Challengers was hyped up in no small part thanks to film stills of the three attractive leads—Zendaya, Josh O’Connor, and Mike Faist—kissing intimately on a bed. This teenage makeout session is about as far as anything goes, sexually speaking, on-screen in the entirety of Challengers.
Challengers is a striking reminder of the chasm that can exist between sensuality and eroticism. This film isn’t sexy like sex as much as it is sexy like an airbrushed magazine centerfold. Sweat wicks off each lead’s skin as it would off expensive athletic clothing.
Art (Faist) and Tashi’s (Zendaya) clearly power stratified (and often off-puttingly professional and strategic) coach-and-player marriage is one in which disappointment and desperation are telegraphed through minute frowns and soft touches. While Patrick (O’Connor), Art’s old friend and Tashi’s ex-boyfriend, is meant to be their erotic foil—a human whirlwind that both Tashi and Art are frustrated by and drawn to—even he seems to reject any true filth. When Tashi spits at Patrick in a rage, the saliva appears to barely land on him, instead fluttering away in a strong wind.
During one of Challengers’ tennis matches, Art is hit with an official warning after shouting “fuck” on the court. This chastisement of Art’s outburst, and subsequent demand for the reigning in of any crass passion, embodies much of Challengers purposeful avoidance of anything raw.
A clean fantasy world certainly reads as director Luca Guadagino’s intent; in fact, the sensation that we are watching one long ad for body lotion and laundry bleach feels like his deliberate vision. It’s impressive in its execution, and remarkably sensually pleasant to observe, but one ultimately wonders what overarching purpose is served by an orderly portrayal of the two carnal activities of sex and sport.
