EXT. A SOLITARY CALIFORNIAN HOUSE – NIGHT.

PRE-LAP: A phone RINGS.

So begins the latest instalment of a franchise that in many ways conceived of the modern concept of film commentary and meta intertextuality.

We’ve seen it before. It’s familiar.

But deliberately so.

Later in the film, as we find ourselves drawn into an equally similar third-act bloodbath (another tentpole for the saga), gutsy ‘final girl’ grand dame Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell, returning for her fifth dodge of blade, bullets and bad phone manners) quips that the latest psychopath terrorising the fictional suburb of Woodsboro may be ‘the most derivative yet’.

Ah, but Roger L Jackson’s raspy tones have already warned Ms. Prescott that she hasn’t seen ‘this’ movie before, and we’re warned early on by fellow returnee Dewey (David Arquette) that something about these attacks – which he initially announces with an almost sardonic sense of glum inevitability – feels, quote, ‘different …somehow’.

Chuck in the ongoing film-within-a-film meta-ness of the ‘Stab’ cinematic universe, that has by this point devolved into pure schlock territory (brilliantly observed by everyone’s favourite Youtube horror commentator IRL, ‘Dead Meat’s James A. Janisse in a delicious, on-brand cameo) and you’d be forgiven for approaching Scream asking all manner of questions as to how original – or not – Radio Silence’s revisit is intended to be.

In truth, it’s a knowingly mixed bag of old and new alike, and directors Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett bounce off of a sharp script that uses what has come before, and fan expectations, to pump itself full of misdirects, satire and, most crucially, a corker of a whodunnit at its core.

“The commentary and referential wink-nudgery going on is perhaps at an all-time series high.”

Said enthusiasts of the franchise will be thrilled that many of the essential components of what makes a Ghostface romp tick are all present and accounted for. The commentary and referential wink-nudgery going on is perhaps at an all-time series high, too (though mercifully with a touch more nuance than the past two sequels in particular) as horror aficionado Mindy Meeks-Martin (Jasmin Savoy Brown as arguably the MVP of the new cast) gives a crash course early on of the new ‘rules’. They’re forged, naturally, in the climate of the current state of play with all things horror, cinema, remakes, sequels, reboots, requels and how it all pertains to this skewed, warped world of Woodsboro, where surely it should now be a shoot-on-sight offence to event own a Ghostface costume or hunting knife.

The kills and set pieces are back to the series at its brutal, unpredictable best, and there’s a real sense that Gillet and Bettinelli-Olpin had a ball playing out a truly vicious take on the series’ iconic menace. The third Act in particular gets gleefully chaotic, though, whilst a lot fun, those expecting something quite as radical and upending as the duo’s final beats of 2019’s Ready or Not will perhaps be disappointed.

But this is not an original piece of IP. As several characters point out, you’re dealing with a cherished property here, and the fans are watching. Intently.

Many perceived 2011’s fourth instalment of Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson’s slasher as being a ‘passing of the baton’ moment a la Force Awakens and other soft reboots (something not lost on this film’s commentary, either – Star Wars getting directly name checked), but that release despatched pretty much the entirety of its new cast – including unveiling its Sidney 2.0 as actually the world’s worst instagram famous wannabe – and ending up squaring centrally around the OG trio of Scream royalty in Campbell’s Sidney, Arquette’s Dewey, and Courteney Cox’s Gale Weathers; the latter of whom went on arguably the biggest arc of the three over the course of the original films.

This time round, without divulging any of the iconic, returning trio’s fates this go round, they certainly fulfil more ‘legacy’ roles here. Important, brilliantly handled supporting turns, for sure, and there’s enough ass-kicking and bad-ass quotery from all three throughout to satisfy. Campbell’s Sidney, in particular, is decidedly over it all this time, she’s neither the victim, survivor nor mentor; she’s a mom, and a fierce (and well realised) maternal streak sees her kicking ass and firing shots first, and decidedly asking questions and taking names later, whilst Arquette and Cox get more of the emotional beats and heavylifting as their characters’ complicated dynamic and history continues to chart choppy waters.

