‘V/H/S/Mixtape’ Review: Horror Finds a New Frequency

When the now-staple V/H/S franchise returned from a seven-year hiatus in 2021, its next three installments each confined themselves to a single year. V/H/S/94, V/H/S/99, and V/H/S/85 were as successful as any in the first three films, but there are only so many years in the magnetic tape era to draw from. V/H/S/Beyond shifted toward science fiction, but when V/H/S/Halloween dropped in 2025, I thought the creative juices had been thoroughly squeezed. After all, the franchise had already become an annual October fixture; it was already a de facto Halloween series. When they announced the ninth installment, V/H/S/Mixtape, however, I was back. Sound and music can be so influential in the success of a horror film, so I was hoping that zeroing in on that facet of filmmaking would open up the floodgates of creativity, and for the most part, it did.

Where to watch V/H/S/Mixtape:

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The film is structured like an MTV program takeover hosted by the irreverent, interplanetary shock rock band GWAR. Rather than the more traditional wraparound segment that threads the short films together, Mixtape is punctuated by the band’s notoriously crude and goopy antics, plus two music video interludes directed by Flying Lotus and Ghost’s Tobias Forge. The framing works, mostly because it perfectly replicates the chaotic, constantly shifting energy of ’90s MTV, peppering viewers with a mishmash of different tones, styles, and sounds that are much rarer in today’s carefully curated media algorithms. The success of the segment is largely dependent on how you feel about GWAR’s sense of humor and whether or not you have nostalgia for classic VJ shows like Headbanger’s Ball and TRL, so your mileage may vary.

“Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance”

The film’s first true segment, directed by Renee Zhan and written by Zoë Cooper, stars Barbara Crampton (Re-animator, Jakob’s Wife) as Vanessa, an eccentric studio executive who plans to “reimagine” a beloved children’s program by 3D-scanning its puppet characters into CGI versions of themselves, cutting out their puppeteer and caretaker, George (Josh Willis). The short joins works like Buddy (2026) and Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared (2011–2016) in burning out any innate trust we have toward creatures made of felt. 

While I loved the idea, I have to admit that I thought the original creations from the legendary Jim Henson’s Creature Shop were a bit uninspired—though it may just be that the short runtime didn’t allow for the puppets’ characters to differentiate from each other. Still, one prop in the closing minutes of the segment made all the rest worth it, and “Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance” signed off on a high note. Besides—the show’s signature song has been stuck in my head all week.

“Heartbeat”

David Moreau, director of the massive success MadS (2024), wrote and directed “Heartbeat,” which for my money, is easily the film’s highpoint. The film follows a couple of adventure vloggers, Wes (Elie Kaempfen) and Maya (Julie Clergerie), who uncover an abandoned Bulgarian military base. Once inside, they find an experimental anechoic chamber, a room that absorbs nearly 100% of sound. Unsurprisingly, the pair end up locked inside the chamber, slowly going mad in the silence.

Somewhat of a twist on the Russian Sleep Experiment urban legend, “Heartbeat” succeeds on a number of levels. Moreau takes the anthology’s prompt in the complete opposite direction of his peers, weaponizing silence in a film about the horror of sound. But rather than forcing viewers to sit with the characters in their silent Hell, we’re forced to join them in the maddening effects of a space so quiet that the workings of their own bodies become deafening.

Every gurgle, every lip-smack, every quiver of breath is heard and amplified. The result is a kind of anti-ASMR: The machinery of the human body becomes maddeningly inescapable as the room’s silence wears on its prisoners. “Heartbeat” doesn’t just let its viewers watch the horrors on screen, it invites them to partake in them through its masterful sound design.

Even despite the cliche predicament they find themselves in, Wes is extremely well-equipped for their mission—a 360-degree camera, cutting torch, prybar, and a portable generator to short the base’s ancient wiring all make sense for a couple of urbex professionals. When the door closes on them and they’re left on the wrong side of the access panel, their fate is much more believable than if a mechanical lock had mysteriously re-engaged. 

“The Music of Mr. Sze”

Adapted from H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Music of Erich Zann,” Ernest Dickerson’s entry follows film student Philip Howard (Jihad Brent) who, inspired by the late night violin music of his neighbor Mr. Sze (Alex Hsu), plans on recording Sze’s music for future generations. When Sze realizes which tune Philip is interested in documenting, however, he quickly refuses, leading the increasingly curious Philip to go to any lengths to learn the musician’s secret. 

It’s a great piece of cosmic horror with some fantastic practical effects, save for a disruptive sequence of digital imagery that pulls you out of the POV found-footage conceit. The shift in style is difficult to account for in the context of how we’re seeing the narrative: through Philip’s Meta-style glasses. I appreciate the ambition—and difficulty—of conveying the existential terror of beings beyond our comprehension (there’s a reason few directors succeed at adapting the Cthulhu Mythos), but in this case, the imagery distracted me from the horror just when it should have been most overwhelming.

“Death Tone”

Closing out the anthology is RZA’s “Death Tone,” which is the most straightforward slasher of the bunch. When the daughter of a late music producer tries to follow her father’s instructions to create “the perfect track,” she perhaps goes too far in her interpretation. “Death Tone” has a strong American Psycho vibe, even directly referencing the film, but while the short has some of the most disturbing visuals of the entire film, what sets it apart is RZA’s use of editing and music as Lydia (Neela Jolene) cuts her track together. 

Rather than becoming a gimmicky excuse to throw a musical coat of paint over a cookie-cutter slasher, the violence and music in “Death Tone” work together in a twisted tale of an audio engineer gone homicidal. It’s an inventive tale with some great effects.

V/H/S/Mixtape works for me, but I acknowledge that it may not work as well for everyone. People with sensitivities to certain sounds should steer well clear, as should anyone with a low tolerance for the kind of juvenile humor that has kept GWAR popular with middle school boys for nearly 40 years. But it is undeniably the most distinctive and engaging entry in a franchise that has no business being this fresh as it approaches its tenth entry with next year’s V/H/S: SCP. Like any horror anthology, not every segment will strike a chord with every viewer, but if given a chance, Mixtape shows us how much horror can be found on the airwaves.

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Article by Ande Thomas

Ande loves the intersection of sci-fi and horror, where our understanding of the natural world clashes with our fear of the new and unknown. He is an independent member of the Society for Cinema and Media Studies and a supporting member of the Horror Writers Association. He writes about monsters and foreign horror and can also be found over on Letterboxd.

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