A Graveyard of Tales That Sometimes Thrill—and Sometimes Just Sit There
Released in 1982, Creepshow arrived with undeniable genre pedigree: directed by George A. Romero, written by Stephen King, and featuring makeup effects by Tom Savini, it was billed as the ultimate horror anthology—an homage to the gory, ironic EC Comics of the 1950s like Tales from the Crypt and The Vault of Horror. With its garish colors, comic-book framing devices, and exaggerated performances, Creepshow is less about subtle scares and more about splattery comeuppance and cartoonish morality plays.
It delivers exactly that—for better and worse.
As a five-part anthology wrapped in a campy comic book aesthetic, Creepshow thrives when it leans into its trashy roots, but struggles when pacing, tonal inconsistency, or dated sensibilities take over. It’s a nostalgic time capsule of early ’80s horror, bolstered by a few standout moments, a lively cast, and visual flair. But it also overstays its welcome, with certain segments feeling like sketches stretched past their natural runtime.
The result? A fun ride that occasionally sputters, stalls, and then roars back to life with a man buried up to his neck in sand.
Let’s take it story by story.
📕 Prologue: “Father’s Day”
The anthology opens with a comic book panel come to life: a young boy (played by Stephen King’s real-life son, Joe Hill) is berated by his abusive father for reading horror comics. After being sent to his room, he wishes revenge—and a ghoulish skeleton outside his window seems to grant it. That prologue sets the tone for Creepshow‘s blend of revenge, black comedy, and pulp horror. We then jump into the first tale…
“Father’s Day” is a grisly revenge story about a rich, dysfunctional family gathering for their annual toast to the memory of murdered patriarch Nathan Grantham. We learn through flashback that he was a cruel, controlling monster, and that his daughter Bedelia (Viveca Lindfors) finally snapped and killed him on—of course—Father’s Day.
Years later, as the family drinks and reminisces, old Nathan rises from the grave as a rotting zombie, grunting for his Father’s Day cake. What follows is a short burst of cheesy gore and over-the-top comeuppance.
Verdict: It’s goofy and gory fun, but also slight. It works mostly as a tone-setter. There’s barely any tension, and the payoff, while visually effective (Savini’s undead makeup is a highlight), feels rushed and not particularly satisfying.
Rating: 5.5/10 – Fine as a warm-up, but thin on story.
🪨 Segment 2: “The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill”
Probably the most polarizing segment of the film—and certainly the weirdest—“The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill”stars Stephen King himself as a bumbling, backwoods yokel who finds a meteorite on his farm and imagines selling it to a local university for a tidy profit.
But when he touches the glowing green ooze from the meteor, a strange plant-like infection begins spreading across his body and property. As Jordy slowly turns into a human Chia Pet, he sinks into a fantasy of televised escape and hillbilly dread.
Let’s be honest: King’s acting is rough. He mugs and babbles his way through the segment like a Saturday Night Live sketch gone wrong. That said, there’s a weird sincerity to it all—Jordy’s loneliness, his desperation, and ultimately, his resignation, are oddly touching.
The special effects are great—fuzzy, grotesque greenery slowly overtakes everything—and the final image is grimly poetic. Still, it feels like a shaggy-dog story stretched about five minutes too long.
Rating: 5/10 – Strange, sad, and flawed. King’s charm can’t quite overcome the segment’s awkward tone and weak pacing.
🌊 Segment 3: “Something to Tide You Over”
Now we’re talking.
“Something to Tide You Over” is the segment where Creepshow finds its groove: a revenge tale steeped in irony and waterlogged horror. Leslie Nielsen, best known at the time for comedies like Airplane!, plays it stone-cold serious as Richard Vickers, a wealthy psychopath who discovers his wife (Gaylen Ross) is cheating on him with a younger man (Ted Danson).
Rather than confronting them outright, he exacts revenge in the most twisted way possible: burying each of them up to the neck in sand on the beach and letting the incoming tide do the rest. He sets up televisions so they can see each other drown in real-time. It’s bleak. And deeply satisfying.
But of course, this being Creepshow, the drowned don’t stay dead. Later that night, Richard is visited by his seaweed-covered victims, dripping with revenge and seawater.
