This review is part of our 31 Days of Horror series. You can check out the other posts by clicking these words.
Today is Friday the 13th of October – I know this because when I was opening the kitchen blinds this morning, one of the fittings fell out of the wall, thus collapsing them onto my head along with a chunk of plaster roughly the size of a tennis ball. I don’t believe that this particular day of the calendar is cursed, obviously, as I’m a grown man, but I do believe in relentless, uncompromising bad luck, and if the Friday the 13th films have ever been about anything, they’ve been about that: Jason Voorhees, world’s unluckiest man.
Since the 1980 original, there have been another, what, ten of these things? And throughout them Jason has been drowned multiple times, sliced, clubbed, stabbed, cleaved, incinerated, struck by lightning (I think more than once), melted, shot, experimented on, cryogenically frozen, thawed, jettisoned into space and, as far as I can tell, has never gotten laid. There’s no wonder he’s irritated. Wouldn’t you be? The life of an outdoorsman is obviously fraught with peril.