“I don’t take lives—I return them to their owners and see what they do with them.” — Jigsaw

The tape whirs. The room wakes. Tobin Bell’s voice crawls under the skin with patient arithmetic, while Shawnee Smith’s Amanda haunts the edges—guardian, disciple, relapse waiting to happen. This time the game sprawls across a derelict courthouse wired like a nervous system, every corridor a verdict. Traps are cruel but surgical: a scale that demands pounds of truth, a confession booth that only opens when both sinners tell the same lie, a carousel of IV drips where mercy raises the dose. Flashbacks braid motive to method; grief becomes geometry; justice tastes like rust. The sound mix is a heartbeat with teeth—metal groans, chain chatter, cassette hiss—while the edit cuts on gasps and gear clicks. Hints of Hoffman’s shadow and a new apprentice with steady hands keep the doctrine alive: survival isn’t luck, it’s math plus will. When the final tape drops, the twist doesn’t gloat; it clarifies. Jigsaw never left the room—we just stopped noticing the rules.

Rating: 8.4/10