Hello, old friend: Ghostface returns in ‘Scream 7’.
SCREAM 7 **** (114 minutes) MA
Wowie. What the heck happened here?
Expecting yet another juicy slice of franchise extender, Scream 7 turns out to be, well, yet another juicy slice of franchise extender – only with extra-large dollops of fun, wit and ingenuity, with one particular encounter qualifying for neo-classic status.
Exceptionally well-directed by Kevin Williamson, who created the 30 year-old franchise, we are reintroduced to series regular Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell, also a producer) now trying to move on from her corpse-strewn past.
Cozily ensconced in suburbia with her loving cop-husband Mark (Joel McHale), she’s having a bumpy time with her teenage daughter Tatum (Isabel May), a typical horror- movie archetype who has drawn the attention of Ghostface, the franchise’s slasher-in-residence who was supposed to have left the frame.
Sporting the franchise’s signature self-referencing – how gleeful it is to watch bright young actors who weren’t born when the first Scream came out talking about retconning – Williamson does what all horror fans crave by giving them the genre tropes they’re entitled to along with a splash of surprises. It’s a demanding double act accomplished with aplomb.
Amidst all the slashings and dispatchings is one golden moment that appears to pay homage to Alfred Hitchcock’s love of infusing grisly moments with humour. It’s ingenious – and your humble reviewer must confess he applauded with delight at the preview screening on Wednesday night, though he was alone in that expression.
Also echoing the Master is how, in the middle of a noisy scene, things will suddenly go quiet, building tension before the silence is punctured by violence and stabs of shrieking music. It’s old rote, done very well.
Especially pleasing is the film’s wily use of digital technology, with smartphones, remote links and CCTV propelling the narrative and grounding the mayhem via devices we’re all so familiar with. This aspect of Scream 7 has been particularly well-thought through.
Usually by the time we hit chapter seven in any horror film series the impulse is to say “thanks, but enough already”.
Yet as we’ve seen with Nightmare on Elm Street and Saw, that impulse can toggle to “thanks, more please” if the creative juices are still in flow.
That’s definitely the case here.
Admittedly, the energy and playful spirit of Scream 7 came as a pleasant shock and while the legions of diehard fans are clearly going to love it, it’s a safe bet those going in cold will have no trouble getting into the gory goings-on.
THE TESTAMENT OF ANN LEE ***1/2 (137 minutes) M
As if to satiate the hunger for something different sharpened by a movie marketplace defined by sameness, along comes The Testament of Ann Lee, a weird, wondrous, beguiling film anchored by a truly mesmeric performance from Amanda Seyfried.
Set in the 1700s and based on a real historical figure, the film follows the tumultuous life of Ann Lee, a God-fearing lass from Manchester who founded an unusual religious group called The Shakers.
The loss of four children in early infancy deepens her devotion and dedication to spreading the word.
With her fellow worshippers attracting complaints over all of their strange singing and even stranger dancing – involving the thumping of chests and twirling about in loose unison – Ann Lee takes a group of members over the rough Atlantic to the new land of America.
Marriage-wise, things become strained as Ann deems sex an abomination before God, which is rough news for her rough-sex loving husband (Christopher Abbott), who promptly moves on, leaving her to devote even more energy to The Almighty.
Peppered with musical sequences, the film boasts an arresting visual style, its beautiful, often stark cinematography marked by harsh natural lighting.
Directed with a keen sense for the unconventional by Mona Fastvold (who co-penned with Brutalist collaborator Brady Corbet), Ann Lee perhaps has a jumbled first reel before the storytelling upshifts once the group sets up shop in America, where they attract the ire of the locals who sense their new neighbours are into witchcraft.
This is real curveball cinema, splendidly made and another showcase for Seyfried, whose immersive rendering of Ann Lee gleams with an intensity verging on the fanatical.
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