By Robert Scucci
| Published 1 hour ago

This past weekend, I celebrated my birthday by going to see The Book of Mormon for the first time at The Tennessee Performing Arts Center (TPAC). My wife bought us tickets, which I have not looked up the price for because I don’t want to have a heart attack, and I finally checked off the last box I needed to earn the best kind of bragging rights: to the best of my knowledge, I’ve finally seen every single project that Trey Parker and Matt Stone have their names attached to.

I have my own La-Z-Boy BASEketball (also a gift from my wife), and I fall asleep to the sound of the South Park DVD mini-commentaries more than I’d ever care to admit publicly. I’ve watched all of their college skits, and even the ill-fated and short-lived Princess series that the duo animated with Macromedia Flash.

The one thing that was missing from my life was The Book of Mormon, and for a pretty stupid reason. When the musical premiered in 2011, I was fresh out of college (read: broke) and starting to do that whole “career” thing (read: trying to move out of my parents’ house). So what it comes down to is that I’m cheap, and even though I would take the occasional trip to NYC to play shows with my bands, I never jumped at the opportunity to see the damn thing until this past Sunday.

I’m overjoyed to report that, as somebody who will blindly consume everything Trey Parker and Matt Stone put out, I’m more than willing to forget about Seasons 27 and 28 of South Park because The Book of Mormon is their magnum opus, and it’s not even close. The version of the play I saw didn’t feature any of the original cast, but the production was such a well-oiled machine that I don’t think that matters much. The songs hit hard, the jokes lit up the room with laughter, and I’ve never had so much fun cackling at other people’s misfortune because it’s all framed so wholesomely.

All About Mormons

This is where I come clean and admit that I’ve never attended the theater outside of the occasional high school trip when I was in the symphonic band and got dragged to the opera or symphony while competing. I was relieved when my wife told me I didn’t need to wear a tie or anything like that, and even more stoked when I found out I could order a hot dog and a Diet Coke for a nominal fee. The theater itself was beyond efficient. The only comparison I have in recent memory is a typical movie theater trip, where the concession line could potentially take you away from the film you’re trying to see for a not insignificant amount of time.

TPAC has a firm cutoff for stragglers, which worried me, but to their credit, they belted out concessions like nobody’s business. After looking for parking during CMA Fest (we gave ourselves plenty of time, relax), we were getting down to the wire.

The play itself is exactly what you’d expect from Trey Parker and Matt Stone. If you’re a longtime fan of South Park, you already know exactly what they think about the Mormons after watching the Season 7 episode “All About Mormons” (dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb-dumb!). The thesis presented in that episode is a simple one: the religion itself is often criticized for claiming that Jesus Christ visited the Americas, and that its scripture came from golden plates that only Joseph Smith could see and translate. It doesn’t hold up to scrutiny, but the flip side is that Mormons are also considered some of the kindest and most wholesome people you’ll ever meet, so that’s the tradeoff.

The Book of Mormon pushes this sentiment to extremes when the young, naive, and idealistic Elder Price and Elder Cunningham are shipped off to their first two-year mission assignment. Elder Price is dead set on going to Orlando, Florida, but as luck would have it, he’s paired with Cunningham, an emotionally immature pathological liar who means well but can’t help getting himself into heaps of trouble when left unsupervised.

They quickly learn that they weren’t adequately trained to handle the very real, very deadly problems awaiting them in Uganda, where a warlord named General Butt-F*cking-Naked rules with an iron fist and everybody fears for their lives. It’s a perfect odd-couple, coming-of-age story that uses the Mormon religion as its vehicle to show the insurmountable odds stacked against these young missionaries, and how they handle them as two kids from Utah who have, up until this point, lived very sheltered lives.

It Holds Up, Even If I’ve Never Seen It Before

My biggest fear going into The Book of Mormon for the first time was whether the humor would still land. Generally speaking, most things that were considered irreverent or offensive just a few years ago seem tame by today’s standards, especially when they’re rooted in topical humor. It’s the reason I think South Park’s most recent run may have been funny in the moment but won’t hold up 10 years from now as anything worth revisiting.

