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One of the things I like most about the 40-years-running “Evil Dead” franchise is that, with the exception of the more expansive, Middle Ages-set “Army of Darkness” (1992), each entry is about as effectively to the point as its title. The thrust of each, more or less, is that a group of people in a space cut off from the rest of the world — typically a log cabin miles removed from anywhere civilized — finds itself suddenly terrorized by a very black-hearted spirit or two or three prone to possessing the bodies of various characters to sow violent chaos until there isn’t anybody left to terrorize. 

The original trilogy was directed by a young and eager Sam Raimi, and for those who could stomach its goopy gore, the overriding tone was that of goofy ghastliness — horror as slapstick, a fusion of scary and funny done so right that you get what Pauline Kael was talking about when in her review of 1976’s “Carrie” she called the marriage of those two characteristics “the greatest combination in popular entertainment.” You sensed Raimi as much wanting to freak us out as get us to have as much fun watching as he had making it. In his “Evil Dead” movies, screams almost always were tempered by laughs that took the edge off. Either that laughter came after the screaming — unself-serious delight at our own susceptibilities as viewers — or at the over-the-topness of Raimi’s approach to horror and to the accompanying gore. (The latter remains a triumph of charming, corn syrup-abetted, and cost-effective practical effects.)

Read the rest of the review on 425.