Scream and the Importance of Boots

1996’s Scream isn’t exactly a slasher movie. Perhaps on paper it comes close but that’s because some subgenres share borders that easily blur. Take away the blood, and the story remains the same. It’s entirely possible to tell the tale without gore because Scream is closer to a whodunit than a horror story. That’s why none of the recent films in the franchise work very well even though they pretend to know this. They’re missing a key feature.

For those unfamiliar, spoiler warnings for several slasher flicks, but also, a brief synopsis. Scream, directed by the legendary Wes Craven, is the story of a killer stalking several teenagers in the fictional town of Woodsboro, California. The idyllic community is upended when Casey Becker (Drew Barrymore) is brutally slaughtered. The bloody incident resurrects memories of the vicious murder of Maureen Prescott, an old wound ripped open again for her daughter Sydney (Neve Campbell). As more killings occur, slender threads tie them together until the dénouement reveals a pair of psychopaths working in unison, Billy Loomis (Skeet Ulrich) and Stu Macher (Matthew Lillard).

A great deal of the first Scream is dedicated to dissecting the clichés of slasher cinema. By that time, such films had become rather stale lazily following the formula established by movies such as Halloween (1978) and Friday the 13^th (1980). The flick’s self-awareness features numerous Easter eggs nodding to predecessor pictures without entirely operating like the typical slasher story.

The identity of the killer is rarely an issue in such cinema. This can stem from the fact they’re supernatural, as is the case in any Nightmare on Elm Street, Hellraiser, and Candyman, or because the narrative is more concerned with slaughter and survival vis-à-vis Halloween. Most of the main issue is simply making people aware there is a real danger. In addition, slashers don’t typically exist in these fictional worlds, especially not as a form of entertainment. Consequently, what Scream does is build suspense primarily through the mystery of the murderer’s identity.

This is expertly done on several occasions, though none more so than the presentation of a pair of boots. At one point, Sydney Prescott is attacked in her empty high school by the killer. Prior to the encounter, director Wes Craven sets up a shot peering underneath a closed bathroom stall. All the audience can see is a pair of boots followed by signs of the killer’s costume. Not only is this a homage to The Town that Dreaded Sundown (1976) but it establishes a clue solely for the viewers.

Later shots reveal matching footwear worn by potential suspects. That leaves the audience nervously suspicious, paying closer attention to dialogue when such individuals are on screen or being discussed. Other clues pepper the picture similarly seeding distrust, while none of them ever offer enough to draw concrete conclusions.

The result is that anybody could be the killer. As such, the protagonist Sydney Prescott is perpetually in danger. Even if a scene seems unlikely to erupt into bloody violence, the audience is eying all involved with tense suspicion, hoping for some revelatory nugget during any interaction. The whodunit element draws viewers deeper into the narrative as they try to figure out the mystery.

There is a precedence for this. Friday the 13^th initially never intended to have Jason as the central figure. In fact, as Scream famously highlighted, Jason’s mother is the franchise’s first killer. The iconic juggernaut doesn’t show up until the sequel, then eventually dies, and is briefly replaced by an impostor exploiting the persona in Friday the 13^th part V: A New Beginning (1985). Sleep Away Camp (1983) follows a series of slaughters without an urban legend as explanation, resulting in people panicking as they search for the killer. Sometimes such an investigation can be used as a red herring, which is the case in Cherry Falls (2000), or I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997), where all signs point in one direction only for the end to reveal a different killer entirely.

The point is that the mystery can pull in the audience as much if not more than the horror. Ironically, the 2022 version of Scream purports to understand this then does nothing to scatter any clues. For all its self-awareness, this requel (as at least one character unfortunately refers to the film in what is clearly the screen writer’s attempt to coin a term that thankfully never caught on), declares exactly what it needs to be compelling then follows none of the steps laid out in 1996.

There’s a scene echoing a moment from the first Scream where the character Mindy, played by Jasmine Savoy Brown, takes up the role of lore-master. Similar to Jamie Kennedy as Randy, the point here is to lay out the clichés and formula guiding the narrative. Mindy literally relates how the first film is primarily a whodunit which would be fine if the flick then followed that recipe. Rather than build clues and plant implicative motives for the various suspects, Scream ’22 simply begins jumping to j’accuse.

