A familiar voice. A familiar mask. And this time the target is Sidney Prescott again, played by Neve Campbell, who returns after sitting out the last instalment. Kevin Williamson, the original Scream writer, steps into the director’s chair, attempting to bring the franchise back to its own roots.
Act one settles into a quiet town where Sidney is trying, once more, to live a normal life with her family. That peace is short lived. A new Ghostface emerges, taunting her about the past and circling her daughter. The hook is clear. History is not done with her yet.
Williamson understands the mechanics. The meta nods are back. There are jokes about legacy sequels, pointed references to horror rules, and a couple of theatrical set pieces that aim for operatic excess. You can see the blueprint of what once made this series sharp. But blueprint is the key word. It feels assembled rather than inspired.
Neve Campbell brings a grounded resilience that still works. Courteney Cox slips easily into Gale’s steeliness. Matthew Lillard, improbably, injects a flicker of mischief that almost wakes the film up. Almost.
The problem is tone. The kills are nastier, more blunt, but not more inventive. The jump scares arrive with mechanical precision. Bang. Silence. Bang again. You will start to feel the rhythm, and not in a good way.
Visually it is competent, sometimes slick, but rarely tense. The script circles familiar themes about trauma and survival without cutting any deeper. For a franchise built on wit and self awareness, it now feels oddly humourless.
If you are devoted to Ghostface, you will find moments to enjoy. For everyone else, this feels less like a revival and more like an obligation.