Jason Blum’s ‘Drop’ fails to thrill despite high-rise horror setting

‘Drop’ offers a glossy but misguided thriller that stumbles under the weight of its own ambition.

Meghann Fahy and Brandon Sklenar. (c) Universal Studios

By Anna Fadiah and Hayu Andini

Jason Blum’s Drop fails to thrill despite an intriguing premise that should have delivered a taut, high-wire horror experience. Marketed as a slick and suspenseful thriller from one of modern horror’s most successful producers, Drop instead collapses under the weight of its awkward execution, overwrought plot devices, and tonal inconsistency. While the bones of a strong psychological thriller are present, the film quickly loses its footing, spiraling into narrative chaos that undermines its more serious themes.

A high-stakes setting with low returns

The film sets its stage in a luxe restaurant atop a 38-story Chicago skyscraper. It’s the kind of setting ripe for claustrophobic tension and chilling suspense. Violet, played by The White Lotus breakout Meghann Fahy, is a single mother and therapist who heads out on a long-anticipated first date with Henry (Brandon Sklenar). The early moments hold promise. Violet’s sister Jen (Violett Beane) lovingly preps her for the night out, ensuring her young son Toby is safe at home. But what begins as a nerve-wracking but hopeful evening soon unravels into a nightmarish game of manipulation and dread.

The horror begins not in a supernatural form but via Violet’s phone. She starts receiving threatening DigiDrop messages—a knockoff version of Apple’s AirDrop—from an anonymous sender. The messages suggest someone close by is watching her. What’s more, the sender claims to be in her home, holding her son and sister hostage. The implication: obey their commands, or her family dies.

A cast of suspects but no real tension

One of the central gimmicks of Drop is that anyone in the restaurant could be the tormentor. Violet is surrounded by a handful of eccentric characters: a flirtatious bartender, a sleazy pianist, and a painfully awkward man on a blind date. But the film fails to build intrigue around any of them. Instead of suspense, we’re given clunky red herrings and one-dimensional character sketches.

By the time Henry arrives—looking like he wandered in from a different movie—there’s already little room left to develop any meaningful chemistry between him and Violet. Their interaction is flat, and without emotional investment in the budding relationship, the movie forfeits one of the primary ways thrillers like this sustain tension. A memorable supporting turn from Jeffery Self as an overenthusiastic waiter provides some comic relief, but it’s far from enough to rescue the sagging middle act.

Overwritten plot, underwhelming payoffs

What ultimately sinks Drop is not its ambition but its overcomplication. Jason Blum’s Drop fails to thrill not because the premise lacks potential—it has plenty—but because the script by Jillian Jacobs and Chris Roach doesn’t trust its own simplicity. Instead, it layers on increasingly implausible twists, culminating in a villain whose powers of surveillance and manipulation border on the supernatural despite being grounded in a supposedly realistic world.

Violet is repeatedly instructed to carry out tasks that escalate in absurdity, yet the villain’s omniscience leaves no room for surprise or ingenuity. There’s no sense that she could outsmart her tormentor. The result is a frustratingly passive protagonist whose agency is sapped by a script more interested in shock than suspense.

The film’s flashback structure—anchored by a brutal opening scene where Violet is attacked by her husband—aims to lend the character depth. Yet these moments feel exploitative rather than empathetic. Director Christopher Landon, known for his clever and quirky slasher Happy Death Day, seems unsure of whether Drop should play as pulpy thriller or serious drama. That tonal uncertainty permeates the entire production.

The aesthetics of artificial fear

There’s no denying that Drop looks good. Cinematographer Lyn Moncrief captures the polished sheen of the upscale setting, and some of the camerawork does add fleeting tension. But it’s all surface-level. Bear McCreary’s score tries to hammer home the gravity of Violet’s trauma with deep, rumbling cues, but instead feels overbearing—more bombast than subtlety.

As Violet runs through the restaurant, breathless and panicked, there are moments when it seems the movie might find its rhythm. But then come the outlandish plot turns, and the illusion collapses. One of the film’s most misguided choices arrives during a supposedly climactic kiss—everything goes silent, as if this were a delicate indie romance and not a chaotic digital-age thriller about child endangerment.

Strong lead, wasted potential

If there’s a saving grace to this mess, it’s Meghann Fahy. She works hard to elevate Violet beyond the confines of the script. There are fleeting glimpses of emotional truth in her performance—especially in the quiet, reflective moments—but she’s ultimately let down by the contrived story. Her character’s journey from broken widow to empowered survivor is muddled by incoherent motivations and a lack of meaningful resolution.

Brandon Sklenar’s Henry is forgettable, despite his prominent role. He is too perfectly composed, too unreadable, and ultimately too irrelevant to make a lasting impression. The film tries to keep his motivations mysterious, but that ambiguity just renders him inert.

A misfire from a master of the genre

Jason Blum’s Drop fails to thrill because it forgets what makes a great thriller work. Suspense is not just about danger—it’s about investment. We must care deeply about the protagonist, feel every beat of her fear, every heartbeat of her risk. But Drop rushes into chaos before building a foundation of connection, leaving viewers more frustrated than frightened.

There are echoes here of Blumhouse’s previous hits—The Invisible Man, Get Out, even M3gan—but Drop is missing the sharp commentary, the precise tone, and the narrative control that defined those successes. It feels like a lesser imitator of its own lineage, a generic product in a branded container that just says “BURGERS.”

For fans of Jason Blum’s work, this will be a disappointing detour. For newcomers, it may be enough to turn them away entirely. Either way, Drop is not the stylish, subversive thriller it sets out to be. It’s a film that promises a fall from great heights—and delivers exactly that.