There’s never any basis for these accusations other than the fact they fit the formula. Instead of logical deductions, the characters, Mindy especially, begin pointing at people and declaring them the killer simply because that’s how things played out in previous pictures. It’s essentially like accusing the butler with zero evidence other than the number of times the butler did it in other fictional mysteries.

To highlight this point, Billy Loomis is one of the killers in Scream ’96. However, the film is full of dialogue where characters exchange information about his past that makes him suspect. There’s also an incident where he arrives too quickly after an attack, raising suspicions which are later seemingly turned into a red herring. That misdirection is achieved because Scream ’96 brilliantly features a pair of psychopaths as the culprits in a clever twist — no previous slasher ever had an accomplice. Essentially, the first film establishes motivations through dialogued backstory, seemingly clears the suspect, then shockingly reveals his involvement all along.

Meanwhile, Scream ’22 accuses Jack Quaid as Richie Kirsch simply because the boyfriend did it the first time. Over the course of the film, nothing is offered about him other than romantic partner to protagonist Sam Carpenter (Melissa Barrera). When he’s labeled a suspect, no one offers any evidence to solidify the accusation, they simply state that’s the formula. Then, at the close, he confesses to being the killer for reasons delivered in an exposition dump. Technically, Billy Loomis has a similar monologue, but his is at least a summary of all the breadcrumbs that already made him a suspect. There is absolutely no reason to ever suspect Richie or anybody for that matter.

Zero clues or conversations really do anything to establish suspects. 2022’s Scream and its sequel Scream VI (2023) are typically more concerned with meta observations and getting to slasher slaughter set pieces. Both films squander excellent opportunities to seed suspicion and misdirection.

For instance, there’s a fabulous scene in Scream ’96 where Randy goes off on a rant in a VHS rental shop. The place is full of patrons who begin casting a wary eye at this manic display. It helps establish a sense that Randy may be unhinged. All the while, his buddy Stu looks on, increasingly embarrassed as he tries to calm his friend down.

The way everything plays out—thanks in no small part to pitch perfect performances by Jamie Kennedy and Matthew Lillard—in conjunction with how the scene is edited, shots showing the patrons growing uneasy as well as glimpses of Stu getting equally uncomfortable, develop an impression of the two characters. Stu is consistently the least concerned about the killer until watching his pal go over the top. His discomfort in that moment nullifies the audience’s suspicion of him while shifting attention to Randy. It’s something easy to forget after finishing the film. Still, knowing he’s one of the killers only changes the perception slightly since Stu may be uncomfortable with any attention.

The main point is that Scream ’96 features several moments of characterization for its main roles. Although they are meant to be tropes as part of the film’s overall metafiction analysis, they do develop personalities through their interactions. These same exchanges result in dialogue delivered clues. Scream ’22 and its sequel, on the other hand, only have bland tropes.

The best example of these two movies’ egregious writing is in Scream VI. The film opens with a murder in a New York City alley. The infamous Ghostface strikes then the camera follows the fiend back to his apartment. During a subsequent phone call, he monologues his entire motivations as well as future murder machinations before being killed by a different similarly costumed killer. Later, the main characters of the requel sequel immediately deduce this killing is a frame job. They then hurl accusations based on people being new to the story. There is literally a slasher allegation lobbed at someone simply because they’re a fresh face in the franchise — no evidence, backstory, or behavior to support this.

While it’s infuriating the charge proves accurate, what’s worse is the accusation produces zero tension because there’s never a real reason to suspect the character. By simply showing a pair of boots, the first Scream made audiences uneasy when certain characters came on screen. One didn’t know what would happen next. Granted, every Scream sequel has been increasingly disappointing, but these last two are a special kind of awful.

They seem aware of what’s needed to be thrilling, yet don’t do it. There’s an attempt at postmodern critique of nostalgia bait which is done by creating nostalgia bait set pieces such as the theater full of memorabilia in Scream VI. However, the reveal doesn’t implicate anyone in the story until the finale when the killers monologue how they’re connected to it. This orgy of evidence which could have seeded acres of suspicion is a wasted display. Meanwhile, all the first film needed was a pair of boots to get more tension than both flicks ever harvested. It just goes to show that simplicity is better than grandiosity.