I read everything Matt Zoller Seitz writes, and one theme is that the trashier the film, the better his review. His piece on the new Final Destination movie does not disappoint. To wit:

Remember “Chekhov’s Gun,” the writing rule that any element that receives a significant introduction in a story should be used somehow? This movie has Chekhov’s Beer Bottle, Chekhov’s Soul Band, Chekhov’s Nose Ring, Chekhov’s Garden Hose and Metal Rake and Trampoline, Chekhov’s Ice Water and Ice Bucket and Glass Shards, Chekhov’s Logging Truck, Chekhov’s Sputtering Halogen Light, and Chekhov’s MRI Chamber. This list barely digs beyond the uppermost level of Chekhov’s 2025 Murder Object Bag. When it comes to gifts that you did not expect, Death makes Santa Claus look stingy.

Or:

These films are essentially anthologies of fated tragedies interspersed with discussions of free will and chance. They’re strung together by the idea that if you’re marked for extermination by Death but somehow end up getting spared, it will pursue you and everyone directly connected to you, no matter how long it takes to wipe you all out. Imagine an accountant traveling all over the world to correct a company’s faulty books. Or Ingmar Bergman’s “The Seventh Seal,” but replace the Grim Reaper with the people who design those domino-toppling displays that have a zillion moving parts.

There’s a lot of craft and wit on display here, all in service of an aesthetic not too different from the one that was ascribed to director Sam Raimi back when he was making films like “Darkman” and “Evil Dead” movies: what would it look like if the Three Stooges really poked each other’s eyes out? Like, if Moe jammed his fingers knuckle-deep into Larry’s eyesockets, then Curly came over with a chainsaw to finish him? This movie isn’t afraid to go too far, and I mean waaaay too far, from the very start, and keep pushing the outer edge of the envelope, giggling the entire time.