Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter was chased by seven more sequels and a reboot, so was anyone really expecting 2009's schlock-tacular 3D “swan song” The Final Destination to be the end of anything? Again splattering heads into the third dimension, the latest in the gruesome, supernatural-slasher franchise is so tapped into its audience's giddy schadenfreude that beyond a kinkier-than-usual jolt of black humor and some clever red herrings, the formula remains rote: Moments before a busload of young coworkers on a corporate retreat are crushed, impaled and/or flame-broiled in a breathtakingly staged collapse of a suspension bridge, one unlucky survivor (Nicholas D'Agosto) has a play-by-play doomsday premonition and freaks out, unnerving others enough that they escape with him to “safety” before the vision comes true. Shadowy coroner Tony Todd turns up for his fourth paycheck to offer grave warnings about Death hating to be cheated, and soon everyone is falling like dominoes, each the victim of a bizarre, icky, tortuous chain reaction that would either make Rube Goldberg proud or throw up. The trashy thrills of Steven Quale's sleekly crafted directorial debut come in scanning each frame for clues; which innocuous wire, loose screw or stuffed animal will be responsible for forever putting us off the idea of LASIK surgery?
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