Fire Island

Jane Austen probably never envisioned Mr. Darcy in a mesh tank top, but I suspect she would’ve recognized the weaponized etiquette of a Fire Island tea dance immediately. There is something delicious about the fact that Joel Kim Booster (who wrote the screenplay and stars as Noah) reportedly read Pride and Prejudice while actually vacationing on the island, realizing that the rigid social stratifications of 19th-century Regency England mapped perfectly onto the "ABG" (high-status) and "trashy" cliques of the Pines. It’s a stroke of genius that avoids the stuffiness of a period piece while keeping every bit of the biting social observation.

I watched this film on a Tuesday evening while nursing a glass of lukewarm tap water that I’d tried to convince myself was a cocktail, and honestly, the vicarious sun-drenched hedonism of the cinematography made my living room feel significantly less depressing.

Austen in a Speedo

At its heart, Fire Island is a movie about the families we choose when the ones we’re born into don't quite fit. Noah (Joel Kim Booster) is our modern-day Elizabeth Bennet—cynical, fiercely protective, and determined to stay unattached. His Jane is Howie (Bowen Yang, fresh off his breakout Saturday Night Night success), a sweet, insecure soul looking for a romance that isn't just a physical transaction. When they arrive at the fading, iconic house of their "den mother" Erin (Margaret Cho, the literal blueprint for queer Asian-American comedy), the stage is set for a week of high-stakes socializing.

The comedic engine here isn't just the snappy dialogue—though Booster writes lines that cut like a straight razor—it’s the chemistry of the ensemble. Matt Rogers and Tomas Matos as the "Bennet sisters" equivalents, Luke and Snookum, provide a constant stream of high-energy chaos that could have been exhausting in lesser hands. Instead, they feel like the friends you actually have: the ones who are perpetually doing too much but you’d jump in front of a moving ferry to protect. The film captures that specific shorthand of long-term friendship where a single look can convey a thousand insults or a decade of shared trauma.

The Darcy Problem

Every Pride and Prejudice riff lives or dies by its Darcy. Enter Will (Conrad Ricamora, who many will recognize from How to Get Away with Murder). He’s a wealthy, standoffish lawyer who treats the island like a chore rather than a playground. The "enemies-to-lovers" trope is a cliché for a reason—it works—but Andrew Ahn, who previously directed the much more somber Spa Night, finds a way to make their friction feel grounded in real-world class and race anxieties.

This isn't just a rom-com where the obstacles are simple misunderstandings. It’s a film that acknowledges that even within marginalized communities, people find ways to build new hierarchies based on body fat percentage and tax brackets. It’s basically a nature documentary about the terrifying social hierarchy of men in crop tops. When Noah and Will finally start to see past their assumptions, it feels earned because the movie has spent so much time showing us exactly why they built those walls in the first place.

Director Andrew Ahn and cinematographer Felipe Vara de Rey deserve immense credit for making a $10 million budget look like a million bucks. They capture the specific, hazy light of the island—that golden hour that makes everyone look like a god before the tequila hits—and balance it with the cramped, cluttered reality of the group’s shared house. It feels lived-in and authentic, a far cry from the polished, sterile look of many streaming-era comedies.

A Landmark for the Streaming Era

Released during the 2022 Pride season as a Hulu original, Fire Island arrived at a moment when the conversation around representation was shifting from "we just want to be here" to "we want to tell our specific, messy stories." It’s a quintessential product of the festival-to-streaming pipeline (it premiered to huge buzz at the various festivals before landing on Searchlight's digital slate). Because it didn't have to chase a broad PG-13 theatrical audience, it’s allowed to be filthy, specific, and unapologetically queer.

One of the best "Stuff You Didn't Notice" details involves the "Heads Up" game the characters play. It wasn't just a random script choice; it was a way to weave in the specific pop-culture literacy that defines this subculture. Apparently, the cast spent much of their off-camera time actually playing games and bonding, which explains why the group dynamics feel so effortless. You can’t fake that level of "we’ve known each other since we were broke and desperate" energy.

The film also serves as a poignant time capsule for the Pines itself. As the island faces the dual threats of climate change and gentrification, Fire Island captures a version of it that feels both timeless and fleeting. It’s a celebration of a space where the "outsiders" are the ones in charge, even if they spend half their time being mean to each other.

Fire Island is that rare remake that understands the soul of its source material better than many literal adaptations. It’s a riotous comedy that isn't afraid to let its characters be unlikeable, and it’s a romance that actually makes you root for the couple to get their act together. Whether you’re a Jane Austen scholar or someone who just enjoys watching attractive people make terrible life choices in beautiful locations, this is a top-tier summer watch. It’s smart, it’s heart-heavy, and it’s arguably the most fun you can have on a couch without a ferry ticket.