The Scream series is another one that’s suffered from Prometheus Syndrome (my term for taking the blame for inferior imitators), in this case for popularizing meta-horror. I’ve written before about how much I love Scream both as a masterpiece of metafiction and a groundbreaker for the genre, and for the most part, it does receive its due acknowledgement.
The sequels, on the other hand, get no more respect than any nameless imitator. I’ll freely admit that I have no love for part two and haven’t even bothered to give part three a try, but the trailers for part four drew me in when it was released in theaters.
Here’s how it goes:
Sidney returns to her hometown as part of the tour for her autobiography about surviving and healing from the ordeal of the first movie. A new killer (or more, this is Scream after all) takes up the Ghostface mantle and terrorizes the high school once more, including Sidney’s now teenaged cousin and her friends.
It’s a celebration of artistic evolution, and the inclusion of so many of the surviving characters from the original gives the series the feel of one mind-blowingly huge, fifteen year study.
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