Editorials
Remembering Wes Craven: Kevin Williamson and Neve Campbell
Screenwriter Kevin Williamson worked with Wes Craven on four incredibly important films, the Scream series, and one that didn’t necessarily receive as much love as other Craven titles, Cursed. We’re not going to talk the merits or mistakes of any of those titles. Rather, we begin this piece to call attention to a fantastic memorial that Williamson wrote with his thoughts on Craven’s passing.
One of my favorite passages was Williamson talking about his experience on the set of the first Scream, where he was a “virgin”:
‘Scream’ was my first film, my first set experience. I was a virgin. There’s one on every show, and I was the one on ‘Scream’. And Wes embraced me from the start. He let me be a part of the process. I didn’t know at the time that this was unheard of on a set. Most directors would have grown annoyed by the writer dogging their every step, asking questions, whispering constantly in the background — but Wes allowed it. He said it was exciting to see my enthusiasm, and it was always nice to have “set virgins” for this very reason. They’re contagious. They remind everyone why we’re here — to make magic. I’ve never forgotten that.
I love that this explains how Craven never lost that passion to create magic, to create something really special. His films always had a certain feel to them and it warms my heart to know that he never lost that excitement.
Neve Campbell, who played Sidney Prescott in the Scream films, adds to this idea, explaining how Wes acted right after the scene where she stabs co-star Skeet Ulrich with an umbrella in the first film. “We cut, and from behind the monitor I hear a childlike giggle. Wes is beside himself. He can’t stop laughing. His over-6-foot-3 figure and long limbs float into the room like a gazelle as he chuckles away. “That was great,” he says with a boyish excitement.” She also wrote what might be the most defining and accurate line about Wes: “Wes Craven loved to play! On set, he was like a kid in a candy store. He loved what he did, he was great at it, and he was grateful for it.”
Both Bob Shaye of New Line Cinema and Bob Weinstein of Dimension films also share their memories with The Hollywood Reporter, which I highly recommend reading.
“Elevated Horror.” Of all the combinations in the English language, that one is the most insufferable.
It represents almost a decade of scary movies that, for the most part, took themselves too seriously. Horror responds to the moment, so its “why so serious” lean makes sense as we scuttle through the “worst of times” equation of Charles Dickens’ famous opening lines. But there’s still an opening and a need for a lighter approach; one that not only has fun with its audience but takes the piss out of a genre that is seemingly letting its newfound “respectability” go to its head.
Wes Craven believed devotees see horror films to let out their fears one primal scream at a time. At their core, these movies are roller coasters; they bring us as close to the edge as possible before pulling us back into a safety net of reality. The need for a bigger and badder coaster increases during times when the size of that net decreases.
There’s a thrill that comes from imagining being in a foot race with a madman, or outthinking the hordes of zombies on the other side of the door, plus the scavenger humans coming behind them. There’s even a rush that comes from imagining how one might deal with possession to see good triumph over evil in the end. It’s all about building tension and releasing it through catharsis. That cathartic release usually sounds like screams followed by laughter, which signals relief. Genre heavy hitters over the past 10 years offered very little of that respite when the credits rolled. Films like Hereditary, The Witch, Talk to Me, and even Smile (pick one) keep that tension going after the screen fades to black.
Hereditary
As the genre became obsessed with creating trauma metaphors, that lack of release made sense. Anyone with even a small sample size of traumatic experiences knows those emotions don’t magically resolve themselves in an allotted run time. But how much trauma can one take? Especially when there’s a mess going on outside that few of us can escape from. Movies offer that off-ramp, no matter how short.
Everything can’t be, nor should it be, “elevated.” Audiences need thoughtful explorations of life’s ills via monsters as much as they need murdering masked maniacs with kitchen knives. And no, it doesn’t have to go any deeper than that. Sometimes, a knife is just a knife, and it’s still worth our time and respect. As weird as it sounds, that simplicity is comforting not in spite of the trauma but because of it.
The worst of times should manifest more than just anguish. People need to laugh just as much as they need to think seriously about this moment in time. Even the Scream franchise forgot the meta rock upon which it built its church when the latest foray sacrificed the subtle comedy for serious drama. Scary Movie returned at the perfect moment. It provides the necessary laughs, but it’s not a cure-all.
This isn’t a call for Scary Movie imitators but a return to a mainstream landscape where Killer Klowns from Outer Space sat with The Serpent and the Rainbow, nestled neatly with the latest Nightmare on Elm Street, which took nothing away from The Vanishing.
They Live
Even They Live, John Carpenter’s horror sci-fi satire sandwich, kept its tongue firmly in cheek while discussing serious ideas still relevant in 2026. Yes, a film about aliens taking over the world through subliminal messaging only visible through coded sunglasses is, in fact, a tad silly. Carpenter understood that mainstream horror can’t become so self-important that it never looks itself in the mirror and laughs at that inherent silliness.
The thing is, horror historically excels at poking fun at itself. Most of the Scream franchise, The Cabin in the Woods, or The Blackening show adoration without kowtowing. They recognize tropes and trappings but invert them for an audience already in on the joke, but one that also finds solace in said conventions. This keeps the genre on its toes; once something gets parodied, it’s usually time to evolve. That breeds new ideas and fresh filmmakers, which not only strengthen the genre’s collective voice but also amplify it.
Get Out, as “elevated” as some critics want us to believe it is, is a cathartic, populist scary movie that spoke to an untapped audience rather than speaking down to them. Backrooms is one of the biggest horror hits in years, partially because it’s fine-tuned for modern-day teenagers instead of their parents. Movies like these tell everyone the genre is open for business; open for innovation and, yeah, open for new ways in which people can lovingly poke fun at with a wink and a nudge.
Horror needs dread as much as it needs laughter.
Catharsis is just as important as tension, and pulpy populism has the same merit as more high-brow material. Respectability shouldn’t come at the expense of an experience akin to walking through a haunted house. At a time when joy seems in short supply, horror should look to its past to map out its future, and make things just a tad brighter for audiences.
Backrooms
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