Last night, I saw a film. As I recall it was a horror film. Jason jumped out and drove a machete into a guy's head, and I spilled my Coke on my pants.
And somewhere in Los Angeles, producer Michael Bay (the money behind recent remakes, "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and "The Amityville Horror") cackled with glee.
Lazily titled as just "Friday the 13th" (What, no colon?), this 12th installment of the undying movie franchise embodies all that is superficial about remaking classic '80s horror films.
Directed by Marcus Nispel, the plot is basically a rehash of early "Friday the 13th" hits and countless other slashers set in a wooded area.The film opens with a grueling 30-minute prologue featuring the typical ill-fated gang of campers venturing into the woods of Crystal Lake.
Jason picks them off one by one (post-sex scene as tradition dictates), except for one girl named Whitney (Amanda Righetti) who bears a resemblance to his mother at a young age. With no apparent goal in mind, he keeps her a prisoner.
Flash forward to a month later when Whitney's older brother (Jared Padalecki) goes on a one-man hunt to find her while a new group of promiscuous, weed-smoking co-eds decide to spend a weekend in wooded terror. This time, the audience is graced by the presence of two minority characters played Aaron Yoo and Arlen Escarpeta.
Unfortunately, they provide only stereotypical comedic relief and body fodder. Just before getting stuck through the throat with a screwdriver, Yoo's character raises a point about being "the walking cliché." The same could be said about every molecule of the movie.
Alas, even Jason seemed to be losing his bloodthirsty touch halfway through. Whereas the prologue had our momma's boy plotting creative murders such as roasting a girl alive in a sleeping bag, by the fourth kill into the main story, he had defaulted to generic hack 'n' slash. He looks practically bored as he hooks one girl up on a door hanger, as if he's thinking, "maybe I'm getting too old for this."
It doesn't take any directorial or acting talent to scare this film's audience, just simultaneously timed loud noises and sudden movements. And it's not true fear that made this naturally jumpy critic shoot halfway out of her seat, just jerk reaction followed by immediate annoyance and angry note-taking.
In the end, I suppose it did achieve its purpose. I did leave the theater with a half-empty cup of soda and severely damp jeans. And if an evening of cheap scare tactics and gratuitous nudity is all you're looking for, by all means, spend it with the hockey player from hell.
Verdict: Jason should have been left back in the '80s where he belongs.
Grade: D+
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