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Jason Voorhees, the hulking, machete-wielding deterrent to teen hormones, stalks again. Tenth in the series (hence the X; Jason hasn't gone hardcore), it's as plasma-rich and cranially vacant as its best predecessors.
After a curtain jerker where Jason redecorates a high-tech research centre as a charnel pit, the masked killer's put on ice until the 25th century. This old school slasher is then tossed a wild card thanks to the cranked-up technology of the future - - yes, Jason swipes from RoboCop and goes metal. Dangerous cyborg? More like unholy union of man and chrome bumper: nice bits include a liquid oxygen facial for a tarty blonde and a couple of virtual reality cut-ups that recall the necro-porn feel of earlier Jason outings.
Okay, so the editing looks to have been done by machete and the lighting's so dark you can't glory in the pretty red splatter of dangling entrails. But at least the exploration of Jason's pent-up sexual rage - - most evident in his obsession with coitus interruptus - - sparks some onscreen novelty. You can't help feeling that he'd ditch the big knife as phallic surrogate act if only some honey would take one for the team and shag the ugly bastard.
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