Critics Campus 2026 participant Andrew Cordon speaks to director Corrin Evans about Jungian archetypes, intimacy coordination and representations of sexuality in the context of erotic thriller Corpus.

Corrin Evans’s debut feature Corpus is a queer body-horror that taps into our most carnal instincts. Set in a late-90s New York City, with the entire city drenched in a grungy green tint, the film parachutes us into the thumping abyss of a basement nightclub. Amidst a sweaty tangle of bodies and cigarette smoke, Sayo (Jeff Wahlberg) discreetly passes a baggie to one of his loyal customers. Accompanied by his rowdy friend Ross (Michael Vlamis), whose main goal is to get laid, Sayo alternates between dealing and his true passion: photography. Deeper into the kinetic ocean of bodies, Sayo snaps a photo of his old friend Vince (Brodie Townsend) – and thus begins the film’s erotic descent into darkness.

Corpus urges us to shed the skin to uncover our hidden desires. Evans describes her film as an exploration of shadow integration “based on the Jungian ‘shadow’ concept: you have aspects of personality or aspects of self that are hidden to you, or [that] you avoid looking at”. Corpus’s driving force is Sayo’s unfurling desire for Vince; the trio abscond to a secluded upstate mansion with the promise of another rager. Here, we meet the elusive trio of femmes who reside in the mansion: photographer Billie (Lily Cowles), her older partner Cata (Ching Valdes-Aran) and Wren (Nuha Jes Izman). As the night unfolds, they wash down illicit substances with glasses of wine, and it becomes clear that there is no party beyond the six of them. Something far more sinister is about to pierce through the epidermis.

The shadow self has been a unifying principle throughout Evans’s work so far:

I think when I look at the type of work I create, it usually deals with … self-conflict. In Corpus, Sayo has this desire to be with Vince, but it’s kind of a shadow desire. I want it, I don’t want it. I shouldn’t want it, but I do. “Do I want to be with him?” or “Do I want to be him?”

Sayo and Vince’s push-and-pull dynamic is both vexing and hypnotic, as shame and hesitation start seeping in to expose Sayo’s true desire.

Evans was raised Protestant, lending her a natural curiosity towards death and darkness:

I grew up going to catechism, where we had to frequently study the Bible. I was really interested in dark things: horror, bloodshed and transgressive sexuality, which the Bible is full of, and I feel like a lot of people forget that.

Prior to her directorial debut, Evans worked primarily as an intimacy coordinator, plying her trade on projects such as Ti West’s MaXXXine (2024) and the series American Horror Stories. Her approach to directing has been heavily informed by a focus on open communication. “My focus has always been on clarity: making sure that the cast understands what we are going to see, how it’s going to look, if you’re being lit or shot a certain way,” she says.

You might be more willing to go further if you think it’s gonna look really beautiful – or maybe not. But I just want to create a framework where they can clearly understand: here is the maximum level that I would be interested in doing. Where do you land on this scale? Nudity-wise, where do you fall? Then, I would work around that and make a plan. If they change their mind or if something changes boundary-wise, they can just let me know.

The exploration of sexuality is an integral part of Evans’s work, and though she doesn’t want to be boxed into genre filmmaking post-Corpus, she embraces the title of ‘the sex girl’ with open arms – and legs. “Sure, I am the sex girl. Let’s do it! I love sex. I do not have a script that does not deal with sexuality, the human dynamics and the power dynamics around sexuality.”

With contemporary discourse around sexuality and the supposed puritanism of young audiences reaching a fever pitch, Evans rejects the idea that “Gen Z doesn’t want to see sex on screen”. She points to a wave of films that are explicit, lascivious and sometimes impish in their depiction of lust:

I Want Your Sex [MIFF 2026] is having a moment. Gregg Araki’s entire filmography is having a moment. Criterion is streaming his Teen Apocalypse Trilogy. A lot of young people want to see that. C’mon, let’s go! I’ve seen Fucktoys [2025] and Blue Film [2025], which is one of my favourite films of the year so far.

Sex, she says, “is such a big part of everybody’s life”.

Corpus feels like peak Evans, combining her fascinations with the macabre and unbridled sexuality. ‘Corpus’ – the Latin word for ‘body’ – implies something tangible, yet Evans reminds us that both the physical and spiritual are equally necessary to nourish each other, and to enlighten ourselves even when we try to avoid our darkest desires. Embracing one’s shadow may be the only way to see the light.

Corpus screened as part of the MIFF 2026 program.

The above has been written as part of MIFF’s Critics Campus program. The opinion expressed is the author’s and does not necessarily reflect that of the festival.