Every anthology horror film lives or dies by two things: its stories and its style. Creepshow had both in spades—comic book aesthetics, killer cast, a smirk as wide as a gravestone. Screamtime, on the other hand, stumbles into the room like a drunk uncle with three half-baked anecdotes and a stolen VHS player. The result? Ninety minutes of cinematic filler that’s less “terror on tape” and more “why did I waste a rental fee on this?”
The Wrap-Around: Shoplifters of the Dead
The glue that holds these kinds of films together is the wrap-around story, the frame narrative that gives you an excuse for the campfire. Screamtime’s wrap-around features two young men who break into a video store, steal three tapes, and then take them to a friend’s house to watch.
That’s it. No cosmic punishment, no Twilight Zone irony, no cathartic payoff. Just two guys doing petty crime and popping in VHS tapes like they’re about to watch aerobics videos at 2 a.m. The punchline is supposed to be that they get their comeuppance. Spoiler: it’s the cheapest, least satisfying ending since Dallas revealed the whole season was a dream. If this is your frame, the house is already collapsing.
Story One: Killer Punch (or, How Not to Murder Your Wife)
First up: a puppeteer driven insane by his nagging wife and bratty stepson. It’s basically Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?but with puppets and one-tenth the talent. Robin Bailey plays Jack, a man whose ventriloquist dummy has more charisma than he does.
The premise—artist tormented until he snaps—is fine in theory. But here it’s dragged out like a corpse on gravel. We’re treated to endless domestic bickering, creaky close-ups of puppets, and a murder scene so lethargic it feels like the wife died of boredom instead of violence.
And then there’s the stepson, Damien (because of course he’s named Damien), who smirks and sneers like he’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. You keep waiting for a big payoff—puppet kills, surreal visuals, anything. Instead, it ends with the kind of shrug that makes you wonder if the editors simply forgot to finish the reel.
Story Two: Dreamhouse (or, Why Newlyweds Shouldn’t Buy Property)
Next up, a young couple moves into a house, and the wife begins having premonitions of death and murder. Sounds like standard haunted house material, right? Only problem: nothing actually happens.
Ian Saynor and Yvonne Nicholson spend most of their screen time wandering around the world’s most boring home, arguing about nothing, and staring blankly into the middle distance. Susan, the wife, has visions that are supposed to be scary—blood on walls, phantom corpses, ominous figures—but they’re staged with all the menace of a Sears photo shoot.
The real horror here is the pacing. “Dreamhouse” moves like a sedated snail. You could leave the room, make a sandwich, and come back without missing a beat. It’s no wonder someone tried to remake this story in 2010 (Psychosis, starring Charisma Carpenter). Unfortunately, even that couldn’t resuscitate this corpse of a script.
By the time “Dreamhouse” limps to its conclusion, you don’t care if the visions come true. You just want someone—anyone—to burn the house down so we can move on.
Story Three: Garden of Blood (or, Attack of the Killer Lawn Ornaments)
The third and final tale involves Gavin, a handyman looking to rob two old ladies. Instead, he finds their garden is protected by homicidal gnomes and fairies. Yes, you read that correctly: gnomes and fairies.
Now, this could’ve been fun. Imagine a twisted fantasy where innocent-looking ornaments come to life and eviscerate greedy trespassers. Done right, it’s Gremlins with a British accent. Done wrong, it’s… Screamtime.
The gnomes here don’t so much attack as wobble menacingly, like drunk toddlers in Halloween costumes. The “effects” amount to stiff dolls edited with jump cuts, accompanied by sound effects that would embarrass a Hanna-Barbera cartoon. The fairies look less like supernatural avengers and more like rejects from a school play about Peter Pan.
Poor David Van Day (yes, of pop duo Dollar fame) spends most of the segment looking confused, probably wondering how his agent convinced him this would boost his career. By the time the gnomes “strike,” you’re less frightened and more nostalgic for the terror of actual lawn maintenance.
The Tone: Possibly in Michigan, Definitely in Trouble
Unlike other anthology films that lean into camp or gore, Screamtime can’t decide what it wants to be. Sometimes it reaches for psychological chills, sometimes it flirts with fairy tale horror, and sometimes it just shrugs and shows you bad puppetry. The tonal whiplash is less “eclectic” and more “film student anthology project stitched together after a bender.”
Even the title, Screamtime, feels like a bait-and-switch. It promises shrieks, but what you get is nap time.
Production Values: VHS Is the Real Monster
The film was shot on a budget tighter than a coffin lid, and it shows. Sets are barebones, lighting is uneven, and sound quality veers from muffled to migraine. The cinematography is flatter than a week-old pint of beer, and the editing has all the finesse of a drunk man splicing Christmas home movies.
Worst of all, the film looks cheap. Not endearingly cheap, like early John Waters. Not charmingly cheap, like old Hammer Horror. Just drab, uninspired, and limp. You can practically smell the cigarette smoke in the editing bay.
Performances: Stage School Rejects
The cast is a mix of faded veterans and confused newcomers. Robin Bailey and Ann Lynn try, but even seasoned actors can’t wring drama from dialogue written on cocktail napkins. Yvonne Nicholson seems perpetually lost, while Ian Saynor emotes with all the intensity of an unplugged toaster.
David Van Day as Gavin is the highlight, if only because watching a pop singer fight clay gnomes is so absurd it veers into accidental comedy. Dora Bryan and Jean Anderson, as the elderly homeowners, give performances that suggest they knew they were in trash and decided to have a laugh anyway.
The Horror: Death by Ennui
Let’s tally the scares:
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Evil puppet? Yawns.
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Haunted house? Snooze.
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Murderous gnomes? Giggles.
The only thing terrifying about Screamtime is how long it feels. Ninety-nine minutes can feel eternal when every story sputters out like a wet firecracker. Horror thrives on tension, surprise, and atmosphere. Screamtime offers none of the above. It’s not scary, it’s not suspenseful, and it’s barely coherent.
Final Thoughts: Fast-Forward, Don’t Rewind
Screamtime is a horror anthology in name only. It’s a dull puppet show, a haunted house bore, and a killer gnome fiasco wrapped inside the world’s weakest VHS theft subplot. Anthologies should be roller coasters—wild, uneven, but fun. Screamtime is like waiting in line for the ride and finding out it’s broken.
If you’re a die-hard horror completist, you might slog through it for curiosity’s sake. Otherwise, skip it. Or better yet, steal a different VHS—maybe an exercise tape. At least then you’ll sweat for a reason.
