SCREAM (1982) Directed by Byron Quisenberry
Vestron VHS
THE FILM
First viewing attempt: It’s 10:30 pm on a weeknight. I’m in the mood for a straight up, mindless 80s slasher. Rifling through the archives, I dig out Scream from ‘82. Sickle on the front, girl staring at a bloody machete on the back. Looks good. Oh, it opens with some bloody, decapitated chef statues and a painting of a sea captain. Interesting. After twenty minutes of river rafting, poorly dubbed senior citizens arguing, and static establishing shots of ghost-town barns, my eyes start to droop. Realizing that sleep is upon me, I take a break from these peeved tourists.
Second viewing attempt: 12:15 am, same night. Feeling refreshed, I decide to gear up for round two. I mean, the whole film can’t be all bad, right? I laugh at the painful music, obviously shanghaied from some Too Close For Comfort or Facts Of Life outtakes. Some people walk around the ghost town. The camera slowly pans to different buildings in the ghost town. A couple of the characters get knocked off, but we never see one smidgen of the killer (only a machete or ax descending, etc.). There’s a tiny bit of blood. People speak without the movement of lips. Birds chirp at night and we view some more barn doors. I fall into a beautiful, drooling sleep, awakened only by the stopping of the VHS tape. I crawl into bed. This never happens.
Third viewing attempt: 5 pm, next day. Success! After rewinding the tape to the hour mark, I manage to make it through. I discover two dudes on motorcycles and a ghostly man that arrives on horseback. He says he’s a sailor and all of the characters pow-wow with him as he lights a pipe. The killer breaks a mirror -- “Damn, that son of a bitch is crazy.” More bloodless killings occur, mostly off-screen. The killer is never visually revealed and might be a ghost. Roll credits.
What? Wow. Scream is so terribly misguided and incompetent that I stand slackjawed. I’d relate the experience to staring at a bowl of cornflakes for 80 minutes, but that still doesn’t do it. Out of all the trash I’ve lovingly experienced, I’ve never seen a film this oddly composed; focusing on inanimate objects more than actors, relating exactly zilch to the viewer regarding what’s going on, and an expert use of awkward tracking shots featuring...nothing. Not even the “comic” fat guy in overalls knew what was going on. Is there hope for any of us? Final Exam, move over. There’s a new worst-slasher-of-all-time in the building.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
A little dark in the print realm, but overall, pretty clear and not too bad. Some of the dubbed sound effects, screams, and “hub-bub” are way too loud. Turn ‘em down, Byron (or whatever your real name is)!
EXTRAS
An over-the-top slice of 80s glitz with the laser-inflicited Vestron logo.
FINAL THOUGHTS
Scream is an awful film right of passage. Sure, there’s laughs to be had, but the sheer lack of common sense on display throughout this film is shocking. Neve Campbell aficionados should steer clear. Seasoned vets of trash, give it a look, just for kicks.
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 08.20.04 | 
Mr. Quisenberry, I presume?
Get used to it
Foot shot = dead
Token you-know-who
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