Editorials
[Review] “Friday the 13th: The Game” is a Killer Use of a Licensed Property
Fox is cornered in the barn. She’s the last one left. Everyone else is dead. Lightning flashes, followed by the crash of thunder. Harry Manfredini’s score rises as Jason runs in, ax in hand. Fox climbs out a window and sprints for the nearest cabin. She enters the structure and bars the door behind her. Jason appears outside a window and shatters it. He moves to another window and breaks that one, too. Then he disappears as the VHS tape skips, showing signs of wear. Fox picks up a machete and paces back and forth.
Where is he?
Without warning, Jason walks through the barred door, smashing it into pieces. Fox dives out a window, injuring herself in the process. She limps through the rain, keenly aware that she is about to die. Jason approaches, the music rising again. Fox makes one last stand and swings the machete into Jason, stunning him. It only buys her a few seconds and when he approaches again, this time she’s defenseless. Jason picks up Fox and crushes her in a bear hug.
Jason stomps back to his shed, where his mother’s voice calls him to the candlelit shrine he built for her severed head.
Beat for beat, this sounds like a Friday the 13th movie; like maybe some lost version of Part 3. But it’s not. It’s the tail-end of a round of Friday the 13th: The Game, and a shining example of why it’s the greatest use of a licensed property in the history of gaming.
Video games based on licensed properties generally have a bad reputation because there’s a lot of bad stuff out there. The most famous early example of this is E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial for the Atari 2600 although, if you want to talk about horror specifically, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre for the Atari 2600 was also a very real thing. (To be fair, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was never buried in a New Mexico landfill, though it probably should have been)
The point is, licensed video games are too often hastily designed shovelware with our favorite intellectual properties slapped on them in order to make a quick buck. That’s why when a truly inspired licensed game comes along, conversations surrounding it are typically cushioned in assurances of “No really. It’s actually pretty great.”
Anybody who has played Friday the 13th: The Game and then tried to sell somebody else on it knows what I’m talking about.
And ‘pretty great’ doesn’t even really do it justice; that’s a tempered description I would use in order to avoid hyperbole. The exact terminology I inevitably settle on in any extended discussion about Gun Media’s first game is ‘the greatest use of a licensed property in the history of gaming.’
I’m very particular about this specific language. I’m not saying ‘the greatest licensed game in the history of gaming’ because that’s a bold claim up for a heated debate. If people wanted to draw lines in the sand, many would probably argue for Batman: Arkham Asylum or Spider-Man 2 if for no other reason than these were robust triple-A titles, each fully playable on Day 1. Friday the 13th: The Game, on the other hand, is an indie title with some notorious growing pains coming out of the gate. I’m saying ‘the greatest use of a licensed property’ because growing pains aside, no IP has ever been treated with this sort of slavish devotion and reverence.
The immediate presentation alone is impressive. From the opening Gun Media tag, which is manipulated to give the appearance of having been recorded on a VHS tape of questionable quality, to the Harry Manfredini score playing gently over the main menu, you immediately feel drawn into the series’ 80’s-era prime. But that’s just nostalgia-feeding sleight-of-hand, right? The true measure of whether a licensed property does justice to its source material is in what happens after the game starts.
Most people probably know the premise behind the game at this point, but if you don’t, one player is Jason Voorhees, seven players are camp counselors, and they’re thrown together into various locations from the Friday the 13th movies. Jason’s mission is brutally eviscerate the counselors, and the counselors’ mission is to avoid that fate via escape, killing Jason, or simply running out the clock.
A major criticism of this game is that if you want to play specifically as Jason, the odds are stacked against you. In a full game, you’ve got a one-in-eight chance of spawning as Voorhees. And it makes sense people would want to play as him; he’s a lot of fun to play. His robust power set includes teleporting around the map, sneaking up on counselors, and smashing through walls, making him a virtual death god, and raining terror down upon your nearly defenseless opponents is a joy. Of course, if you’re playing as Chad and your sole special ability is to rock a cardigan, it might seem like Jason is a bit overpowered. But that’s kind of Jason’s whole thing, so what might feel like a broken balance issue in any other game feels entirely appropriate within the context of the franchise. Throw in Kane Hodder in a mocap suit and a plethora of recognizable skins representing Jason’s various incarnations and the murderous man-child has never been better depicted outside of film.
But as much fun as playing as Jason is, the satisfaction of seeing near-helpless victims bodied because they wandered onto the wrong campground is only a part of the cinematic Friday the 13th experience. The rest is the thrill of seeing near-helpless victims almost get bodied because they wandered onto the wrong campground, but live to tell about it. And that’s where the counselor side of the game comes in.
If you can set aside that momentary disappointment you might feel when you spawn as a counselor instead of Jason, and really let yourself become immersed in the world Gun Media has painstakingly created, this is the closest you will ever get to living (or dying) through one of these movies yourself. The urge to survive is strong, and being on the wrong end of a Friday the 13th chase sequence is a harrowing experience. Once Jason comes near you – and that incredible, iconic score lets you know it – you only have so many ways to prolong your life, and most of the time it’s going to boil down to putting distance between yourself and an unstoppable murder machine. Run. Jump through windows. Bar doors. Set traps. And this stuff only buys you seconds at a time. But if you can keep it up long enough, you might just be one of the few who makes it to the end. It’s a nerve-shattering experience worthy of the franchise. I’ve put a hundred hours into the game and when Jason is at my heels, my stamina is low, and the nearest cabin is still fifty yards away, my heart still pounds. It’s that good.
But that’s just the gameplay. It’s true, if you slapped different music and skins onto the game it’d still be solid. But the unmitigated fanservice is what makes it such an astounding use of the property. The little details, like the inclusion of Tommy Jarvis, or Pamela’s sweater, or the infamous Ki ki ki ma ma ma audio cue aren’t just random references. They – along with almost everything else – are not only used in ways that make logical sense within the series’ established lore, but also in ways that service the gameplay itself. One dead player can respawn as Tommy if he’s been called over a radio. Pamela’s sweater can be used to distract Jason long enough to set him up for a killing blow. Even the Ki ki ki ma ma ma signals to players Jason’s acquisition of another ability. For the real sticklers, there are calendars on the walls indicating the current date is actually the 13th, and it’s Friday. The game is soaked with that sort of detail and goes to great lengths to successfully recreate everything the series is known and loved for.
If you’re a fan of the Friday the 13th series, and you’ve been sketchy on the game because licensed games have a bad reputation, or because you’ve heard it’s got some issues, I hear you. I had the same doubts. And the game still isn’t without its issues. You’ll still encounter random bugs, though nothing like at launch. It’s best played with people you know because otherwise, you’re going to run into a Jason that screams homophobic slurs at you. But Gun Media is still updating and improving it all the time. They just added Fox, Part IV Jason, the Jarvis house, rain effects, and coming down the pipe is some kind of new ‘Who’s the killer’ Paranoia mode inspired by Roy in Part V. It’s a great game that just keeps getting better, and is the kind of faithful adaptation fandoms wait forever for and almost never see.
No, really. It’s actually pretty great.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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