Six Lessons in Losing Control

Read Time:5 Minute, 11 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
The Creep Tapes
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Genre: Horror
Year Released: 2024
Runtime: 6 x 30m episodes
Creator(s): Patrick Brice, Mark Duplass
Writer(s): Patrick Brice, Mark Duplass
Where to Watch: available on physical and digital now

RAVING REVIEW: The strangest thing about fear is how easily it blends into the everyday. This is where this unique addition to the found-footage horror landscape takes root, not by charging into something unfamiliar but by amplifying what was already working. Six episodes long and crafted with purpose, this story doesn’t reinvent its mythology. It just deepens it. Instead of continuing in the form of a third installment, the series rewinds and replays, each with a new twist on the same unsettling theme.

The show’s structure isn’t complex, and that’s part of its appeal. Each episode revolves around a one-on-one encounter with a stranger who slowly finds themselves in a psychological snare disguised as a job opportunity. These interactions begin with mild awkwardness, gradually giving way to unease, and finally crossing into something much darker. And while each entry follows a similar arc, there’s variation in how that journey unfolds. Think of it like a playlist of paranoia, where each track riffs on the same motif, but with a different tone.

The real force holding this together is the performance at the center. Mark Duplass returns to the character with a welcome and eerie comfort, embracing the contradictions that make him so unsettling in the films. Josef presents himself as affable, quirky, and even endearing. But his pleasantness is the bait. The smile lingers too long. The stories ramble into territory that should make anyone uneasy. He never has to shout to unsettle you—just being in the room with him, even through a screen, is enough.

His signature mask returns as well, and while it’s been a symbol of his chaos in earlier entries, it becomes something more internalized here. A scene stands out—an extended moment where Josef sits alone with the mask, wrestling with himself, breaking down not in rage but in confusion. The mask isn't a disguise anymore; it's become a second voice, the audience to his monologue. In moments like this, the series offers insight without spoon-feeding answers.

This installment also adds a wrinkle to the character’s history. The final episode introduces someone from Josef’s past who may be partly responsible for shaping who he became. What’s clever is how the episode doesn’t turn this into a full-on origin story. Instead, it offers just enough to hint that this behavior may be normalized by someone who appears to match his emotional detachment. It’s an unsettling reveal, not because of what it tells us directly, but because of how easily it fits into the already painted picture.

The format lends itself to experimentation. Because the victims are always behind the camera, each episode gets a slightly different texture. This allows for creativity in how scenes are framed and edited. While some might dismiss the shaky camera work or uneven lighting as amateurish, it’s a deliberate choice. It adds to the immersion, placing the viewer closer to the situation, not as a detached observer, but as someone complicit in watching things unfold. The DIY visual style is part of the show’s identity, and rather than working against it, it’s used to maintain discomfort and intimacy.

Its awareness of modern behavior elevates this from just another found footage project. Josef doesn’t simply lure his victims—he preys on their desire to be seen, to participate, to document. Whether filming a sizzle reel, chasing online content, or a moment, the victims often look for something transient. And Josef offers it. The show understands that people will do a lot for the validation promise. That insight, delivered through horror, lingers long after the final scene.

The dialogue is another strong point. It doesn’t rely on exposition or speeches but creates tension through quiet moments and uncomfortable pauses. The small talk that leads nowhere, the awkward laughs, the slow buildup to personal confessions—they all serve a purpose. They invite the viewer to lean in, waiting for the moment when everything turns into something irreversible. The horror isn’t always in what’s said but in what’s not.

What this project does well is refuse to oversell itself. It stays consistent and focused. The horror comes from watching someone with absolute control of the room slowly dismantle the person across from him, and knowing it’s going to happen again. And again.

The result is a show that doesn’t try to be everything. It picks a lane—psychological tension, subtle unease, grim humor—and stays there. It’s the kind of horror that doesn’t need to yell. It just smiles and waits for you to get uncomfortable.

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[photo courtesy of ACORN MEDIA INTERNATIONAL]

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