Screamis long past over, its mid-’90s postPulp Fictionmoment burning hot and brief.
These days it gives off nostalgic warmth, not fear.
It’s very much your father’sScream.
Other Gen-Z types assemble on couches and at house parties, fodder for the concept.
Who’s that confident mom and self-help author walking in the park and looking over her shoulder?
Why, it’sNeve Campbell, returning as final girl Sidney Prescott.
And that big-shot journalist stepping out of a car at a crime scene?
Tilt-up and it’s none other thanCourteney Cox’sGale Weathers.
Now he even has a survivor’s grandeur.
Once again, those attempts at timeliness don’t feel coherent so much as thesis-ready and opportunistic.
(Let’s throw inThe Hills Have Eyes, too.)
Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett don’t have those chops yet.
