Friday the 13th: Part XI? Part XII? personally, i like Jason Π, because aesthetically it fits somewhere between parts III and IV. but i'm wrong, because it's not a fucking jason movie.jason voorhees is not a hostage-taking international crimin-allstar with OCD; he's an angry retarded person with mommy issues fuelled by frustration and unmitigated violence. he's a shitty popcorn version of michael meyers, stomping around in the slasher spotlight instead of slinking through the shadows that came to define a genre ... not a Shape, but still a force with which to be reckoned. whether a retard, zombie, mutant, or psychotic simpleton in a hockey mask, jason's mindless, unrelenting killer instinct is iconic, which makes this film's jason straight-up blasphemous. granted, he's always had a penchant for pretty girls complicated by a raging hate-on for teen sex and drug use, but jason doesn't stalk and kidnap people - he kills them and throws them out of windows. and he sure as hell doesn't have a paramilitary bunker rigged with perimeter breach notifications. maybe if he did the rest of the series would be rewatchable.
so why are we defending a franchise we like to hate so hard? because it's a vacuous pop-cultural appropriation of both my childhood and my twenties. the reboot takes all of the superficial trappings of the '80s slasher and resequences them for an aught audience with open wallets for clever mash-ups of their gradeschool and college grad steez. fuck you michael bay - you know your target market.
the aforementioned throwback to parts III and IV stands. goodlooking outsider is in search of his missing hot sister, encounters hostility from the locals, douchebaggery from his peers. sex, drugs, murder, and mayhem ensue. too bad the best part of the movie is over before the opening credits begin. it's 1980, mrs voorhees lacks a head, and a group of jackasses and cockteases with plastic tits go camping at crystal lake. the kills that follow are fantastic! girl strapped into a sleepingbag strung up over the campfire? yes please! flash forward to present day, run opening credits, and prepare to be bored for the next hour and a half. but keep an eye open for the various shoutouts to previous films strewn about the bunker set: the wheelchair from part II, the RV from part VI ... jason's black ops crime lab apparently doubles as a murder museum where he hoards souveniers from earlier killing sprees.
in a complete departure from franchise form, this installment demands character investment, but unfortunately, it's entirely without return. it stars the biggest douche in the universe, and you spend the entire time waiting for him to get his just desserts, but instead he gets to fuck this girl with the most amazing tits i've ever seen on film while his super cute girlfriend whines at him outside the door. she's stupid, so you kinda want her to die too, and while no one wants to see such magnificent breasts go to waste, the other girl's clearly a manipulative whore who deserves whatever's coming. but somewhere along the line crystal lake went to whitecastle and picked up an asian stoner kid who's so fucking awesome you just want him to turn his bong into some kind of psycho-killer escape pod, but alas, everyone dies horribly predictable deaths.
then there's the soundtrack. 'tis a blessing, perhaps, not to have to sit through another manfredini masturbatory opus. that shit is awful, but it's also classic, and i'm a classicist. props for night ranger's "sister christian" (next year's "don't stop believin'" - just wait for it), but stars? really? these douches don't listen to arts & crafts.
and while the ending, of course, leaves plenty of room for a revamped sequel, by this time we've had more than enough. bye-bye camp crystal lake, we're heading back to haddonfield. with a stopover in texas.
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