In its compelling depiction of a strange work relationship, “I Want Your Sex” is nothing if not original. Driven by a career-best performance from Olivia Wilde, the film is simultaneously confrontational and curiously approachable.

A commentary on art, sexuality, and generational divides, director Gregg Araki’s latest follows aspiring podcaster Elliot’s (Cooper Hoffman) increasingly intimate — and disorienting — adventures after being hired by the provocative, renowned artist Erika Tracy (Wilde) as her sexual muse. Yet for all its transgressive subject matter, “I Want Your Sex” is surprisingly mainstream in its construction with its steady pacing and emotional legibility. It is far more accessible than the more disjointed, experimental construction of Araki’s earlier projects — including 1993’s “Totally F***ed Up” from his “Teenage Apocalypse” trilogy — which demand far more independent interpretation from viewers.

This relative tameness, however, does not seep into the cinematography. Araki and cinematographer Tucker Korte use bold framing and hyper-saturated, artificial color grading to bring the plot’s examination of authenticity into every shot. As animation bleeds into live action and metaphors are brought to life — even featuring a well-crafted depiction of Elliot being literally sucked into his bed — “I Want Your Sex” utilizes Elliot’s overactive imagination as an experimental playground, pushing itself further from the conventional.

It is undeniable that Wilde’s phenomenal performance commands every scene, perfectly complimented by Hoffman, who adds genuine emotional depth to the outlandish major plot points. The unwavering comedic timing of both lead actors sells the film’s inherent absurdity while still allowing Araki’s commentary to shine through.

One notable misstep comes from Charli xcx’s appearance, a casting decision that unfortunately pulls the viewer out of the world Araki carefully builds. Joining an already celebrity-studded ensemble that includes Daveed Diggs and Mason Gooding, Charli’s portrayal of Minerva — medical student and Elliot’s aloof girlfriend — feels more like a stunt than a fully integrated character. Her accent is distractingly inconsistent, and the performance itself remains curiously flat, lacking the specificity and tension provided by the rest of the cast.

Just like the central duo of Elliot and Erika, “I Want Your Sex” earns much of its success by pushing back against — and more importantly scrutinizing — society’s rules. In its plunge into what it pointedly labels the “sad reality of now,” the film’s fixation on Gen Z’s overwhelming sex negativity ultimately falters, offering diagnosis without much genuine interrogation of why this generational divide exists. And despite a solid third act twist, “I Want Your Sex” leaves behind a trail of unanswered side plots that feel unresolved more by oversight than intention.

For instance, Elliot’s best friend and roommate Apple (Chase Sui Wonders ’18) plays a surprisingly pivotal role in shaping the trajectory of Elliot and Erika’s relationship in the film’s final act, only to virtually disappear before the narrative’s conclusion. Wonders’ screen presence is a major contributor to the film’s personality and Elliot’s character development, so abandoning her at the point of resolution lands as a weakness. While one could argue that this absence is an intentional reflection of Elliot’s permanently altered state, that idea is underdeveloped onscreen.

One of the film’s most successful plot devices, though, is a recurring police interview that serves as both a comedic engine and narrative frame. Much of its humor arises from the way these scenes cut against the central plot, offering a dry, procedural counterpoint to Elliot’s increasingly surreal experience. By withholding the precise reason for the interview until the final stretch, the film quietly accumulates tension and anchors the story in anticipation that ultimately delivers.

Rather than shocking for shock’s sake, “I Want Your Sex” uses its star-studded cast and unique cinematography to effectively question the meaning of vulnerability and challenge its audience to ponder what society has deemed taboo. Unusually inviting by Araki’s standards, yet still resistant to easy conclusions, “I Want Your Sex” leaves a provocation that lingers long after the credits roll.

—Staff Writer Sara R. Eyjolfsdottir can be reached at [email protected].