After a very brief, derivative and clumsy justification for heading back to the swamp involving a young woman named Mary-Beth (Danielle Harris) looking for her family with a kooky sightseeing operator named Reverend Zombie (Tony Todd) back into Crowley's territory we go, along with fresh meat in the form of hired muscle being paid $500 per head, with a bonus to the guy who takes down Crowley.
Only as we see quite frequently in the latter half of the film, Crowley is not an easybeat, at near 7 foot, with a mangled face, huge guns and the ability to take a shotgun blast to the chest without wincing, it would have taken a lot more than five hundred clams to get me in the same state – let alone the same dark and gloomy swamp.
Victor is unstoppable, he is everywhere and can seemingly get anywhere instantaneously. He also has a bunch of toys that he utilises to disembowel, eviscerate, decapitate, violate and penetrate victims that number into the double digits.
No problem there of course this is a psycho killer flick. The problem is the lack of creativity used: victims inch about nervously, do the "did you hear that?" and stand awaiting their violent demise. There are no traps, no clever sleight of hand or tricks, Victor shows up in plain view – shows them his weapon du jour and uses it on them.
If it's a hatchet he hatchets them, a chainsaw? Saw 'em in half. A sander? Hello abrasions. The victims don't even fight back 90% of the time, they stand still and take their medicine like guys in a bad kung fu movie.
What makes that even worse is that I guarantee Mr Adam Green spent more time on the kills than he did coming up with the threadbare backstory and lousy plot, so you just expect more. Let's face it, after the first Nightmare on Elm St each sequel for a decade was exactly the same, you only watched them for the kill scenes and to see what ridiculous quips Freddy would come up with.
Victor doesn't talk, and his kill scenes suck. Even a few gratuitous boobies don't make the rest worth a glance.
