THE TRIPPER. What connects this film with the cult classic “Scream”?

Thin threads probably connect this film to the cult classic Scream—such as the fact that both are slashers about masked killers targeting teenagers. What’s more, The Tripper was produced by Scream star Courteney Cox (Monica from Friends), and its writer-director is her then-husband David Arquette, memorable as Deputy Dewey in Wes Craven’s film. Here too the viewer can expect playful use of genre conventions and a blend of horror with dark humor. But that’s where the similarities end. The Tripper is an ironic, modest little horror film with some charm but without big ambitions. Pleasant, but disposable.

Samantha had a bad trip after taking drugs, thanks to her aggressive boyfriend. Now she’s trying to forget that failed relationship and stay away from drugs, so… she goes with friends to a hippie music festival in the woods. What starts as one big trip soon turns into a bloodbath.

Someone in a suit and a mask of former president Ronald Reagan decides to remind the youth of forgotten principles. Because, after all, young people aren’t what they used to be—just as it’s always been in horror films and in life.

The idea of confronting an ultra-conservative psycho with liberal diets and lifestyles sounds fresh and inviting. And it has to be said: the creators knew how to have fun with it, gleefully mocking both camps. In fact, The Tripper—a forest horror movie from 2006—takes aim at pretty much every social group it shines a light on.

Hippies are constantly stripping, horny, and chasing white rabbits through the forest. They don’t want to expand their consciousness—just blast it to pieces, fast, with whatever arsenal is at hand. The locals are classic rednecks—chugging beer, laughing until their mustaches shake, eager to beat up outsiders. The mayor is a dumb careerist, while the festival organizer is a sleazy hustler who looks like a slimmed-down Krzysztof Krawczyk in formalwear. The spirited cop sports mutton chops and a mustache, yearning for peace in his town. Meanwhile Samantha’s unstable ex-boyfriend wants to stomp into the ground anyone who doesn’t read The Wall Street Journal.

The film doubles down on stereotypes, exaggerating them to grotesque, ostentatious extremes. Though there are exceptions—like the cop who smokes weed in his patrol car.

Overall, the film carries a caricatured, jokey tone. The thriller framework develops almost by the book: opening with a dramatic scene, then lulling the audience with camping-and-herbal vibes, before unleashing a spiral of violence halfway through and ending with a full-blown massacre. But forget about tension or terror. In The Tripper, it’s all about the carefree party atmosphere. Maybe not a spectacular party, but Arquette is disarmingly sincere.

He invites us to put our brains aside for ninety minutes and fill our heads with a bloody cartoon that only pretends to be a serious horror—like watching through a peephole, a little stoned, with friends.The execution doesn’t impress, but it doesn’t repel either. Some bland shots mix with trippy scenes that are actually atmospheric—both the good and the bad trips. And credit where it’s due: the “trip” sequences are crafted with knowledge and taste, and they spin the viewer’s head in a pleasant way. It’s clear that the “acidic” atmosphere of psychedelia and looseness was central to the filmmakers.

The film features plenty of familiar faces. Thomas Jane appears as a cop, while Jason Mewes—known worldwide as Jay, Silent Bob’s buddy in Kevin Smith’s films—plays a hyper-stoner. Lukas Haas, usually a supporting actor (like in Inception), has a sizable role. The director himself shows up as a dumbly grinning redneck, while Courteney Cox plays a stereotypical eco-warrior eager to rescue dogs even when they try to rip her apart. The cast is solid (if in a picnic-relaxed mode), but the standout is the killer himself. His mask isn’t a perfect Reagan likeness, but the angular features suggest a man of principles, disgusted with modern times—one of those who only have sex in half-removed pajamas, in the dark, strictly for procreation.

He appears suddenly, kills swiftly and brutally. His one-liners are weak and scarce, but he conducts the final slaughter like a man possessed, with snare drums pounding in his skull and flashes of the Vietnam War. It’s probably the best use of a presidential mask since Point Break. The gore is cranked up nicely for a slasher, but stylized enough to avoid the discomfort of torture porn. Essentially, Arquette maintains just enough of a horror atmosphere to keep the film from dissolving into total parody. Still, if I had to guess the point of making this movie, I’d say it was probably to stage a few trippy, concert-like sequences and to put some friends in front of the camera—friends who (my hunch, not fact) were allowed to have as much fun as the hippies onscreen.

And to be fair, the colorful parade of partygoers is one of the film’s highlights. Their creative costumes and energetic group scenes (reminiscent of a real-life festival) give The Tripper a laid-back style. The soundtrack helps too—featuring reggae, rock, and even alternative legends like The Melvins and Mike Patton’s Tomahawk. That’s a good direction. I’d love to see more niche music in films like this, instead of ever-present Zimmers.

I find it hard to imagine anyone being thrilled by this production, but it does have lightness and consistency. Arquette won’t become the next Craven or Carpenter, but he clearly enjoys playing with horror like a kid. Fans of those masked forest weirdos who don’t drink or have sex—because they’re too busy swinging sharp weapons—should walk away satisfied.