Drop: First Date Nerves and First Degree Murder (Early Review)

The nerves of a first date after a long time alone—hope, fear, and way too much thought about what to wear. Oh, and a mysterious texter airdropping you memes threatening the lives of your family. Classic stuff, right?

Few filmmakers could sell the premise “What if memes were scary?” as a high-stakes game of cat and mouse inside a fine-dining restaurant—but if anyone was up for the challenge, it would be director Christopher Landon (Freaky, Happy Death Day, Happy Death Day 2U), who stepped down from directing Scream 7 back at the end of 2023. Combining the paranoia of tech surveillance with the shadow of past trauma, the aptly-titled Drop is a limited-location thriller that delivers a mostly successful, campy crowd-pleaser—offering up fun twists, humour, mystery, and a killer lead performance despite some repetition.

Drop follows Violet (Fahy) as she navigates life years after the violent death of her husband. Now a counsellor for domestic abuse survivors, she finally steps back into the dating world, setting up a first date with her handsome online match, Henry (Sklenar), at a fine-dining restaurant. However, as the night progresses, things take a chilling turn once she begins receiving a series of increasingly threatening texts and outdated memes through ‘Drop’ (the film’s version of AirDrop or Quick Share), revealing that the Mysterious Texter (who doesn’t have quite the same ring as “Mysterious Caller”) has live footage of her house and warning her that if she were to raise suspicion, things would get worse for her. What starts as a strange inconvenience quickly escalates into a deadly ultimatum: kill Henry, or let her son and sister die.

As the messages continue, Violet’s mental state teeters on the edge of mania, turning this tense game of cat and mouse into something increasingly absurd—and often darkly funny—as she tries to maintain the world’s worst first date by masking her rising paranoia with denial, polite conversation, and flirtation. Given Fahy’s The White Lotus fame, the film could’ve pushed further into Trap-level absurdity (another one-room thriller about trying to escape), but the actress responds with an exceptional, measured performance that is painfully awkward, sincere, and deeply uncomfortable—in the best way. Then again, a more heightened take might have broken the emotional truth of her character entirely.

Around Fahy, however, the supporting cast is a mixed bag. Half exist purely as red herrings, so limited that one could do the process of elimination on one hand: it’s less a question of who the Mysterious Texter is, and more why. While the ensemble doesn’t always land, one bright spot is Jeffery Self as Matt, an overly polite, scene-stealing waiter whose chipper energy crashes into Violet’s nerves at all the wrong moments. On the other hand, Sklenar’s Henry feels flat by design at first before quickly settling into a hollow “perfect boyfriend” archetype, while never quite selling his potential as a real suspect.

It is in these choices where Drop falls just short of greatness. Between its narrative leaps that demand a suspension of disbelief larger than the Mysterious Texter’s meme folder, and the film’s overreliance on flickering lights to punctuate drama—revealing its limited cinematic language—Drop starts to feel undercooked, repetitive, and a little starved for material. The film’s tight scope presents as both a strength and a weakness. After the second or third trip to the bathroom, audiences deserve more than internal debate; they are ready for Violet to get her hands dirty.

Despite not fully pushing its premise to the fullest potential, Drop, and its unique gimmick, still rides an exciting line of absurdity through a commanding lead performance from Fahy that would cement her as a Hitchcockian leading lady, a playful exploration of fear, and a tight runtime that makes it a success as popcorn entertainment.

still courtesy of Universal Pictures

If you liked this, please read our other reviews here and don’t forget to follow us on Twitter or Instagram or like us on Facebook.

J.A. Birney

letterboxd.com/nonameno5/