Scream 7 Is A Necessary & Nostalgic Blast From The Past
This is #CineFile, where our critic Rahul Desai goes beyond the obvious takes, to dissect movies and shows that are in the news.
Last Updated: 03.01 PM, Feb 28, 2026
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I ENJOY this trend of corny 1990s slasher-horror franchises extending their ridiculously long runs by baking the pop-cultural legacy of the originals into the internet-era sequels. Most of them now resort to meta plotting: the characters live in a world where the past has already spawned fandoms, cults, reddit forums, conspiracy theorists, merchandise and…movie franchises. In short, the modern instalments operate as both spoofs and solos at once. Few do it better — and more irreverently — than Scream. The legend of Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell) and Ghostface has stayed relevant for three decades, thanks to some inventive writing that reframes the gory and generational goofiness as a running theme. As entertaining as the brief diversion to New York in Scream 6 was, the franchise may have perhaps been in danger of becoming its own parody (not named Scary Movie). It strayed so far into Gen-Z and fourth-wall-breaking territory that the sons and daughters of the survivors of the Woodsboro murders turned everything — including the stakes — into a self-referential gag. It’s a bit like Marvel doing the whole superhero-but-wink-wink shtick. These are people who keep reminding us that they live in a capitalist and chronically online world that has seen the Scream movies.
Scream 7 begins in a similar vein. A teen couple, fans of the ‘Stab’ series (the film-within-a-film version of the Scream series), book themselves into one of the infamous murder houses that now doubles up as a tourist/Airbnb attraction. The boyfriend plays the fool, the girlfriend gets a few jump-scares from a mechanical Ghostface. The film calls out its own rampant commercialisation and nostalgia-grabbing. And then you know how it goes — shit gets real, as the kids would say. After this ‘cold opening’ of sorts, however, it takes a surprisingly vintage turn. We see the new life of who else but old Sidney Prescott herself: police-chief husband; teen daughter; small-town cafe owner. She’s a celebrity for her history as the real-life Scream Queen and the inspiration behind books, movies and true-crime documentaries. Sidney’s daughter Tatum (Isabel May) is named after the best friend whose head was crushed in a gate back in the day. I like that the mother-daughter relationship becomes the focus here: a stern Sidney wants to shield Tatum from her ‘genes’ and luck, so she’s cagey about the past. The pensive Tatum resents her mom for being too protective. The film slowly gears through familiar beats and gruesome killings when a new Ghostface reappears to haunt Sidney — and more importantly, her sheltered daughter. History repeats itself in some ways, except this time it’s Tatum’s turn: her friends, boyfriend, strangers, parents. It’s 1996 all over again; Courtney Cox’s highly botoxed Gale Weathers returns, too, as a surviving member of the Sidney generation.
It’s almost like two movies are happening simultaneously: a girl is being forced to ‘remake’ her mother’s story and take the baton, while the mother is trying to prove that she still has what it takes. There are survivors from both kinds of Scream(s); it’s almost a contest between the old and the young, and who has what it takes. What this does is pit narrative progression against tonal nostalgia — the two dimensions of any evolving franchise. Despite the familiarity and so-bad-it’s-good deaths, Scream 7 goes where none of the previous sequels do. Without giving too much away about the identity of Ghostface, let’s just say that it’s the equivalent of a disgruntled old-school fan testing the newer generation and forcing Sidney out of retirement. It’s a franchise trying to summon the juice of the golden days without irony or smart-alecky subversions. It’s a fun take on how most of us lament the erasure of early-franchise essence when self-aware premises kick in. This film is a wicked balance of both styles, but under the guise of a parent learning to pass on her trauma as a superpower and not a weakness.
It’s also amusing, the way the film still manages to be B-movie campy despite its trigger-happy violence in a new setting. Even though there are allusions to the outside world — news channels, reporters, cops, mad murders, a town going into lockdown — the Scream-verse is on its own trip. Massacre set-pieces at a college auditorium, a bar, a house: they unfold with the seriousness of a proper horror film, yet there’s a sense that it’s toying with our perception of the silly-smart series. I suppose that’s the nature of the beast. Every time you think it’s run out of ways to return with a droll makeover, it surprises the viewer by straddling the line between contrasting seasons of fan service. Scream 7 chooses to tread the trickiest terrain with retro callbacks, but also a humanisation of these callbacks, as if to say: Hey, we’re not a total joke, don’t forget. I can’t think of a better reminder in an era where action and spy franchises keep writing themselves into their own stories to be more palatable to the TikTok and Reel generation. This is serious — and it’s not. Scream seven times if you need help.