Film

V/H/S/Mixtape

A horror anthology wrapped in a heavy-metal frame story, V/H/S/Mixtape treats cursed music videos as its horror engine. It's loud, grotesque, and gleefully committed to the bit—part found-footage throwback, part metal comedy, part genuine dread. For people who find the collision of music and gore irresistible.

TMDb rating1.5

Should you watch it?

Watch it if you like anthology horror stitched together by found footage, and you enjoy a shot of tongue-in-cheek heavy metal swagger wrapped around the gore.

Skip it if you want a single unbroken story or slow-building dread, since these are separate short pieces, the segments vary in quality, and the blood is served loud rather than subtle.

What it asks of you: Ninety-eight minutes split into short, jolting chapters, each with its own camera and its own dread; expect shaky handheld footage, quick shifts of mood, and very little breathing room.

Not sure? Find tonight's pick in a minute.

If you liked this

V/H/S2012

The original anthology that proved found footage could be anthology horror's perfect vessel. Visceral, darkly inventive, and genuinely unsettling—this is where the V/H/S DNA lives.

But Some segments don't land as hard as others, and the framing device feels thin. Handheld camera work can be exhausting over ninety minutes.

V/H/S poster

V/H/S/22013

Tighter, meaner, more assured than the first. The Indonesian cult segment and the alien abduction sequence are anthology horror at its most confident and inventive.

But If you didn't connect with the first one, this won't convert you. It doubles down rather than rethinks.

V/H/S/2 poster

Trick 'r Treat2007

An anthology that understands how to weaponize Halloween aesthetics and interweave its stories into something genuinely fun and frightening. Tonal whiplash that actually works.

But The cartoonish tone puts some people off—it knows it's playing with genre conventions rather than genuflecting to them.

Trick 'r Treat poster

Not sure tonight? Get a pick in a minute, starting from V/H/S/Mixtape

The wildcard

Something you would not have found on your own.

Heavy Metal1981

Both use music and visual excess as the primary horror language, trusting the collision of sound and image to unsettle rather than plot mechanics.

A rotoscoped sci-fi horror anthology literally designed as a metal album visualizer. If V/H/S/Mixtape is music-video horror, this is the spiritual ancestor—all glam excess and cosmic dread.

But It's a product of 1981 animation that hasn't aged in some ways, and the vibe is sleazier than modern audiences expect from their horror.

Heavy Metal poster
More like this (5)

Bad Moon1996

A werewolf film shot like a grimy 90s horror video, complete with that VHS aesthetic. Nasty, low-budget charm that predates found-footage but captures the same scrappy energy.

But The CGI werewolf is dated, and the plot is straightforward to the point of boredom. It moves slowly.

Bad Moon poster

Mandy2018

If you want visual and sonic overwhelm in service of genuine grief and rage, Mandy is hypnotic. Panos Cosmatos makes horror that feels like a fever dream scored by prog metal.

But It's deliberately obtuse and moves at its own pace. The surreal register might feel like self-indulgence if you're after straightforward scares.

Mandy poster

We Are Still Here2015

A haunted-house film that builds dread methodically, then explodes into visceral, practical-effects horror. Feels like it was shot in the 1980s and abandoned on a shelf.

But The first half is slow and conversational. If you're impatient with setup, you'll resent the runtime before it pays off.

We Are Still Here poster

The Wailing2016

A South Korean folk-horror film that layers mystery, dread, and spiritual unease into something that lingers. Masterfully constructed and genuinely unknowable.

But It's almost three hours and requires attention. The narrative ambiguity resolves into sadness rather than catharsis.

The Wailing poster

Possession1981

Both understand that horror's real fuel is sensation and sound over narrative—Possession abandons plot for pure psychological noise, just as Mixtape uses music to bypass rational fear.

Andrzej Żuławski's masterpiece treats possession as metaphor for relationship breakdown, with opera-house surrealism and a score that functions like a weapon. Visceral and incomprehensible in the best way.

But It's in Polish, deliberately incoherent by design, and the practical effects of its violence are deeply uncomfortable. Not for people who want clarity.

Possession poster

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