JustMattHenry.com: gossip, life and humor

                                                                                                            Matthew W. Henry

Freddy vs. Jason

            I’m not a big fan of horror films.  Zombies scare me.  A lot.  I don’t recall ever having seen an entire film in either the Nightmare on Elm Street or Friday the 13^th series.  Jason Voorhees’, the hockey masked maniac of the Friday films, last foray onto the big screen was last summer’s Jason X.  My husband Blair really wanted to go see it.  I made him go see Lilo and Stitch because I’m a cruel bitch.  Eventually, he made me feel guilty enough that by mid-winter, when he discovered that this new movie was coming out, I was able to promise him that we would go see it.  So we did. 

            This movie is about tits…nice, round, firm, fake, they-don’t-bounce-when-I-run, honey-do melon shaped tits.  We all know that if you are a naked, nubile young chick sluttin’ around in the woods like your mama told you not to, you are going to get sliced and diced by some machete wielding psycho.  You can run, but you’ll trip over a branch, get up, start crying and before you know it, there’s a blade cutting through your back, out your chest (oops, there goes the silicone all over my new dress!  Oops, I’m not wearing a new dress) and pins you to a tree.  We’ve seen it a million times, and we see it again here.  Just with firmer tits.  These are not the tits of yesteryear.

            The best part of Freddy vs. Jason is the opening minutes where, through flashbacks, we witness (incase we missed the marathons on basic cable) all the ways in which Freddy Kruger haunted and tormented the dreams of the Elm Street teenagers.   These first few minutes were particularly hard on me because it brought back the painful memories of the nights my parents would go out of town, leave my older brother in charge and he would force my sister and I to watch these scary movies!  I remember these scenes, oh yes, through my tear-blurred eyes, semi-hiding behind a pillow, knowing that I couldn’t possibly go to sleep now because that’s when Freddy comes to get you.  My brother was such a jerk, not even a little girl’s (no, I’m not talking about me) tears could make him change that channel. 

            I was comforted by seeing just how far special effects have come since these films had their hey-day.  How could I have been so scared by what appears to be carefully sculpted Play Dough and ketchup?  Silly me.  I was such a baby back then. 

            The action (if you can call it that) leading up the show down is pointless.  It’s old school, more of the same.  Get to the fight!  We want the fight!  All this…this mess of a story…we don’t care!  Fight!  Fight!  FIGHT!  I’m not too sure about how these two classic villains are brought together.  Something about a cover up on Elm St., a dream suppressing drug, Freddy needs Jason to cause something so that Freddy can do something.  That’s the movies biggest fault; I have no idea how the two come together and why they must fight.  I just love it that they do.  I placed my money on Freddy, but I think my heart was pulling for Jason.  He was tugging on my heart strings there for a bit.  He’s definitely the more sympathetic character. 

            On a side note:  Kelly Rowland, of Destiny’s Child, is in this movie.  Kelly, girl, if you ever want to crawl out of the HUGE, overwhelming shadow of Beyonce, don’t do it by acting.  You have a great voice, but your acting makes Beyonce’s bad acting look not-so-bad. 

            Since Blair paid for this movie, I can say it was worth it.  If you’ve seen everything else out there this summer, and I do mean everything else, then I recommend Freddy vs. Jason.  I mean, this movie was signed, sealed, delivered to a teenage boy audience.   It’s harmless.  It’s violence, gore, and tits.  What else is there?  Oh, yeah, keggers and weed.