After a lukewarm response to the franchise's new, Vorhees-free direction, the studio mandated that Jason somehow return from the grave in this ridiculous slasher sequel. FYI: repeated lightning strikes (and a conveniently-placed hockey mask) are enough to convert a rotting, maggot-riddled, decade-old corpse back into a stalking, menacing killer.

I can't decide if it's genuinely this stupid or if the series has finally become self-aware enough to poke fun at itself. Either way, it's a swing and a miss. Beyond said resurrection and the victims' frenzied scramble to isolate themselves in the darkness and await a swift judgment, there's nothing to this plot. Just a bunch of random kills, pointlessly short ones at that, with the usual assortment of paper-thin caricatures and a grab bag of genre tropes. The entire film is literally explained in full during the bad, two-minute long Alice Cooper song that accompanies the closing credits. Tommy, the only recurring character to last for three films, has been recast for the third time and now plays something of a bumbling charlatan, spouting mystic wisdom from the depths of nowhere. Naturally, that's accepted as gospel and provides our only means for an escape from this madness.

Typical of the series, it's pitifully acted (apart from new player David Kagen, who struggles to bring a dash of vigor to his watery role as the town sheriff), awkwardly executed and translucently obvious. The return to familiar territory provides a very mild improvement over the stinky fifth chapter, but that's not really a compliment.