Going to The Pines during the offseason sounds like a bad time, especially if you’re just looking for crowds and parties, but for an escape from hectic life, it seems ideal. Sadly, for the five friends in Myles Clohessy‘s movie Fire Island (also known as Love Island), they will find no peace. Only death. Or rather, more death after escaping the Pandemic hotbed that is home.
The scenic beauty of The Pines is always something to look forward to whenever the movie randomly shifts into horror mode. From the requisite opening kill to the hapless locals picked off along the way, the story delivers slasher fodder before going after the main party. Considering the close quarters the central characters are in, killing them off too soon would cause immediate alarm. Fire Island, on the other hand, wants to create a sense of complacency before reminding Troy and the others of death’s boundless reach.
Fire Island quickly puts the Pandemic metaphors to work, and they don’t let up until the end. If the movie isn’t implying something about COVID, it’s saying it out loud. Subtlety is nowhere to be found here. Connor Paolo (Stakeland) plays Troy, the depressed loner whose friends force him out of social isolation. Sam (Annie Fox) and everyone’s intentions are good, but unwittingly they put Troy, as well as themselves, in danger. Had everyone just continued staying safe and not gone out in public, maybe they would have lived longer. Or maybe if the authorities had been honest about the deaths, people could have been better prepared. The finger-wagging messaging becomes blurred, though, when isolated characters also fall prey to the area’s own serial killer. They followed the rules and still died. Again, Fire Island wants to assure the audience that no one is safe during these trying times.
General COVID dread isn’t enough to explain Troy’s sadness; he has survivor’s guilt after his boyfriend died of suicide right before the Pandemic officially began. This era of horror is surely defined by grief, cursory or otherwise, but the personal history also makes Troy’s overall sense of uncertainty and fears less ambiguous. It’s not just Paolo’s character who is weighed down by paranoia; his friends occasionally drop their upbeat acts once reality sets in again.
Fire Island‘s tender moments are more memorable than its kills. Troy finally opening up to his friends and receiving their unconditional support is comforting. Yet as soon as the antagonist — an ax-wielding maniac who dons an antlered skull and claims a ridiculous motive for his or her murders — barges into the story, then the movie devolves into a predictable killing spree. There is hardly any tension, particularly since the villain’s identity is practically spelled out early on.
Obviously Fire Island was made during the beginning or height of the Pandemic, and it’s only now seeing a wide release. Audiences seeing it today will be split about the setting and feeling the worst sort of déjà vu; it wasn’t that long ago when COVID death tolls were announced daily, and masking and quarantining were routine. Undoubtedly the general public wants to forget those discomforting feelings and anything associated with them, including this movie.
Tales from the Paulside 
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