But this story is very definitely centred around newcomer Sam (Melissa Barrera, engaging and conflicted as the new ingénue) and boyfriend Richie (The Boys’ Jack Quaid, characteristically fantastic), who return to Woodsboro after Sam’s younger sister Tara (Jenna Ortega) finds herself the unfortunate central player of the series’ now trademark opening slice ‘em up. Tara’s circle of friends gather round to form the core suspect list, but there are ancillary faces conveniently popping up, too, including former Deputy, now Sheriff,  Judy Hicks (Marley Shelton) – curiously the only time a new character introduced in a Scream sequel has survived and returned in the follow-up – to both throw suspicion, whilst casting a little of it themselves, too.

“Unlike David Gordon Green’s 2018 return to Haddonfield and Michael Myers, Scream doesn’t seek to excise any of its predecessors from its metanarrative”

Again, it’s courting spoilers – not to mention fan fury – to go into any detail regarding the various twists, turns and developments that Sam and co’s story goes on, but needless to say, Dewey’s early warnings of it all tying back to the past become expectedly prophetic, with ties to former characters and events in Scream history being gradually revealed and picked apart.

Unlike David Gordon Green’s 2018 return to Haddonfield and Michael Myers (again, referenced aplenty), Scream doesn’t seek to excise any of its predecessors from its metanarrative – Halloween (2018) having famously junked anything outside of the Carpenter original from is timeline. There are characters, relationships and plot threads – including those only hinted at – that invoke all four of the films that have come before it.

As such, it’s a film that could easily have bogged itself down in this inherited excess baggage, particularly as it shows a proclivity for peppering in plenty of nods and winks to what has come before.

It’s a surprise worthy of Ghostface himself, then, that 2022’s trip to Woodsboro ultimately straddles the seemingly impossible juggling act of the ‘requels’ – honouring the past, satisfying old and new fans alike, working both as a standalone story and a fifth chapter in a yarn spanning over 25 years – and comes out the other end as a supremely entertaining and satisfying romp. It’s a bloody, brutal slasher in its own right that mostly keeps its core DNA intact, but throws in plenty of up-to-date references and perspectives, with the likes of toxic fandom and franchise mishandling falling under the radar of the film’s barbs …you’d be hard pressed not to read into some seemingly knowing jabs at, say, Rise of Skywalker or Game of Thrones for having been perceived as not sticking their respective landings.

The cast and creatives are clearly having a blast here too, with performances solid across-the-board, the kills, as mentioned, devastating and devilish, and the directing duo punch out a pacy, pulpy thriller that never lags or languishes, showing a particular relish for distortion and dynamism (see: a canted push or dutch swing to disorientate or inject moments of shock and surprise with almost giddying kineticism).

If it leaves some of its bit characters and subplots languishing a tad undercooked, it’s an exciting enough a ride with a strong enough emotional core that bristles along with enough momentum and tension that you’ll likely not care or even notice.

‘It’s an honour,’ Jackson’s twisted lilt exclaims during a particularly memorable run-in with one of the original trio. A mission statement for all involved, perhaps? There’s little doubt that all involved in Scream seem to have gone out of their way to honour Craven and what has come before, and by delivering a razor-sharp, witty, brutal and occasionally bold fifth foray into the franchise, they do just that.

It’s the best the franchise has been in practically every regard since its first sequel sadistically punctured Jada Pinkett Smith on the steps of a packed theatre, and, as its band of young newcomers (infinitely more engaging than most of their Scream 4 counterparts) bemoan the state of modern cinema for not delivering the goods, Scream offers up an unprecedented fourth sequel that has no real right being this bloody, this good, and this bloody good.

‘For Wes’, the closing card reads.

I’d go out on a limb, take a stab at a guess and say he’d love it.

In fact, he’d probably think it a total scream.