13 Apr REVIEW – ‘Drop’ is a far-fetched but undeniably engaging whodunnit with a 21st-century twist
The high-concept techno-thriller Drop is a hugely entertaining little film that thrives on tension, taps into modern anxieties with unnerving precision, and banks much of its emotional weight on a magnetic central performance from Meghann Fahy. It’s a sleek, often pulpy ride, and while it doesn’t always land its punches with grace, it knows how to keep its audience clutching the table—be it with sweaty palms or out of secondhand awkwardness.
Balancing dread with slick visual flair and just enough character intrigue to stay invested, Drop falls somewhere between a Black Mirror fever dream and a neon-lit hostage situation. It’s messy, yes, and occasionally too self-serious for its own good, but there’s a sharpness in its setup that’s hard to shake. Even when the execution starts to stumble, it’s Fahy’s fully committed and deeply empathetic turn that keeps you hooked in this far-fetched but undeniably engaging whodunnit with a 21st-century twist.
Set almost entirely within the minimalist confines of an upscale, high-rise restaurant, Drop follows Violet (Fahy), a young widow stepping back into the dating pool after the death of her abusive husband. Her young son, Toby (Jacob Robinson), is at home with her sister, Jen (Violett Beane), for the evening, and tonight, she’s finally meeting Henry (Brandon Sklenar), a man she’s been talking to online for months. But as soon as she arrives at the restaurant, something feels…off.
The vibe is disconcertingly controlled, the people—bartender, pianist, fellow diners—just a little too polite, a little too observant. When Violet starts receiving creepy, meme-laced messages air-dropped from an anonymous app user, what begins as an awkward date night quickly devolves into something far more sinister. She’s being watched. She’s being manipulated. And soon, she’s in an impossible position, forced to play a game of digital cat and mouse where the stakes are very, very real.
As the tension escalates, Violet becomes both hunter and hunted, scrambling to decode the messages she receives, assess the motives of those around her, and keep her loved ones safe—all while maintaining the illusion of normalcy. The film toys expertly with the fragility of perception: the smiling stranger across the room, the handsome date who may or may not be hiding something, the carefully arranged table of diners that doubles as a stage set.
Director Christopher Landon‘s camera roves through the restaurant like another guest, eavesdropping, intruding, silently judging. The claustrophobia creeps in fast, with windows that reflect rather than offer escape and a soundtrack that hums with unease. Even at its most implausible, Drop commits to its tone, and that commitment pays off in a series of increasingly unhinged turns that truly turn this into the worst first date imaginable.
None of it would work, though, without Fahy, who grounds the film in something real, something human. As seen in her Emmy-nominated work in The White Lotus, Fahy is one of those rare actors who can register four emotions with a single blink. As Violet, she brings an aching, jittery vulnerability to the surface but never lets it define her. There’s grit beneath the trembling surface, and watching her quietly navigate each new layer of horror is where Drop finds its greatest strength. Fahy doesn’t just react; she recalibrates. She listens. She figures things out in real time, and we’re right there with her, second-guessing every smile, every line of dialogue. It’s the kind of performance that elevates what could have been genre schlock into something with texture and emotional bite.
Sklenar gives a performance that is quietly effective, if a little underwritten. He plays Henry with a warm charm and decency that anchors some of the film’s more outlandish turns, and his chemistry with Fahy feels lived-in from the moment they sit down together. Sklenar leans into a kind of gentle awkwardness, giving Henry a slightly off-kilter energy that keeps us guessing without ever tipping into obvious menace or bland sainthood. He’s at his best in the film’s midsection, when the tension tightens and Henry starts to sense something is off—Sklenar manages to communicate concern, confusion, and suspicion in a way that feels organic, not performative.
The rest of the supporting cast fares a little less well. There’s a flatness to some of the characters—notably the diners and staff—who function more as set dressing or red herrings than fully fleshed-out people. That said, the film gets some mileage out of these archetypes. The awkward guy in the corner. The overly helpful waiter. The piano player with just a bit too much intensity in his eyes. They’re all deliberately heightened, designed to keep both Violet and the viewer squirming. And when the reveals start to come, some are genuinely satisfying in their nastiness. Others, however, feel like they belong to a different, more absurd version of the story—one that hasn’t quite figured out whether it wants to play things straight or lean into satire.
