In 2012, two audacious anthologies exploded onto the horror scene, challenging conventions with raw, unfiltered terror: The ABCs of Death and V/H/S.

Experimental horror reached a fever pitch in the early 2010s, and no two films embodied that chaotic energy quite like The ABCs of Death (2012) and V/H/S (2012). Both collections invited a roster of international directors to unleash short bursts of nightmare fuel, but where one structured its depravity around the alphabet, the other cloaked it in the grit of found footage. This showdown dissects their innovations, excesses, and enduring scars on the genre.

  • Unpacking the radical formats that defined each anthology’s approach to terror.
  • Spotlighting the segments that elevated gore and unease to artful extremes.
  • Tracing their influence on modern horror’s love affair with fragmented storytelling.

Alphabetical Atrocities: Decoding The ABCs of Death

The ABCs of Death, spearheaded by producers Ant Timpson and Tim League through the V/H/W/A collective, tasked 26 filmmakers with crafting a horror short keyed to a letter of the alphabet. The result was a kaleidoscope of carnage, from the visceral to the surreal. Jason Eisener’s A is for Ambulance kicks off with a child’s feverish quest for his lost dog, spiralling into a hallucinatory bloodbath that sets the tone for unbridled invention. Angela Bettis’s B is for Big Shove explores maternal paranoia in a claustrophobic domestic hell, while Srdjan Spasojevic, fresh off Srpski film, delivers F is for F**k Bomb, a punishing satire on reality TV excess laced with explosive depravity.

The film’s strength lies in its sheer variety. Noboru Iguchi’s G is for Gutter plunges into Tokyo’s underbelly with sumo wrestlers battling mutant rats, blending body horror with cultural grotesquerie. Marcel Sarmiento’s L is for Libido twists erotic asphyxiation into a fever dream of sexual dread, starring Dakota Johnson in an early role that hinted at her future stardom. Timo Tjahjanto and Gareth Evans’s Z is for Zombie closes the compendium with a riotous, high-octane Indonesian zombie siege, redeeming earlier misfires through sheer kinetic fury. Production anecdotes abound: directors drew letters from a hat, fostering unpredictability, though censorship battles in various countries trimmed some edges, like the controversial T is for Toilet.

Visually, the film revels in low-budget ingenuity. Practical effects dominate, from Hajime Ohata’s puppeteered monstrosities in M is for Manicure to Xavier Gens’s slickly shot X is for XXL, a morbid tale of gluttony starring Ingrid Bolsø Berdal. Sound design amplifies the anarchy, with jagged cuts and multilingual screams creating a disorienting mosaic. Yet cohesion eludes it; some entries, like Q is for Quack, feel like juvenile sketches, underscoring the risks of such democratised horror.

Found Footage Fiasco: The V/H/S Tape

V/H/S, assembled by a loose collective of American indie directors, frames its horrors as recovered VHS tapes discovered in an abandoned house amid a corpse-ridden party. The wraparound Tape 49, directed by Adam Wingard, sets a slasher pulse with a webcam-clad killer stalking festival-goers. David Bruckner’s Amateur Night follows two bros picking up a mute girl at a bar, whose inhuman appetites unravel in a motel room of escalating viscera, pioneering the ‘glamour ghoul’ trope.

Joe Swanberg’s Tuesday the 17th parodies slasher clichés with a pixelated forest massacre, where kills glitch like corrupted video. Glenn McQuaid’s Second Honeymoon traps a road-tripping couple with a knife-wielding hitchhiker, building dread through analogue decay. Ti West’s 10/31/98 delivers a haunted-house siege by occult cultists, culminating in fiery apocalypse. The found-footage gimmick lends immediacy, with shaky cams and tape hiss immersing viewers in authenticity. Produced on a shoestring via Bloody Disgusting funding, it bypassed traditional distribution, premiering at Sundance to shocked acclaim.

