Matt Cipolla

Scream is not a bad movie. It is, however, a case of mediocrity being the worst sin. For a franchise all about coping with a media landscape that begets disillusionment to produce something just like this, it especially hurts.

Despite the reasons House of Gucci doesn’t work, none are damning enough to make a bad movie. It’s forgettable, sometimes playing like the sort of cable-TV fare that displaced these tales from the silver screen over the past decade. Yet Scott’s efforts, and especially those of Johnson and Bentivegna, just don’t keep up. And what’s the point of going big if you’re not going to go for it all?

Textually, problems emerge from the myriad supporting characters, virtually all of whom play like narrative props. The script seems uninterested in its conflict; the filmmaking lacks the style to glue its pieces together.

Karia hasn’t made a deep film or even a particularly unique one, but he’s made one that has enough to get by. It’s not just good—it’s good enough.

Every kill on display here is to someone superfluous, immediately forgettable, or both. The special effects are decent at points, but at what cost? To bridge the gap to next year’s final entry? There’s just no impact here.