Game over? Never for Jigsaw! Tobin Bell’s spectral John Kramer haunts 2025’s Saw XI, puppeteering a copycat cult from beyond the grave via neural implants, trapping influencers in social-media snares that slice likes into lacerations . Shawnee Smith returns as fiery Amanda, mentoring a new apprentice (Synnøve Karlsen’s hacker-victim turned twisted protégé) through legacy traps blending VR hells with heritage hooks . Plot: Kramer’s “final testament” video unmasks a tech-tycoon successor, turning therapy sessions into tourniquet twists that test viral virtue-signaling with viral veins.

Greutert’s gore grinds glorious: Rube Goldberg rigs gleam with DIY dread (that Instagram-feed flayer? Ingenious), Bell’s baritone booms biblical, and Smith’s scars scream survivor spite . Karlsen’s arc adds millennial malaise, questioning “likes” vs. life in a feed-forward frenzy. Score’s industrial clanks clang like chainsaws in a cathedral, ramping Rube reveals to rhythmic rushes . But franchise fatigue festers—traps trend repetitive, bloating $25M budget into echo-chamber excess . It carves $200M, a bloody benchmark for body-horror buffs.
Saw XI tests the franchise’s edge—for inventive incisions and ironic irony, sawn for staleness . Play or pass? Your game? Score: 7/10 

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