Netflix’s latest attempt to revive R.L. Stine’s Fear Street universe arrives with a red dress and a butcher’s knife—but forgets to bring anything fresh to the prom. Four years after the streamer’s campy, chaotic trilogy (Fear Street 1994, 1978, 1666) gave the horror franchise a blood-soaked rebirth, Fear Street: Prom Queen stumbles in with little to say and even less suspense.
Set in the cursed town of Shadyside—where bad luck is practically in the air—this standalone chapter takes place in 1988. The film opens with protagonist Lori Granger (India Fowler) mourning her father’s death while dodging suspicion cast on her mother. Her life gets messier when she enters the running for prom queen against her tormentor Tiffany Falconer (Fina Strazza), queen bee of the school’s venomous “Wolfpack.” Cue the tired parade of mean girls, nerdy outcasts, forbidden romances, and an edgy best friend in goth gear—Suzanne Son’s Megan, who steals scenes without having much to work with.
Lori, for reasons that remain fuzzy even as the blood flows, wants to win prom queen. Joining her in the competition are Tiffany and her cronies, along with the rebellious Christy (Ariana Greenblatt), who seems more interested in stirring chaos than in tiaras. But before anyone can say “Carrie,” a masked killer in a red slicker begins slashing their way through the nominees.
The film settles quickly into slasher autopilot: lights flicker, bodies vanish, and the soundtrack blares Billy Idol and Duran Duran to remind you it’s the ‘80s. While previous Fear Street entries played with timelines, curses, and interconnected lore, this one can’t even be bothered to reference the trilogy. The supernatural undertone that gave the earlier films some staying power is nowhere in sight. What we get instead is a murder mystery that feels both predictable and undercooked.
Despite a few decent kill sequences and flashes of camp, Prom Queen never fully commits to being scary, satirical, or self-aware. It borrows heavily from Prom Night, Heathers, and Mean Girls, but never figures out what it wants to be beyond a collage of clichés. There’s no bite to the social commentary, no twist clever enough to surprise, and no characters memorable enough to root for or against. Even a potentially delicious final showdown—part dance battle, part deathmatch—lands with a thud.
The cast does their best. India Fowler brings a quiet intensity to Lori, while Strazza leans hard into Tiffany’s WASP villainy. Veteran actors like Lili Taylor and Chris Klein pop up, mostly to be underused. British director Matt Palmer, whose previous film Calibre offered nail-biting tension in the Scottish Highlands, seems out of sync with the American high school setting and the genre’s specific rhythms.
The production design is slick and period-appropriate, from prom dresses to cassette tapes. The Newton Brothers deliver a synth-heavy score that nails the retro vibe. But all the shiny packaging can’t cover up the fact that Prom Queen lacks the ambition, personality, and myth-building that made the 2021 trilogy such a surprise hit.
There are glimmers of what Prom Queen could’ve been—a queasy sense of dread, a subplot about queer longing, a critique of small-town elitism—but the film never digs deep enough to make them count. Instead, it plays it safe, bloodying up a handful of one-note teens and hoping neon lighting and needle drops will do the rest.
For fans with low expectations and a soft spot for retro gore, it might be a passable late-night watch. But for anyone hoping for a worthy follow-up to the original Fear Street films, this one’s dead on arrival.