Heck, in the South Park documentary, 6 Days to Air, Matt Stone commented on the show’s early seasons and compared them to Yo Gabba Gabba! when discussing what they’re allowed to get away with now. With that in mind, my enthusiasm was guarded, but the conflicts presented in The Book of Mormon are not only as old as time, they’re universal. There is still civil unrest in developing countries, and young men and women still do missionary work, meaning the entire premise holds up without feeling dated.

As for the humor itself, it’s shocking how many different people were into The Book of Mormon. Songs like “Hasa Diga Eebowai” hilariously, and profanely, spell out the kinds of perils the characters face in Uganda, but then you get naively wholesome songs like “Sal Tlay Ka Siti,” which is all about starting fresh in the elusive and mythical paradise known as Salt Lake City, Utah. There’s really something for everybody here so long as you don’t mind a gratuitous amount of curse words peppered through each song and dance number. 

Understudy Didn’t Break The Illusion

Between Act I and Act II, the role of Elder Cunningham was swapped out, and we were told over the loudspeakers that Jacob Aune would be replaced by Keith Gruber for the remainder of the musical. For what reason? I don’t know. Aune was magnetic, and his boisterous presence and enthusiasm for messing everything up for Elder Price (Ethan Davenport) never felt phoned in. I wondered if he fell ill or something because, if he was fighting off whatever caused the change, I couldn’t tell at all.

Honestly, the set changes were so efficient, even with the lights completely killed at times between musical numbers, that I wondered if Aune had been injured while everybody was shuffling around backstage and had to be swapped out quickly, though I’m only guessing here. His understudy, despite having brown hair instead of red and a noticeably different build, didn’t miss a beat. I’m no expert, but when one of the leads is swapped out right before his character’s big number, “Making Things Up Again,” and the show continues without a single hiccup, I’ll always be impressed.

It was also a treat to see two very talented individuals portray the same character, which allowed me to see what each performer brought to the table and how they contributed to the overall show. I’m calling this experience a treat because I’m notoriously cheap, and this will probably be the only time I venture out to see The Book of Mormon. I felt like I got a two-for-one deal!

The Book of Mormon was everything I thought it would be, and it may very well be Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s crowning achievement. Just like the most timeless South Park episodes, the musical doesn’t lean on topical humor, and its jokes will still land another 15 years from now. I watched elderly women laugh their asses off at jokes about maggots living in a poor Ugandan’s scrotum, and people my age cover their mouths when Elder Cunningham finally converts Nabulungi after essentially telling her that Mormonism is Star Wars.

I got lost twice looking for the bathroom line during intermission, and at one point I spit up my Diet Coke during “Hello! (Reprise)” toward the end of the musical. Don’t worry, I caught it in my shirt, and nobody was harmed.

If you’re like me and hate crowded places but love all things Trey Parker and Matt Stone, you owe it to yourself to check out The Book of Mormon, which is currently running shows all over the country as part of its 15th anniversary celebration.

For more than 20 years, air travelers have had to make sure they bring their liquid toiletries in 3 oz. bottles only, then chug their drinks before passing through airport security — a reaction to foiled terrorist plots that involved liquid explosives.

But those days are coming to an end, at least in Europe, where two large airports are installing new 3D Computed Tomography (CT) security scanners that can more accurately detect real threats.

Meanwhile, the U.S.’s Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) is “aggressively” adding the new scanners to airports, according to Scientific American, but any change to liquid rules does not appear imminent. Part of the reason for the delay is the patchwork implementation, with only about 255 of the country’s 432 airports adding them.

The TSA estimates that all its airports will be equipped with 3D scanners by 2043.

Brussels and London enter the 21st century

Back in Europe, Brussels Airport in Belgium is the latest facility to announce the new CT scanners; construction is set to begin next year, and the first implementation in 2028. The technology will replace 2D X-ray scanners and ultimately screen passengers, via full-body scanners, and carry-on luggage via conveyor belt scanners.

