Forbidden Fruits Review

Forbidden Fruits starts as a riff on Mean Girls, but set in a mall (somehow still thriving in 2026) at a store halfway between Forever 21 and Nordstrom, called “Forever Eden”. The “Plastics” are replaced by the “Fruits”, Apple (Lili Reinhart), Cherry (Victoria Pedretti), and Fig (Alexandra Shipp), twenty-somethings whose views of social dynamics and verbal tics would not be out of place in a high school. They rule the mall, by which I mean they assert they’re at the top of its hierarchy, with only the whispers that open the movie providing any indication that others pay them much mind. Well that, and the bizarre way in which Pumpkin (Lola Tung) insists on bringing them samples of Sister Salt’s pretzels. When she quips to Fig that she’s perfectly happy, because “My job doesn’t define me. My hotness and my personality do”, the women decide to induct her into their coven.

Granted, it’s not clear what the exact purpose of their witching is. It seems largely to be a power trip for Apple, who assembled the group and laid down its three rules, and wields them as a cudgel to control the other ladies’ lives, à la Regina George. Although it does prove a tool for striking back at “vindicars”, their term for people who take pleasure in the pain and suffering of others, conveniently those who threaten group cohesion in any way. For example, Pickle (Emma Chamberlain), a former Forever Eden employee and member of the Fruits (despite her incongruous name), who’s only spoken of in hushed tones, and has been reduced to haunting the mall.

Not that director Meredith Alloway ever wants us to be certain how real their supposed powers are. They’re used sparingly, and the ladies’ defining traits are their outward confidence, masking whatever else is going on. The airs they put on are a volatile mix with their new member, quickly calling everything about their clique into question, from their belief in “the sisterhood” and “Shine theory” to their dedication to only texting boys with emojis to the earnestness with which they call each other “Babe”. And something is off with Pumpkin herself from the start, what with her cryptic calls to “Mom” and her placement of a Jane Does doll “with real recording binoculars!”. So it comes as no surprise when Pumpkin begins trying to upset the social order of the store, worming her way into Cherry’s and Fig’s lives, and challenging Apple for top saleswoman.

Alloway is coming at the girlboss phenomenon of the past decade in a strange, sideways sort of way, reminding us that emotional abuse in the guise of support is not limited to our teen years. These women all express some level of past difficulties, especially at home. Hence, in some of the darkest moments, despite internal struggle, they’ve concluded that sacrificing a bit of their souls is worthwhile to feel like they belong. It helps that their store’s outrageous prices and the ladies’ undeniable sex appeal ensure they make a pretty penny, making Forever Eden an attractive job for someone looking to save up for grad school, like Fig. But no matter how much someone dresses up their narcissism in cute, pseudo-feminist aphorisms while flagellating themselves before the spirit of Marilyn Monroe, they’re still functionally a cult leader.

Through it all, Alloway keeps the tone light and comedic, so it’s a blast from start to finish, even as the plot and pacing are a mess. It borrows from the endless examples of Gen Z’s particular vernacular as documented on TikTok, and blends it with recent stylized, gonzo, feminist teen comedies like Bottoms and Lisa Frankenstein (which producer Diablo Cody wrote). Granted, it’s more subdued in its execution, but that just means the delightful strangeness of its slightly askew world are allowed to shine through. These women seem to live their whole lives at the mall (one of them quite literally), ensuring we have the opportunity to witness every detail of it. Because apart from venturing out to the parking garage a couple of times, we, too, never leave the mall; hell, we barely leave Forever Eden.

The breadcrumbs it’s been seeding have to lead somewhere, and as is too often the case, that destination was never going to compare to the journey. This stylized, comedic exploration of toxic adult women’s friendships and insecurities all of sudden explodes into an unsatisfying series of set pieces and reveals while a tornado warning keeps everyone locked inside. While that may be what led Shudder to distribute it, the bombast and seemingly freak occurrences that start us down its path are hard to swallow after the previous 90 minutes of controlled absurdity. While there was no obvious way for the film to end, that they felt the need to go so big with it smells like a lack of confidence that the audience would come along for the ride.

That stumble certainly dulled the overall experience, but it remains a great time throughout if you can get on its wavelength. It’s not exactly the most inviting style, demanding a familiarity with the rhythms of online discourse and crude cruelty as a form of poisonous comfort. That ensures that those most likely to push past the first twenty minutes are those for whom it is intended, for better or for worse. Being a niche, campy, quirky flick ensures that once it hits streaming, it will quickly become a cult classic, exploding beyond the bounds of its weak theatrical run. To which I say: great! While far from perfect, it’s a unique flavor of an old subgenre that brings a new experience to the table, even as its ideas are nothing special.