shake.

Sharp Stick is clearly aiming for a frank, coming-of-age sexual awakening story with messy power dynamics and a slightly offbeat, L.A.-adjacent vibe. The problem is that it often feels more contrived than revealing, with scenes that play awkwardly on purpose but don’t always land as insightful or funny, and a script that can feel lopsided in what it chooses to explore versus what it skims past. If you’re hoping for a grounded romance, a sharply observed character study, or anything remotely subtle about sex and consent, this may test your patience—especially given the explicit content and the “trying to be provocative” energy. That said, Kristine Froseth commits fully, and there are moments of odd tenderness and honesty that will work best for viewers who like uncomfortable, talky indie dramas and don’t mind when the tone wobbles.