A Halloween-themed installment of the fading "V/H/S" franchise is obvious to the point of redundancy: Both have become annual celebrations of horror-related kitsch, "scary" as a form of self-categorization, but increasingly confident, even comforting, in their execution. Likewise, both offer a selection of disposable candy wrapped in the promise of an unforgettable night, but only one has given me a good excuse to dress up my three-year-old son as the woodchipper from "Fargo" (my wife, then pregnant, dressed up as Marge Gunderson; it was a huge success).
The "V/H/S" omnibuses became an institution because the first two were sinister enough to sell the false curse of their found-footage concept, and the decision to build the eighth volume of the series around strange candy and cursed decorations makes it difficult for "V/H/S/Halloween" to recapture the menace, ambition, or formal skill of its best segments.
Directors: Bryan M. Ferguson, Casper Kelly, R.H. Norman
Writers: Bryan M. Ferguson, Anna Zlokovic, Alberto Marini
Stars: David Haydn, Anna Mc, Kelvie, Adam James Johnston
Most of the shorts attempt to use Christmas silliness as a gateway to horror, but, unsurprisingly, they struggle to cross that mouth of hell unscathed. Meanwhile, the one episode that maintains a seriousness and explores some of the real fears that accompany trick-or-treating becomes the franchise's most genuinely disturbing short in years. All the segments are quite entertaining, and even the weaker ones boast creepy effects (legendary makeup artist and creature designer Rick Baker even has a small role in the final segment, which offers a fitting tribute to his work), but only one of them turns Halloween into anything more spooky than empty calories.
Written and directed by Scottish filmmaker Bryan M. Ferguson (known for his work on music videos with artists like Flying Lotus, as well as a wide variety of horror-tinged shorts like the self-amputation-obsessed "Flamingo"), the immersive story sets the tone for an anthology where craft takes precedence over substance. The CEO of a beverage company is trying out their new cola, Diet Phantasma, whose can appears to contain a demon from hell. Some participants enjoy the taste more than others, but all end up with their faces melted into black sludge after Thing-like tentacles burst out of the soda and tear their mouths open; it's basically a less dangerous version of Four Loko.
Though the tests get repetitive, and his anti-consumerist punchline doesn't justify the time it takes to get there, Ferguson films this diabolical speech with a hazy nostalgia that not only looks great but also situates "V/H/S/Halloween" in a kind of charmingly old-fashioned Satanic panic, back when contaminated food and talking to strangers were a parent's worst fear.
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