You never forget your first encounter with Final Destination. That eerie glimpse of Flight 180 exploding in mid-air from the original in 2000 haunts you like a nightmare. Or perhaps it’s the logging truck in Final Destination 2 (2002) that rewired your head to tailgate responsibly. It could be the tanning bed burning from Final Destination 3 (2006) or the escalator horror in Final Destination 4 (2009) that made you question ordinary perils.
The franchise, now spanning over two decades, has always thrived on its knack for turning mundane settings into death traps, each sequel upping the ante with inventive, stomach-churning demises. Even Final Destination 5 (2011), with its bridge collapse and laser-eye surgery gone wrong, kept the formula fresh despite a divisive twist. For all its predictable rhythm—premonition, escape, death’s relentless pursuit—the series has always delivered one truth: when death’s cheated, it comes back with theatrical flair.
After a 14-year gap, Final Destination: Bloodlines doesn’t just revisit the playbook—it rips it up, sets it ablaze, and delivers a glossy, gore-soaked spectacle that ties the series’ legacy to a chilling new generational curse. This sixth chapter is a chaotic, stylish return that respects its roots while carving a bold new path.
Directed by Zach Lipovsky and Adam B. Stein, known for their work on Freaks, Bloodlines kicks off with what might be the franchise’s most extravagant opening disaster yet. Set in the 1960s, the Skyview—a gleaming, Space Needle-esque skyscraper—hosts its grand opening. The Isley Brothers’ “Shout” fills the air, champagne glasses clink, and a coin tossed into a wishing fountain triggers a gloriously unhinged chain reaction. From flaming entrées to a glass floor shattering under dancing feet, it’s a Rube Goldberg nightmare of vintage chaos. At its heart is Iris (Brec Bassinger), whose vivid premonition saves a handful of lives—or so she thinks.
Fast-forward to today, where college student Stefani Reyes (Kaitlyn Santa Juana) is plagued by nightmares of the Skyview catastrophe. Her academic life is crumbling under the weight of these visions, their eerie specificity driving her back home to unravel the mystery. What she uncovers is a bombshell: Iris, her grandmother, survived that fateful night, but her clairvoyance sparked a ripple effect of trauma and tragedy. In Bloodlines, death doesn’t just stalk survivors—it hunts their descendants. Escaping fate doesn’t only mark you; it dooms your lineage.
Stefani’s family is, predictably, skeptical. Her mother, Darlene (Rya Kihlstedt), carries a cold, haunted demeanor, brushing off talk of curses. Her cousins—Erik (Richard Harmon, oozing smarmy charm), Julia (Anna Lore), and Bobby (Owen Patrick Joyner)—range from dismissive to uneasy. Only her younger brother, Charlie (Teo Briones), stands firmly by her side. But when death starts claiming its due in true Final Destination fashion—gruesome, intricate, and devilishly clever—belief becomes a matter of survival.
The kills are where Bloodlines shines, crafted with a precision that elevates the carnage to art. An MRI sequence steals the show, blending dark humor with sheer terror as a piercing and a magnetic field collide in fatal fashion. A garbage truck mishap and a ceiling fan gone rogue nod to the franchise’s past—think Final Destination 2’s highway havoc or Final Destination 3’s rollercoaster dread—while feeling fresh. Lipovsky and Stein master the series’ signature dance: the camera lingers on potential threats, the score taunts, and you’re left scanning every frame for clues, only to be outsmarted by a spectacularly brutal payoff.
What makes Bloodlines stand out is its emotional depth, a rarity for a series built on splatter. By focusing on family rather than a random group of teens, the stakes feel personal. The film lightly explores inherited trauma and the weight of survival, with Stefani—played by Santa Juana with frazzled, grounded intensity—emerging as more than a final girl. She’s a determined anchor, carrying the burden of her grandmother’s legacy. Gabrielle Rose, as an elderly Iris, delivers a quiet, devastating performance, her character living in isolation, still haunted by death’s long shadow.
Then there’s Tony Todd’s William Bludworth, the cryptic mortician who’s been the franchise’s eerie constant since the first film. His final appearance—frail but magnetic—delivers a poignant, reportedly improvised farewell that offers a rare moment of reflection. It’s a fitting exit for a character who’s always hinted at knowing death’s secrets.
Bloodlines doesn’t skimp on the chaos that defines the series. It’s a high-energy horror ride, unapologetically over-the-top and gleefully messy. Some subplots flirt with gimmickry, and the third act dives deep into lore, but when you’re juggling ricocheting coins, collapsing structures, rogue appliances, and exploding limbs, a little excess is part of the charm. The film pays homage to its predecessors with callbacks—buses echoing Final Destination, logs reminiscent of Final Destination 2, tanning beds from Final Destination 3—while weaving a new mythos. Screenwriters Guy Busick and Lori Evans Taylor, working from Jon Watts’ story, balance fan-pleasing nods with a reinvention that keeps the series’ spirit alive.
Final Destination: Bloodlines isn’t here to redefine horror. It’s a blood-drenched, popcorn-flinging thrill ride that knows exactly why fans keep coming back. It’s wild, unhinged, and—against all odds—kind of brilliant. Death took a long nap, but it’s back, and it’s never looked better.