When in place, fliers will be able to transport an unlimited amount of liquids in their carry-ons as long as the individual containers do not exceed 2 liters (about 68 fluid ounces); the EU currently limits liquids to 1 liter in containers no larger than 100 milliliters (about 3.4 fluid ounces) for those passing through 2D scanners. The new rules will apply to more than drinks, as most airports consider toiletries like lotions, toothpaste, and hair gel to be liquids.

Laptops can stay in carry-ons

The CT scanners’ ability to accurately identify objects through various angles also means travelers can leave their laptops in their carry-on luggage as they pass through security. The scanners use sophisticated algorithms to create high-resolution 3D models of bags, allowing security personnel to rotate objects and more accurately identify them as harmless or worth a closer look.

Brussels Airport officials tout the new scanners as a way to streamline the security process.

“With this new technology, we will not only continue to ensure safety, but also make security screening even smoother and easier for our passengers. With the new scanners, we will also increase capacity so that we are prepared for any growth in passenger numbers in the coming years,” Arnaud Feist, CEO of Brussels Airport, said in a statement.

Brussels follows London’s Heathrow Airport, which installed the CT scanners earlier this year and is already allowing some fliers to drop the 100 milliliter liquid limit and keep their laptops in their bags.

By Robert Scucci
| Published 6 seconds ago

A couple years ago, I fell into an analog horror rabbit hole and never looked back. When the original The Backrooms shorts were uploaded to YouTube, I was hooked on the strange subgenre that’s been made possible by countless young filmmakers who grew up online and have an intimidating grasp of genre blending, building out mythology with their audiences in real time, and posting their art straight to YouTube instead of taking more traditional paths.

Analog horror is punk rock, and it’s a movement that I’ve been rooting for since I became aware of it. Admittedly, I’m late to the party and have only begun to scratch the surface, but I’ve been obsessed with the subgenre long enough to point your attention toward the essentials, because the past is prologue.

My goal here is to put together an analog horror primer because the subgenre now has mainstream attention, and there will be plenty more where that came from. There are so many talking heads on YouTube and Instagram who are angered by the fact that people are comparing Backrooms to Skinamarink, but there’s one very important thing to take away from this: analog horror operates on a wide spectrum, using liminal space, “lost media,” and internet folklore to drive its storytelling.

Not all analog horror is created equal, so I’m going to break it down for you (in no particular order because these are wildly different and impossible to rank) so you know what kinds of flavors are out there if you enjoyed Backrooms but want to keep digging.

Skinamarink

Kyle Edward Ball’s Skinamarink is an endurance test at 100 minutes for the kind of story it’s trying to tell, but it’s an early feature-length experiment that introduces some of the visual language you’ll find throughout analog horror. Set in 1995, the film centers on two little kids, 6-year-old Kaylee (Dali Rose Tetreault) and 4-year-old Kevin (Lucas Paul). One night, while their parents are absent (you find out why later), all the doors and windows in their house disappear, and they only have each other and the glowing TV in the room to keep them company. They build forts in the living room and try to make the best of the situation, even though they hear menacing voices from upstairs that sound like disembodied versions of their parents.

Filmed in its entirety for $15,000 in Ball’s childhood home, Skinamarink is a slow-burn nightmare told through the perspective of frightened children. You see everything at their eye level, and the only lighting comes from either a nightlight or their glowing TV. You think you might see a face in the shadows, but it could all be in your head. It’s a picture-perfect representation of that nameless, endless fear you feel as a child when you’re left alone for the first time and hear strange noises. It’s fear without articulation, which is the most frightening thing of all.

While you need to be built differently to enjoy Skinamarink because it’s a challenging film, it’s a solid entry point for analog horror because it’s set in the ’90s and boasts the VHS aesthetic that most filmmakers in this wheelhouse latch onto. If you’re a millennial approaching middle age, Skinamarink is nostalgia for a simpler, pre-digital time, but also a reminder that existential dread transcends technology.

