In the wake of the successful revival of Scream and the surprisingly compelling Final Destination: Bloodlines, it felt almost inevitable that I Know What You Did Last Summer would return from the depths of slasher nostalgia. Hollywood has been on a relentless quest to resurrect its 90s horror vault, dusting off old titles, shining them with slick cinematography and Gen-Z lingo, and sending them back into theaters in the hope that they’ll resonate once again. But lightning doesn’t always strike twice, and in this case, the 2025 reboot of I Know What You Did Last Summer is less of a nostalgic scream and more of a weary sigh.
The original 1997 film, while never considered a masterpiece, carved out its place as a box office hit thanks to its streamlined premise and its ability to ride the slasher resurgence that Scream had kicked off the previous year. It didn’t try to do too much—it gave us pretty teens, a chilling urban legend, a mysterious hook-wielding killer, and a juicy secret that bound it all together. Over time, that simplicity became its charm. But nearly three decades later, in a cinematic era that toggles between elevated horror and self-aware satire, this new iteration arrives burdened with a confusion of tone and an unshakable air of pointlessness.
It’s not that the idea of rebooting the franchise was inherently bad. In fact, the premise still holds intriguing potential. At one point, horror maestro Mike Flanagan had reportedly considered helming a modern take on the tale—a version that might have been grittier, more psychological, or layered with social commentary. That opportunity, however, has long since passed. Instead, what we’re left with in 2025 is a lukewarm revival, tepidly directed by Jennifer Kaytin Robinson (Do Revenge), who co-writes the screenplay with Sam Lansky. The duo seem aware of the franchise’s potential for commentary but never fully commit to any one idea, resulting in a film that gestures toward depth but never actually dives in.
At the center of the story is Ava (played by the reliably charismatic Chase Sui Wonders, fresh off her standout performance in The Studio), a young woman spending the Fourth of July in the sleepy coastal town of Southport with a group of old friends. Her companions include the fiery Danica (Madelyn Cline), Danica’s reckless fiancé Teddy (Tyriq Withers), Ava’s former flame Milo (Jonah Hauer-King), and estranged friend Stevie (Sarah Pidgeon). Predictably, tragedy strikes. Teddy’s idiotic antics in the street lead to a car accident—a vehicle veers off the road, crashes through a guardrail, and plummets to the rocks below.
But here’s the twist: the incident that fuels the movie’s titular secret lacks the moral ambiguity of the original. Unlike in the 1997 version, where a drunken hit-and-run laid the groundwork for guilt and dread, this group’s crime feels more like accidental negligence than a moral transgression. They didn’t cause the crash as directly as their predecessors, nor is their decision to flee particularly rooted in self-preservation. As a result, the guilt at the film’s core feels watered down. Their decision to walk away from the scene feels less like a soul-crushing secret and more like a half-hearted plot device.
Fast forward a year, and the ominous note arrives: “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” Cue the return of the iconic fisherman with a hook, who wastes no time slicing through those close to the now-panicked friend group. In a bid to uncover the truth and survive the bloodbath, Ava seeks help from someone who’s been through this nightmare before—Julie James, played once again by Jennifer Love Hewitt. Her appearance should have been a highlight, a moment of meta-horror bliss. But instead, it’s delivered with a limp narrative thread that barely justifies her return.
We learn that Julie and Ray (Freddie Prinze Jr.) got married—then divorced in dramatic fashion. Ray now manages a dive bar in Southport, grumbling about how the town’s affluent newcomers (led by a powerful figure played by Billy Campbell) have gentrified the area into a wannabe Hamptons. This subplot briefly teases an intriguing thematic thread: a horror story not just about guilt, but about the erasure of past horrors in favor of picture-perfect facades. A film that truly explored this angle could have given us a slasher that felt of-the-moment—one where privilege, image, and civic amnesia were as dangerous as any hook-wielding maniac.
