Take a photo of a barcode or cover
innamorare 's review for:
Final Cut
by Olivia Worley
Final Cut is like a slasher flick you’d sneak-watch at a sleepover in middle school, but maybe not the one you’d pick for movie night now. It’s solid, (like something you’d watch on Netflix as you’re ignoring your everlasting queue) not spectacular, but it’s got its moments.
The setup is pure teen horror catnip: a group of kids making a low-budget horror movie in the middle of nowhere, only to realize there’s a real killer on set. It’s like Scream decided to cosplay as a Goosebumps episode, complete with creepy vibes and a body count that escalates faster than my anxiety during a work deadline. The main character, Haze, is a scrappy wannabe actress trying to keep her horror debut (and her newfound friends) from falling apart, which I respect. I mean, I can barely keep my laundry from piling up, so props to her for trying to wrangle friends and a murderer.
The good? I’ll give Worley credit: the big reveal of the killer caught me off guard. I was smugly thinking I had it all figured out, sipping my tea like some armchair detective. Well played, Olivia. The twist gave me that delicious “oh, dang!” moment that makes you forgive a book’s sins for a hot second. It’s got this fun, campy energy that screams “tween sleepover hit.” If I were 12, I’d be clutching my flashlight, whispering about this book under the covers, convinced I could solve the mystery faster than Haze. It’s got that R.L. Stine feel—spooky, but not too spooky, perfect for kids who love a thrill without nightmares.
But here’s where the three-star rating kicks in: some of the plot devices were so obvious they might as well have been neon signs. The red herrings? More like red whales, flopping around in plain sight. I could see the “shocking” betrayals coming from a mile away, like when my cat pretends he’s not about to knock over my water. The pacing’s a bit wobbly too—starts off snappy but drags in the middle like a horror movie sequel that didn’t need to exist.
I’m an adult, and I suspect my age is part of the problem. This book feels tailor-made for the 12-16 crowd, with its earnest teen drama and just-scary-enough stakes. Reading it as an adult, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at some of the clichés—like, yes, we getit, the creepy swamp is creepy. But if I were a tween, I’d eat this up like Halloween candy. It’s got that nostalgic Goosebumps vibe, where the scares are real but you know you’re safe under the blanket fort. It’s also refreshingly tween-friendly— good old-fashioned whodunit suspense.
Sometimes it tries too hard to be clever, and the dialogue can feel like it’s auditioning for a CW show—but it’s a fun ride. It’s like a B-movie you secretly love despite the cheesy effects.
In short, Final Cut is a decent popcorn read. If you’re a teen or a nostalgia junkie, you might bump it up to four stars. For me, it’s a solid three—enjoyable, but I’m too old to be fully bewitched by its charms. Still, I’d recommend it for a spooky weekend read, especially if you’ve got a tween in your life who needs a stop along the way between Goosebumps and Stephen King.