The 80s were a simpler time. The president loved jelly beans, Wall Street was fueled by cocaine, and countless kids spent their summers at camp. For better and for worse, Friday the 13th fully embodies that simplicity. In terms of plot it’s brisk but meandering, a surreal slice of horrific life. The story is barely there, the effects are sporadic in their convincingness, and the kills are mild by today’s standard. But that doesn’t matter too much because Friday isn’t a movie begging for postmodern post-meta think pieces. It’s a nostalgia piece, a time machine into the horror of yesteryear. Yes, it is kitsch, and it is dated. But that’s the fun of it. I went into Friday clueless as a Crystal Lake counselor, expecting a good time like they wanted a good summer, and my experience was better for it.
