When the Camera Turned Into a Curse
The V/H/S franchise has always thrived on its chaotic anthology structure — found footage stories stitched together like a fever dream. But V/H/S/Halloween (2025) feels different. It’s raw, ritualistic, and pulsing with the kind of fear that feels personal. Each short within the anthology digs into Halloween mythology — haunted tapes, cursed rituals, and supernatural vengeance — all tied by a chilling wraparound story about a filmmaker who becomes the subject of his own horror.
The plot unfolds through multiple perspectives, but the central thread follows a cursed VHS tape found during a Halloween party gone wrong. Each recording reveals terrifying rituals, from a ghost-hunting livestream that takes a fatal turn to a small-town costume contest that hides a demonic pact. What makes V/H/S/Halloween special is not just the gore or jump scares, but the eerily realistic performances — partly because some of them weren’t acting.
The Real Fear Behind the Fiction
One of the lead performers, Ella Purnell, known for her work in Yellowjackets and Army of the Dead, admitted in interviews that parts of the movie tested her limits. She described shooting an exorcism sequence in an abandoned church for hours with no lighting except the flickering of real candles. The crew heard strange noises during filming — something she jokingly called “method haunting.”
Another segment, directed by Timo Tjahjanto, involved real stunt burns and high-adrenaline takes. The actor performing a fiery self-immolation scene insisted on doing it with minimal CGI. His commitment was so intense that it left him with minor burns, later described as “battle scars for authenticity.”
Halloween Myths and Modern Horror Fused
The anthology cleverly blends classic Halloween folklore — witches, spirits, and shape-shifters — with digital-age paranoia. One short film, The Upload, centers around influencers who livestream a séance for views. Their followers watch in real-time as the ritual spirals out of control.
Writers revealed that this segment was inspired by actual viral horror streams from 2023 and 2024, where real audiences blurred the line between fiction and truth. Directors wanted to capture how modern horror is no longer confined to screens — it leaks into social media, trends, and group chats.
The actors spent days watching viral ghost-hunting content to recreate genuine panic. “We didn’t want fake screams,” said one of the assistant directors. “We wanted the kind of fear that comes when your phone battery dies mid-livestream — when you realize no one’s watching anymore.”
Bonds Built Through Blood and Chaos
Behind the terrifying visuals was a surprisingly close-knit team. Unlike many anthology films, V/H/S/Halloween’s segments shared a common production base — the same eerie warehouse on the outskirts of Vancouver. It became the crew’s haunted home.
Cast members spoke about bonding over late-night shoots and spontaneous Halloween parties during production breaks. They often stayed in costume long after takes ended, dancing under strobe lights surrounded by fake blood and pumpkin decorations. Director Jennifer Reeder said in an interview, “There was chaos, but also community. We were a bunch of adults playing with darkness and candy.”
The chemistry shows on screen. The transitions between shorts feel smoother than ever, almost as if each story bleeds into the next — a creative decision made during editing when they noticed recurring motifs of masks and mirrors across the footage.
The Fan Theories That Fueled the Fire
Anticipating V/H/S/Halloween prompted a torrent of fan speculation, some of which theorized connections between the wraparound story and the “Storm Drain” segment of V/H/S/94, while others argued that the cursed tape represented collective trauma and horror that each generation records and replays.
When fans scoured the frames, some became convinced there were subliminal images, and a popular Reddit thread focused on some background characters that appeared in every segment, suggesting a demonic entity of some kind that controlled the narratives. Simon Barrett, the director, said in a post-premiere Q&A that some of these were actually quite close to the truth and that “the whole spirit of found footage” was to have people look too closely.
The V/H/S franchise embraces experimental directors. With Halloween 2025, that spirit of adventure was pushed even further. Each director had total control over their segment, which resulted in a wide spectrum of styles, from vintage film filters to GoPro perspectives. But that degree of control also comes with its own unique set of problems.A segment was nearly cut after half the footage was lost due to data corruption. The team, rather than reshooting, made it a narrative choice — a glitch in the horror. What began as a technical failure turned out to be one of the most haunting moments of the anthology: the horror of memory’s disposability.
A Celebration of Chaos and Creativity
V/H/S/Halloween (2025) really isn’t a film. At its most foundational level, it’s a chaos-infused unpredictable celebration of horror filmmaking. The filmmakers are nostalgic for the genre, yet are challenged to conjure the modern edges of the form.
The actors didn’t just perform fear; they lived it. The directors didn’t just embrace chaos; they relished it. The result is a found footage symphony that feels cursed, alive, and terrifyingly human.
It reminds us that behind every shaky camera and blood-soaked mask, there are real people — artists who bleed for the stories they tell. And perhaps that’s the true horror of V/H/S/Halloween: the emotional toll of creating something that refuses to stay dead. Not the monsters on screen.
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