Death must be getting tired, or at least annoyed with feeling compelled to devise elaborate… Death must be getting tired, or at least annoyed with feeling compelled to devise elaborate schemes to creatively off movie characters for the delight of the audience.

Judging by the death scenes in the fourth entry to the “Final Destination” series, either the Grim Reaper or the writers — or both — have run out of motivation to kill characters off creatively, consequently leaving the new and hopefully final film a mediocre albeit bloody trip.

For those who somehow aren’t familiar with the surprisingly successful franchise, the “Final Destination” films all revolve around a group of people saved from a horrible disaster by some teenager’s premonition, who are then picked off by Death because they supposedly cheated him and “his plan.” Believe it or not, this idea was once considered innovative and fresh when the first film came out.

Over the years, however, the tone has progressed from creepily quirky (“Final Destinaton”) to overly serious and morbid (“Final Destination 2”) to sadistically campy and humorous (“Final Destination 3”). With the newest installment, the tone has become so marginalized and the premise and execution so formulaic that there is little here to keep audiences interested, let alone scared.

Oh wait, there’s the addition of 3-D.

In an effort to gloss over the glaring shortcomings in writing, acting and originality, the filmmakers have added the glorious ability to watch blood and various organs pop out at you from the screen. Unfortunately, this is only a mild diversion before it grows tiresome and occasionally distracting.

The story — or set-up for the death scenes — revolves around Nick (Bobby Campo) rescuing his friends and other random strangers from disaster at a NASCAR-esque stock car race. The opening scene, which usually sets the tone for the rest of the movie, is amusing enough, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the openers in the previous series entries. Expecting something akin to the horrifying freeway pile-up in the second film? Though the two movies share the same director (David R. Ellis), the race track catastrophe pales in comparison.

One thing Ellis is acutely aware of is the true drawing power of such films: the death scenes. He wastes little time on minor details, like exposition or character development, and spends as much of the rapid 75-minute running time on killing the practically nameless characters off.

He even goes so far as to derive two pieces of death fodder as nameless entities, known to other characters only by their most telling characteristics. This results in such memorable performances by Justin Welborn and Krista Allen as “the Racist Redneck” and “the Hot MILF,” respectively.

When the elaborately imagined set pieces occur, however, the film rises to varying levels of mindless entertainment, at least if that’s your thing. There is something perversely entertaining about physically dodging bits of 3-D-splattered gore that splashes out at you or a rogue tire that appears to have a hit out for your demise.

With so much focus on these scenes, though, all the mythology the series has built up surrounding the specifics of how to alter death’s plans and the ensuing consequences goes out the window. The main character has ridiculously silly CGI-rendered premonition-like visions that enable him to see bits and pieces of the next character’s death, but the audience will be too busy snickering to take them seriously.

Taking a hint from the previous entry, the fourth film understands that the series’ premise lends itself particularly well to humor. While this movie elicits just as many groans and unintentional laughs as it does intentional ones — are they unintentional? — it still makes a film a lot more fun that had it taken its ridiculous scenarios on with a straight face.

Also, the ending, though a touch gimmicky to presumably lengthen an already short movie, contains a healthy amount of meta-awareness that might fool the unsuspecting audience member that the script is smarter than it really is. Don’t be fooled — this is no subversive commentary on 3-D filmmaking or the “death porn” genre, just a touch of tongue-in-cheek amusement.

Ultimately, while it is a sporadically amusing trip, it is comforting to know that this is the final destination of the “Final Destination” series.

Now excuse me, I need to death-proof my bathroom. My toothbrush is looking awfully suspicious.