The In Between

There is a specific, grainy texture to a photograph taken on 35mm film that digital sensors just can’t replicate—a sort of physical memory etched into silver halide. This obsession with the "analog soul" is the heartbeat of Tessa, the protagonist of The In Between. She’s a teenager who views the world through the viewfinder of an old camera, convinced that moments are only real if they’re captured on something that can be held. It’s a fitting metaphor for a movie that tries desperately to bridge the gap between the tangible world of the living and the hazy, digital-blue ether of the afterlife. I watched this on my laptop while struggling to assemble an IKEA side table that definitely had three missing screws, and honestly, the film’s earnestness was the only thing keeping me from throwing a hex key across the room.

A Streaming Heart in a Digital Age

Released straight to Paramount+ in early 2022, The In Between arrived at a curious crossroads in contemporary cinema. We’re currently living through the "Content Wars," where streaming services are hungry for mid-budget dramas that used to be the bread and butter of the local multiplex. This film, directed by Arie Posin (The Chumscrubber), feels like a glossy, high-definition descendant of the "weepies" of the early 2000s—think A Walk to Remember (2002) but updated with a supernatural, Ghost-lite twist.

The story follows Tessa, played with a bruised vulnerability by Joey King, who survives a horrific car accident only to find herself haunted—literally—by her boyfriend, Skylar (Kyle Allen), who didn’t make it out. What follows is a non-linear puzzle of "Before" and "After." The "Before" is a sun-drenched, seaside romance that feels like a Pinterest board come to life, while the "After" is a cold, clinical exploration of grief. It’s a bold choice to jump back and forth, and while it occasionally kills the narrative momentum, it perfectly captures how trauma works: you’re constantly being yanked back to the "then" while trying to survive the "now."

The Alchemy of the Lead Duo

The heavy lifting here is done entirely by Joey King. Fresh off the massive success of The Kissing Booth trilogy, she’s clearly using her producer credit here to pivot into more substantial, adult territory. She’s an incredibly expressive actor; her face carries a weight that the script sometimes lacks. Opposite her, Kyle Allen (who you might recognize from the West Side Story remake) plays Skylar as the ultimate "Dream Boy." He’s a scholar-athlete who speaks multiple languages and quotes classic literature—basically a human Golden Retriever who spent too much time in the philosophy section of a Barnes & Noble.

Their chemistry is genuine, which is a relief because the central conceit—that their love is so strong it can puncture the veil of death—needs that spark to avoid falling into total cheesiness. When they’re together in the flashback scenes, wandering through an abandoned drive-in theater or rowing across a misty lake, the movie finds its groove. It understands that for teenagers, a first love isn't just a relationship; it’s an entire universe. When that universe collapses, of course you’d look for signs in the static of a television or the lyrics of a song.

Navigating the "After Death" Static

The film introduces the concept of ADC (After Death Communication), a real-world phenomenon that screenwriter Marc Klein—the guy behind the fate-obsessed Serendipity (2001)—clearly did his homework on. It’s a fascinating angle for a contemporary drama. In an era where we are constantly "connected" via satellites and fiber optics, the idea that a soul would try to use technology to reach out feels oddly plausible. Watching a ghost try to GPS his way back to his girlfriend is the most 21st-century haunting I’ve ever seen.

However, the film does stumble when it leans too hard into the "Science Fiction" side of its genre tag. There are moments involving a specialized "medium" played by Donna Biscoe and some mid-tier CGI "spirit" effects that feel a bit disjointed from the grounded, emotional core of the story. The production design by Dixon Cassar does a great job of making the "In Between" feel like a distorted reflection of reality—all shifting shadows and blue-hued light—but sometimes the visual metaphors are about as subtle as a car alarm in a library.

Despite the occasional dip into melodrama, there's something respectable about a movie that isn't afraid to be unironically sad. In a cinematic landscape dominated by ironic superheroes and "elevated" horror, a straightforward story about the agony of losing someone is almost refreshing. It doesn't quite reach the heights of the classics it's riffing on, but it captures the specific loneliness of the streaming era—the feeling of watching a beautiful memory on a screen, knowing you can’t reach through the glass to touch it.

The In Between is a solid, if slightly predictable, entry into the pantheon of teen romances. It’s elevated by a powerhouse performance from Joey King and a genuine sense of atmosphere that makes it more than just "streaming filler." While the supernatural mechanics are a bit clunky, the emotional stakes feel real enough to warrant a few tissues. If you're looking for a film that captures the intersection of young love and the digital afterlife, this one is a signal worth picking up.