Do you know D.C.?
Get our free newsletter to stay in the know about local D.C.
The most horrifying part of Jason X, which takes place way in the post-Voyager future, is the mention that hockey was outlawed in the year 2024—just one of Jason’s many unfunny jokes and yet another reason why I hated this tedious, not at all scary, stupid stupid movie. Let me be clear: Jason X is not so bad it’s good. (If you and your friends are looking for quality cheap slasher entertainment, rent Bones.) Instead, this sequel too quickly falls into a dull formula of lather, rinse, repeat (and repeat, and repeat, and repeat) that can be summarized with three phrases: “You’re perfectly safe,” whenever J seems to be contained; “Get outta here!” spoken breathily from current victim to panicked next; and “My God, what now?” after the ever-dwindling assembled think once again that they’re rid of the lumbering, zombified “killing machine” but then find evidence otherwise. The story behind this 10th chapter is that serial killer Jason Voorhees (Kane Hodder, but does it really matter?) is capable of regenerating lost tissue and therefore unable to be executed. The plan, using the cutting-edge technology of 2010, is to cryogenically preserve him until “they” come up with a better idea. Jason does indeed get frozen—though not before killing a bunch of people at the lab and stabbing the obligatory young lass, Rowan (Lexa Doig, but does it really matter?), who manages to shove him into a leaking cryogenic chamber that immobilizes them both before he can get her good. Their bodies are found by a team of researchers—all of whom are played by actors whose former credits include third guy/girl from the left in movies you’ve never heard of—in 2455, when Earth is an unlivable pile of dust but the current usages of “chick” and “dumbass” have survived the test of time. The biggest problem with Jason X is that the chasin’/screamin’/killin’ starts almost immediately and is only minimally varied until the end, with nothing but incoherent sci-fi talk and the occasional flash of boobs to break up the monotony. Speaking of which, I have to admit that a brief homage to Friday the 13th Part VII is gratifying: When you glimpse Jason bludgeoning one giggly, bare-breasted bimbette with her sleeping-bag-wrapped friend after they invited him to join them for “lots of premarital sex,” you could reason that the killing machine isn’t evil, just choosy about the company he keeps. —Tricia Olszewski