The flicker of headlights cuts through the oppressive dark, illuminating twisted metal and shattered glass. Four young souls, stranded after a crash on a desolate road, huddle around a makeshift fire, seeking warmth not just from the flames, but from the shared act of storytelling. This is where Campfire Tales (1997) pulls us in, not with a jump scare, but with the promise of hushed secrets whispered against the encroaching night, a feeling many of us remember from sleepovers or late-night rentals where the shadows in the room seemed to deepen with each tale.
Whispers in the Dark
Anthology horror has a unique charm, especially on VHS. Like unwrapping a collection of sinister candies, you never knew quite what you'd get with each segment. Campfire Tales leans heavily into classic urban legends, those stories that felt chillingly plausible, passed down like morbid folklore. The wraparound story itself, directed by Matt Cooper (who also helmed the segment "The Locket"), serves as more than just connective tissue; it builds its own quiet dread. Starring familiar 90s faces like Jay R. Ferguson (The Outsiders TV series, later Mad Men), Christine Taylor (Marcia Brady herself from The Brady Bunch Movie), and Christopher Masterson (Malcolm in the Middle), the quartet’s nervous energy fuels the transition between stories, hinting that their roadside predicament might be more terrifying than any fiction they spin.
The film feels distinctly mid-90s, caught between the slasher revivals and the found-footage boom that was just around the corner. It arrived quietly, going direct-to-video in the US after a brief festival run, making it prime fodder for discovery on the shelves of Blockbuster or Hollywood Video. I distinctly remember the cover art catching my eye – simple, evocative, promising exactly what the title suggested. It felt like a throwback even then, tapping into the primal fear of what lurks just beyond the firelight.
Tales from the Cryptic
The segments themselves are a mixed bag, as is often the case with anthologies, but each offers a distinct flavour of unease. "The Hook," directed by Martin Kunert, tackles perhaps the most quintessential campfire story. It wisely plays on expectation, building suspense through near misses and the palpable fear of the young couple parked on lover's lane. It doesn't reinvent the wheel, but its effective execution reminds you why this legend endured. Doesn't that final reveal still land with a jolt?
"The Locket," arguably the strongest segment, shifts gears into gothic ghost story territory. A young man (James Marsden, pre-X-Men fame, in one of his early roles) crashes his motorcycle near an isolated house inhabited by a beautiful, mute woman (Amy Smart). The atmosphere here is thick with melancholy and mystery, shot with a sense of decaying elegance. There's a rumour that the location used for the house had its own local ghost stories, something the crew perhaps leaned into for inspiration. The twist is poignant rather than shocking, leaving a lingering sadness that contrasts nicely with the sharper edges of the other tales.
"People Can Lick Too," helmed by David Semel (who went on to direct numerous episodes of acclaimed TV like Heroes and House M.D.), taps into the "danger lurking within the home" trope, playing on the vulnerability of being alone at night. While perhaps the most straightforwardly creepy, it benefits from a genuinely unsettling central image – the unseen threat beneath the bed. It’s a simple, effective chiller that preys on childhood fears. This segment also apparently faced minor cuts to avoid a stricter rating, trimming some of the gorier implications hinted at in the script.
Echoes in the Ashes
What Campfire Tales does well is capture the feel of sharing scary stories. The wraparound segments effectively punctuate the tales, building tension as the characters – and the audience – start to wonder about the true nature of their isolation. The practical effects are minimal but generally effective for their time, relying more on suggestion and atmosphere than outright gore. The score, too, understands the assignment, opting for moody synths and suspenseful strings rather than overpowering stingers.
While it might lack the iconic status of Creepshow (1982) or the consistent tone of Trick 'r Treat (2007 – a spiritual successor released much later), Campfire Tales holds a special place for those who stumbled upon it during the twilight years of the VHS era. It’s a film built on familiar foundations, but executed with enough craft and sincerity to make those old legends feel fresh and frightening again, even if just for a little while. It wasn’t a box office titan – its direct-to-video fate ensured that – but it found its audience in darkened living rooms, passed between friends like the urban legends it depicted.
***
Rating: 7/10
Campfire Tales earns its score through sheer atmospheric consistency and its loving embrace of classic urban legend tropes. While not every segment hits with the same force, the effective wraparound story, solid performances from a recognizable 90s cast, and a genuine sense of creeping dread make it a standout horror anthology from its time. It might feel dated in places, but its earnest commitment to campfire chills remains effective.
Final Thought: A perfect slice of 90s direct-to-video horror nostalgia, Campfire Tales reminds us that sometimes the oldest stories, whispered in the dark, are still the ones that linger the longest.