Let’s start with the elephant—or toxic waste puddle—in the room: how exactly did Jason come back after Jason Takes Manhattan? That installment ended with Jason being reduced to a sewage-soaked boy by New York City’s glowing ooze. Was this a rebirth? A cleansing? Did he catch a Greyhound back to Crystal Lake? None of it is explained. Instead, the filmmakers decided to hit the reset button in the boldest (read: most baffling) way possible. Jason’s return makes about as much sense as his new ability to possess people via heart-eating. Yes, that happens.
The movie opens with Jason being blown to bits by a SWAT team—a sequence so over-the-top it’s as if the scriptwriters were trying to outdo every prior death in the series at once. But Jason isn’t so easily dispatched. His blackened heart, oozing with evil, survives the assault. A coroner inexplicably consumes it, becoming possessed by Jason’s spirit. From there, Jason hops from body to body like an unholy game of musical chairs, leaving behind a trail of gruesome deaths and bewildered hosts. This time, however, there’s a twist: Jason can only be killed by a blood relative wielding a mystical dagger. Cue the introduction of Jessica Kimble (Kari Keegan), Jason’s long-lost niece and the chosen savior in this tangled Voorhees family prophecy.
Kane Hodder, as always, brings a menacing physicality to Jason, even though his screen time is significantly reduced thanks to the body-swapping gimmick. Hodder even gets a brief cameo as one of Jason’s unfortunate vessels, a fun nod for attentive fans. John D. LeMay and Kari Keegan do their best with what they’re given, delivering earnest performances despite being saddled with dialogue like, “Through a Voorhees was he reborn, and only through a Voorhees can he die.”
Director Adam Marcus swings for the fences in his debut, attempting to expand the franchise’s mythology. While the ambition is commendable, the execution often feels like a blender of ideas without a lid. Some concepts stick—the over-the-top gore effects are a gruesome delight—but others, like the magical dagger and Jason’s worm-like spirit, feel ripped from a rejected X-Files script. The tonal shifts between slasher flick and supernatural melodrama are dizzying, leaving the audience unsure whether to laugh, scream, or both.
Speaking of gore, the practical effects team deserves either an award or a wellness check for their work. From grotesque body melts to a stomach-churning heart-eating sequence, the effects are equal parts revolting and riveting. But these moments of brilliance are undercut by a script that feels less like a polished story and more like a drunken dare. The pacing is uneven, the dialogue borders on parody, and the plot holes are large enough to drive Jason’s machete through.
The real showstopper, though, comes in the final moments. Just when you think the madness is over, Freddy Krueger’s clawed glove bursts from the ground to drag Jason’s mask to hell, setting the stage for one of horror’s most anticipated crossovers. It’s a brief cameo, but it single-handedly redeems much of the film’s chaos by offering a tantalizing glimpse of what’s to come.
Jason Goes to Hell is less a slasher movie and more an experiment in how far a franchise can stretch its lore before snapping. It’s audacious, chaotic, and unapologetically bizarre. For franchise fans, it’s worth watching for the Freddy tease and its sheer commitment to absurdity. For newcomers, it’s best approached as a campy spectacle with zero expectations. Don’t bother trying to connect it to Jason Takes Manhattan—this isn’t a bridge, it’s a machete-cleaved chasm.
And maybe skip the snacks while you’re at it. Trust me.