As a general rule, the first installment of a profitable horror series tends to be vastly superior to its increasingly crappy successors; Friday the 13th, however, stands as a notable exception. Don't get the wrong idea -- this is not because its sequels are so well-done, but because the original is so mind-blowingly awful that there's really nowhere to go but up. Actually, the first installment can in one sense be seen as a sequel unto its own; at least that way the blatant theft of elements from Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Psycho and Twitch of the Death Nerve (among others) would seem somewhat justified.
So why should any self-respecting girl wade through this (virtually Jason-less) ode to bad acting, unoriginal writing, muddled direction, pointless plotlines and unbelievably skanky men and women in outfits that would make Blair Warner cringe? Two words: Kevin Bacon. In case you haven't been paying attention, Kevin Bacon is a godlike figure of unrivaled manliness that should be worshipped by weekly viewings of his Shirtless Digging Movie, known to the uninitiated as Stir of Echoes. [See review -- and picture! -- in issue four.] While Stir left me seriously pondering things like the cost of an average shovel and prison terms for kidnapping, it also made me wonder how this lust-inducing specimen had escaped my attention for so long. Unfortunately, Friday the 13th answered my question.
Don't get me wrong -- Kevin (in his first major motion picture role) is by far the hottest guy in the movie. It's just that this really isn't saying much. (I'd probably put the bloody, amphibian-like Jason at a distant second.) Kevin plays Jack, a counselor at (camper-less) Camp Crystal Lake, where Terrible Things had caused the camp to close years before. Unfortunately, the long timespan between then and its current opening caused many young people to mistake the rural refuge for a circus sideshow, with they themselves as the main attraction. This is the only way I can explain the decidedly Village People-esque Indian headdress worn on a boy who had no business at all being shirtless, or the eerie resemblance the main female protagonist bore to The Brady Bunch's Mike Lookinland. But I digress.
Back to Kevin. Er, the film. Anyway, it stands as no small testament to Friday the 13th's innate suckiness that of all the skeezy, unlikable, untalented members of this cast, the superior Kevin is the first to go. For the record, it's a nice exit, as Kevin dies after not only being shirtless, having sex, but after -- yeeahh! -- fixing the generator in the camp. Is he not masterful? There is also a very nice scene of him moving a tree trunk; unfortunately these are all juxtaposed with a rather questionable image of him in a Speedo as well as in the same 1980s wardrobe that would probably get the Voorhees clan off on grounds of justifiable homicide.
And about those wacky Voorheeses. As anyone learned in the annals of Scream well knows, the famed Jason is not the killer in this first installment; rather, it was Jason's mother, Mrs. Voorhees. This is the kind of interesting plot point that gets feminists with too much time on their hands scrawling away about gender roles in horror, but to be honest, she is possibly the goofiest serial killer in a slasher series ever, and I'm including the Leprechaun. Like a hellbound Cloris Leachman on her way to slaughter this crew of Facts of Life casting call rejects, Mrs. Voorhees (Betsy Palmer) terrifies more with her complete lack of dental care than with her trusty hatchet, but given her hackneyed dialogue, this is understandable. She is also far too slow in axing off her victims, but as this is one of the most ineptly paced horror films I've ever seen (and again, I'm including the Leprechaun), this fact did not surprise me either. My advice: Order the 11th Hour Director's Cut, a seven-or-so minute film consisting entirely of Kevin Bacon rolling logs and fixing things and getting naked, and leave this sucker to rot.
REVERSE DROOL FACTOR: Being that I covered Kevin Bacon above... mmmm.... (sorry, distracted myself there for a second), I thought I'd fill you in on all the skankoids you should prepare your VCR fast-forward buttons to face. They are, in short, the hornball fixing the roof, the icky guy driving the truck, Crazy Ralph (who at least was amusing), and all of the camp counselors (except one). And for the love of God, beware Strip Monopoly!
GROSS-OUT FACTOR: The other redeeming quality to this film is some fine special FX work from Tom Savini. Of course, they are most fine when they're shooting blood out of my boy's neck and thus allowing for a close-up shot.
STRONG CHICK FACTOR: Take the strength, intelligence and humor of Laurie Strode -- and throw it right into the bottom of Crystal Lake. This Halloween rip-off has possibly the most boring female characters in a horror movie ever, and they're not even good-looking either -- and trust me, you get every opportunity to find this out. Guys reading this review, consider yourself forewarned!
Friday the 13th is currently available on video.
-- Sarah Kendzior
