Scream 7 (2026)

Score: 3.5 / 5

"What's your favorite scary movie?" Kevin Williamson, the brilliant writer behind my favorite horror franchise, returns this time in double duty as both writer and director to a series foundering in the wake of some awful producing decisions. Without going into the muck of the business, suffice to say that the exciting plots and characters of Scream 5 and Scream 6 are on a bit of a hiatus (let us hope not abandoned permanently). Given his thankless job of taking the reins from what was clearly a planned trilogy and trying something different, independent, and ultimately safe, Williamson performs a Herculean task here to mostly successful results. While this will almost certainly rank lowly among fan favorites, I do think it's important to always take the art on its own terms; as such, we'll not be discussing the casting/directing/writing upsets that led us to this point, and rather focusing on the film itself and its place within its series.

Unlikely as it might seem after so very much crime there, the Macher house yet stands in Woodsboro, California. Drawn to the "true crime" setting of his own favorite serial killers -- and enthusiastically aware of the long-festering rumors of Stu's possible survival -- a young man and his girlfriend book the large estate as a sort of AirBnb for a spooky night. Given the material's tendency to blur the lines between history and reality, trauma and reckoning, heroism and cruelty, it's a bit surprising that we haven't really seen this yet; usually, it's Gale profiting off the fictionalized lives of others, yet here (and in our digital age) we see a potential nobody profiting off the tragedies that have occurred in this storied house. Who owns the Macher residence now? Who knows? Like the inevitable killer lurking in plain sight in the decked-out Halloween-esque attraction, it could be anyone.

Chandelier-related kill and all, the opening is effective and had me thrilled to be back in the world of Scream. We immediately shift to our protagonist: Neve Campbell back again in the spotlight as Sidney Prescott, of course. And while it makes sense -- indeed, easily could have been the character's development far sooner -- it's pretty damn cool to see her as a mother whose daughter is now being threatened by the horrors plaguing her life. Sid is a bit too strict and cold for my preference, but Campbell plays mama bear with a firm rigidity that hearkens to Jamie Lee Curtis's Laurie Strode in her final three Halloween titles. The difference is that Sid seems to not want to deal with Tatum as a burgeoning adult; she won't talk about sex with her daughter specifically, though she's aware of Tatum sneaking boys into her room. Even Tatum's name suggests a curious choice from her mother; similarly, Williams kept Mark as the name of Sid's husband (after being mentioned briefly before), but for some inexplicable and infuriating reason, it's not Mark Kincaid (Patrick Dempsey) but rather Mark Evans (Joel McHale), who is coincidentally the police chief. It's just an insulting switch for fans, not least because McHale plays Mark as kind of creepy.

Thankfully, Williams seems aware that, if we're not continuing the same story from Scream 6, we probably don't care about the plot. So he doesn't focus on character development for legacy folks. Instead, he launches into a series of solidly entertaining kills with enough intrigue around each to propel the whodunnit mystery forward. There's a stylish and memorable theatre kill, though one any theatre artist will decry as being outrageous; it's gotta be one of the most unsafe tech rehearsals ever, with a terrible teacher and stage manager. Soon after, there's a brutal, intense Ghostface attack in Sid's home. By this point, the film has revealed that it's playing things safe: this is a run-of-the-mill slasher whodunnit with characters we love. I don't hate that; frankly, if the worst this franchise can do is spin an entertaining variation on familiar ideas, I'll take it any day over more than half the shlock pumped direct to streaming. Yet, as a fan who knows what Williamson and this series is capable of, it's disappointing to see them not taking bigger risks. Even the cinematography feels more like something out of the classic Weinstein Company catalog than something from Dimension; bland, amber lighting and too much unnecessary editing sap what should be a dynamic vision of shadow and LED while forcing us to exist in real time and space with visceral kills.

Unfortunately, the cast of characters assembled here feel both rote and archetypal at this point, and none are given much opportunity to shine. Their collective energy simply doesn't electrify us, even as they discuss Important Themes like AI and societal collapse; unfortunately, it all feels a bit "too little, too late," not unlike listening to an old man complain about his 2020 election results six years after the fact. When Gale finally shows up -- looking fabulous, as usual -- she's joined by the two Meekses, Chad and Mindy, who are a breath of fresh air in this film. Weird as it is to see them without the other half of their "Core Four," Jasmin Savoy Brown and Mason Gooding are as likable and endearing as ever, even if their reasoning for working with Gale is murky at best. All together, the heroes set the metafictional stage for us: Trauma is their life. Actually, once the killers are revealed, one of them literally says that to Sid, in the film's most glaring move into metafiction. And what trauma! Much like in the previous two films, these kids are brutalized in this film; Mark, who I would have been fine to see go in favor of the real Mark coming back into Sid's life, inexplicably survives.

