The Last Summer

There is a very specific type of atmospheric pressure that only exists in the three weeks preceding a freshman year of college. It’s a humid mix of "we’re never going to see each other again" and "I need to reinvent my entire personality before I hit the dorms." In 2019, Netflix tried to bottle that specific brand of anxiety and pour it into a Chicago-shaped vessel called The Last Summer.

I watched this film on a swampy Tuesday afternoon while my neighbor was outside using a leaf blower for three consecutive hours—an auditory experience that, strangely enough, matched the persistent, low-humming buzz of the film’s ensemble energy. It’s a movie that feels less like a cinematic event and more like a long-lost Instagram story archive from a group of people you sort of knew in high school.

The Algorithm’s "Summer of Love"

Released during the peak of Netflix’s aggressive rom-com renaissance (sandwiched between To All the Boys I've Loved Before and the endless Kissing Booth sequels), The Last Summer represents the streaming era’s fascinations with "The Ensemble." It’s basically Love Actually but with filtered sunlight, lower stakes, and significantly more denim. Director William Bindley crafts a narrative that feels like it was assembled by a computer that only had access to J.Crew catalogs and the CW’s casting directory.

The film follows several interconnected threads: Griffin (KJ Apa) is headed to Columbia but wants to be a musician; Phoebe (Maia Mitchell) is a budding filmmaker; Alec (Jacob Latimore) and Erin (Halston Sage) are dealing with a breakup; and there’s a pair of nerds, Reece (Mario Revolori) and Ricky (Tyler Posey—wait, Ricky is the older guy, my bad, it's Tyler Posey as a pro baseball player), navigating a "fake identity" plot that feels like it wandered in from a 1998 direct-to-video comedy.

High School Heroes and Streaming Stars

The main draw here is the "Young Hollywood" heavy-hitters. KJ Apa, fresh off the absolute lunacy of Riverdale (where he was likely fighting a bear or a cult leader at the time), gets to play a relatively normal human being. He has a solid, understated chemistry with Maia Mitchell, who is the real MVP of the film. While the script occasionally fails her, Mitchell (known for The Fosters and Teen Beach Movie) brings a grounded, indie-flick soulfulness to the role of Phoebe.

The Alec and Erin subplot, featuring Jacob Latimore and Halston Sage, feels the most "real," capturing that awkward, jagged transition where you realize you’re only dating someone because your lockers were next to each other. On the flip side, the comedic B-plot involving Mario Revolori trying to pass himself off as a wealthy older man to get into a high-end club is tonally adrift, like a fart in a cathedral. It’s meant to provide levity, but it often just interrupts the more effective, wistful moments of the main romance.

The Beauty of the "In-Between"

Visually, the film is a love letter to a very sanitized, picturesque version of Chicago. We get the rooftops, the lakefront, and the Cubs games, all shot with a warm, golden-hour glow that makes me suspect the sun never actually sets in this universe. It’s "Contemporary Cinema" at its most polished—every frame is vibrant, every outfit is impeccably coordinated, and nobody seems to have a single pore on their face.

What makes The Last Summer interesting as a "forgotten" piece of the 2010s streaming boom is how it captures the era’s transition in storytelling. It’s not quite a raunchy teen comedy, and it’s not quite a prestige drama. It exists in the "in-between," much like its characters. It tackles things like social media's impact on relationships and the gig economy, but it does so with a soft-focus lens that prevents things from getting too heavy.

One bit of trivia that cracked me up: despite being a Chicago staple, large chunks of the film were actually shot in Cleveland, Ohio. It’s the ultimate "streaming era" trick—finding a city that looks enough like another city to save on the budget while still maintaining that big-city aspirational vibe.

Ultimately, The Last Summer is a comfort watch that knows exactly what it is. It isn't trying to redefine the coming-of-age genre or win an Oscar; it’s trying to be the digital equivalent of a lukewarm slushie on a hot day. It’s pleasant, it’s colorful, and it evaporates from your memory the moment the credits roll.

If you’re looking for a dose of low-stakes nostalgia or want to see KJ Apa play something other than Archie Andrews, it’s worth a look. It captures a specific, fleeting moment in time—both for its characters and for the Netflix era it helped define. Just don't expect it to change your life, or even your afternoon.