There are films that arrive at Sundance 2026 like carefully framed oil paintings, aching to be taken seriously and begging for their place in the canon. And then there are films like Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass, which burst into the room like a confetti cannon fired by a group of friends who absolutely did not ask for permission and were never going to wait for it anyway. Directed by David Wain and written by Wain and Ken Marino, this world premiere feels less like a movie and more like a communal fever dream that accidentally wandered into Eccles Theater wearing glittery irony like armor.
Not everyone is going to love this film. Let me be clear. Watching Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass is like watching The Wizard of Oz if it had a baby with The Naked Gun while on molly. It is absurd. It is campy. It is relentlessly self-aware. It is drenched in sarcasm and built entirely on a foundation of jokes that know they are jokes and refuse to apologize for existing. And somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, it finds something strangely sincere to say about women, desire, and what it means to finally choose yourself.
Zoey Deutch plays Gail Daughtry, a sweet, painfully Midwestern bride-to-be whose life is as beige as her throw pillows and just as carefully arranged. She has a fiancé, Michael Cassidy’s delightfully smug groom-to-be, and a new discussion in their relationship: the celebrity sex pass. It’s the kind of throwaway fantasy couples laugh about and never expect to confront. Until he does. He uses his pass at a book signing with Jennifer Aniston, detonating Gail’s sense of safety and sending her into a spiral. She quickly turns her journey into an epic, ridiculous, Hollywood-crossing odyssey to even the scales.
From the moment Gail’s world cracks open, the film wastes no time letting go of reality. It makes you feel like you have been invited into the writers’ room and handed a glass of something dangerously strong. You are not just watching the movie. You are in on the joke. You are part of the absurd logic that says yes, of course, this makes sense, and no, we are not stopping to explain it.
Zoey Deutch is an absolute force. She commits to Gail with a ferocity that turns what could have been a shallow punchline into a fully realized comedic heroine. She is awkward and earnest and wildly determined, playing every beat with the kind of timing that makes even the dumbest joke land with grace.
You root for her in a way that sneaks up on you. Even when you know the premise is ridiculous, you want her to win. You want her to fulfill her absurd celebrity sex dreams and reclaim something that feels like her own. Watching Gail chase her fantasy of sleeping with John Hamm feels strangely empowering. (For the record, Jon Hamm is not my celebrity sex pass of choice. That honor belongs to Paul Rudd, if you were curious.)
The cast is stacked with comedic royalty. Jon Hamm, yes, and also John Slattery, Ken Marino, Miles Gutierrez-Riley, and Ben Wang, they all lean into the madness with joyful abandon. Each cameo feels like a gift and a dare, a wink to the audience that says yes, we know this is absurd, and we are absolutely going to keep going. The film is littered with references, inside jokes, and moments that break the fourth wall so often that it barely exists by the end. And yet, the comic romp never collapses under its own weight. It dances in the chaos instead.
What makes Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass work is not just its relentless humor but the sense that it was made by a group of people who genuinely love each other and love making each other laugh. There is a warmth underneath the sarcasm, a shared joy in the ridiculousness of the whole endeavor. It feels like a film made not for the industry but in spite of it, a reminder that sometimes the best stories come from letting yourself be a little unhinged.
David Wain’s direction leans fully into this spirit. Known for Wet Hot American Summer and Role Models, he understands how to walk the line between absurdity and heart. The pacing is fast and frenetic, though it does run a little long. But that might have been the heat in the Park City theater, which was turned up so high I felt like I could steam an egg in my cleavage.
At its core, the movie is not really about celebrity or sex or revenge. It is about the moment when a woman realizes she has been living inside a version of herself that no longer fits. Gail’s journey is silly and surreal, but the emotional undercurrent is real. She is not trying to become someone else. She is trying to remember who she was before she made herself smaller to fit into someone else’s dream.
And that is where the film surprises you. Beneath the jokes and the glitter and the relentless cameos, there is a story about agency and the quiet ways women are taught to compromise. Gail does not want chaos. She wants balance. She wants to feel chosen by herself.
The movie will frustrate people who crave realism and restraint. It will confuse those who want their satire neat and their narratives tidy. But for those who love camp, who love comedy that knows it is ridiculous and leans in harder because of it, this film will feel like a gift.
Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass is a dumb comedy. It is also a strangely hopeful one. And it just might become a cult classic for those who are brave enough to meet it where it is: wildly imperfect, unapologetically silly, and full of heart.