While I liked the killer's use of AI to literalize "ghost faces" of previous Ghostfaces, I wish Williamson had leaned into it more. These films work because they are timely and state-of-the-art, bound by the technology of their setting. But Williamson shies away from it, instead trying to make a connection between new tech and old memories; I don't think it works to have nostalgia be a driving force for a film in this franchise. Yet moments of nostalgia that could only speak to real fans do land well. I'm thinking of Sid finally allowing Gale to interview her, including Roman in the lineup of killers, and the legitimately terrifying slow-mo reveal of the second killer, all of which are not really meant to gain new fans but are very much geared to satisfy longtime fans.

Yet the idea of self-help being a gateway to insanity and murder is so tasty that I cannot deny loving this movie. I love the fun whodunnit, the occasional grisly spectacle, the genuinely scary knives-behind-every-door suspense. And I love that this franchise just keeps going.

It's a Wonderful Knife (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

Despite its title, It's a Wonderful Knife successfully won its way onto my yearly holiday watchlist. Part of the new vogue that is teen slasher and poppy comedy in one, this hybrid will lure audiences who want a mindless stabfest relating in some way to the Frank Capra 1946 winter classic It's a Wonderful Life. I confess to enjoy that film less than its made-for-television remake that gender swaps its protagonist and is led by a magnificent Marlo Thomas (1977's It Happened One Christmas). I also confess that I have always considered it more of a New Year's movie than a Christmas one, for whatever that's worth. Regardless, this new twist on the formula lowers the age of every character, does away with familiar names and titles, and modernizes it to the present day. It also adds a serial killer.

Henry Waters is the premier realtor in Angel Falls, aggressively angling to acquire enough land to establish a monopoly on commercial retail. His sole obstacle, revered patriarch Roger Evans, rejects Waters shortly before a masked man in stark white materializes and slits his throat and murders his granddaughter. Winnie Carruthers, resourceful and quick-thinking teenager that she is, both flees and fights the killer before electrocuting him and unmasking Waters himself, now deceased. Note: there's a chilling moment of recognition with Waters, who indicates (as a certain recent American president has) that he could kill someone without scrutiny or penalty.

But this is where things get interesting. Because all this happens before the title card appears. 

The breathless opening sequence effectively sets up the rest of the story, which fans of the source material know all too well. Central to understanding that story is a patient approach to exposition and theme -- namely, the humdrum life of a small town and its busybody citizens -- which isn't necessary nor welcome in the updated spin. Rather, after the title card, our story leaps ahead in time one year, during which time Winnie (Jane Widdop of Yellowjackets) is spiraling in grief and guilt. Her loving family -- led by father David (Joel McHale, handsome as ever) -- is the apple in Angel Falls's eye, but they refuse to talk about the horrors of the previous year or to get Winnie the psychological and emotional help she clearly needs. Winnie gets rejected from college, cheated on by her boyfriend, and still mourns the death of her friend, and so when it all becomes too much one night, she wishes on the Northern Lights that she was never born.

Immediately, the killer reappears and starts cutting people up. Winnie slowly comes to the realization that her wish came true and has to attempt to identify and stop the killer, who we quickly learn is no longer the same man. And this is where I actually fell in love with the film. Director Tyler MacIntyre and writer Michael Kennedy (who also wrote Freaky) pay homage to Capra's classic in countless references and arcs, but they constantly subvert and reverse the things most familiar to us. And while it would have been easiest to simply make the material a bloody fun time, they bake some timely and complex themes and character development into the otherwise delightful pie. If you had told me I'd cry not once but twice in a brief movie of this tenor, I'd have choked on my eggnog.

But I did, and it's that profound sense of heart that makes the film a surprising win. It helps, too, that the gays are numerous in this movie. But the real point of this story is how to deal with grief, especially internalized grief; it's less about the ripple effect we have on others and more about how we find purpose, lose it in doubt and despair, and then reclaim it from the grasp of self-harm and suicide. It's about that internal work, something I'm not sure I've ever really seen a slasher flick explore before. And the screenplay smartly shies away from melodrama, keeping things about as un-Capra-esque as possible. Even when the filmmakers rip him off, as in the finale sequence when Winnie runs down the downtown sidewalk hollering greetings and affection at everyone nearby with her joyful George Bailey born-again-ism. 

