Introduction: “Fo’ Shizzle, This Movie’s a Drizzle”
Let’s get this out of the way: Hood of Horror is not a movie. It’s a cry for help, a cinematic yard sale where three mismatched horror shorts are duct-taped together with Snoop Dogg in a bad wig mumbling exposition. Marketed as a horror-comedy anthology, it manages to be neither horrifying nor funny—unless you count the horror of realizing you wasted 90 minutes of your life, and the comedy of watching Danny Trejo get out-acted by a graffiti wall.
This isn’t just a bad horror anthology. This is a reminder that sometimes, Hollywood should look at a script and say, “You know what, let’s just bury this in the backyard next to the pet goldfish.”
Animated Prologue: Grand Theft Saturday Morning
We open with an animated sequence that looks like it was rejected from Spawn: The Animated Series for being too cheap. Devon (Snoop Dogg), a gangbanger with a conscience, accidentally shoots his little sister in a drive-by. Instead of the audience getting to process that, he immediately meets Liore, a demon who looks like Satan’s middle-management. Liore offers him a job as the “Hound of Hell,” branding him with a glowing tramp stamp so he can decide where souls go in the afterlife.
It’s like A Christmas Carol, except narrated by a stoned uncle who keeps losing his place in the story. You half expect Snoop to pause the movie, look straight into the camera, and say, “Anyway, kids, don’t do drive-bys. Smoke weed instead.”
And so begins our descent into Hell. Or, more accurately, the 2006 direct-to-DVD bargain bin.
Story One: Crossed Out – Tag, You’re Dead
First up is Posie Santana (Daniella Alonso), a graffiti artist who discovers she has the power to kill people by spray-painting an “X” over their tags. She uses this newfound power not to cure cancer, bring peace to the hood, or at least scribble mustaches on politicians’ campaign posters—but to off gang members who annoy her.
Cue a montage of absurd “accidents” that make Final Destination look like a documentary. One thug accidentally shoots himself in the groin. Another dies in a freak incident so stupid it feels like the script was written during a long bong rip.
The punchline? Instead of painting her promised mural of flowers to “save the neighborhood,” Posie just goes on a spray-paint murder spree. The mysterious derelict (Danny Trejo, collecting a paycheck he probably spent on tequila before the credits rolled) shows up and is like, “Sorry, kid, you were supposed to paint sunflowers, not turn into Banksy with a death note.”
Zombies kill her, and her body is literally turned into a mural. This is supposed to be poetic justice. Instead, it feels like the director whispering: “See, art matters.” Sure, buddy. So does pacing.
Story Two: The Scumlord – White Supremacists Deserve Cartoon Deaths
Now for The Scumlord, which sounds like a rejected Rob Zombie side project. Tex Jr. (Anson Mount) is a racist caricature so over-the-top he makes Yosemite Sam look nuanced. He inherits his dad’s fortune, but only if he spends a year living with four Black Vietnam vets. Naturally, Tex and his Barbie-doll girlfriend Tiffany abuse the vets, steal their money, and commit all the sins normally reserved for Saturday morning cartoon villains.
The vets, played by Ernie Hudson and a crew of guys who deserved better, eventually take their revenge. And what a revenge it is: Tiffany is force-fed caviar with a vacuum cleaner until she explodes like a piñata at a WASP birthday party. Tex is tied to a wheelchair and rolled face-first into his own spiked hood ornament. Somewhere, Freddy Krueger was watching this and thinking, “Tone it down, guys.”
This segment is so cartoonishly mean-spirited that it loses all bite. It wants to be socially conscious but instead plays like a rejected sketch from Chappelle’s Show performed by the cast of Walker, Texas Ranger. It’s racist satire written by people who probably thought Crash was profound.
Story Three: Rapsody Askew – When Betrayal Drops the Mic
Finally, we hit Rapsody Askew. Aspiring rapper SOD (Pooch Hall) makes a deal with God to be successful if he behaves himself. Within five minutes, he’s banging underage groupies, backstabbing his loyal friend Quon, and setting him up to die in a staged robbery. You know, standard music industry networking.
SOD is then confronted by Clara (Lin Shaye, in a role that proves she’ll literally say yes to anything), who shows him highlight reels of his sins like a cosmic America’s Funniest Home Videos. When zombified Quon comes back to avenge his betrayal, it should be scary. Instead, it feels like an outtake from Thriller—minus the choreography, the budget, or the dignity.
The climax has SOD gunned down in an elevator after opening fire on cops. It’s less “tragic cautionary tale” and more “what would happen if a PS2 cutscene developed a rap career.”
Epilogue: Straight to Hell, Do Not Pass Go
Snoop returns to collect the souls of our sinners and send them to Hell via an elevator that looks suspiciously like a Holiday Inn service lift. He warns the audience to behave or risk eternal damnation. Coming from Snoop Dogg, a man who once filmed himself cooking weed brownies with Martha Stewart, this feels less like a warning and more like an endorsement.
Performances: The Good, the Bad, and the WTF
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Snoop Dogg sleepwalks through the film with all the gravitas of a man narrating his Uber Eats order.
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Danny Trejo pops in, scowls, and cashes his check.
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Billy Dee Williams shows up as a pastor, proving that even Lando Calrissian isn’t immune to poor career choices.
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Jason Alexander is here too, because apparently someone thought George Costanza belonged in a horror anthology. Spoiler: he doesn’t.
The acting ranges from “high school play” to “suspiciously good for this dumpster fire,” with Lin Shaye and Ernie Hudson managing to salvage some dignity. Everyone else looks like they signed on after losing a bet.
Production Values: Or Lack Thereof
The cinematography is flatter than the jokes. The gore effects are cheap, the CGI looks like rejected screensavers, and the editing feels like it was done by someone who sneezed on the Final Cut keyboard. Even the soundtrack, supposedly Snoop’s domain, is uninspired. Imagine licensing dollar-store beats to a horror anthology and still screwing it up.
Final Thoughts: From Doggystyle to Dumpster Fire
Hood of Horror wants to be Tales from the Crypt: Hood Edition. Instead, it’s more like Tales from the Hood 2—and if you’ve seen that, you know it’s not a compliment. It’s a sloppy, cheap anthology that tries to mix horror, comedy, and social commentary but ends up insulting all three.
It’s not scary, it’s not funny, and it’s definitely not profound. At best, it’s an unintentional comedy—at worst, it’s proof that some films should be sentenced to the same Hell elevator as their characters.
