The first twenty-three minutes, a lead-up to the titlecard and effectively a mini-movie that shows just how short and efficient these Friday the 13th episodes could actually be, may be too much for some viewers - it is a nasty, distressing sequence - but for the gluttons for (torture porn) punishment who resist the urge to switch off, the next 70 minutes prove to be the same old 80s business enlivened by naughties' production values, with better actors and a Jason Voorhees who is more gigantic than ever but also more nimble - we never see, but scene-to-scene this lumbering hockey-mask-wearing mute exhibits a wuxia lightness-on-his-feet that sees him cutting effortlessly and silently across vast expanses of woods, moving from underground tunnels to Camp Crystal Lake jetties to rooftops and toolsheds in split seconds-flat to dispatch more bong-smoking, copulating teenage prey.
★★☆☆☆
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