Wes Craven’s delectable dish of millennial horror, Scream, is frankly the epitome of the 90s slasher; its an inventive, scary and satirical punch of solid horror for the ages that rather came out of nowhere, ultimately reviving the brand. Writer Kevin Williamson composes a brilliant spin on the deceased genre, informing viewers that what they’re seeing has been done before – a dead and buried genre – and willingly knows it, except this one will use it to its advantage. Williamson’s love for horror is happily noticeable.
Scream accomplishes so much in its thrilling opening that it’s a shame the ‘real’ meat isn’t as great, excluding its bombastic finale, that is. Characters could do with tweaks, specifically Matthew Lilard’s annoying-as-fuck character (I’ll admit he sold me on his performance, but it was too much for me to handle) and Neve Campbell who simply needed more guts and glory to her character. A good majority of the high schoolers portrayed in this film are excruciatingly stereotypical.
Scream does its best to be a mainstream horror success, which, of course, it accomplished, and may account for the string of cliche little tricks found in the film. Even so, Wes Craven, as always, portrays a realistic attack on scaring viewers, submitting viewers to the hell in suburbia and your own backyard, whether you like it or not.