Lily Lady is an artist from New York City. Lily’s journalism can be found in Office and Dirty Magazine. Their latest poetry collection is NDA (Far West Press, 2024) and their feature film, Sam’s World, is available digitally on Tubi, Amazon Prime and more platforms via Factory 25. (Photo by Max Lakner.)
A billboard for Final Destination Bloodlines popped up on my block the month before its premiere. “DEATH RUNS IN THE FAMILY,” it announced. Against a backdrop of crimson red, the text hovered above a skull on fire. I audibly squealed with delight and bought tickets to a 7:30 p.m. showing on opening weekend.
When the big day arrived, I packed a bag of snacks and hit the road with my husband, Ash. Nearing the theater, I realized I’d forgotten ear plugs. The decibel level in movies has become untenable for me, and I try to always bring plugs for screenings. Since we’d left the house with just enough time to make it – we’re fine with missing the trailers – there wasn’t quite enough time for a stop.
Still, we decided to risk it. Hastily parking in a grocery store lot, we ran with flailing arms through the aisles of the Glendale Vons. Scanning until we found the medicine aisle, we turned a corner and nearly ran over an elderly lady. Scooting around her, Ash grabbed a pack of ear plugs, tossed them to me, and dashed towards the registers. We quickly realized they were a no-go: the after-work grocery crowd was six deep in each lane. Silently, we made a game-time decision. I slipped the package into my tote bag and we hustled out of the store.
The stop set us back by five minutes. If the theater ran 10 minutes of trailers, we’d be late. If trailers were 15 minutes, we’d be in our seats at the exact right time. A stoplight shifted from green to yellow. Ash revved the engine.
“Tokyo Drift, baby!” I hollered.
We screeched into a space on the third floor of the theater’s packed lot.
“I’m glad to see …” Ash panted, as we sprinted towards the exit, “… the theater is thriving.”
We took the stairs two at a time. It was 7:43 p.m. Sweaty and dizzy from the staircase spirals, we presented our tickets in the lobby. We practically shouted the question, “HAS IT STARTED YET?” to the ticket taker, a visibly frightened teenager.
Good luck was on our side. It hadn’t started. There was still time to pee, if you were willing to forgo a handwash.
I was.
We landed in our seats just as the New Line Cinemas title card came up on the screen. The sixth installment of Final Destination was about to start. I squeezed Ash’s hand and reclined my seat.
Debuted in 2000, the Final Destination series centers around a group of people who escape a mass casualty event after one of them predicts the impending danger. When they survive, Death is thwarted. A vengeful Death then kills off the survivors one by one. The deaths are often bloody, gruesome and involve Rube Goldberg-esque sequences. In Final Destination Bloodlines, for example, a character on a jog gets hit in the head by a soccer ball, falls into the pit of a passing trash truck, becomes stuck inside and ultimately gets her head completely smashed against the metal.
In the Final Destination universe, even an innocuous jog can become deadly for those who are marked by Death. Since every activity is fair game, a viewer can feel on edge the whole time. Directors Zach Lipovsky and Adam Stein play into this pervasive fear. Even seemingly innocuous objects like a beer bottle or a backyard trampoline can become weapons for Death’s destruction.
Series creator Jeffrey Reddick has allowed the films to become increasingly self-aware. An obvious setup will play out and at the last minute be switched up to upend any audience anticipation.
In the same vein, the writing of Final Destination Bloodlines demonstrates a similar respect to a smart, engaged audience. There’s none of the boiler-plate dialogue found in less sophisticated horror films. The quips are topical, unexpected and funny. One standout performance comes from Richard Harmon, who plays Erik, the protagonist’s cousin. He’s marked for death, but he delivers his disbelief at the whole concept with a refreshing flippancy. Every snarky eye roll from Harmon evokes the series’s central compelling quality: its blend of levity and terror. Harmon’s ultimate death-by-MRI is as shocking as it is laughable.
When the credits rolled, many people stayed in their seats. Perhaps not simply because the reclinables are difficult to extricate yourself from, but because we seemed to take a collective beat to revel in the one-hour-and-49-minute romp.
Even in the parking lot elevator, the camaraderie carried over: Ash and I rowdily recounted our favorite moments, squeezed next to two other couples.
“Oh look! A penny!” one of the guys pointed to the ground in mock fear, referencing the symbol of impending doom in Bloodlines.
We all laughed. As Ash and I drove home (at a more relaxed pace), I thought about my flight to New York the next day. With air travel in the news so much lately, I’ve been a little more nervous flying. Was I going to be part of a mass casualty event? Would I receive a vision just in time to stave off Death, only to be tracked down and eliminated shortly thereafter?
I thought about the era of the best spooks I’ve ever gotten from horror films. I thought about the middle school sleepovers where a group of friends and I would watch the Paranormal Activity franchise and stay up all night, feeling genuinely terrified to fall asleep. As an adult, I feel more jaded, with less of a capacity to get truly scared by films anymore.
I guess the truest success of Final Destination Bloodlines is demonstrated by the fact that it did what all successful movies do: stay memorable even after the credits roll. Anxiously packing my suitcase and tucking away for an early night, I desperately hoped to live to see another film in the franchise.
