The slasher is sort of a rite of passage for any adolescent itching for that sweet adult credibility and cool. Whether Slumber Party Massacre, Black Christmas, or Scream, there's a cozy escapism within the antics of a deranged maniac killing co-eds and the ragtag young adults playing teenagers trying to survive the night; it's the first taste of fear-forced community, in between popcorn munchings and swaddled under the covers when the jump scares pop up. Now, with Hell of a Summer, Finn Wolfhard and Billy Bryk recalibrate that feeling for a new generation.

24 year old Jason Hochberg ditches a lucrative law internship to return as a senior counselor at his beloved Camp Pineway, where he is seen as a pathetic, a loser, a dummy, largely out of touch by his teenage co-counselors more interested in drinking and coupling up than they are listening to what they consider a doddering codger. Little do any of them realize a killer lurks in the shadows, knife tipped to pick them off one by one before the night is up.

In a time when most of cinema isn't too keen on trusting its audience, puppeteers uncanny IP revivals, and resorts to tired cliche (especially with streaming film but also in theatrical releases), Hell of a Summer occurs as a joyful breath of fresh pinewood air, indebted to a great legacy of 80s slasher classics yet still wholly (and funnily) original. 

Horror is a genre driven by archetypical identities where comedy is largely driven by character, here it's a perfect split down the middle that balances an impishly comedic bite with something a little more real and investing. Bryk and Wolfhard, along with emotional lead/producer Fred Hechinger and their smattering of young actors, collect into an ensemble of hilariously off-kilter campers who, interestingly, never once feel superfluous whether in terms of the laughs or layered dramatics. This is a film that’s all about the fun of the matter, it's got a good story, great bones, and it's not obsessed with meta themes and elevated horrors. It's in this sense quite a bit similar to the spirit of what Netflix’s Fear Street film series represents: a last gasp of solidly constructed slashers of the past who prioritized characterization and connection, here alive and tenacious in the present day abiding by classic tropes to lead the way and not once shoehorning a tired gimmick.

But I think I'm most impressed, and I do mean impressed, by how much this little indie that could fights the adversity of what its budget might not have allowed it do—big gory setpieces and gooey bodily effects. The film is not nearly as violent as its marketing might imply, sorry to say but it's proof positive you can do a lot on implication. On a 3 million dollar budget, Bryk and Wolfhard are remarkably efficient with how they make the film seem so cinematic through editing, taking these tears of visibly maneuvered plot setups and stitching them up, calcifying them. It's a testament to the big power of a silly little hack & slasher, your shoestring The Evil Deads or Friday the 13ths, the sleepover movie watched before the age you should've. It's a rite of passage, what every generation deserves to, and I'm glad this one is getting one as funny as this.

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