Saw V or High School Musical 3? Make your choice. All of a sudden, picking between self-mutilation and disembowelment doesn't sound so frightening, does it?

And indeed, none of the sadistic snares engineered for the characters in this bottom-dwelling sequel offer as much potential torment for non-'tweens and discriminating horror fans alike as this weekend's big box-office releases. (Early prediction: Zac Efron mangles Jigsaw, then dances on his grave.)

Then again, as the moralizing madman who anchors this booby-trapped franchise always stresses: He lets the people determine their method of being maimed. Similarly, those who flock to Saw V -- and therefore guarantee Saws VI, VII and VIII -- only have themselves to blame.

No one would confuse the 2004 original with stellar filmmaking, but at least it was hard-wired with geeky ingenuity and a streak of sadistic sarcasm. By comparison, this episode is as cutting-edge as a plastic spork.

Yes, the demise of Tobin Bell's diabolical death-dealer in Saw III may have signaled the beginning of the end (or just the end, period). But worse than losing its barbaric boogeyman is the chokehold of pretentiousness that's drained the franchise of all its sicko kicks. It's like watching Nickelback perform a Wagner opera.

The fifth installment picks up where last year's bloodbath left off, with the revelation that Detective Mark Hoffman (Costas Mandylor) is actually a Jigsaw acolyte.

Scott Patterson -- late of Gilmore Girls -- returns as FBI agent Peter Strahm who, after surviving a death trap with a make-shift tracheotomy, comes to suspect Hoffman's involvement in the killing spree. From here, the movie -- directed by former production designer David Hackl -- dives headlong (although not unpredictably) into a seizure-inducing spiral of epileptic camerawork, ridiculous aggrandizing, laughable performances and impenetrable plotting.

But then really, what did you expect?

In flashbacks, we're shown how Jigsaw recruited Hoffman to his cause, while elsewhere a fresh group of strangers wakes up chained in a grungy basement with some grisly choices ahead of them. Among the newbies: Dexter's Julie Benz, hoping no one recognizes her under a black wig.

By the end, the relentless convolutions are enough to make you wish Jigsaw had spent less time at Home Hardware and more time assembling a PowerPoint presentation so we could keep track of everyone/everything. Even Bell seems numbed by the complete absence of storytelling traction. He showed more life while he was being autopsied.

(This film is rated 18A)

More Movie Reviews