Disclaimer: This is just my personal unfiltered opinion, but to the delicate crowd, it might come off blunt or offensive. If you’re sensitive about harsh takes on representation, casting, or modern horror trends, you might want to skip this.
I’ve been in the mood for horror films lately, watching them late at night with Cloud, and in the afternoon with my sister. When it comes to horror, nothing beats the classics. They didn’t need CGI gore or cheap jump scares. They relied on silence, shadows, and tension. The aesthetic not only evokes nostalgia but feels sublime—both eerily and pleasantly comforting.
This afternoon, whilst picking another slasher to watch, I found myself drawn to one called Fear Street 1994. Oh, don’t be fooled by the year; it isn’t a classic. Not at all. It’s a 2021 film, but I chose it out of a naïve hope that it might capture that 90s vibe I love.
Wrong.
It’s absolutely—and I mean absolutely—garbage.
It tries so desperately to be edgy and nostalgic but ends up feeling like a wannabe mystery glued together with unnecessary melodrama and a pathetic excuse for a witch-curse storyline.
And of course—it’s produced by Netflix, so naturally, they couldn’t resist shoehorning an LGBT subplot into the damn thing, whether it fits or not.
The lesbian romance is painfully forced. It contributes nothing to the plot except more cringe.
And what the hell was the casting even? Not a single attractive character. Not ONE. Everyone looked like they were either twelve years old or plucked straight from the “quirky average kid” aisle at Target. The only good-looking character was the first girl who dies in the opening scene. And of course, they kill her immediately. Brilliant.
Don’t even get me started on the so-called cheerleader.
Making her the “popular head cheerleader” in a supposed 1994 small-town Ohio setting feels wildly inaccurate for both the trope and the era. In real-life 90s Midwest culture—and especially in slasher logic—the head cheerleader was almost always tall, white, glamorous, a hot blonde or brunette queen bee paired with the jock boyfriend. That was the aesthetic. Instead, they erased that and replaced it with a small, quirky, Asian drug dealer whose supposed popularity is laughably unconvincing.
Representation is great when it feels earned. This wasn’t representation; this was checkbox casting: “Make her Asian because it’ll look progressive.” Meanwhile, they stripped the role of everything that made it fun or believable in a 90s setting.
If the creators thought this was clever, all I see are dismantled tropes and forced “relatability.” Newsflash: we don’t want realism in slashers. We want fantasy. We want the glossy, heightened version of high-school horror where the stakes feel sexy and dramatic—not awkward teenagers cosplaying 90s vibes in outfits stolen from a thrift-shop clearance bin.
Even the killers—who should at least have that intimidating, hot vibe—are utterly lame.
And it’s not as if the acting was remotely good. If your plot and performance are dogshit, at least give us something nice to look at.
This was a massive downgrade from the 90s slasher I watched yesterday with my sister—I Know What You Did Last Summer. It was my first time watching it, and holy hell, the cast was gorgeous. Even nerdy Leonard from The Big Bang Theory was hot.
I’d heard of Jennifer Love Hewitt before, but I thought she was an old lady. I didn’t know she had been young and was that pretty! Her character and the blonde one made such a delightful duo to watch on the same screen.
Even when the plot was ridiculous, you were entertained because the characters were charismatic, and.. Let’s be honest, easy on the eyes. Most of all, they didn't appear like elementary children.
That’s the classic slasher formula. Hot cast, sharp archetypes, stylish aesthetic. It wasn’t random, it was deliberate. Tropes exist for a reason: they create that nostalgic fantasy.
I don’t want to watch something and think: “Hey, she’s so mediocre, that could easily be me.”
No. I want to think: “She’s so stunning, I want to look like her.”
And guess what? Right after watching I Know What You Did Last Summer, I hacked my hair with a single, impulsive snip to get bangs like Julie (Jennifer Love Hewitt). I always cut my own fringe, but it had been months since I last did it. It always looks dreadful the first week, but eventually, it turns out decent. Of course, I couldn’t replicate Julie’s fringe, but that’s the power of an icon—they make you want to transform. Mediocre characters never inspire that.
Anyway, midway through Fear Street, I was high on reluctance to finish it, but my sister, despite sharing my criticism, insisted we go through the whole blasting film. Besides, I was the stupid fool who had chosen it, so I had to stomach the horror of the consequences.
I never—and I mean NEVER—fast-forward a horror film or even look away (except during puking scenes). But this one was so bad, we had to skip the zero-chemistry lesbian kisses, and the even worse make-out romance between the “head cheerleader” and the twelve-year-old black kid. (Not actually twelve, but close enough.)
I also found myself hoping they all get killed, cheering wildly when the "slashers" got to them. That was the only slightest bit of exciting anticipation I felt.
Here’s the thing: when done well, subversion can be brilliant.
Like Scream (1996).
Trope: The slasher victim is clueless and helpless.
Subversion: Sidney Prescott is smart, resourceful, and self-aware. She knows the horror rules—and uses them to fight back. That made her iconic, not generic.
Or—A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984).
Trope: The killer stalks victims in real life.
Subversion: Freddy attacks you in your dreams, blending supernatural with slasher. It took the formula and twisted it into something terrifying.
When done badly—like in Fear Street—it just feels forced and hollow because the characters have zero charisma or reason to lead the trope.
Subverting tropes without depth isn’t edgy. It’s lazy. And it’s killing the spirit of retro horror one miscast at a time. Fear Street didn’t honour the 90s. It mocked them—and failed. Miserably.