'V/H/S/94': A Nostalgic Horror Anthology That Mostly Clicks [Fantastic Fest Review]

It’s amusing to remember that back when the original “V/H/S” was released, some resisted or dismissed it because they were tired of found footage movies. Yet here we are, nine years later, and while the format certainly isn’t as ubiquitous as it was, this franchise has proven durable; “V/H/S/2” was, if anything, better than its predecessor. (We’ll politely skip “V/H/S/Viral” for now.) But the longevity of this Little Franchise That Could may have more to do with the nostalgia baked into its central technology than any trends in horror.

When “V/H/S/94” opens with the familiar ephemera of the analog video experience – the blue screen, the tracking lines, blocky “PLAY” text in the upper left corner – we lean in. There is something about the format that just easily veers into creepy territory, mainly the baggage it has acquired from its less reputable uses (crime scene videos, sex tapes, “Faces of Death” bootlegs). Those grainy, imperfect images often reveal shocking depravity, especially if you spend too long peering into their impenetrable, blurry darkness (which, bonus, comes in handy, on a low budget).

The wraparound story, directed by Jennifer Reeder, is weak, but that’s all but a tradition in these movies by now. We’re watching a police unit recording a drug raid, but they don’t find drugs, or dealers, just room after room of dead bodies and video screens. “I know this guy,” notes one cop. “He owns the video store on my block!” And we settle on a screen and watch one video, and then another, and another, and another.

Our first full short, Chloe Okuno’s “Storm Drain,” is a raw tape of local television reporter investigating “a creature of unknown origins lurking in the sewers,” dubbed “Rat Man.” It lands the movie’s first big scare – a close-up of an eye popping open, which literally made this viewer jolt upright. Okuno draws out the set-up just enough, carefully building dread that pays off handsomely; this one gets good and gory, with a crowd-pleasing conclusion.

Simon Barrett’s “The Empty Wake” is next, comprised of a funeral home recording of a wake, supervised by a new employee on a night shift during a thunderstorm. No one shows up, the lights go out, and then noises start coming from inside the casket. It’s a simple, elegant premise, a things-going-bump-in-the-night story that defly utilizes devices both old (the crack of lightning that dims us into darkness) and new (our old friend the camcorder light). Barrett tags on an unnecessary epilogue shot, his only misstep; this is a solid, well-crafted spooky story.

The crowd ate it up, but Timo Tjahjanto’s “The Subject” was the only segment that didn’t land for this viewer. It’s easy to see why it plays so well – the device this time is that we’re viewing lab tapes of devious experiments, real mad scientist stuff, from a doctor who fancies himself a Da Vinci. He’s creating a human/machine hybrid (“You’re a true miracle, a neo human,” he purrs), always a promising notion. But the aesthetics are all wrong – the photography is too crisply digital, and the execution feels too contemporary, and by the end, it looks more like an RPG than a horror movie. The effects are impressive, but that’s about all there is; this feels more like a sizzle reel than a short story.

But the film bounces back with its final, and finest, section. “Terror,” directed by Ryan Prows (who helmed the weird and wonderful “Lowlife” a couple of years back) comes dressed as the home videos of a self-important Michigan militia group (“Get this for posterity, can you focus on this?”) whose rhetoric, cleverly, is reflective of both the 1994 setting and the current moment. “America is plagued by a black cancer,” announces their leader, who deems these men “true patriots” who intend to “take back America.” They plan to do that by blowing up a federal building and fighting off whoever comes for them – echoes of Oklahoma City and Waco – and plan to use a rather supernatural weapon for the job. But they rather unwisely decide to get hammered the night before their “mission,” and, well, things go sideways. The resultant mixture of bloodshed and absolutely pitch-black comedy is indescribably satisfying; rarely have you rooted so hard for a monster in a horror movie.

Omnibus movies like “V/H/S/94” are always tricky to review and recommend – the nature of the enterprise lends itself to unevenness, and there are bound to be segments that shine over others. But even its weakest pieces are still entertaining, and the good stuff is exceptionally so. [B+]

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