Motives are Incidental, but Scream is Essential
“No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!”
Scream is a movie for the movie freaks. Satirical and sincere, referential and fresh, nodding to horror tradition while paving the way for a new generation of the genre, the 1996 original beget a franchise that, like Sidney Prescott, perseveres almost three decades later. (A sixth installment was greenlit with a projected release next year!) Lifelong Scream evangelists and new converts alike continue to find thrills, laughs, and relevance in Sidney’s endless torment. Riddled with queer subtext (verified by writer Kevin Williamson!), meta jokes, and the horniest use of “Don’t Fear the Reaper” in film history, Scream absolutely deserves its flowers in the form of fan art, compilations of Billy and Stu moments, and the endless barrage of Halloween costumes.
Scream is a door for newbies to the world of slashers; it was actually one of the first horror movies that I remember seeing, and no matter how many times I watch it, I still have just as much fun as I did as that kid at a sleepover, scared shitless and stress-eating my way through a sleeve of saltines. A word of warning to anyone who tells me they haven’t seen it, because I absolutely will sit you down with my DVD box set at some point, fighting the urge to quote along and glancing over at you to check for amusement. It’s part of the vetting process for dates and was included in the curriculum for the high school film studies class I taught. The film retains its relevance and doesn’t feel dated, despite being a perfect capsule of 1996 culture.
When I get on my Scream soapbox, I posit that it had to have been made in the late 90s. One huge factor is the role that technology plays in the film. Billy Loomis, our moody adolescent villain, has a cell phone. It falls out of his pocket as he “rescues” Sidney and immediately sparks her suspicion (listen to your gut, y’all). Woodsboro PD’s rudimentary understanding of cell phone records lets him off the hook, and he is free to continue terrorizing Sidney through phone calls that she takes on her cordless landline phone. Now seen as laughably bulky and retro, at the time, a cordless phone was a bit of a luxury and indicates the affluence of characters like Casey and Sidney (if you couldn’t already tell by their grandiose houses with sweeping lawns large enough to host a few chase scenes). In one incredibly suspenseful and now-confusing moment, Sidney uses a very dated computer program to call 911, a moment parodied in what is objectively the best Ryan Murphy death of all time. Kenny the cameraman meets his untimely death due to a lag in the hidden camera’s footage, allowing Ghostface to sneak up to the news van. And, of course, Billy and Stu terrorize their victims over those landlines by using a voice changing device, which has since been replaced by editing software and apps. The technology archived here is crucial to Ghostface’s modus operandi, and in subsequent installments, we see the slashers stay up-to-date with the evolving times; in Scream 2, Billy’s mom met her sous murderer in a chat room, and the iPad babies in Scream 4 rely on screens and social media for instant updates on each kill.
Technology aside, Scream’s place in time also marks a cultural transition. While so much of Scream is paying respect to its predecessors, writer Kevin Williamson offers up a new kind of Final Girl, one who breaks all of Randy’s rules and still manages to make it to the end credits (and every sequel since).
“Jesus Christ, you don’t know the rules? There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully survive a horror movie.
Number 1: You can never have sex. Big no-no! Sex = death, okay?
Number 2: You can never drink or do drugs. The sin factor. It’s a sin, an extension of number 1.
And number 3: Never ever ever, under any circumstances, say I’ll be right back, because you won’t be back.”
Horror fans know these tropes well, and by subverting them, Williamson helps illustrate the transition from second wave feminism’s focus on liberation from the patriarchy to the third wave’s emphasis on, and celebration of, individualism, of the endless variations on what it means to be a woman. All of the women in the film are well-rounded and allowed to be intelligent, sexual, funny, and tough. Yes, most of these women die, but not without putting up a fight. Tatum, Sidney’s protective best friend, drops just as many geeky, obscure film references as Randy and wears the best outfits. Even Casey, our first victim (well, technically the second: remember that her boyfriend Steven was the first, despite being big and playing football), is able to get a few blows in before her gruesome end. It’s revealed that Sidney’s mother, Maureen Prescott, was carrying on multiple affairs, but that fact isn’t meant to be seen by the audience a valid motive for murder.
Sidney is brave, daring the murderer to catch her picking her nose and throwing kicks and punches between her impressive parkour moves. She’s resilient, refusing to back down from adversity, whether it’s a knife-wielding murderer or past trauma or the relentless news reporter, Gale Weathers. Gale, though, is also allowed the same respect given to the other women: we’re afforded the chance to get to know her and see her character develop from a career-driven menace to, well, another Final Girl. Her survival is integral to the final takedown… once she remembers to turn off the safety on the gun. She’s a fighter like Sidney, but they have little else in common: Gale is brash, career-driven, and selfish. We’re intended to see her as an antagonist, another nuisance for Sidney to dodge. But her ambition is what leads to her role in the takedown; why would she be at that ill-fated house party if she wasn’t pursuing the story? Could she have gotten there if she didn’t shamelessly flirt with Dewey so he would let her tag along? She knows how to use her femininity as a cover for her true motives, and the best part is that she doesn’t leave those qualities behind at the end of the movie. As the sun rises, she still gets to jump back in front of the camera for the closing scene, delivering the story she just lived through. Gale and Sidney are two very different women, and the franchise celebrates them both, for better and for worse (I’m talking about haircuts here).
To say that Scream revolutionized the horror genre is hardly revolutionary. Saturated with obvious and obscure references to its predecessors, the film honors the past traditions while paving the way ahead. Wes Craven is able to look back at and appreciate his old work, and those that came before him, while responding to cultural evolution and the concerns of society at the time. It’s a blueprint for filmmakers for how to move forward and find your place, even when it seems like everything has already been made. It’s a lesson on how you can make your work highbrow and still keep it accessible for those who may not pick up on the endless references. It’s an invitation for viewers to both shriek in fear and laugh at the thing that scares them. And, of course, it’s a guideline for how to survive your own horror movie–sorry, Sidney, you’re still not living out a Meg Ryan film.
“You sick fucks. You’ve seen one too many movies.”
“Nah Sid, don’t you blame the movies! Movies don’t create psychos; movies make psychos more creative!”