Fire Island (2022)

Fire Island feels special because it’s a romantic comedy that’s actually about something: the way friends become family, the way desire can sharpen insecurities, and the way a “perfect” vacation can expose what you’ve been avoiding all year. Joel Kim Booster’s script is whip-smart and joyfully specific, delivering big laughs while still making room for tenderness and bruised feelings, and Andrew Ahn directs with a light touch that keeps the vibe sun-drenched, fizzy, and human. The ensemble chemistry is the secret weapon—Booster and Bowen Yang make their friendship feel lived-in, while Margaret Cho sweeps in like a benevolent hurricane, both hilarious and oddly moving. It is candid and very R-rated, so it’s not for everyone, but if you want a fresh, heartfelt rom-com with real bite and real warmth, this one earns its happy glow.

Fire Island is clearly aiming to be a glossy, modern queer rom-com with sharp cultural observations, chosen-family warmth, and a vacation-weekend vibe that doubles as a nod to classic romance formulas. When it’s clicking, Joel Kim Booster and Bowen Yang deliver genuinely funny banter and a sweet undercurrent about friendship and insecurity that feels lived-in. But the movie can also feel like it’s sprinting from set piece to set piece—some characters are more types than people, a few emotional turns land unevenly, and the romance beats can feel familiar rather than surprising. If you want a deeply developed ensemble drama or a rom-com that reinvents the genre, this may disappoint; if you’re up for an R-rated, party-heavy, occasionally messy but often charming crowd-pleaser, it’s a solid hang.