Strap in, horror fiends, because Final Destination: Bloodlines is here to remind us that Death is the ultimate asshole with a penchant for Rube Goldberg murder machines. After a 14-year nap, the franchise returns with a sixth installment that’s equal parts gleeful gore-fest and sentimental swan song. Directed by Zach Lipovsky and Adam B. Stein, with a screenplay by Guy Busick and Lori Evans Taylor, this flick swings for the fences but doesn’t always clear the outfield. Let’s carve this beast open and see what’s bleeding.

Zach Lipovsky and Adam B. Stein aren’t your typical horror maestros. They cut their teeth on the indie sci-fi gem Freaks, a low-budget mind-bender that punched above its weight with clever storytelling and emotional heft. That film showed they could handle weird, character-driven narratives without leaning on cheap jump scares. Their pivot to the Disney Channel’s Kim Possible raised eyebrows. Cartoonish action doesn’t scream “horror pedigree”, but I guess it proved they can choreograph chaotic set pieces with a playful edge. Bloodlines almost feels like a natural evolution, blending their knack for kinetic visuals with a franchise that thrives on absurdly elaborate kills. Still, their inexperience in straight horror shows in moments where the tone wobbles.

The screenplay duo, Guy Busick and Lori Evans Taylor, bring their own baggage. Busick, a veteran of the Scream revival (2022, 2023), knows how to wink at genre tropes while keeping the blood flowing. His work on Ready or Not showed a flair for dark comedy and vicious kills, which suits Final Destination’s vibe like a glove on a severed hand. Taylor, less prolific, contributed to The Night House, a psychological horror flick that leaned hard into grief and atmosphere. Not exactly relevant here. Together, they craft a script that’s sharp in its kills but soggy in its emotional beats, like a slasher who’s great with a knife but cries during therapy.

Final Destination: Bloodlines kicks off with a banger: a 1968 disaster at the Skyview Restaurant Tower, a Space Needle knockoff, where Iris Campbell (Brec Bassinger) has a premonition of a glass-shattering, gas-exploding collapse that’d make OSHA shit itself. She saves herself and a few others, pissing off Death, who’s now got a vendetta spanning generations. Flash forward to 2025, and Iris’s granddaughter, Stefani Reyes (Kaitlyn Santa Juana), is flunking college due to nightmares of the same disaster. Returning home, she reconnects with her estranged family, dad Marty (Tinpo Lee), brother Charlie (Teo Briones), uncle Howard (Alex Zahara), aunt Brenda (April Telek), and cousins Erik (Richard Harmon), Julia (Anna Lore), and Bobby (Owen Patrick Joyner). Turns out, Iris’s survival cursed her entire bloodline, and Death’s coming to collect, one gruesome accident at a time. With cryptic guidance from series mainstay William Bludworth (Tony Todd, in his final role), Stefani races to break the cycle before her family tree becomes a graveyard.

At its core, Bloodlines is about inherited trauma—Death’s curse as a twisted family heirloom. The idea that one person’s survival can doom their descendants is a fresh spin, elevating the stakes beyond the usual “teens vs. fate” formula. It’s a metaphor for how trauma festers across generations, like a bad gene you can’t splice out. The film nods to this with Iris’s isolation in a fortified cabin, a literal and figurative retreat from the world her choice created. But don’t get it twisted, this isn’t Hereditary. The theme is more garnish than main course, often drowned out by the film’s love affair with cartoonish carnage.

Symbolism is subtle but present. The Skyview Tower, with its fragile glass floor, screams vulnerability, life’s precarious balance where one wrong step sends you plummeting. Everyday objects (lawnmowers, garbage trucks, an MRI machine) become Death’s tools, reinforcing the franchise’s obsession with the mundane as a minefield. A recurring motif of shattered glass ties past and present, symbolizing broken legacies and fractured families. Tony Todd’s Bludworth, with his cryptic wisdom, acts as a grim reaper’s hype man, his final monologue a poignant nod to mortality’s inevitability. Yet, the film doesn’t dwell on these ideas, preferring to let blood splatter do the talking.

Busick and Taylor’s script is a double-edged machete. On one hand, it’s packed with the franchise’s signature gallows humor. The dialogue pops during kill scenes, with characters’ obliviousness to danger played for laughs (a tattoo parlor sequence is darkly hilarious). On the other, the family drama feels like it was ripped from a CW melodrama, with clunky exposition and overwrought arguments that scream “legacy sequel syndrome.” The script leans too hard into self-aware nods to past films (logging trucks, ceiling fans, a nod to Clear Rivers) making it feel like a fanboy’s Reddit thread at times. It’s not derivative, exactly, but it’s not above pandering. The pacing is brisk, but the emotional beats are rushed, leaving characters like Stefani’s mom, Darlene (Rya Kihlstedt), as little more than plot devices.

Strengths

• Originality: The bloodline curse is a nice twist, expanding the franchise’s mythology without breaking it. Frankly, I’m surprised it hasn’t been done earlier in the franchise. It’s not a game-changer like the original, but it’s fresh enough to avoid feeling like a cash grab.
• Acting: Kaitlyn Santa Juana is a solid anchor, her frazzled energy carrying the film’s heart. Richard Harmon steals scenes as Erik, a sarcastic shit-stirrer who’s equal parts annoying and endearing. Tony Todd’s final bow is a gut-punch, his improvised monologue a masterclass in gravitas. The rest of the cast is serviceable but forgettable, with some (looking at you, Bobby) feeling like cannon fodder.
• Direction: Lipovsky and Stein bring a Sam Raimi-esque flair, with kinetic camera work and a gleeful embrace of the absurd. The opening tower collapse is a visual feast, and the kills are staged with sadistic precision. They fumble the quieter moments, though, where the tone veers into soap opera territory.
• Cinematography: Christian Sebaldt’s lens work is a standout, capturing the 1960s nostalgia with warm hues and the present with icy dread. Close-ups of mundane objects build tension like a coiled spring.

The script’s melodrama is a buzzkill, with family squabbles that feel like they belong in a Lifetime movie. The reliance on franchise callbacks borders on fan service overload. The emotional weight of Iris’s isolation and Todd’s farewell is undercut by rushed pacing, leaving the film feeling like it’s trying to be both a reboot and a finale without fully committing to either.

Bloodlines is a raucous return for a franchise that refuses to die, delivering enough gore-soaked glee to satisfy fans while stumbling over its own ambitions. Frankly, what the fuck can you expect from a Final Destination entry? This may very well be as good as it could possibly be without being something different entirely. It’s not the genre-defining brilliance of the original or the gonzo perfection of Final Destination 2, but it’s a cut above the weaker sequels. It’s a solid romp, held back by a script that’s too in love with its own cleverness and a tone that can’t decide if it wants to scare or snicker.

TL;DR: Final Destination: Bloodlines is a gloriously gory fuck you to fate, with inventive kills and a heartfelt Tony Todd sendoff that’ll make you cheer through your wincing. It’s not deep, but it’s a damn fun ride.

Recommended for: People who think death by garbage truck is a personality trait.
Not recommended for: Snobs who need their horror to have an Oscar-worthy script and a PhD in philosophy.