But the movie can’t stay focused long enough to dig into any of those ideas. It toys with big topics—gentrification, class disparity, the fetishization of true crime culture (personified by a podcaster who runs a show called Live Laugh Slaughter)—but quickly abandons them in favor of routine chase scenes and cheap thrills. It’s as if every time the film begins to say something interesting, it gets distracted by the need to deliver another jump scare. Even Julie’s trauma, which should anchor her character’s return, is relegated to a plot device with no real emotional payoff.
Of course, not every slasher needs to be cerebral. But I Know What You Did Last Summer doesn’t even manage the basics particularly well. Its biggest sin isn’t its lack of ambition, but the fact that it fumbles even the genre’s foundational pleasures: timing, tone, and tension. The pacing is all over the place, as though the editor (Saira Haider) couldn’t decide whether the movie wanted to sprint or crawl. Scenes that should hum with tension drag on endlessly, while potentially suspenseful moments get undercut by awkward cuts or uneven tone shifts.
The death sequences are similarly disjointed. The film opens with a couple of decently gory kills, briefly conjuring the giddy bloodlust that defines good slasher fare. But halfway through, things veer into uncomfortable territory—too bleak to be fun, too confused to be tragic. One particularly grim death, in which a character cries for their mother while bleeding out, lands with the wrong kind of gut punch. It doesn’t elevate the stakes or deepen the horror—it just feels cruel, tipping the film into a tonal abyss it never recovers from.
This tonal imbalance is exacerbated by the film’s runtime: an overlong 111 minutes. For a slasher, that’s a lifetime. The best entries in the genre—Scream, Urban Legend, even the original I Know What You Did Last Summer—all knew to keep things brisk and bloody. Here, the film dawdles, padded with exposition, unresolved subplots, and drawn-out scenes that fail to build dread. Instead of tension, we get tedium.
The performances, while serviceable, aren’t likely to launch anyone into the spotlight. Chase Sui Wonders is probably the best of the bunch, bringing just enough conviction to keep Ava from being a total blank slate. Tyriq Withers also shows promise, hinting at a potential breakout. But as an ensemble, the cast lacks the spark that made the original’s crew—Sarah Michelle Gellar, Ryan Phillippe, Jennifer Love Hewitt, and Freddie Prinze Jr.—so iconic. Even if they weren’t all Oscar-worthy performers, they had undeniable screen presence. This new group, by contrast, mostly fades into the background.
Then there’s the finale, which barrels toward its climax with a sense of obligation rather than excitement. The big twist—without giving too much away—is both eye-rollingly obvious and head-scratchingly stupid. It somehow manages to be both predictable and illogical, offering a payoff that feels like it was lifted from the franchise’s much-maligned sequel, I Still Know What You Did Last Summer. That film, famously awarded a 0% on Rotten Tomatoes, featured such narrative gems as the villain being the son of the original killer. This new reboot seems to study that movie’s worst impulses and decides to double down, adding its own flavor of viral slang and meme-chasing dialogue that will age like milk.
In fact, the reliance on trendy catchphrases and pop culture nods is another strike against the film. It’s so desperate to feel current that it ends up feeling instantly dated. What’s meant to appeal to TikTok teens will likely be cringe-inducing by the time the next horror reboot arrives. It’s as if the writers, in an effort to stay “in the now,” forgot that horror works best when it’s either timeless or steeped in atmosphere—neither of which applies here.
What’s most frustrating about I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025) is that there was potential buried beneath the mediocrity. The concept still works. The urban legend angle, the guilt-ridden friend group, the small-town secrets—they’re all ripe for reinvention. Had the filmmakers leaned harder into the themes they flirted with—class, corruption, the dark side of nostalgia—this could have been a compelling reimagining. Instead, they chose to play it safe and shallow, delivering a product that’s neither scary nor smart, just passably slick and mostly forgettable.
As the credits roll, what lingers isn’t fear or excitement, but a nagging disappointment. This reboot didn’t have to be brilliant—it just had to be fun. But instead of honoring what made the original a guilty pleasure, it strips away the charm and delivers a bland, bloodless facsimile. If Scream reminded us how sharp the slasher can be, I Know What You Did Last Summer is a warning of what happens when you forget to bring the hook.
