It's no Scream...
This is written by a bunch of people, including David DeCoteau who’s also directing. It’s not a secret, he loves men. You can feel his male gaze all along. Or is it female gaze? The characters are either unreasonably well groomed or wearing tank tops. We need to see those shiny muscles. Three minutes in, a man takes a shower, only to get killed moments later. He wakes up. It was all a dream.
So, this is another Scream rip-off with twenty-something acting like they’re too good for one another. Watching unknown actors stuck in a cheap copy of Scream with cringe-worthy dialogue à la Kevin Williamson is a torture. It’s the last thing I wanted to do today. The camera rolls constantly, one of DeCoteau’s trademarks. Well, that’s a bad habit. It looks amateur and it looks dumb.
There are surprises ahead. Minor twists. Twists that improve an otherwise simple-minded script. There’s a thunderstorm outside, for the whole running time, including the nightmare scene. At no point did I get the impression it was raining. It doesn’t make sense. It’s one of the many ways the script fails to impress. The characters are flat. The photography is too dark. The story is boring.