This segment works so well because of Leslie Nielsen’s icy performance, the rising tension, and the satisfying, ironic ending. It’s mean-spirited but elegant, and the undead makeup effects are among the best in the film. It also helps that Ted Danson sells his terror convincingly.
Rating: 7.5/10 – The strongest of the bunch. Tight pacing, great setup, and an excellent payoff.
🐜 Segment 4: “The Crate”
The longest story in the film, “The Crate” has the most going on narratively, but also wears out its welcome. It begins when a janitor at a university discovers an old wooden crate hidden under a staircase—dated 1834, labeled as Arctic expedition cargo. When he and a professor open it, they find a vicious, hungry creature inside—somewhere between a Yeti, a Tasmanian devil, and a bad dream.
What follows is a tale of opportunity. One of the professors, Henry (Hal Holbrook), sees the crate as a way to dispose of his abusive, shrill wife, Wilma (played with scenery-chewing gusto by Adrienne Barbeau). “Just call me Billie!” she bellows in every scene, demanding a drink and belittling Henry until he snaps.
The creature kills with brutal efficiency, dragging victims into the crate and leaving behind nothing but blood. Eventually, Henry executes his plan, luring Wilma to the crate and offering her up as a sacrifice. The segment ends with Henry dumping the crate—and monster—into a nearby quarry, but we see the beast is still very much alive.
This segment has style, solid gore, and dark humor—but it’s long. The repetition of Wilma’s abuse gets old, and the pacing sags in the middle. It also flirts with misogyny a little too gleefully; while Barbeau is clearly playing a caricature, the glee with which she’s dispatched borders on uncomfortable.
Rating: 6/10 – Entertaining but bloated. Great monster, excessive runtime.
🪳 Segment 5: “They’re Creeping Up On You!”
The final segment is a classic EC-style tale of karmic justice, and possibly the most visually disturbing of the bunch. It centers on Upson Pratt (E.G. Marshall), a wealthy, misanthropic germaphobe who lives in a sterile, high-tech penthouse. Pratt is cold, cruel, and terrified of contamination.
As a thunderstorm rages, his apartment is slowly invaded by cockroaches, first one or two, then hundreds, then thousands. They pour out of vents, appliances, drains—eventually overwhelming Pratt in a nightmarish climax that ends with his corpse splitting open to release a flood of roaches.
This segment is short and sharp. Its strength lies in how visceral it is. The use of real cockroaches (reportedly over 20,000 were used in filming) creates an unshakable sense of revulsion. Marshall is excellent as a sneering, paranoid control freak, and his unraveling is both chilling and satisfying.
Still, once the premise is clear, the segment becomes predictable. The shock comes from the imagery, not the story. It’s less a twist and more a slow burn of escalating ickiness.
Rating: 6.5/10 – Gross, effective, and simple. A fitting final “ugh” to the anthology.
Epilogue: Comic Book Vengeance
The framing story returns in the epilogue: the boy from the prologue gets revenge on his abusive father using a voodoo doll ordered from the back pages of the Creepshow comic. It’s a small, punchy ending that feels right—an EC Comics-style cherry on top.
Final Thoughts: A Mixed Bag of Ghoulish Goodies
Creepshow deserves credit for doing something visually unique. It embraces its comic book inspiration in every frame: garish lighting, comic-panel transitions, illustrated cutaways, and splashes of animated color during big scares. It’s a film that knows exactly what it’s referencing, and revels in its pulpy influences.
But as an anthology, it’s uneven. The tonal whiplash between segments can be jarring. Some stories overstay their welcome. The humor doesn’t always land, and the scares are rarely sustained. It’s more quirky than frightening—more nostalgic than nightmarish.
Still, for fans of old-school horror, practical effects, and that gritty VHS-era vibe, Creepshow offers a unique experience. It’s less a masterpiece and more a mixed platter—some segments delicious, others undercooked, but never without flavor.
Rating: 6.5/10 – A colorful, uneven horror anthology that’s more fun than frightening. Best enjoyed late at night with a bowl of popcorn, a forgiving attitude, and maybe a bug zapper nearby.
