Back in 1958, at a New Jersey summer camp called Camp Crystal Lake, some teens were brutally bludgeoned by a mysterious killer and, given that theyd been gathered around a fireplace wearing cardigans and singing Kumbayah, it has to be said that it was no more than they deserved. Skip forward to the present day (well, 1980 at least) and the place is finally due to be re-opened, with a gaggle of randy college-types arriving on the scene to try it out. But its not long before it looks like the problems of the 50s havent stayed in the 50s, and predictably this group of atrociously-dressed fornicators start getting gruesomely picked off one-by-one.
Yes, thats right its Friday the 13th, the oft-lauded throat-slasher from director Sean S. Cunningham and screenwriter Victor Miller. Its spawned a ridiculously-excessive TEN sequels, a TV series (imaginatively titled Friday the 13th: The Series), and countless conveyor-belt loads of merchandise. Everyone will have their own theories on what that says about society post-1980, but what it says to me is that there are a Helluva lot of people out there with exceptionally bad taste.
What strikes me about Friday the 13th isnt the surfeit of sex and violence (after all, none of it is remotely shocking by todays standards), but the fact that its absolutely terrible. With the exception of an extremely young Kevin Bacon (who, as you might expect, gets to spend much of his time necking with a lady), the cast are faceless and forgettable. Their parts are shamelessly underdeveloped to the point that you can barely decipher one from another, and the peripheral characters are so clichéd and poorly thought-out that they become laughable (theres even a town crazy who, inventively enough, is called Crazy Ralph and goes around telling people that theyre doomed and to turn back while they still can).
Add to all of the above Cunninghams pedestrian direction and Millers seen-it-all-before storyline, and youre left with one of the most over-rated, undeservedly-popular pieces of film-making in the history of cinema. Sure, it might be considered influential (though Id argue that its really not original enough to fit the description), but its also a deserted cabin-load of plopsy.