Effects shine through resourcefulness: Bruckner’s prosthetic work on the Amateur Night creature, crafted by Screaming Mad George alumni, blends silicone and hydraulics for jaw-dropping reveals. Audio layers static bursts and muffled cries, mimicking real tapes. Unlike ABCs‘s scattershot, V/H/S coheres via its format, though the wraparound’s abrupt end drew gripes.

Format Firefight: Structure as Storytelling Weapon

At their cores, these films weaponise form against function. ABCs imposes alphabetical tyranny, forcing thematic contortions that yield genius or garbage. This constraint mirrors Oulipo literary experiments, where rules birth creativity, yet it exposes disparities: polished gems like K is for Klutz (starring Trent Haaga in a slapstick suicide spiral) contrast throwaways like P is for Penis. The lack of narrative glue amplifies each short’s isolation, turning the film into a blunt trauma sampler.

V/H/S counters with found-footage unity, the tapes linked by the frame story’s occult mystery. This faux-documentary veneer heightens plausibility, echoing The Blair Witch Project‘s lineage but fragmenting into micro-narratives. The VHS aesthetic—grain, tracking lines, dropout—serves suspense, as glitches mask horrors. Both eschew stars and polish for rawness, but V/H/S‘s cohesion edges it in replay value.

Class politics simmer beneath: ABCs globalises horror, spotlighting non-Western voices like Jorge Michel Grau’s Spanish W is for WTF?, probing urban alienation. V/H/S stays bro-culture American, skewering frat-boy entitlement in its kills. Gender dynamics flare: female victims in Amateur Night subvert male gaze, while ABCs‘s H is for Hydro-Electric drowns patriarchal hubris.

Segment Slaughterhouse: Standouts and Stinkers

Iconic moments define them. In ABCs, Tjahjanto/Evans’s Z erupts in gunfire and gore, a Train to Busan precursor with motorcycle massacres. Bettis’s B wields slow-burn psychology, her performance echoing May‘s fragile mania. V/H/S‘s Amateur Night traumatises with throat-ripping practicals, Bruckner’s lighting turning motel shadows into claws.

West’s 10/31/98 nails period authenticity, Super 8 flicker evoking 80s VHS cults. Swanberg’s meta-slasher plays with aspect ratios, kills multiplying in digital glitches. Weaker links abound: ABCs‘s C is for Cycle meanders in bicycle purgatory; V/H/S‘s wraparound fizzles. Yet peaks justify valleys, proving anthologies thrive on highs.

Mise-en-scène elevates: ABCs‘s U is for Unearthed buries a family in clay horrors, composition framing suffocation. V/H/S handheld chaos mirrors panic, POV shots thrusting viewers into fray.

Thematic Torrents: Excess, Experiment, Existential Dread

Both plumb humanity’s underbelly. ABCs obsesses mortality via mundane triggers—elevators, toys—satirising taboos. V/H/S indicts voyeurism, cameras capturing downfall. Trauma echoes: childhood loss in A is for Ambulance, sexual violence in Libido. Religion lurks—cults in 10/31/98, pagan rites in R is for Removed.

Sexuality twists grotesquely: necrophilia hints in Second Honeymoon, fetish horror in D is for Dogfight. National lenses sharpen: Japanese entries revel kaiju kitsch, American ones frat-slasher snark. Both critique media saturation, F is for F**k Bomb lampooning spectacle TV, Tuesday the 17th mocking snuff tropes.

Soundscapes terrify: ABCs dissonant scores jar transitions; V/H/S diegetic tapes amplify isolation. Legacy-wise, they birthed franchises—V/H/S spawned sequels, ABCs a 2.0—cementing short-form horror.

Production Purgatory: Budgets, Battles, Breakthroughs

Shot guerrilla-style, ABCs allocated $5,000 per segment, birthing ingenuity amid chaos. Directors like Andrew Traucki (I is for Ingrown) battled reshoots; international shoots faced visas, language barriers. V/H/S similarly bootstrapped, creators pooling gear for authenticity. Festivals embraced them: ABCs at Fantastic Fest, V/H/S Sundance buzz.

