V/H/S/94

There is a specific, low-frequency hum that only a cathode-ray tube television can produce—a high-pitched whine that lets you know the magnetic tape is about to vomit something nightmare-inducing onto the screen. Watching V/H/S/94, I was transported back to that era of tracking errors and "Please Rewind" stickers, even though I was actually streaming it on a laptop while my neighbor’s leaf blower provided a persistent, accidental industrial soundtrack that fit the movie's grime a bit too well.

After the franchise arguably fell off a cliff with V/H/S: Viral, this 2021 reboot (of sorts) feels like a desperate, bloody apology. It arrived during the height of the Shudder-led horror boom, proving that the "found footage" format wasn't dead; it just needed to stop pretending to be a documentary and start leaning into the sheer, unadulterated madness of 90s public access television and snuff-adjacent urban legends.

Hail Raatma and the Art of the Segment

The anthology kicks off with "Storm Drain," directed by Chloe Okuno (who later gave us the excellent Watcher). It follows a local news reporter, played with pitch-perfect "I’m too good for this beat" energy by Anna Hopkins, as she investigates a cryptid known as the "Ratman" living in the sewers. This segment is the absolute MVP for world-building. It captures the beige, shoulder-padded aesthetic of 1994 local news so accurately it hurts. When the "Ratman" is finally revealed, the practical effects aren't just good—they’re legendary. The phrase "Hail Raatma" became an instant horror meme for a reason. It’s gross, it’s weirdly cultish, and it feels like something you’d find on a labeled tape in the back of a shuttered Blockbuster.

Then we transition to "The Empty Wake" by Simon Barrett, the writer behind You're Next. This one is a masterclass in spatial dread. A young woman (Kyra Harper) is tasked with hosting a wake during a massive storm. The sound design here is what got me; every creak of the floorboards and every muffled thud from inside the casket feels personal. It’s a slow burn that reminds us why found footage works: the camera is a character that can’t turn away, even when we really, really want it to.

Cybernetic Carnage and Militia Monsters

If there’s a reason to seek out V/H/S/94 beyond mere curiosity, it’s "The Subject." Directed by Timo Tjahjanto, who previously traumatized us with the "Safe Haven" segment in V/H/S/2, this is essentially a first-person shooter directed by a madman. It’s a high-octane, body-horror explosion involving a mad scientist turning people into mechanical monstrosities. The gore here is straight-up excessive in the best possible way, utilizing practical rigs that make CGI look like a children’s cartoon. Apparently, Tjahjanto filmed this in Indonesia during the peak of the pandemic, managing to create a sprawling lab complex that feels infinitely larger than its budget should allow. It’s frantic, wet, and deeply uncomfortable.

The final proper segment, "Terror" by Ryan Prows, takes us into the world of an extremist militia group. While it’s the most overtly political, it’s also the most "B-movie" in its execution. Watching a bunch of guys who look like they haven't showered since the Bush administration try to weaponize a supernatural entity is darkly funny, though it lacks the sheer atmospheric punch of the earlier segments. Still, it fits the "94" theme perfectly, tapping into the post-Waco anxiety that permeated the mid-90s.

The Problem with the Wraparound

The "Holy Hell" wraparound story, directed by Jennifer Reeder, is where the film wobbles. We follow a SWAT team raiding a warehouse, and honestly, the acting from the tactical team is about as stiff as a frozen VHS tape. It’s a common trope in this franchise—the connective tissue is usually the weakest link—but here it feels especially distracting because the individual tapes are so strong. It tries to tie the "conspiracy" together, but I found myself checking my phone, wondering how much longer until the next actual tape started.

Interestingly, the production used vintage lenses and actual analog processing to get that specific 1994 sheen. They didn’t just slap a "glitch" filter on digital footage in post-production; they put in the work to make it look authentically low-res. In an era where everything is 4K and hyper-processed, there is something deeply satisfying about watching a movie that celebrates the beauty of a distorted signal.

V/H/S/94 is a gnarly reminder of why we fell in love with anthology horror in the first place. It’s a grab bag of nightmares that prioritizes practical effects and "what the hell did I just see?" moments over coherent plotting. While the wraparound story is a bit of a slog, the individual segments—specifically "Storm Drain" and "The Subject"—are essential viewing for anyone who misses the days of grainy, dangerous-feeling media. It’s the kind of film that makes you glad we moved to streaming, if only because you don't have to worry about the tape snapping while the monster is on screen. Just don't go into the sewers for a while. Trust me.