Terror has many faces, and in the case of the “Friday the 13th” remake, that face is covered by a hockey mask that gets more tears of boredom splashed across it than crimson.

Jason Voorhees and the “Friday the 13th” franchise became more parody than horror towards the end of an illustrious twenty-one year career of carnage and cliché. The idea of a reinvention seems like a logical idea, but when that reinvention is just more of the same banality and convention that turned the original series into satire, the idea fails.

The remake distills the most iconic elements of the first three films like the burlap sack, Ma Voorhees and, of course, the mask. What the remake didn’t retain was the suspense and general air of unease that the originals provided. An MTV generation version of a classic slasher flick, the film is still a stickler for the rules thrown down by the original. Debauchery, drugs, booze and boobs are pretty much the sole sustenance this movie runs on.

The mythos of Camp Crystal Lake isn’t the most complicated of material; Jason Voorhees was a special needs child who drowned through the negligence of over-sexed camp counselors, and his mother picked off those counselors one by one. When she had narrowed down her victims to the last, she was somehow overwhelmed and decapitated. Inexplicably, Jason returns to wreak his revenge on any and all that enter his woods.

This iteration of the mad goalie is less of a stalker as seen in previous films and more of a hunter. He utilizes floodlights and elaborate trip wire systems that alert him to unwanted presences in his haven. Jason runs after his prey and uses bait. These techniques take away dramatically from the Jason “F13” fans have come to know and love. This Jason is not an unstoppable juggernaut who saunters after you, stalking through the woods. When the masked killer haphazardly runs after his victims, the fact that his greatest foil at that point could be a ditch lessens the sense of dread that a psychopath should provoke.

Various beautiful people, each more irritating than the last, round out the cast surrounding the mask. Each of these future body bag inhabitants is a bigger stereotype than the last, and as any slasher worth his salt is inclined to do, they are picked off in order of annoyance. In fact, this is the one place where the movie succeeds, because most viewers would like nothing more than to see these people eviscerated in the most malicious way possible. Unfortunately, as deplorable as it sounds, the kills are unimaginative and uninspired as any kid with a Super 8, a pension for pain and a Party City in his neighborhood could easily imitate the viscera displayed on screen.

Jared Padalecki plays Clay Miller, the ersatz Tommy Jarvis who was previously Voorhees nemesis. Or rather, Jared Padalecki plays Jared Padalecki as he doesn’t really know how to do anything other than be himself, which consists of raising his eyebrows and occasionally lowering his voice.

Marcus Nispel, the man behind the recent “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” remake is responsible for this atrocity. Why they let Nispel make movies when his previous O.V. consists of Billy Joel and Amy Grant videos is a question for the ages. Michael Bay and Sean S. Cunningham (the director of the original) were the producers, and while Bay likes to violate the memories horror fans have of their childhood favorites, Cunningham should know better.

It’s just too bad Jason Voorhees couldn’t have stalked the offices where this production meeting took place and end it right there in the concept stage.

“Friday the 13th” should have been a welcome diversion for moviegoers, and a godsend for fans of the genre. The best way to see decent horror in the last decade was to look overseas or at least wait six months until the inevitable American version. A return to the vapid, gory world of eighties horror should have promised many happy returns, something different from the raven haired, bleached skin ghost geishas that have been haunting cinema past, but it’s not. “Friday the 13th” is nothing more than a studio hastily slapping together a film based solely around the iconic image of a homicidal hockey player. Horror movie remakes are the equivalent of Thanksgiving leftovers, they’re passable, but not quite as good as they were the first time around. Friday the 13th should be avoided like the leftover cranberry sauce, by horror buffs and cinephiles who would like their entertainment entertaining alike.