Screamboat

Every now and then, a film that shouldn't work according to traditional criteria manages to achieve the impossible by relying so heavily on its absurdity that all resistance becomes futile. Screamboat, the latest addition to the ever-expanding universe of public domain horror, is exactly that kind of film: a film that, by all logic, should be nothing more than a novelty, a fleeting meme on film, but ends up offering a wildly entertaining and bloody journey into the dark underbelly of childhood nostalgia. It's messy, uneven, and crude, but it's also joyful, committed, and, most importantly, self-aware, which truly sets it apart from its intellectual property-plundering peers.

To understand why Screamboat works, you first need to understand the cinematic trend it comes from. The recent wave of public domain horror, with films like Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey, Peter Pan's Neverland Nightmare, and The Mouse Trap, has often relied solely on its shock value. They sell themselves with a catchy title: What if Winnie the Pooh became a serial killer? But the novelty of this concept quickly wears thin when the execution lacks artistry, wit, or even basic filmmaking skills. Blood and Honey was criticized for its lack of flavor, misogyny, and absence of humor. Screamboat, on the other hand, takes its ridiculous premise and treats it with an affectionate irreverence that transforms bad taste into celebration.

Directed and co-written by Steven LaMorte, already infamous for turning the Grinch into a serial killer in The Mean One, Screamboat wastes no time in setting the tone. After a brief prologue that establishes the cursed legend of the Staten Island ferry and the ancient evil lurking beneath the bridge (a black-and-white cartoon-style flashback adds a charming touch), the action begins with a group of very New York passengers boarding the last night crossing of the Hudson. Among them is Selena (Allison Pittel), an aspiring fashion designer from Minnesota who, as is often the case in films of this genre, finds herself caught up in a fight for survival and a love story with Pete (Jesse Posey), a ferry employee. They are joined by a troupe of extras that includes loud girls dressed as cheap Disney princesses, an exhausted radio operator (Tyler Posey, in a must-see cameo), a pragmatic paramedic (Amy Schumacher), and a host of caricatured characters waiting for their creative deaths.

The main villain is, of course, Screamboat Willie, a twisted version of Mickey Mouse in his original 1928 form, complete with big shoes, buttoned shorts, and iconic whistle. Played by David Howard Thornton in top form, better known as Art the Clown in the Terrifier franchise, this rodent is a little ball of energy who indulges in pantomimed acts of violence. Unlike Pooh in Blood and Honey, who appeared as a man wearing a cheap mask, Willie is presented as a disturbing mix of puppet, forced perspective, and low-budget digital effects that create a strange and unsettling energy. He's less of a brute and more of an amphetamine-fueled gremlin, a chaotic agent of murder who jumps, twirls, and hisses while spreading death among his victims. David Howard Thornton's physicality contributes greatly to the success of Screamboat. His performance is silent but rich in detail, a mix of slapstick animation and sadistic glee that brings to mind both Bugs Bunny and Freddy Krueger. One moment he decapitates a ferry captain with fishing line, the next he dances on the helm as if it were the rudder of a steamboat in hell. In fact, it's this cartoonish logic, where violence is exaggerated, improbable, and oddly charming, that gives Screamboat its unique and memorable identity.

The film also benefits from its setting. Shot on a real decommissioned Staten Island ferry (owned by Colin Jost and Pete Davidson, one of the most surreal anecdotes in recent independent film history), Screamboat has a tangibly realistic atmosphere that most horror films in the public domain lack. The dark corridors and rusty machinery lend the film a claustrophobic authenticity. For those familiar with New York, the idea of being trapped on this ferry at night is already a horror scenario; the addition of a killer rodent only makes it more literal. Gore fans will be delighted to know that Screamboat delivers on all its promises. The special effects are delightfully excessive, from electrocutions to impalements to a Bobbitt-esque death during intercourse, so joyfully vulgar that it becomes iconic. One particularly memorable scene shows a man dressed as the Statue of Liberty being stabbed with his own torch, an obvious metaphor for American excess. These moments are caricatural, extreme, and unapologetic, evoking the energy of Peter Jackson or Sam Raimi in their early days at the height of splatstick.

But where Screamboat clearly surpasses the world of Pooh, and this cannot be overstated, is in its tone. While Blood and Honey took its concept strangely seriously, with a dull palette and an underlying authenticity of cruelty, Screamboat leans toward the absurd. It's not just a joke, it's a joke that owns itself. The Disney references are quick, furious, and sometimes excessive (yes, there are way too many teeth-grinding Let It Go moments), but the commitment to the joke is impressive. Writers LaMorte and Matthew Garcia-Dunn clearly know Mickey's house like the back of their hands. From park-specific nods, like the Dole Whip jokes, to musical references that skirt the edges of copyright law, the film is littered with Easter eggs for Disney connoisseurs. This is less a parody than a deranged love letter to Disney culture, a gory fan fiction born equal parts affection and rebellion.

That said, Screamboat isn't without its flaws. The middle of the film drags on. Too many characters are introduced only to die, which is certainly common in a slasher, but the script struggles to maintain momentum once the death toll starts to stagnate. The visual effects, particularly Willie's inconsistent size, can be jarring, and some of the digital sets look like they were rendered on a Commodore 64. Not all of the jokes land either; some fall flat, especially when they feel too meta or self-congratulatory. And at 100 minutes, the film is probably 15 minutes too long. A shorter runtime would have done wonders for the pacing. Still, even in its weakest moments, Screamboat is never boring. There's a raw, infectious enthusiasm that comes through in this film. You can tell that director Steven LaMorte is having fun with every ridiculous scene. The film knows it's a B movie and wears that label like a badge of honor. You want to roll your eyes, but it offers something so entertaining—a puppet throwing a severed organ, a Disney reference delivered with a perfect poker face—that you find yourself laughing despite yourself.

Comparisons to the world of Pooh are inevitable, but ultimately unfair to Screamboat. This isn't just another soulless adaptation designed to make money. It's one of the rare cases where a public domain horror film understands the cultural weight of its source material and chooses to play with it rather than exploit it. It has character. It has style. And, despite featuring a 60-cm-tall demonic mouse, it has soul. Screamboat is excellent genre entertainment. It's the kind of movie you watch at midnight with friends, a bowl of popcorn in one hand, a drink in the other, ready to laugh, grimace, and cheer at every macabre twist and turn. It's chaotic, cathartic, and completely bonkers. And frankly, in a film landscape increasingly dominated by risk-averse, sanitized studio productions, this kind of chaos feels almost revolutionary.

Screamboat
Directed by Steven LaMorte
Written by Matthew Garcia-Dunn, Steven LaMorte
Story by Steven LaMorte
Based on Walt Disney's Steamboat Willie, Ub Iwerks
Produced by Steven LaMorte, Amy Schumacher, Martine Melloul, Steven Della Salle, Michael Leavy
Starring David Howard Thornton, Allison Pittel, Amy Schumacher, Jesse Posey, Kailey Hyman, Jesse Kove, Jarlath Conroy
Director of photography: Steven Della Salle
Editing: Patrick Lawrence
Music: Yael Benamour, Charles-Henri Avelange
Production companies: Sleight of Hand Productions, Kali Pictures
Fuzz on the Lens Productions
Distributed by Iconic Events Releasing
Release date: April 2, 2025 (United States)
Running time: 102 minutes

Viewed on April 28, 2025 (press screener)

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