Fantasy Island

There is a specific brand of chaos that only a Blumhouse production can provide. You know the vibe: a low budget, a high-concept hook, and a script that feels like it was written during a particularly frantic weekend retreat. Fantasy Island (2020) is the pinnacle of this "throw everything at the wall and see what screams" philosophy. I watched this on my laptop while my neighbor was loudly practicing the bagpipes, and honestly, the rhythmic droning helped drown out some of the more questionable dialogue. It’s a movie that shouldn't work, arguably doesn't work, and yet, I find myself thinking about its sheer, unadulterated weirdness more than most "good" films from the last five years.

A Tropical Narrative Junk Drawer

The premise remains tethered to the 1970s TV show: a group of strangers land on a remote island where the mysterious Mr. Roarke (Michael Peña) promises to fulfill their deepest fantasies. But since this is 2020 and we can’t have nice things, the fantasies quickly curdle into nightmares. We’ve got Maggie Q wanting a do-over on a marriage proposal, Lucy Hale seeking revenge on a childhood bully, and Jimmy O. Yang and Ryan Hansen just wanting to "have it all" in a mansion full of models and AK-47s.

The problem—or the charm, depending on how much wine you’ve had—is that the movie tries to be four different genres at once. It’s a slasher, a military action flick, a supernatural ghost story, and a torture porn flick all blended into a slurry. It’s a narrative junk drawer where the director, Jeff Wadlow, keeps finding new, unrelated toys to throw at the screen. One minute you’re watching a somber drama about grief, and the next, a surgeon with his eyes sewn shut is chasing someone through a jungle. It’s jarring, it’s messy, and it’s never boring.

The Blumhouse Special: Fiji on a Budget

What’s fascinating about Fantasy Island is how it fits into our current era of "IP mining." In a world of billion-dollar Marvel epics, Blumhouse managed to turn a $7 million budget into a $50 million box office win by basically filming a vacation and inviting a camera crew. They shot the whole thing in Fiji, and you can tell the cast is having a blast simply because they’re in a tropical paradise. Michael Peña, taking over the iconic role from Ricardo Montalbán, plays Roarke with a stiff, almost robotic politeness that I found genuinely hilarious. He’s not trying to be Montalbán; he’s playing a man who is clearly exhausted by the logistical nightmare of running a haunted resort.

The film leans heavily into the modern "twist" culture. We’ve become so accustomed to looking for the "man behind the curtain" that the movie ends up tripping over its own reveals. By the time we get to the third act, the rules of the island have been rewritten so many times that I gave up trying to follow the logic and just started rooting for the island itself. It captures that 2020 energy perfectly—a year where everything felt like a bad simulation that kept glitching.

Why It’s Finding a Second Life

Despite being savaged by critics upon release, Fantasy Island is slowly becoming a modern cult oddity. Why? Because it’s as scary as a lukewarm piña colada, yet it possesses a "can-you-believe-they-filmed-this" audacity. Fans have spent an inordinate amount of time dissecting the lore, specifically the connection to the original series that drops in the final minutes.

Here are a few bits of island lore that make the production as interesting as the plot:

The movie was filmed on the same Fijian island as the 2000 film Cast Away, though the catering was presumably better for Michael Rooker. Despite the supernatural elements, the budget was so tight that many of the "monsters" were just actors in practical makeup with minimal digital touch-ups, giving it an old-school B-movie feel. Michael Peña reportedly avoided watching the original show because he didn’t want to do an impression of Montalbán, opting instead for a "haunted concierge" vibe. The "party house" fantasy sequence featured actual local residents as extras to fill out the crowd on the cheap. There’s a long-rumored "R-rated cut" that is supposedly much gorier, though the PG-13 version we got feels like a weird relic of an era trying to bridge the gap between teen horror and legacy sequels. Lucy Hale became a Blumhouse staple after this and Truth or Dare, cementing her status as the "Scream Queen of the Smartphone Age."

Ultimately, Fantasy Island is a fascinating failure. It’s a movie that tries to satisfy the "everything is connected" demand of modern franchises while operating on a shoestring budget. It doesn’t stick the landing—in fact, it misses the runway entirely and crashes into a palm tree—but the explosion is colorful. If you’re looking for a masterpiece, look elsewhere. But if you want to see a group of talented actors try to maintain their dignity while a magical puddle ruins their lives, this is the tropical getaway for you.