In the humming glow of a tube television, V/H/S Eighty-Five unspools its analog horror. The anthology’s rule is established immediately on a lakeside trip: these tapes do not simply observe; they provoke. A van door opens, swimmers emerge, and shots ring out from the trees. But in a chilling reversal, the bodies rise from the water, their resolve as cold as the river itself. This opening segmen...
