Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan (1989)

“He took a boat ride and stole our time.”

A Title That Promised the World

There’s a certain chutzpah in naming your eighth entry in a horror franchise Jason Takes Manhattan. It suggests scale. It hints at ambition. It practically demands that we, the audience, buckle in for mayhem on a new level. After all, what else could a machete-wielding zombie killer do after ransacking a summer camp seven times over?

But what we got was something else: a slow boat to nowhere. Or more accurately, a cruise to mediocrity that eventually disembarks—barely—in New York City, only to fizzle out in a sewer.

This is Friday the 13th Part VIII, a movie where Jason gets an upgrade in set design but not in storytelling. It’s both ridiculous and familiar, ambitious in pitch and lazy in execution. And yet… it’s still a Friday the 13th movie—which means it’s got its cheap thrills, kooky kills, and a charm that belongs squarely to late-’80s horror cinema.

The Setup: Anchors Aweigh

The film opens with a strangely moody montage of gritty New York City scenes—drug deals, alleys, punks, neon lights, and rats. It’s an attempt to sell us the idea that Jason will be heading to the scariest place on Earth: the big city.

But before Jason can “take” Manhattan, he has to get there. And here’s the biggest joke of all: nearly two-thirds of the movie takes place on a boat.

Yes, Jason Voorhees hitches a ride on a graduating high school class’s party cruise bound for NYC. It’s a floating buffet of archetypes: the jock, the nerd, the rocker chick, the popular girl, the creepy teacher. The cruise ship acts as a budget-friendly limbo zone where most of the cast can be conveniently dispatched before the movie ever sets foot in New York.

This bait-and-switch is perhaps the most infamous aspect of the film—audiences felt swindled, and rightly so. If you promise Jason in Manhattan, you better deliver more than just Jason kicking a boombox.

Characters: Shallow Water, Shallow Arcs

Renny Wickham (Jensen Daggett), our Final Girl, is a polite deviation from the usual mold. She’s artistic, a bit haunted, and has some repressed childhood trauma tied to—you guessed it—Jason. Her recurring hallucinations of a young, water-logged Jason are meant to humanize both her and the killer, but the film never really commits to psychological horror.

Sean (Scott Reeves) plays her love interest. He’s affable and forgettable. Charles (Peter Mark Richman), Renny’s overbearing uncle and the school principal, is the designated wet blanket. His distrust of everything and constant scolding offer no nuance—he’s the authority figure we’re meant to dislike so we can cheer when Jason drowns him in toxic waste.

Kelly Hu (in her first film role) plays Eva, and she’s one of the few who make the most of her screen time. She dances well, she screams well, she dies well. What more could you ask for in a movie like this?

Jason Voorhees: Shuffling Toward Camp

This is Kane Hodder’s second time in the hockey mask, and while his Jason lacks the forest-bound menace of earlier installments, he brings a bulky, vengeful weight to the character. He’s not sneaky anymore—he’s a walking tank.

By this point, Jason is less a character and more of an inevitability. He kills with a guitar, a hot rock, a sauna stone, a syringe, and of course, his trusty machete. But the kills, while varied, lack the punch of earlier entries. The gore is muted, the tension is sporadic.

Still, the boxing rooftop death—where Julius (Vincent Craig Dupree) pummels Jason in a Rocky-style flurry only to have his head punched clean off—is so absurd it swings all the way back to brilliant. It’s a perfect encapsulation of the film’s dumb charm.

The Shift to New York: Too Little, Too Late

It’s not until around the 65-minute mark that Jason actually arrives in Manhattan. And while the skyline teases a promising new playground, the actual locations are underwhelming.

We get back alleys, a rooftop, a diner, and a subway station. Jason stares down punks, throws a waiter into a mirror, and gets electrocuted without flinching. We were promised a horror icon rampaging through Times Square—and we get five minutes of it. That’s not a takeover. That’s a tourist stop.

There’s no major set piece, no clever New York-centric kill. Imagine the possibilities: Jason at the Statue of Liberty, Jason on a Broadway stage, Jason loose in Central Park. Instead, we end up in the sewers, which apparently flood with acid every night at midnight. Sure.

The Cinematography: Dim Lights, Mild Delights

Say what you want about the storytelling, the film is at least competently shot. Director Rob Hedden uses wide lenses and stylized lighting to elevate the otherwise claustrophobic boat scenes. The fog machine works overtime. There’s a pervasive gloom that tries to stand in for dread. It kind of works.

The Manhattan scenes feel underpopulated, likely because most of them were filmed in Vancouver or with closed sets. Still, the film tries to stretch its production value through camera angles and creative blocking.

One standout visual is Jason emerging from the subway, wet and ominous, backlit by fluorescent hell-glow. It’s a moment that sells what the rest of the movie only hints at: the unstoppable nature of Jason in an unfamiliar urban jungle.

The Soundtrack: Synths in the Mist

Fred Mollin’s score ditches Harry Manfredini’s signature “ki-ki-ki, ma-ma-ma” in favor of slicker, synth-heavy arrangements. It’s late-’80s television horror music—less visceral, more moody.

There’s nothing particularly memorable here, which is a shame. Even a gritty saxophone riff or a drum machine beat might’ve helped underscore Jason’s NYC adventure. Instead, we get passable background noise that never really punctuates the horror.

The Legacy: A Punchline with Staying Power

Jason Takes Manhattan is one of the most mocked entries in the Friday the 13th series—and one of the most referenced. It’s easy to lampoon because its premise is so wild and its execution so limp.

But here’s the strange thing: people still watch it. Often. It plays at midnight marathons. It’s the one where Jason gets “urban.” It’s Kane Hodder in full stomp-mode. It’s the entry with the boxing scene. It’s bad, sure—but bad in a way that’s become lovable.

Horror fans don’t just want masterpieces. They want entries with identity. And this film, for all its flaws, has an identity. You remember it, even if you wish you didn’t.

Final Thoughts: A Cruise to Cult Status

In the end, Friday the 13th Part VIII is the cinematic equivalent of a cover band performing hits you kind of remember, slightly off-key, on a floating casino. It has none of the raw menace of the earlier films and little of the gore that built the franchise’s reputation. But it has its moments: a great kill here, a ridiculous confrontation there, and just enough absurdity to earn cult affection.

For longtime fans, it’s like checking in on a messy friend—you know it’s going to be disappointing, but you can’t help but show up anyway.

Final Score: 5/10
A forgettable film with unforgettable branding. Middling horror, but peak curiosity.