If you can't handle me at my Paul Blart, then you don't deserve me at my Mall Cop!
Steven Spielberg’s first (made-for-TV) film is a white-knuckle ride that performs a careful ballet between camp and terror and rarely falters. The “inner thoughts” didn’t always work for me (Dennis Weaver’s performance is worthy enough without all of the voiceover), but overall this is one hell of a cinematic statement by a then-burgeoning great.
Was Scream 6 good? Was it smart? Did anyone feel anything? Are we lying to ourselves? I don’t know. It was numbing, yet occasionally fun. It was numb fun. Keep making these?
Nothing landed, kills nor jokes. Well, a body landed. The weight of the death did not. In fact, a lot of it felt weightless. Pointless. Gutless. How ironic. Stab stab. Shrug. Stop making these.
The acting was atrocious! Perhaps in a clever way? Like the franchise knows that it’s one bad box office opening…
The cracks are beginning to show, but that’s rather impressive for a series that’s seven films deep. I would have done a few things differently (one more script revision might not have been a bad idea), yet I’m not searching for some grand statement in the Mission Impossible franchise. This film did exactly what it came to do, with aplomb: make 2 hours and 45 minutes feel like 10 minutes and change.