Over the past decade, Hollywood has churned out a parade of pointless remakes, each more soulless than the last. After slogging through a mountain of cinematic drek, I can confidently say the 2025 ‘I Know What You Did Last Summer’ is among the most useless.
This slasher franchise, which even diehard fans admit pales next to Scream’s first two films, peaked in the 1990s. No one’s been clamoring for a revival since. Yet Sony, in its infinite wisdom, decided to dust off Jennifer Love Hewitt and Freddie Prinze Jr. from semi-retirement, toss in some fresh faces, and deliver a movie nobody wanted and nobody will enjoy.
Set in a coastal town, the 2025 remake kicks off with a group of insufferable teens causing havoc during a Fourth of July celebration. Echoing the 1997 original, their distracted driving sends another car careening off the road, killing its occupants. Unlike the first film’s hit-and-run cover-up, these kids have the decency to call 911—conveniently omitting their role in the crash. A year later, Ava, a troubled lesbian grappling with guilt, returns for her friend Danica’s bridal shower.
Danica’s set to marry the love of her life, but Ava’s presence reopens old wounds. Someone knows their secret and is hunting them, mimicking the 1997 killing spree of fisherman Ben Willis.When it’s clear this isn’t a prank, Ava scrambles to survive a copycat killer. Desperate, she seeks help from the only living survivors of the original rampage: Julie James (Hewitt) and Ray Bronson (Prinze Jr.). Spoiler warning—don’t complain, you were warned.
What follows is an infuriating mess, courtesy of writer-director Jennifer Kaytin Robinson, whose résumé includes duds like Unpregnant and Thor: Love and Thunder. Five seconds of research into her credits screams this remake was dead on arrival. Robinson’s direction is a masterclass in squandering potential, crafting one of 2025’s most mind-numbing cinematic experiences—no small feat in a year drowning in mediocrity.
This film has no reason to exist. Its cast, seemingly plucked for Instagram clout rather than talent, delivers performances so wooden they’d float. The script doesn’t know its audience. Fans of the original, now in their 40s and 50s, might feel a nostalgic twinge seeing Hewitt and Prinze Jr., but the film also courts Gen Z with a gaggle of inexperienced young actors. The result? A tonal mishmash that satisfies no one, regurgitating tired slasher tropes for a TikTok crowd while alienating legacy fans with its sheer incompetence.
The sole bright spot is Sarah Pidgeon’s brief but compelling performance as a supporting character. Her presence hints at wasted potential, especially when the film’s late twist reveals she deserved far more screen time. But the remake’s cardinal sin is its baffling decision to turn Freddie Prinze Jr.’s Ray, a heroic survivor of the original films, into the copycat killer. Why? There’s no logic, no buildup, no justification—just a cheap shock to “subvert expectations.”
It’s a middle finger to fans, as if Robinson decided provocation trumps storytelling. This isn’t bold; it’s lazy. Jennifer Love Hewitt’s Julie is barely a character, sleepwalking through scenes as if she’s just cashing a paycheck. The new teens are equally forgettable, with dialogue that sounds like it was scraped from a rejected CW pilot.
The kills lack creativity, the pacing plods, and the cinematography—while occasionally atmospheric with its coastal fog—can’t salvage a script this incoherent. The film tries to weave in modern themes like trauma and identity, but they feel tacked on, as shallow as a social media post. I Know What You Did Last Summer epitomizes Hollywood’s creative bankruptcy. It’s a textbook case of lazy, uninspired filmmaking, banking on nostalgia while offering nothing new.
If you watched this at home, you’d be rage-refreshing your streaming app for a refund. In a year already plagued by cinematic duds, this remake stands out as a shining example of why audiences are fleeing theaters.
It disrespects its own legacy, insults its viewers, and proves that some franchises are better left buried. If you’re craving a slasher, dig up the 1997 original—or literally anything else.
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