The horror elements don't take much of a backseat to all this heavy emotional work, though, which should please genre fans. I found it less bloody than its title suggests, which is fine, though I'd have preferred a bit more on that front, if only for the aesthetic of blood on white snow (and robes). The killer's design is deeply creepy, sleek in all the wrong ways and hinting at a sort of religious piety or avenging angel (again, note the town's pointed name). Unlike many slashers, the characters do fit some expected archetypes, but most are deceptively well-rounded, making them hard to identify as "jock," "geek," etc. Even the few characters the film does label are then relabeled by the film itself, as if it anticipated our criticisms of that. The cast is uniformly delightful, even Justin Long's off-putting antics as the "Mr. Potter" of Angel Falls, and Widdop herself effortlessly combines the George Bailey stand-in with something like a Nancy Drew detective. And to have the whole thing be queer positive and pro-family and spiritually cathartic was the balm of the season for me.

Deliver Us From Evil (2014)

Score: 3.5 / 5

We've seen it all before. An uncomfortable opening that makes little or no sense. The promise of icky, not-so-subtle creepiness. Profuse (and often incorrect) religious exclamations, explanations, and imagery. Shaky camerawork and various bizarre sounds mixed in with the screaming. A woman or child in danger (both, if we're lucky). A good friend sacrificing himself. People popping out where they shouldn't, things popping out of people where they shouldn't.

If you have to guess whether it's demon possession movie, you should dunk your head in some holy water.

Deliver Us From Evil, the most recent release from director Scott Derrickson, hit cinemas last week. Fans may recognize his name, and for good reason: he has written and directed notables (and personal favorites) The Exorcism of Emily Rose (2005) and Sinister (2012). I was excited to hear about his new project, even though it claims to be based on a true story, and looked forward to seeing Eric Bana in a scary movie (and a tight black t-shirt).

Besides the bad taste its title leaves in your mouth, the film's plot may be too familiar to chill you this summer. You hardly have to know its premise to guess what evil we'll be delivered from, how it'll be done, and who'll make it out the other side. So if you only like films that keep you guessing and surprised, steer clear of this iceberg. But if you enjoy seeing a master of atmosphere kick around an old story and eke out some fresh sensations, give this movie a watch.

A shadowy, rainy Bronx becomes a great character in itself - one that Derrickson brilliantly highlighted but should have explored more. And inside the gritty city facades beats a palpable heart in the form of Bana's performance as NYPD officer Ralph Sarchie. Derrickson wrote an engaging if flat protagonist, but the character's bravado is complicated by Bana's sensitivity and dark gaze. Sarchie at first seems the ideal candidate to head a movie about urban demonic activity. Buff, a loving husband and father, buff, intelligent, good to his partner, buff - he is an intriguing hero, gifted with his own Spidey-sense, a "radar" of discernment. Hints at a man haunted by pain and suffering, however, pervade the screen from the first shot (that is, after the bizarre prologue).

It turns out that Sarchie is deeply troubled, resulting in a damaged home life and a loss of faith. Thankfully, Derrickson doesn't burden us with any extended didactic on faith or the nature of evil - besides one nicely-written scene between the cop and the priest. In fact, there is hardly a religious presence in the film until the exorcism scene itself. Typical of the possession movie's happy ending (The Exorcist (1973), The Rite (2011), and Derrickson's The Exorcism of Emily Rose), the ending tries to force-feed us a "message" of sorts, in which Sarchie (spoiler alert...but not really) reclaims his lost faith. If that's the story Derrickson wants to tell, I won't fight it, but I don't particularly like it. Especially with the film's title, which should have remained its original Beware the Night.

Though the film is testosterone-heavy, I found some fresh air in seeing that women were not the only victims of demonic assault. Too often in films men are tasked with incarcerating or killing possessed women, which certainly continues a dialogue about sexist historical medical/religious practices, but which does not provide new images for younger audiences. But the main "villain" here is a man (a balding man with lots o' blood), and though he does threaten women and children, they are not the objectified targets.

A surprising amount of violence and gore pervades the film, which adds to the gritty realism of the setting. Typical of Derrickson's work, not all the jump-scares are very jumpy or scary, but they all add to the atmospheric dread. The film would have benefitted from being about twenty minutes shorter, cutting some of the unnecessary lengthy close-ups of the second half. But for two hours of atmospheric chills, bloody bald guys, and Eric Bana fun, it's definitely worth a watch.

IMDb: Deliver Us From Evil