Although the sword-and-sorcery subgenre has experienced something of a revival of late, there is a glaring lack of evidence — aside from HBO’s Game of Thrones — to suggest that this has been a good thing. Days would surely be sunnier had Clash of the Titans, Season of the Witch and Your Highness never existed, but exist they do, [...]

I try to be a glass half-full person. So when watching yet another pointless addition to the Friday the 13th franchise, I took joy from the fact that with each victim Jason Voorhees claims, the end credits were one step closer. It was the only thing that helped me endure through this god-awful slasher-rehasher from director Marcus Nispel (2003’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre). Well, that and the copious amounts of nudity. But that’s free on the internet.

Just to clarify, I’ve got nothing against the film being a reboot. Everyone’s doing it, and if any franchise needed to start over again, it was Friday the 13th. After 10 instalments – two containing the word ‘final’ in the title, one set fifty years in the future and one franchise crossover with Elm Street’s Freddy Kruger – it’s safe to say Hollywood have bled Jason, the hockey-masked hacker, to death (if the bastard could actually die, that is).