The Mandela Catalogue

Conceived by YouTuber Alex Kister during the COVID lockdowns, The Mandela Catalogue is the finest example of mixed-media use in analog horror. Taking place across the ’90s and early aughts, the story follows the fictional Wisconsin community of Mandela County, which has been plagued by doppelgangers known as Alternates who slowly replace people by driving them to suicide and then taking their form. There’s religious imagery everywhere, often presented through creepy lost media cartoons depicting the Archangel Gabriel, and there’s a healthy amount of found-footage filmmaking here too.

It’s not worth breaking down the character dynamics here because the web series gets quite convoluted, and it’s one of those things you’re better off experiencing for yourself. Through Emergency Broadcast Systems, computer screens, GPS devices, and camcorders, you’re slowly clued into how far gone the community has become, giving you reason to believe these Alternates have humanity outnumbered and the government has pretty much given up on intervening at this point.

The Mandela Catalogue is still going strong, and it’s very much a community experience. Most people heard about it through reaction videos, and the lore keeps building, with the most recent installment arriving this past March. Half the fun is discussing everything in the comments section, where people are surprisingly receptive to fan theories and turning literally everything into a meme.

No Through Road

Taking a more traditional found-footage approach, No Through Road has four installments that span several years, even though their collective runtime barely cracks 30 minutes. There’s really not much going on here, but it’s executed with such care and precision that I consider it one of the most frightening versions of the “kids with a video camera” setup the genre has to offer. It’s also worth noting that the series’ creator, Stephen Chamberlain, was just 17 years old when the first installment dropped.

No Through Road tells a simple story about a group of teenagers on a late-night drive who take a private access road that sends them into an unending time loop, where a masked man constantly torments them.

That’s pretty much the long and short of it, aside from one key detail that really sells it for me: we didn’t get a second installment until two and a half years after the first one, which was posted to YouTube as legitimate found footage. While it’s obvious that this was an art project, Chamberlain was smart enough to use the early days of YouTube to build out the lore. Like The Blair Witch Project had everybody believing it was real because the internet wasn’t what it is today, Chamberlain didn’t have that luxury and instead cloaked the whole thing in mystery by updating sparingly.

It’s kids being kids, experiencing a trauma sourced from some uncanny plane of existence, and then radio silence until Part 2 came out. From June 2009 to August 2012, we got four videos, and that’s it. You eventually learn how their relationships broke down between installments, but the wait between releases, coupled with online communities obsessing over every new development, certainly added to its allure when it was first making the rounds.

VCR Willie

A recent analog horror entry that’s still ongoing, Alexander Henderson’s (Alexanderthetitan) VCR Willie is found footage with an added layer of abstraction that makes the entire thing horrifying.

Aside from a quick explanation from Alexander, we’re presented with found footage taking place in an apartment that’s cursed by some sort of supernatural entity. According to Alex’s explanation, he woke up one day and found a Sony Handycam in his closet with a tape inside. He’s suggesting that whatever is on each tape is what he witnessed the during his dreams the night before; there’s no sign of him going out and filming any of the footage himself.

And what’s in the footage, you ask? Creepy, creepy people, all of whom live in Apartment #40. The footage suggests that these people know who Alex is, and he’s invited into their homes to help them deal with supernatural entities that, much like the ones seen in The Mandela Catalogue, are either doppelgangers or have taken over their hosts outright. The story isn’t told in chronological order, and we only see what Alex has access to through his tapes. What he does have access to, though, is terrifying.

It’s mostly just people staring through your soul and hiding behind objects that are far too small for them, as if they’re not yet familiar with the dimensions of their new bodies, but for some reason it’s completely unnerving. Imagine coming home and seeing somebody who looks like a member of your family standing behind an open kitchen cabinet as if they’re hiding from you while laughing quietly, and they genuinely think you can’t see them. It’s the constant feeling of being watched, and never feeling safe, that makes VCR Willie such an effective effort.

Kepther E

“Kept Here,” stylized as Kepther E, falls into what’s known as the Alternate Reality Game (ARG) subgenre, making it a little more complicated than typical found-footage horror. It was so shocking at the time of its release that it was removed from the internet, but has since been restored through The Internet Archive and various YouTube compilations.

