Trick-or-treat costumes are a Who’s Who of horror icons. The great ones – Dracula, Frankenstein, Jason and Freddy – never die.
New additions – Pinhead, Saw’s Billy puppet – are often flash fads. In 1996, though, a new contender arrived: Ghostface, the Edvard Munchinspired killer from tongue-in-bloodycheek send-up Scream. Fifteen years on, he’s still a Halloween fancy-dress favourite.
It’s no wonder: Scream was a landmark movie. Parodying the rules of the slasher, it rebooted the entire genre the moment it sliced-and-diced Drew Barrymore while microwave popcorn popped. “It was never meant to be anything but a wicked film,” confesses screenwriter Kevin Williamson on the yak track.
The original and its sequel cut as deep as the killer’s blade, tapping into ’90s nihilism with their casts of uncaring, cynical kids. “She sits next to me in English,” whispers Sidney (Neve Campbell) after a classmate’s murder. “Not any more she doesn’t...” a friend snaps back. Callous, much?
Shame, then, that a franchise based on retooling horror clichés fell foul of the biggest cliché: sequel-itis. Without Williamson at the keyboard, Scream 3 descended into Scooby-Doo farce that almost killed the franchise.
Looking good on Blu, the boxset features skin-pore clarity and a 5.1 DTS audio track that maximises the music cue jump-scares.
Commentaries, interviews and deleted scenes are generous, although there’s nothing that wasn’t on the DVDs. A small moan among the Screams...
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