Afterlife of the Party

Imagine, if you will, the absolute indignity of surviving your wild birthday week only to meet your maker because you tripped over a designer toilet and cracked your skull on a porcelain rim. It’s a death so profoundly uncool that it almost feels like a personal attack from the universe. This is the sparkling, slightly shallow, yet surprisingly sweet starting line for Afterlife of the Party, a 2021 Netflix joint that feels like it was engineered by a very fashionable algorithm to provide maximum "comfort watch" energy during those late-pandemic doldrums.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while trying to assemble a notoriously difficult flat-pack bookshelf, eventually giving up and just eating salt and vinegar chips on the floor while Victoria Justice navigated the celestial bureaucracy. Honestly? The movie was a much better companion than the Allen wrench I lost under the radiator.

The Purgatory of Pinterest

Released right as we were all starting to peek out from our lockdowns, Afterlife of the Party is the definition of "Streaming Era" cinema. It doesn’t have the heavy-weight cinematic aspirations of a theatrical blockbuster, nor does it possess the grit of a 70s indie drama. Instead, it’s bathed in that high-saturation, ultra-clean Netflix glow where every apartment looks like a Zara catalog exploded in a purgatory waiting room.

The plot is a classic supernatural do-over: Cassie (Victoria Justice, shedding her Nickelodeon skin with a lot of charm) is a "social butterfly" (read: slightly exhausting party girl) who dies and finds herself in the "In-Between." To get into "The Above," she has to right her wrongs with three key people: her estranged mother, her grieving father, and her nerdy best friend, Lisa.

It’s a premise we’ve seen a thousand times, from Carousel to Ghost, but it’s handled here by director Stephen Herek. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because Herek is a low-key legend of high-concept fun; he gave us Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure (1989) and the live-action 101 Dalmatians (1996). He knows exactly how to balance the absurd with the heart-tugging, even when the script leans into some pretty heavy-handed tropes.

Friendship Under the Microscope

The real soul of the movie isn't the romantic subplot with the "cute guy next door" (played with earnest sweetness by Timothy Renouf), but the fractured bond between Cassie and Lisa. Midori Francis—who stole my heart in Dash & Lily—is genuinely fantastic here. She brings a grounded, weary reality to Lisa that offsets Cassie’s manic pixie dream ghost energy.

Their chemistry makes the central conflict work. When they’re arguing over missed milestones or the fact that Cassie was kind of a terrible friend when she was alive, it feels like a real "contemporary cinema" conversation about how we perform our lives on social media versus how we actually show up for people. Death by designer toilet is the most 2021 way to go, but the regret that follows feels timeless.

There’s a bold choice in the acting here: Victoria Justice plays Cassie as legitimately annoying for the first twenty minutes. It’s a risk, but it makes her eventual softening feel earned rather than just a plot requirement. By the time she’s trying to help her dad (Adam Garcia, yes, the guy from Coyote Ugly!) find his smile again, I found myself actually reaching for a tissue.

Celestial Red Tape and Wardrobe Changes

One of the more delightful elements is Robyn Scott as Val, Cassie’s "temporary guardian angel." She plays the role with a frantic, bureaucratic energy that reminded me of a stressed-out flight attendant during a holiday layover. Apparently, even in the afterlife, there is paperwork, and the outfits are surprisingly limited by your spiritual progress.

The trivia-head in me loved finding out that while the movie is set in a very shiny version of Los Angeles, it was actually filmed in Cape Town, South Africa. It explains why the light looks just a little bit different than your standard Hollywood fare. Also, for the eagle-eyed fans, keep an eye out for Gloria Garcia, who plays Cassie's mom; she brings a sharp, painful edge to a role that could have been a cardboard cutout.

This film also leans heavily into the "representation progress" of the last few years without making it a "very special episode" moment. We have a diverse cast, a focus on female platonic love, and a soundtrack that feels curated for a Gen Z TikTok transition video. It’s a film that knows its audience perfectly. It’s not trying to be The Seventh Seal; it’s trying to be the cinematic equivalent of a warm blanket and a glass of rosé.

Is Afterlife of the Party a life-changing piece of art? No. But in an era where movies often feel like they have to be either "dark and gritty" or "multiverse-shattering," there’s something genuinely refreshing about a movie that just wants to talk about being a better friend. It’s a vibrant, well-acted, and occasionally clunky reminder that we should probably say the nice things to our friends before we trip over the plumbing. If you’re looking for a light-hearted cry and some great outfit inspiration, give this one a stream. It’s much more satisfying than building furniture, anyway.