Watching their movie, it’s difficult to parse which of these films they liked most, or what about them excited their imaginations; if you squint, one might catch American Pie lurking in the periphery, but Hell Of A Summer isn’t particularly interested in sex or raunch. In fact, the filmmakers seem to hold a dim view of those things; one character pursues his love interest not for a summertime roll in the hay, but for a chaste peck he soon mistakes for True Love’s Kiss. A certain level of horndog vulgarity seems fitting for a teen comedy-horror; this one respectfully abstains.
This lack of interest in what makes R-rated mayhem so viscerally appealing dulls the edge of Hell Of A Summer. It captures the splotchy, no-parents-allowed style of swearing typical in cruddier horror movies effectively enough, especially as the bodies pile up. However, there’s a clear disinterest in scandalizing or provoking its audience, whether through gratuitous nudity or some good ol’ ultraviolence—one might describe this approach as gentle, even when someone takes an axe to the noggin later on. Still, younger audiences who come to check out Mike Wheeler’s first movie may not notice or even care about the film’s amateurish timidity. And, superficially at least, Wolfhard and Bryk get a lot right. Hell Of A Summer resembles cheap slashers from the days of Mrs. Voorhees and beyond and dutifully establishes many of their essentials. The squad of camp counselors (Bryk, Wolfhard, Reservation Dogs’ D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai, half a dozen others), the masked killer, the isolated campground with cabins that look like they’re a sneeze away from collapsing—it’s all here within the first 10 minutes.
With their basic scenario ready to rock, Bryk and Wolfhard play with the genre’s tropes to the best of their ability. Where a more typical slasher might take the quickest route to its next murderous setpiece, Hell Of A Summer opts to hang out with its cast and indulge in even more awkward humor. Before long, its comedic elements crowd out the horror. By rights, Hell Of A Summer should be able to sink such an easy lay-up; its laid-back approach to slasher movie rules echoes Scream (even if Wolfhard and Bryk may not appreciate the metatextual commentary that made it so novel), and its crew of dim-bulb, party-seeking camp counselors channels David Wain’s Wet Hot American Summer. Their movie may not be as nimble as Craven’s or as absurd as Wain’s, but it’s just as playful.
Hell Of A Summer also has an ace in the hole: its lead, Fred Hechinger, who plays the affable and hapless head counselor, Jason. (Yes, Jason.) Hechinger transforms the dopey lines he’s given into a flurry of neuroses and arrested development. His mom gives him grief about committing yet another summer to the camp he loves instead of taking an internship. “I have my whole life to be a lawyer!” he protests. “How many summers does a guy get to spend here?” In a better slasher, his righteous positivity would make him the character to most sympathize with or pity, and his inevitably brutal slaying would mark the film’s turning point into angrier, more unnerving territory.
As it happens, Jason is a Camp Pineway lifer who becomes its leader after his bosses are slaughtered in the first reel. (“You can’t spell Pineway without ‘e-way’… because I can’t stay ‘e-way’ from this place!” he squeaks.) Of course, Jason’s advanced age (24!) contrasts with the Gen-Z counselors under his charge: influencer Demi (Pardis Saremi) has limited bandwidth for his jokes, and saucy camp dramatist Ezra (Matthew Finlan) offers him the role of “Old Man Geppetto” in an upcoming production of Pinocchio. Even his moody crush, Claire (Abby Quinn), can only take his giddiness in small doses. The counselors don’t respect him or his second-place archery skills; in fact, once the bodies begin piling up, they eventually turn on Jason and accuse him of the killings. Like most of the movie’s ideas, this is funny in concept—he is a nut about the place—but in execution, Jason’s unbridled enthusiasm and stunted maturity are left unexplored by the plot’s twist. The script is merely padding out the 88-minute runtime.
Among the film’s other disappointments is how the movie mines empty character traits for laughs, such as the hostile vegan (Julia Doyle) who secretly craves meat or the insecure Bobby (Bryk), who lies for attention. Even the killer—a knife-wielding maniac in a trenchcoat and devil’s mask—is a conceptual dud, thrown together from a last-minute Spirit Halloween run. There’s no intimidation factor, and their gimmick doesn’t even try to reflect the film’s setting. No smothering by sleeping bag, no strangulation by hammock. (Also, their identity is the least surprising aspect of the film; just count the heads, and whoever’s missing is the culprit. Their motive is even worse.) The maniac shows no real enthusiasm for their work, either; they simply saunter up behind their next victim and take a swing. One longs for self-respecting murderers who put their entire back into a stabbing. The same could be said for hungry young filmmakers out to make their name in horror.
Director: Finn Wolfhard, Billy Bryk
Writer: Finn Wolfhard, Billy Bryk
Starring: Fred Hechinger, Abby Quinn, D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai, Bryk, Wolfhard, Pardis Saremi, Rosebud Baker, Adam Pally
Release Date: April 4, 2025
