Johan works at gay sauna Adonis, where he’s there as often as a patron as he is an employee. He moves through the dimly lit spaces with ease, making seductive eye contact with men covered in shadow or hidden in alcoves. He knows who he is and exactly what he wants amid the steam and sweat, living in a hypermasculine world of darkroom hook-ups and instant gratification.

It’s outside that environment where Johan is on unsteady ground. There’s comfort to be found in the arms of a stranger, but a big city is lonely for someone whose social life revolves around anonymous encounters. Isolation creeps in even when the touch of another human being is a scroll away.

Sauna Is A Tender & Intimate Drama

At The Center Is A Complex Dynamic

Maybe that’s why, when he meets William, he’s so open to something other than just Sєx. During their first encounter in Sauna,
a tender, human drama from director and co-writer Mathias Broe, Johan is hesitant in the way he moves around William after finding out he is transgender.

His eyes graze over William’s chestbinder, which he wears while he saves up for top surgery. Johan looks at William’s face with curiosity, seeing something more than just a means to an end. William remains rightfully cautious of Johan, but after his initial surprise, Johan asks if he can kiss William again.

What follows is an interaction filled with vulnerability and curiosity — Johan feels something beyond the pure hunger that comes with a random hook-up, probably because William is baring his soul to Johan after their rocky introduction. It’s a sweet way to build immediate intimacy between the two characters who come from very different backgrounds within Copenhagen’s queer community.

Earlier in the film, Johan’s friend calls him a “Gold Star Gay,” misogynistic slang for a man who has never touched a woman’s genitals, during intercourse or otherwise. This undercurrent of misogyny runs rampant in many enclaves of the cis-gay male community, but the comment doesn’t seem to register with Johan.

He’s still searching for something that he can’t find in the dark, preoccupied with thoughts of William, who he’s desperate to see again. All he is projecting onto William — his loneliness, his uncertainty of self, his desire for the sweet embrace of anonymity — is unfair, though, as William is on his own journey of self-actualization.

Johan isn’t necessarily an obstacle in that, but to use William’s journey as a launching pad for his own self-acceptance will only lead to heartbreak for both and raises questions about cis-gay people standing on the shoulders of trans people. This thorny subject is handled with care by the film, which is ultimately about the complex love between its two central characters.

What makes Sauna so grounded beyond William and Johan’s relationship are the tiny details captured in the film. The muffled grunts and moans of the bathhouse. The sharing of testosterone between one trans friend and another. The off-the-cuff comment to Johan about how he won’t make any friends on Grindr (which isn’t necessarily true, but a common refrain nonetheless).

Broe is able to go beyond a clichéd queer cityscape to capture something that feels achingly real, all the more so in the evolution of Johan and William’s relationship. There’s a sadness here, but it’s blunted by the fact that it plays out in a way that feels very true to life.

Sauna premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.