If Ferris Bueller’s Day Off got lost in the fog of a summer grief spiral, it might look something like Pools. Sam Hayes’ feature debut doesn’t just nod to the ’80s coming-of-age films it adores—it strips them down, dunks them in chlorine, and lets them float under moonlight. Set in the upper-crust suburbs of Lake Forest, Illinois, this is a late-summer howl into the void; a story about trying to stay afloat when everything familiar has sunk.

Odessa A’zion (Hellraiser, She Rides Shotgun) plays Kennedy, a whip-smart college student coasting on fumes and scholarship money after her father’s death. With expulsion looming, she chooses not to cram or conform but to rebel, doing what any emotionally flammable 20-something might: rallying a mismatched group of classmates for one last night of illicit pool-hopping across the town’s wealthiest homes. Think The Swimmer filtered through stolen seltzers, cheap vodka, and unresolved trauma.

What starts as teenage mischief morphs into something more disarming as the night wears on. Kennedy isn’t searching for fun; she’s looking for clarity, for something real to tether herself to now that her compass is gone. Hayes wrote the role for A’zion, and she rewards his intuition with a performance that feels like a controlled freefall—wry, stubborn, aching. She’s magnetic even when standing still, her sarcasm and bravado masking a softness she no longer knows how to access. A’zion captures that with stunning clarity, especially in a moment late in the film where laughter, anger, and tears blur together without warning. She also contributes two original songs, small bursts of vulnerability that let us glimpse Kennedy’s inner world without the script spelling it out.

The supporting cast brings welcome texture without overstaying their welcome. Mason Gooding (Scream VI) as ex-jock Reed provides steady charm, while Tyler Alvarez plays Blake, the moral compass with just enough bite, who sees through Kennedy’s deflections. Ariel Winter (ParaNorman) and Francesca Noel (Selah and the Spades) round out the pool-hopping crew, though both fade somewhat as the film transitions into its quieter second half. The tonal pivot is sharp—almost like two films spliced together—but it mirrors the emotional turbulence of the story rather than disrupting it.

Michael Vlamis drifts in and out as an enigmatic air conditioning repairman, adding layers of emotional resonance where you least expect them. His scenes with A’zion rekindle the film’s energy late in the game when it risks meandering. Vlamis is a close friend of the director, and Hayes clearly wrote the character with him in mind; that mutual trust is evident.

The cinematography is Pools’ secret weapon. Ben Hardwicke deserves serious credit for making these nighttime wanderings feel both dreamy and dangerous. The underwater sequences are especially striking—Kennedy isn’t just diving for thrills, she’s plunging into her own subconscious, searching for something solid in the murk. Some of the visual experimentation doesn’t land, but when it clicks—especially during a late-night dive that doubles as emotional reckoning—it’s breathtaking.

Cody Fry’s score weaves youthful mischief and melancholy in equal measure, adding orchestral lift without overwhelming the intimate moments. Fry’s music and the soundtrack selections as a whole capture that peculiar register where small decisions feel monumentally important—precisely how life feels at twenty when everything carries the weight of destiny.

The John Hughes influence is baked in—Hayes proudly cites Ferris Bueller and The Breakfast Club as inspiration in his notes—but Pools is more emotionally raw, more restless. It ditches the quirk and digs into the chaos of not knowing who you are when your past self no longer fits. Hayes draws on his own experience of losing a parent at a young age, and it shows; his personal connection to the material radiates from every frame. He understands that grief lingers like humidity rather than making grand gestures that fit into a clean redemption narrative. Kennedy’s not trying to fix herself; she’s just trying to feel something again. The film’s handling of loss is gentle and honest, resisting neat resolutions in favor of messy truth.

That said, Pools isn’t always seamless. Its pacing stumbles between chaotic energy and stiller waters, creating a fractured rhythm that mirrors its emotional arc but sometimes feels uneven. A subplot that attempts to expand the world of the mysterious repairman is awkward and exposes some shaky acting, which breaks a bit of the magic that has been created.  

What sets Pools apart from other coming-of-age films is its empathy. This doesn’t scold its characters for being lost—it meets them there, wades into the mess, and lets them float. Kennedy’s rebellion targets both academic expectations and the broader impossibility of planning for an uncertain future.

Messy, moody, and sometimes magical, Pools isn’t about swimming or finding the correct answers—it’s about sinking, then finding out you can breathe underwater after all. Hayes has crafted something genuinely different: a thoughtful exploration of how we sometimes need to break rules before we can figure out how to build something new.