While it initially seems like a mass upload of unrelated found-footage content, you’ll find clues in the upload names that help you piece everything together chronologically (some people have uploaded them in order), and you’ll gradually start to understand what’s actually at stake.

Kepther E is mostly told from the perspective of a troubled teen named Alex, who’s often influenced to do terrible things by his unseen friend, Kevin. The tone and shooting style change depending on the upload prefix attached to each video, but they all lead to the same horrifying place: an abandoned house where it’s implied people are being held captive and tortured, as if it’s all part of some grand cinematic experiment that hasn’t yet been completed.

As each camera source pushes the narrative forward, we learn how everybody is connected, and it’s not for the faint of heart. I haven’t watched this series since I last wrote about it, and I still hear some of those distant screams in my head because they sound so genuine that it’s hard to shake them from your memory.

Indistinct Chatter

Falling into the “lost media” wheelhouse, Indistinct Chatter is a stop-motion experience created by YouTuber KrainagrzybowTV. The whole thing plays out like a bad fever dream, the kind you have when you fall asleep in front of the television and the line between your consciousness and subconsciousness starts to blur. Nothing seems real, but it feels like it’s all calling out to you.

Indistinct Chatter exists in that uncanny valley where you want to believe everything you’re seeing, but you know it’s all an illusion. I can’t say there’s really a point to this one beyond conjuring up the same kinds of memories that films like Skinamarink try to make you experience again as an adult. There’s nothing outright scary here, but there’s a nameless dread lurking around every corner, making you wonder if you’re watching somebody else’s dreams that you’re not supposed to see.

It’s really breezy too, clocking in at just over 30 minutes. Before I get to my last recommendation, I’m going to stop here for a second and tell you that if you’re not built for this one, you definitely won’t be built for the next one.

Buffet Infinity

I watched 2025’s Buffet Infinity for the first time last week because it only recently started making the rounds on digital, and I have not stopped thinking about it since. Buffet Infinity is reminiscent of, and openly inspired by, another analog horror web series known as Local 58, but it completely does its own thing. Local 58 tells its story through public access broadcasts, but the horror comes from the fact that WCLV-TV is repeatedly hijacked by supernatural entities trying to use media to manipulate the population into doing terrible things, including committing suicide.

Buffet Infinity pushes this kind of storytelling to its absolute extreme with a premise involving a sinkhole, a death cult, and a sentient restaurant of unknown origin that’s constantly expanding and consuming the surrounding community. It’s 100 minutes of the kind of public access commercials you used to see on local cable during the late ’90s and early aughts.

While watching 100 minutes of commercials sounds exhausting (and it is), what happens next is what makes this such an effective piece of analog horror. The actors in each commercial, whether they’re representing a law firm, insurance company, or pawn shop, all become vaguely aware of the titular restaurant’s presence and influence. They’re speaking in an almost coded language, trying to warn you about what’s happening.

Meanwhile, Buffet Infinity keeps growing, gets into scraps with rival businesses, and becomes increasingly unhinged until the whole thing boils over into a cosmic horror so all-consuming that you need to walk it off for a good minute.

Plenty More Where That Came From

Listen, there’s plenty more where that came from, and I’ve only begun to scratch the surface. The thing about analog horror is that it has so many different flavors that you can’t lump it into a single category. I hope this primer points you in the right direction and shows you some of the common themes that run throughout the subgenre.

Analog horror specializes in liminal space, found footage, lost media, and our fear of the unknown. It’s been largely produced by kids on YouTube who know what they want to see but haven’t found it anywhere else. It’s the future of horror, and Backrooms has proven just how effective it can be at capturing an audience’s imagination and, more importantly, their undivided attention. It’s low-budget, doesn’t follow any known conventions, and every time I think I’ve seen it all, something from this wheelhouse blows me away and leaves me hungry for more.

Hopefully, this primer sets you in the right direction. Try to keep up, though, because I think we’re going to continue seeing some really great content come from the most unassuming places.