This is the first 3-D picture from Master of (Mediocre) Horror Wes Craven. I know it’s in 3-D not because of any additional depth-of-field detectable in the image, but because I do not usually wear glasses, nor pay $17.50 for a movie. The conversion was done well after production, at the behest of avaricious rip-off artists who detest their potential customers. Anyhow. The film begins with the last hurrah of a small-town serial killer, a first ten minutes that sets the jabbering pace, as we’re volleyed with multiple personalities, voodoo, exploding ambulances, and characters named “Abel” and “William Blake.” Sixteen Years Later: The seven kids born on the night The Ripper’s bloody reign ended gather for the annual “Ripper Day” anniversary observance. Shortly after, the resurrected Ripper, resembling a Klingon hobo, starts culling down the seven, leaving stage-blood and aborted subplots in his wake. There are shades of Elm Street, with suburban parents hiding dark secrets and a cast of young unknowns, including a good Max Thieriot as the unstable chief suspect and a striking redhead named Zena Grey. All are kept busy by the mile-a-minute exposition of Craven’s 2,000-plus page Giallo-illogical script, which includes space for transmigrating souls and California Condors. All might be good for a flask-to-the-theater laugh, if not for the unconscionable price gouging.