Flak Magazine: Review of Freddy vs. Jason, 08-25-03

Weigh-in: Freddy Krueger, a murderer with style and charisma to spare, a true surrealist who haunts horror fans' one safe haven — the unconscious imagination — versus Jason Voorhees, a short-bus reject whom Freud could have a field day with, if only the kid hadn't been "re-animated" so many times as to become one of the most unreflective revenge machines in movie history. Which scream king will win this thing? Whose franchise will reign supreme?

It sounds melodramatic, but that's basically what the makers of Freddy vs. Jason want you to feel. They're gunning for a franchise event, and on those terms, they more or less succeed. But under the monster masks, Freddy vs. Jason is really resurrecting horror's days of transgression — wherein hedonistic teens get their just deserts in the most psychosexual of ways. This is the kind of thing the creators of A Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th once mastered, and what Rob Zombie went for in House of 1000 Corpses. It's the good viscera that corrupted many a childhood in the '80s. In that respect, Freddy vs. Jason sticks out among the tame and lame horror slop of late as an assertion about the state of horror itself: "Bring back the debauchery!"

To a point, the movie is about Freddy, the more humanized killer who wants nothing more than to keep on keeping on, surviving by feeding on fear. But when the people of Springwood chose to forget him and instead have nightmares about normal things, like forgetting to wear pants to work, the man and his dream disappeared. Freddy vs. Jason posits that Krueger (Robert Englund, comfortable in his sweater), in some unnamed circle of some hell, now aches to be feared again. For unexplained reasons, other than to fulfill a promise made to fanboys at the end of Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday, Freddy recruits help from Jason (Ken Kirzinger, though that doesn't matter). Somehow (don't worry how), Freddy brings back the scariest goalie since Patrick Roy and sends him to Springwood. Havoc is wreaked, and the familiar sight of teenage corpses gets the old neighborhood talking about Freddy again.

Once the locals have gotten their fear on, Freddy is empowered again to haunt dreams and targets the current residents of (you guessed it) 1428 Elm Street, particularly (you guessed it) the buxom teenager Lori (Monica Keena) and her associates. Not the least of these include Jason "Son of John" Ritter, Kelly "Destiny's Other Child" Rowland, some Jason Mewes wannabe and other forgettables. Plenty of blood flows and there's nudity and sex to spare. But Freddy's plan backfires when Jason goes buck wild with the machete at a cornfield rave, making the masked one the predominant face of fear for the few survivors. Freddy then complies with the rules of tragedy, letting his thirst for glory take over by trying to eliminate Jason rather than rethink his strategy. (Fear not, true believers, this is not a spoiler, just Aristotle's Poetics at work.) It's what you might call a fatal flaw (except, of course, that Freddy is already post-fatality) because not once does Krueger even consider the chance of losing.

Expected references from each series abound, from good flashbacks to each killer's early days to scenes that are outright homages. Yet, just as Freddy uses Jason to get the fear back in kids — or in us, the audience — Freddy vs. Jason uses its tried-and-true genre tricks to get the slash back in slasher movies, to show us just how bad something like Darkness Falls really is. The main event is not the poster boys; this is horror's Old School attacking the New School.

One of the biggest turning points in recent horror genre history was the Scream trilogy. With those movies, Wes Craven — the creator of Freddy and a horror icon in his own right — reinvented himself while systematically killing the concept of slashers altogether. Scream's "rules" dictated that no longer would the cat jumping out of the closet be startling, or at least funny, because it was bound to happen. In fact, the tip-top rules involved abstinence from sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. Since then, horror movies seem to have become overprotective parents, afraid to let kids debauch themselves lest it endanger their survival. (Scream's squeaky-clean scares also came factory-direct from Kevin Williamson, who has a tendency to channel John Hughes' lamer moments anyway.)

Yet in the days before the Elm Street series, Craven was known for Last House on the Left, an exploitation schlocker featuring a woman brutally forced to wet herself, which she reportedly actually did during shooting. Last House was produced by none other than Friday the 13th's director-producer Sean S. Cunningham. Cunningham has now produced Freddy vs. Jason, but the only credit Craven's name gets is an obligatory "Based on characters by" … and that's buried at the end.

Might this give a clue as to who wins the epic battle of hellish '80s icons? No. But it says a lot about who's keeping it real and who's still working with the creator of Dawson's Creek. More likely, it suggests Cunningham assaulting the compromised teen horror his old buddy Craven fostered. Nothing personal.

It should be noted that, in its retro salute, Freddy vs. Jason does fulfill all the cheese-and-gore expectations necessary to please a jaded twenty- or thirty-something who grew up with the gruesome twosome. Other audiences may feel differently. When it comes to plot details and believability, the script and acting leave a lot to be desired — that is, if you desire them at all. Also, like most slasher flicks, it is not really scary. But the movie still serves as an enjoyable fête for its monsters. Deft direction helps, and this comes in fits and bursts from Hong Kong émigré Ronny Yu (whose The Bride with White Hair should not be missed). Copious amounts of blood coat the final battle, which is a barrage of wide angles, hand-to-hand combat and wire work.

Freddy vs. Jason ends, quite literally, with a wink. It's not about who wins, but how you play the game and who looks the coolest while playing it. It may be bad, but it's bad fun. And that's more than most new horror can claim.

— Tony Nigro (tony@superheronamedtony.com)