I said I would do a thesis on Jason Voorhees. I still will. I have been thinking about him all season, and I have been close enough to the subject to test a few things I used to know only from a chair. I cannot talk about that work yet. I am under an obligation on it, and I will get into the details in November, after Halloween 2026 has passed. What I can say now, and what I will stand behind, is this: if you go to Kings Island Haunt and walk JASON: Blood Reign, you will be scared. I do not care how tough you think you are.
That is not a park slogan. It is an observation about what the maze is built to do.
A B-movie with a longer shadow
When I was a teenager, Friday the 13th was the movie you watched hoping to see a topless girl. There was no internet. You could not pull anything up whenever you wanted to see nudity. You sat through a camp-in-the-woods picture and took what you could get. I have always thought of those films that way. They are B-movies. They are fun. They are rough. The later ones are mostly refs of the earlier ones.
They are also still here.
A dozen films on, Jason Voorhees is one of the most recognized villains American cinema ever produced. People do not just remember him. They wear him. At Kings Island, you can walk out of the gift shop in a Jason jersey or a Jason hoodie, and you can buy the same stuff almost anywhere else the season is being sold. That is not how audiences are supposed to treat a killer. They are supposed to sympathize with the victims. They do not. They root for Jason to finish the job. I have wanted to know why, and I have wanted to know it in a way that survives contact with the actual exhibit, not just the comfort of a book.
Haunted houses are a very specific American habit. Jason is a very specific kind of villain. The Kings Island maze, one of three Six Flags parks debuting JASON: Blood Reign this year, and the only one in the Midwest, is the cleanest public expression of that psychology I have seen. Universal has promoted the property. Other parks have tried the mask. This one understands the character.
Psycho, the mother, and the boy in the lake
The first Friday the 13th is not really a Jason movie. It is a mother movie. Pamela Voorhees is the killer. Her boy drowned in the lake while the counselors were off doing what counselors in these movies always do. The picture owes a great deal to Psycho: the mother, the frame, the sense that you are being watched from the tree line, the score doing half the violence before a hand ever moves. Hitchcock is all over the early films, whether anyone on set would have said so. You are often looking at the victims from the place the killer is standing.
Jason himself comes back in the sequel, still not the hockey mask. The mask arrives in Part III, taken off a prankster, and from then on it is the face. No eyes you can bargain with. No mouth you can read. Kevin Bacon, years before Footloose, dies in the first film with an arrow through the throat. We did not leave the theater grieving the campers. We left talking about the kill.
The added layer, past Psycho, is that Jason was the picked-on boy. Different. Isolated. Kept by his mother. Abandoned, in the story the films tell, by the very people hired to watch the children. He dies. She avenges him. Then he comes back, and he does not stay dead. He has no fear of death because the films will not let death keep him. He cannot be appealed to. He cannot be shamed. He grew into a slow, silent killer with no tether to the rules the camp was built to teach.
Why the gift shop sells the killer
Most of what scares people in a haunt is not contact. You are not allowed to be touched. The scare is psychological, and nothing in that toolkit is more psychological than a silent killer who does not yell, does not explain, and does not hurry. He keeps coming.
People identify with that. I do not think they were supposed to. I think Jason was built as a killer and a punishment. Audiences made him something else. They bought the jersey. They wanted the counselors dead. The kids in those movies are the structure: the ones who tell you when to build the fire, when to brush your teeth, when the season starts, when it ends, which lake you can swim in, which trail you can take. They are also, in the films’ own moral accounting, the ones who were having sex while a boy drowned. The audience holds both ideas at once and picks Jason.
That is the interesting part. We do not identify with the victims of a system. We identify with what cuts the system down, even when that thing is a murderer. Art in a free country is allowed to show that. We do not have to pretend we came for the counselors.
Camp counselors, peer pressure, and the pecking order
I have spent a lot of years watching this kind of subject from a distance. Books. A chair. A camper. Airports. High altitude, low emotional cost. This year I have had to look at a few things up close, without that distance, and I think some of that was on purpose. The Jason question got sharper when I could no longer keep it theoretical.
Here is the part I have been telling people.
Most of us spend our lives appealing to someone we have decided is above us. The neighbor has more money. Someone else has the better job, the better spouse, the better lawn, the better pool. We measure ourselves in human units, and we learned the units early. Babies mimic. They copy speech, the shape of a mouth, the way an eye narrows, the way a person walks. Then the wider world gets hold of the copy. Peer pressure is the delivery system. I have said for years that evil does some of its best work there: not as a monster in a lake, but as the whisper that tells ordinary people who is at the top of the order, and what they have to do to stay near it.
