There’s hardly anything to add to Scream’s legacy so I’ll attempt to address the unsung aspects. Firstly, how strange, considering Scream’s immediate influence on horror in almost every other way, that executives haven’t attempted to mimic the Weinsteins’ decision to program this during Christmas. Seriously, what horror movie comes out in December or January that isn’t absolute trash? Crazy. Then there’s Matthew Lillard’s maligned (I think?) turn as Stu Macher. I’m not gonna sit here and make a case for it being some incredible piece of work but I’ll admit to grinning almost every time he’s onscreen. I think his abrasively odious performance is as self-conscious as Kevin Williamson’s references or Craven’s cheeky tone. And lastly, there’s the delectable anamorphic cinematography. I think if I erected a brick-and-mortar Hall of Fame for Cinematographers, Mark Irwin would be my dark horse first ballot dude. (Actually, the precipitous drop in quality after Old School might combat that.) I’m struggling to think of someone else (Dean Cundey once upon a time, maybe?) who so unassumingly rendered popcorn fare this gorgeous. There’s his consistently sturdy work with Cronenberg and the Farrellys but this is a corker, straight-up. While certainly Craven’s most beautiful film (rivaled only by A Nightmare on Elm Street or possibly New Nightmare, which Irwin also lensed), it’s just so atypically pretty for mainstream horror. Irwin’s camera glides through Craven’s suburban environs with such satisfaction it’s impossible not to lament the rise of smeary digital.