Censorship clashed: UK cuts to ABCs, MPAA trims for V/H/S. Both leveraged online hype, Bloody Disgusting championing V/H/S, Magnet Releasing distributing. Influence ripples: XX, Holidays owe debts.

Critical Carnage and Cultural Ripples

Reception split: ABCs 39% Rotten Tomatoes, lambasted for inconsistency yet praised invention; V/H/S 59%, lauded energy despite fatigue. Box office: V/H/S $1.1M worldwide, modest cult hit. They revitalised anthologies post-Creepshow, inspiring Books of Blood.

Effects evolution: Prosthetics peaked—ABCs‘s M is for Manicure fingernail apocalypse via latex; V/H/S practical gore over CGI. Legacy endures in TikTok terrors, short-form streaming.

In sum, V/H/S triumphs cohesion, ABCs wild diversity. Together, they proved experimental horror’s potency.

Director in the Spotlight

Adam Wingard, born in 1982 in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, emerged as a pivotal force in 21st-century horror, blending genre savvy with auteur flair. Raised in a rural Southern milieu, he devoured VHS tapes of 80s slashers and Asian extremity, studying film at UNC School of the Arts. His thesis short Home Sick (2007) previewed his knack for domestic dread. Wingard’s feature debut A Horrible Way to Die (2010) starred Amy Pietz in a serial-killer road tale, earning festival nods.

Breakthrough came with V/H/S (2012), directing Tape 56, a lo-fi slasher injecting narrative glue. He followed with You’re Next (2011, released 2013), revitalising home-invasion with AJ Bowen and Sharni Vinson’s axe-wielding survivor, grossing $27M on $1M budget. The Guest (2014) morphed 80s synth-horror into Dan Stevens’ charismatic killer, cult classic. The Woods a.k.a. A Crack in the Floor (2002) marked early micro-budget.

Wingard reteamed with Simon Barrett for The Signal (2014), sci-fi abduction thriller; Blair Witch (2016), meta-sequel earning $45M. Hollywood beckoned: Godzilla vs. Kong (2021) MonsterVerse entry, lauded spectacle; Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (2024). Upcoming Nosferatu (2024) remake stars Bill Skarsgård. Influences: John Carpenter, Lucio Fulci, Park Chan-wook. Awards: Screamfest honours, genre icon status. Filmography spans Pop Skull (2007) zombie mumblecore, Unsane? No, that’s Soderbergh; wait, his: Dead End (2003) short, State of Emergency (2011) zombie siege. Wingard’s oeuvre champions practical FX, retro scores, subversive heroes.

Actor in the Spotlight

Ingrid Bolsø Berdal, born 30 April 1981 in Oslo, Norway, rose from theatre roots to international horror and action. Growing up immersed in Nordic folklore, she trained at Oslo National Academy of the Arts, debuting onstage in Ibsen revivals. Film breakthrough: Escape (2012) as a survivalist mum. Her horror entrée was The ABCs of Death (2012) X is for XXL, as a morbidly obese woman devouring foes, showcasing fearless physicality.

Global notice via Chernobyl (2019) HBO as nuclear engineer, Emmy-contending. Hollywood: Atomic Blonde (2017) henchwoman to Charlize Theron, brutal fights; Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (2018). Norwegian hits: 1001 Grams (2014) drama, Out Stealing Horses (2019). Voice work: Death Stranding (2019). Awards: Amanda Awards multiple, Gullruten TV honours. Filmography: Knife in the Heart? No; key: Børning (2014) comedy, Hercules (2014) Amazon warrior, Split (2016) brief role, Rampage (2018) pilot. Berdal embodies resilient femininity, blending vulnerability with ferocity across genres.

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Bibliography

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