Joseph Campbell, in one of the lectures that stayed with me, talked about the packing order. Take away the modern costume, and you still have the top male, the top female, the breeding pair, the children who grow up to be the quarterback and the homecoming queen. Those are not small social decorations. They are the structure. Camp counselors are a summer-stock version of the same thing. So are a lot of police in the later Friday the 13th films, and many other authority figures who show up to explain Jason away and then get killed for their trouble. The audience is not shocked. The audience wanted the explanation killed.
Public life works the same way. We drive the kids to the institution. We pass the levy. We clap for the order that tells people when to sit, what to repeat, and who is allowed to be different. Then we feel a small, guilty satisfaction when something outside that order swings an axe at it. Lakota, in my own backyard, is the argument I usually use for how a system can be captured. I am not making Jason a school-board lecture. I am saying the reflex is the same. We participate in the structure, and we cheer when the structure bleeds, because some part of us knows the structure is how peer pressure keeps score.
Jason never learned the score. He never learned how to get the girl’s attention. He had his mother, and the films treat that attachment as unnatural, which it is, and also as the only loyalty he has that is not for sale. When he comes back, he is not in the pecking order. He is what happens when the pecking order is refused.
Sacrifice, scapegoats, and why the kill feels like relief
This is where the character stops being a B-movie and starts rhyming with older material, which is why he belongs in the neighborhood of The Politics of Heaven even if a hockey mask looks ridiculous next to a dolmen.
Human beings have a long habit of killing a designated victim so the group can feel clean. Aztec sacrifice, Canaanite offerings, sexual cults built to feed a deity, the Roman habit of treating the planets as powers that had to be paid: the names change, and the mechanic does not. Something is angry. Something wants blood. The group picks a body and calls the killing sacred. René Girard’s scapegoat account is the cleanest modern description of that mechanic I have found. The victim is loaded with the group’s disorder and destroyed so the group can go back to pretending it is orderly. In the Christian telling, Christ walks into that role on purpose and breaks the cycle, which is why the crucifixion is not just another offering on the pile. It is the offering meant to end offerings.
Jason is a pop version of the other half of the story. He is not the scapegoat the counselors sacrifice. He is the return of the boy they already sacrificed through neglect, mockery, and busyness. The films then reverse the rite. The counselors become the offering. The audience feels relief, not because murder is good, but because the social order that lives on peer pressure has been put on the block for ninety minutes. We get to watch the thing we obey get punished by something that cannot be shamed, fired, voted out, or talked down.
That is why he cannot be killed in any way that sticks. Immortality, in this costume, means he is outside the leverage. You cannot threaten a dead man with his reputation.
I am not saying the movies are theology. I am saying a free country, left alone with a camera and a mask, stumbled onto a picture of the same appeasement instinct the old death cults organized on purpose. We call it entertainment. We still buy the hoodie.
Why Blood Reign works
JASON: Blood Reign puts that on a floor you have to walk. Kings Island’s Halloween Haunt runs select nights from September 25 through October 31, 2026, and the maze is the new centerpiece: the woods, the camp, the blood-soaked retelling, Jason as the slasher the franchise spent forty years building. It is not a pile of cut-up props and a loud noise. A lot of haunts are only that. This one puts him on a pedestal and makes the guest do the psychological work the films trained them to do. You already know whose side you are on before the first corridor. That is the scare. The body knows it came to see the order lose.
I have called it the best haunted experience in the country this year, and I’ll stand by that. The build is top-notch, and it is smarter than the promotion. Six Flags asked, in so many words, whether you were on Jason’s side. The honest answer, for more people than will admit it in daylight, is yes.
What November is for
I have a longer argument, and I am not making it this month. I want to confirm some of what I want to confirm up close, not from the usual distance. After the season, I will write the dissertation version: the rise of this particular evil, why a picked-on boy became a folk saint, what a silent killer is doing in a culture that claims to hate bullies and then organizes itself by them. Until then, the public point is enough.
Go to Kings Island. Walk JASON: Blood Reign. You will be scared, because the maze is built on what Jason means, not on a rubber knife. He does what most of us won’t. He does not negotiate with peer pressure. He kills the people whose job is to apply it. We root for him because some part of us is tired of the pecking order, and because art is still the safest place in America to admit it.
I’ll explain more in November.
Further reading
• Friday the 13th (1980), Sean S. Cunningham; Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981); Friday the 13th Part III (1982). The mother, the return, the mask.
• Psycho (1960), Alfred Hitchcock. The template the first film is borrowing from.
• René Girard, The Scapegoat and Violence and the Sacred. The group, the victim, the relief.
• Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth and the packing-order material in the primitive-mythology lectures. Social order before it puts on modern clothes.• Kings Island Halloween Haunt, JASON: Blood Reign, Mason, Ohio, select nights September 25–October 31
Rich Hoffman
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About the Author: Rich Hoffman
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
