V/H/S/Mixtape

In the hit-or-miss horror anthology series V/H/S, it’s not unusual to see an underwhelming segment or two. Each movie contains four to six found-footage shorts, framed by a wraparound story that occasionally ties them together. Last year’s V/H/S/Halloween was among the best yet, with no duds in the bunch. But the latest sequel, V/H/S/Mixtape—the ninth entry since the original in 2012—offers one memorable segment, while the rest prove amateurish, annoying, or actively bad. Although it starts with a bang, the 98-minute movie gets progressively worse with each successive short. The filmmakers coordinate their efforts around the motif of music; however, that thematic connective tissue does little to elevate what proves to be a mostly forgettable collection of mini-features. 

The framing device for V/H/S/Mixtape involves Gwar, the horror-centric shock rockers who delight in rubbery, slimy on-stage gore and spectacle. Looking like Troma Entertainment versions of the post-apocalyptic raiders from the Mad Max series, the band’s style of humor becomes clear when one of their troupe has an ejaculation fight with his evil counterpart. Even if you’re familiar with and fond of Gwar’s schtick, its aimless grossness doesn’t do the movie much good. The in-between segments with the band play like VJs on MTV, except they’ve forgotten to introduce the next video. As a superfan of Sarah Squirm and the over-the-top gory comedy throwbacks of Canadian director Steven Kostanski (PG: Psycho Goreman, 2021), I usually like this kind of thing. But the framework was so rickety that it barely held the movie together. 

The filmmakers somehow convinced Jim Henson’s Creature Shop to participate in “Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance,” the best V/H/S/Mixtape has to offer. Directed by Renee Zhan, it involves a studio attempting to reimagine an obscure puppet show from decades earlier called “The Curious Chorus.” The setup recalls any number of recent features or online shows that twist children’s programming into something macabre, from the web series Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared (2011) to movies such as Pooka! (2018), the Five Nights at Freddy’s series, and this year’s Buddy. This dynamic of cute but murderous characters hasn’t run its course quite yet, but it’s getting there. Nevertheless, Zhan helms a playful, creative short-form piece that follows an abrasive executive (scream queen Barbara Crampton) and her team as they realize the puppets from the old show have a life of their own. Even as the ensuing Gwar interruptions and shorts unfolded, the catchy titular song from Zhan’s contribution, about dancing until you die, remained with me. 

Less impressive but better than what follows is “Heartbeat” by David Moreau (MadS, 2024), about a YouTuber couple (Elie Kaempfen, Julie Clergerie) who explore forgotten urban areas. They sneak into a Soviet-era facility on the Bolivian border, using drones, body-mounted fisheye cams, and other tech to record their visit, which, in a touch of irony, finds these two very loud people going mad from silence. Next is “The Music of Mr. Sze,” by Ernest Dickerson (Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight, 1995). It’s a clunky production about a film student (Jihad Brent) who attempts to interview a violinist in his building, only to uncover a disturbing mystery of cosmic proportions. Promising idea aside, Dickerson seems to have cast community-theater players, who are forced to wear bad wigs and utter inane dialogue (the landlord character is notably shameful in its high-school stage quality). And in another mishandled concept that had potential, “Death Tone” was directed by the rapper RZA with baffling story logic. Neela Jolene plays a musician who, following her late father’s instructions, builds a song from the sounds of her murder victims. Unfortunately, the plot holes and unconvincing central performance leave the story spiritless. 

The problem with most of these segments, but especially “The Music of Mr. Sze” and “Death Tone,” is that they’re underwritten and lack the inspiration that makes a great V/H/S short. I found myself so distracted by the subpar scripts and characters that I couldn’t enjoy this series’ usual helpings of practical makeup effects and gore. Instead, I was baffled by the wooden performances and ham-fisted writing. Along the way, a few random micro-segments appear, such as a stop-motion animation sequence called “Another Cabin,” directed by musician and filmmaker Flying Lotus, about a boy and his grandmother attacked by a giant with an enormous tongue. Tobias Forge helms a music video called “Premature Burial,” which is especially tedious to sit through if you’re not a death metal fan. 

Save for “Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance,” the usual mixed-bag quality of the V/H/S series is at its worst here, reaching the lows of the franchise’s most forgettable entries: V/H/S/94 (2021) and V/H/S/85 (2023). The short runtime seemed to drag on in the later segments, and I felt secondhand embarrassment for almost everyone involved. Late in the movie, my wife turned to me and asked whether I thought AI wrote this or if it was just incompetent. I suspect the latter, but with this level of crude execution, only the filmmakers know for sure. The series producers should be less concerned about maintaining a one-sequel-per-year pace, as they have been since 2021, and more focused on ensuring that the filmmakers have a vision and the means to realize it well. Still, horror enthusiasts may find this anthology easier to forgive with a casual at-home viewing when it debuts on Shudder.