V/H/S/99 (2022)

V/H/S/99 is special because it doesn’t just imitate found-footage horror nostalgia—it weaponizes it, turning the smeary, late-’90s VHS vibe into a jittery time machine where every glitch feels like a threat. As an anthology, it’s gleefully uneven in the way a great mixtape is: different directors, different flavors, but all united by punk-rock attitude, scrappy creativity, and practical-effects nastiness that lands with satisfyingly tactile impact. The tone is chaotic, mean, and funny in the darkest way, with stop-motion interludes that feel like a cursed toy box between bursts of mayhem. If you’re sensitive to heavy gore or want a clean, elegant story arc, this isn’t your ride—but if you miss horror that feels handmade, unruly, and eager to shock you awake, it’s a blast.

V/H/S/99 is clearly trying to bottle that grimy late-’90s found-footage vibe and turn it into a punky, mean-spirited anthology with practical gore and nasty punchlines. When it hits, it’s inventively gross and occasionally funny in a “did they really go there?” way, with a couple segments that feel like fully formed mini-movies. The problem is the usual anthology curse: the quality swings hard, the pacing gets lumpy, and the stop-motion interludes don’t always justify the runtime, so you may find yourself waiting for the next good one. If you’re not already a V/H/S completist or you don’t enjoy uneven, aggressively crude shorts stitched together with lots of blood, this will likely feel more underwhelming than exhilarating.