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The ‘80s teen sex comedy is a genre that definitely hasn’t aged gracefully. Viewed through a modern lens, many of these films can be cringeworthy at best—this was an era before concepts like consent became part of the mainstream conversation. And yet, as someone who grew up in the ‘70s and lived through the heyday of these movies, I can’t help but feel a nostalgic fondness for them. Alongside horror, they were often the only cinematic gateway for curious teenage boys hoping to catch a glimpse of nudity. As juvenile and absurd as the onscreen antics often were, they hit the sweet spot for adolescent audiences. “Porky’s” was the most infamous of the bunch during my youth, but there were dozens of these films, their provocative VHS covers practically leaping off the shelves in the comedy aisle of the local video store. While I somehow missed it back in the day, I recently stumbled upon 1983’s “Private School”—a title that fits right in with the genre’s blend of raunch and ridiculousness.
“Private School” is a teen sex comedy centered on Christine (Phoebe Cates, coming hot of “Fast Times at Ridgemont High“), a sweet and innocent student at an exclusive all-girls academy, who is eager to lose her virginity to her boyfriend Jim (Matthew Modine) from the nearby boys’ school. Their plans are complicated by a series of wild pranks, jealous classmates, and sexual misadventures, especially from Jordan (Betsy Russell), a seductive troublemaker who tries to steal Jim for herself. As hormones flare and chaos reigns, the students engage in a series of outrageous stunts, leading to a climactic and raucous prom night filled with laughs, romance, and coming-of-age revelations.
“Private School” does a lot of things right by the standards of 1980s teen sex comedies—which, in turn, means it does a whole lot wrong by today’s standards. It gleefully leans into tropes that now feel wildly inappropriate, particularly the recurring theme of boys spying on girls in places that are supposed to be safe and private, like dorm showers and locker rooms. In one scene, they even snap Polaroids of unsuspecting girls mid-shower, and when one of the girls catches on, her reaction is limited to mild irritation rather than the outrage such a violation would rightfully provoke today. What passed for harmless hijinks back then now reads as blatant invasions of privacy, and the film’s casual treatment of these moments is a stark reminder of how far cultural norms—and the concept of consent—have evolved.
At the heart of “Private School” is a surprisingly earnest storyline about Christine’s desire to lose her virginity to her boyfriend Jim. Their relationship is genuinely sweet, which makes it a bit odd that they haven’t already taken that step—though in the world of ’80s teen sex comedies, sex is often treated as a mythical milestone, the holy grail of adolescence, and losing one’s virginity is built up as this monumental event that must be executed with cinematic perfection. It’s a classic trope of the genre, where much of the humor revolves around the male characters’ awkward, usually doomed attempts to get laid. Women in these films often play dual roles as both objects of desire and comedic obstacles, and in “Private School”, Betsy Russell’s Jordan is the ultimate embodiment of that dynamic—with the emphasis very much on “body”.
Jordan is relentlessly pursuing Jim throughout “Private School”, going to absurd lengths to seduce him, which naturally results in numerous scenes where she strips down with cinematic enthusiasm. When it comes to being the focal point of the male gaze, Betsy Russell is all in—frequently flaunting her figure and famously riding topless on a horse in what might be one of the most gratuitous nude scenes the genre ever produced. It’s the kind of moment that practically defined ‘pause-and-rewind’ culture for teenage boys with VCRs in the ’80s. Beyond Russell’s scenes, the film doesn’t skimp on skin, with a bevy of extras contributing to the quota of (almost) nudity, including an extended communal shower sequence where one of the boys sneaks in disguised in drag—a setup tailor-made for juvenile laughs and voyeuristic thrills.
The finale of “Private School” delivers the inevitable moment where Christine finally loses her virginity to Jim, and on the surface, it’s framed as the perfect culmination of their innocent romance. But the more you think about it, the less perfect it actually is. They had originally planned a hotel rendezvous, but the place turns out to be a tacky dive, far from the dreamy, candlelit escape Christine had in mind. So they pivot and end up on a completely deserted beach, where they splash in the waves and eventually make love right there on the sand. Visually, it’s pure romantic fantasy—sunset, sea, soft lighting—but anyone who’s ever actually attempted beach sex knows the gritty reality: sand in places you really don’t want sand. It’s a classic case of cinematic beauty trumping real-world practicality, wrapped in the genre’s glossy version of what “the perfect first time” should look like.
“Private School” managed to make me laugh a few times, and its gratuitous nudity felt like a nostalgic flashback to an era when movies were shamelessly marketed to teenage boys with the promise of boobs and bush. It’s a relic from a time when that kind of titillation was enough to guarantee a rental, and in that sense, it delivers exactly what it set out to. But watching it today also highlights just how differently we viewed gender dynamics and acceptable behavior back then. What was once considered harmless mischief—like spying on naked girls or sneaking into their dorms—would now be recognized as invasive and criminal. One particularly jarring moment comes when a girl casually says she had sex with her boyfriend “according to him,” but doesn’t remember it because she was passed out. It’s presented as a punchline, but by today’s standards, it’s a clear-cut description of sexual assault.
“Private School” is both hilariously and painfully dated—a time capsule from an era when women were undeniably objectified, yet still given top billing, often serving as the stars of the show even as they were framed through the male gaze. Then again, these movies were essentially adult entertainment repackaged for teenage boys—softcore fantasies dressed up as comedy, just tame enough to sneak into the mainstream. They offered a sanitized version of sexploitation, full of bare skin, bawdy jokes, and adolescent horniness, all under the guise of coming-of-age hijinks. It’s no wonder they were so popular at the time—they gave young viewers just enough of a thrill to feel dangerous, while still playing in the relatively safe sandbox of goofy, over-the-top humor.
