The Final Destination Formula Still Works, and Bloodlines Proves It.

By Leah Dillon-Sloan

Let’s be honest, you don’t to go a Final Destination showing expecting subtly.

The franchise has always been the anxious over-thinker’s worst case scenario fever dream, and Bloodlines might be its most unhinged entry yet – in the best way possible. If you’re looking for a bone-snapping, blood-curdling good time, you’re in for a treat.

We kick things off in 1968 at the grand opening of the Skyview Tower. A high-rise restaurant with a glass dance floor and an unobstructed view into oblivion – because apparently, safety regulations were more of a suggestion back then. Newly engaged (and pregnant) Iris Campbell is dressed to the nines, stomping on that fragile floor to the soundtrack of Shout by the Isley Brothers, when she has a vision: a glass-floor fracture, gas-leak, structural failure combo that takes everyone out in a spectacular fashion.

Its chaotic. It’s cruel. It’s iconic. Whoever approved that soundtrack deserves an applause and a wellness check. The slow-building dread is perfection: elevator doors sticking, a kid jumping on the glass like it’s a bouncy castle, and an undercurrent of you-are-absolutely-going-to-die-here terror tension into every scene.

Cut to the present day, University student Stefani Reyes is plagued by nightmares of the collapse. She connects them to her maternal grandmother – Iris – who everyone believes is crazy. She tracks Iris to a fortified cabin (a la Laurie strode) and learns the truth: Iris disrupted death’s design, and now her whole bloodline is on the chopping block.

Cue a glorious parade of Rube-Goldberg-style deaths, most of which seem to involve horrifying jewellery related injuries (maybe skip that septum piercing). There is something darkly delightful about how deeply committed the franchise is to make every death as ludicrous and gory as possible.

This iteration leans into the ridiculousness more than most, but there is an unexpected layer of lore here too. Iris has been living in isolation, terminally ill and guilt-ridden, she has spent a decade writing a how-to guide to defeat death, like a paranormal doomsday prepper. It was genuinely cool twist to see the franchise lean into its mythology without losing its gore-fest identity.

This franchise knows exactly what it is – gloriously disgusting, weirdly hilarious, and full-tilt bonkers. And honestly, I’m here for it.

So… is death finally done? or is the franchise readying for a resurgence? Either way, I’ll be front row centre, popcorn in hand, waiting for the next unlucky soul to sneeze near a rusty nail.