Studio 666 (2022)

Studio 666 is the kind of movie that understands rock and roll mythmaking is already a little ridiculous—and then happily cranks it past eleven with buckets of gore, big laughs, and a wink you can hear through the amps. Watching the Foo Fighters play heightened versions of themselves in a cursed recording-house setup feels like a love letter to studio lore and horror-movie excess, where the vibe is less “spine-chilling” and more “raucous midnight crowd-pleaser.” It’s gleefully silly, proudly messy, and committed to the bit, delivering the sort of splattery set pieces and band-banter charm that make you forgive its occasional lack of subtlety. If you want genuinely terrifying scares or razor-sharp satire, this may not be your jam—but if you’re in the mood for a bloody, good-natured rock-horror romp, it’s an easy yes.

Studio 666 is clearly trying to be a love letter to rock-and-roll horror: a goofy, gory haunted-house romp where the Foo Fighters poke fun at themselves while the body count climbs. The problem is the joke wears thin fast, and what should feel like a tight, mischievous B-movie often drifts into sluggish pacing and familiar riffs you’ve heard in better horror-comedies. The band’s charm is real, but the acting and direction can feel amateurish, which makes the long runtime drag when the laughs don’t consistently land. If you’re a Foo Fighters diehard or you enjoy splattery, low-brow horror with a “we’re just having fun” vibe, you might have a good time; if you want sharp comedy, clever scares, or polished filmmaking, this probably isn’t for you.