There are a lot of horror franchises that limp their way this far into a run. V/H/S is not one of them. Eight films in, V/H/S/Halloween proves this series still understands the assignment. Be mean. Be messy. Be scary. And most importantly, find new ways to make found footage feel dangerous again.
If you love this series, this one is no exception. From the jump, V/H/S/Halloween feels locked in on what makes the franchise work. Halloween is already controlled chaos. Masks, crowds, darkness, kids roaming freely, adults drinking, decorations turning quiet neighborhoods into uncanny spaces. It is the perfect excuse for cameras to be rolling and for things to spiral fast.
The lineup of filmmakers is stacked, and the segments reflect that confidence. Anna Zlokovic’s Coochie Coochie Coo opens things on a deeply unsettling note, following two trick-or-treaters dressed as babies who come face to face with a sinister urban legend. It taps into childhood vulnerability in a way that feels personal and uncomfortable, like a story you hear once and wish you had never been told.
Paco Plaza’s Ut Supra Sic Infra leans into pure dread, returning to the kind of suffocating, evil-soaked environments he excels at. Watching authorities revisit the site of a Halloween party massacre is nerve-racking on its own, but Plaza knows exactly how to let the horror creep rather than explode, making every step inside feel like a mistake.
Then there is Casper Kelly. Fun Size is unhinged in the best possible way. What starts as a group of friends hunting for candy turns into a nightmare trip into a parallel world where sweets rule, and humans are reduced to consumables. It is absurd, funny, grotesque, and genuinely disturbing all at once. Kelly continues to prove he understands how to weaponize tone shifts better than almost anyone working in horror right now. He is a genius, and this segment is easily one of the most memorable in the entire franchise.
Alex Ross Perry’s Kidprint drags things back into an uncomfortably grounded place, focusing on missing children and the quiet horror of institutional failure. It is cruel in a very human way, and that realism makes it linger longer than some of the more supernatural entries. Home Haunt from Micheline Pitt-Norman and R.H. Norman twists a familiar Halloween tradition into something hostile and alive, turning festive nostalgia into a genuine threat and reminding us how effective found footage can be when the ordinary becomes unsafe.
Tying everything together is Bryan M. Ferguson’s frame narrative, Diet Phantasma, which satirizes consumer culture through a new diet soda with catastrophic side effects. It starts playful, then steadily becomes more dangerous, threading the segments together with a sense of inevitability that feels right at home in the V/H/S universe.
Not every segment will hit the same for every viewer, and that has always been part of the anthology experience. What matters is that the overall batting average here is high. V/H/S/Halloween balances cruelty, creativity, and genuine scares better than most long-running horror series ever manage. It understands that Halloween horror should be fun, but never safe.
Adding to the appeal is a proper physical release for collectors and longtime fans. V/H/S/Halloween arrives on Blu-ray and DVD on February 9 from Acorn Media International, complete with a strong lineup of special features. Filmmaker commentaries, behind-the-scenes featurettes, deleted scenes, and an uninterrupted cut of Diet Phantasma make the physical editions feel worth owning. For a franchise built on texture, analog grime, and chaotic energy, having this entry preserved on disc feels especially fitting.
V/H/S/Halloween is nasty, inventive, occasionally funny, and relentlessly cruel in exactly the way fans want. Whether you are watching digitally or cracking open the Blu-ray on Halloween night, this is another strong reminder that V/H/S remains one of the most reliable names in found footage horror. Grab your candy, hit play, and do not expect to walk away unscathed.
Jessie Hobson