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to continue a franchise eleven years-on after its dissatisfying trilogy-ender is quite the ambitious task, and to wipe the floor with its own meta machine in its entire opening sequence is boldly confident in new and old incisions. while its reflection of cyclic trauma beside the cold steel of the Scream blade positioned against the warmth of fresh-wave youth and the coinciding, well-aware stupidity certainly has its perks in reanimating (nowhere near actually reviving), it is just too familiar to its own better 1996 self, only as more of a 2010s stab at then-relevance that does indeed effectively keep the cringe at the door, but without much to justify what the film really does. there is a distinct, ugly green hue in the darker hours that bodes really well with Campbell’s reopening of the wound, but the camera seems more interested in the new generation of mediocrity that shoots this too smoothly, and almost too… maliciously? it is not until the closing derailment that its sour bite gets the some solid excitement, far too late, and without enough vigor to pull the rest of it together in hindsight.
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