“Movies don’t create psychos. Movies makes psychos more creative.”

Pitch-perfect melding of Willimson’s self-referential screenplay and Craven’s stellar craftsmanship twisting, satirizing and ultimately celebrating the slasher canon. Seen this so many times as a teen that you would think this would play tired for me now but no it still plays like gangbusters. Pure indelible craft on display like Craven’s simple tracking shots of Casey in her home during the vicious opening, the distorted edges of the frame when she’s on the phone really zeroing in on the voyueristic glee and then genuine horror of someone watching her, or the reflection of ghostface in Henry Winkler’s eye as he is about to get stabbed to death that is just as invigorating as ever. And don’t even get me started on the third act, possibly the greatest stretch of pop horror probably ever? Simply adore it. Always a pleasure to revisit a teenage staple and rediscover your fixation with it.