Tonally, the film walks a tightrope—and sometimes slips. The early suspense is masterfully orchestrated, with Landon keeping the viewer slightly off-balance through deliberate pacing and a refusal to let us relax. But once the third act kicks in, the film can’t quite decide what kind of thriller it wants to be. There are moments of sudden, visceral violence that jar rather than thrill, and some late-game twists feel a touch too tidy or implausible, especially when weighed against the emotional realism that Fahy has worked so hard to establish. It’s not that the choices are bad—some are genuinely bold—it’s that the film occasionally loses sight of its own rules. The emotional stakes are real, but the logic sometimes isn’t.
Then there’s the “Digi-Drop” app itself, a plot device that is simultaneously clever and underdeveloped. In theory, it’s a brilliant hook: an anonymous, meme-based messaging platform that weaponises humour, nostalgia, and internet culture in the service of psychological warfare. In practice, it sometimes veers into the cartoonish. The memes start off unsettling, even funny in a grim, awkward way, but as the threats escalate, the app’s mechanics feel increasingly implausible. Who’s sending them? How? And why does no one in the restaurant seem to notice or care? The film tries to explain, but the logic is stretched thin, especially once the layers of conspiracy and surveillance begin to unfurl.
Visually, however, Drop looks genuinely terrific. The restaurant set is a triumph of sterile elegance, all glass, chrome, and cold lighting—a space that feels less like a place for dinner and more like a fishbowl. Marc Spicer‘s cinematography embraces negative space and reflection, often using Violet’s own image as a way of framing her entrapment. There’s a clever use of colour throughout too—subtle shifts in lighting that track the progression of Violet’s emotional journey. Even when the plot falters, the film rarely looks anything less than slick. If nothing else, Drop proves that Landon has an eye for mood and atmosphere, even when the storytelling falters.
That said, it’s hard to shake the sense that Drop could have done more with its premise. The idea of a woman trapped on a date, manipulated by an unseen force, is ripe with thematic potential—about trust, control, digital intimacy, and the invasive nature of technology in our personal lives. And while some of those ideas are lightly touched upon, they’re never fully interrogated. The film doesn’t quite know what it wants to say about trauma or about the way women are surveilled and gaslit, both online and off. It gestures at these ideas rather than exploring them. You can feel the better movie lurking in the margins—a darker, more emotionally coherent story that digs deeper into Violet’s past and her psychology.
Still, there’s enough here to recommend, particularly for genre fans. It’s rare to see a film that so confidently constructs a single-location thriller and manages to keep the tension simmering for most of its runtime. Drop may not be especially deep, but it’s efficient. It moves. It rattles. And thanks to Fahy’s measured, expressive performance, it occasionally even cuts through the noise. There’s a rawness to her work here that’s worth the price of admission alone, especially when she’s forced to navigate a plot that occasionally threatens to spin out of control.
In the end, Drop is a solid night at the cinema. Ironically, it’s the perfect date movie. It’s not revolutionary, and it won’t linger long in the cultural consciousness, but it delivers enough twists, tension, and slick production value to justify its runtime. With a lead this compelling and a premise this juicy, you can’t help but wish it reached a little further or bit down a little harder. Still, if you’re in the mood for a stylish little pressure cooker of a film, one that weaponises smartphones and eye contact in equal measure, Drop is well worth your time.
Distributor: Universal Pictures
Cast: Meghann Fahy, Brandon Sklenar, Violett Beane, Jacob Robinson, Ed Weeks, Reed Diamond, Jeffrey Self
Director: Christopher Landon
Producers: Michael Bay, Jason Blum, Brad Fuller, Cameron Fuller, Sam Lerner
Screenplay: Jillian Jacobs, Chris Roach
Cinematography: Marc Spicer
Production Design: Susie Cullen
Costume Design: Gwen Jeffares Hourie
Editor: Ben Baudhuin
Music: Bear McCreary
Running Time: 95 minutes
Release Date: 17th April 2025 (Australia)