Whereas the Hi-8: Horror Independent Eight shot-on-video anthology was a mixed bag, its sequel, Hi-Death, is start-to-finish consistent. Unfortunately, that means it’s awash in tedium. Among its five directors, most of them giants in the SOV world, not even the otherwise reliable Tim Ritter (Killing Spree) is able to satisfy.

Part of the problem is Hi-8’s story count has been reduced from seven to five, yet Hi-Death runs a few minutes longer. This time, the wraparound follows two L.A. tourists (Kristen Adams and Kate Durocher) as they spontaneously embark on a “Terror Tour” of Hollywood. They’re led to the next landmark after watching a video, so naturally, what they see, we see — only without the reward.

In “Death Has a Conscience,” from Sodomaniac’s Anthony Catanese, a junkie (Jensen Jacobs, Miss December) rides out her heroin high at a fleabag motel, and acquires a few, um, very temporary roommates. Amanda Payton’s “Night Drop” shows what happens to a video store’s new employee (Christopher Preyer, Clownado) on his first night closing up shop. True to its retro setting, tried-and-true jump scares are involved.

The aforementioned Ritter’s “Dealers of Death” concerns a serial killer known as the Switchblade Bandit (Todd Martin, Earth Girls Are Sleazy), who gets off collecting other serial killers’ memorabilia. While the Bandit’s dialogue elicits a few laughs, the segment suffers greatly from the same problem as the remaining four: being painfully overlong. No piece has enough story to fill its allotted time — perhaps unavoidable with fewer stories this go-round — so scenes either are drawn out or run in circles.

The final two tales are the worst offenders; incidentally, both are about tortured artists. The whatta-named Fabiana Formica (Cemetery Man) delivers a fine performance as an auditioning actress up against a bullying director (Jay Sosnicki, Dolly Deadly) in “Cold Read,” from Camp Blood series impresario Brad Sykes. Finally, Zombie Bloodbath trilogy creator Todd Sheets turns in “The Muse,” about a crazed painter (Nick Randol, Dreaming Purple Neon) struggling to work with quite a unique patron.

The passion each filmmaker (videographer?) holds for horror shines big and bright — perhaps too much, since the overall emphasis seems to be on effects than effectiveness. On that note of practicality, they succeed in demonstrating remarkable ingenuity under an edict that bans CGI and green screens. I only wish the results were more fun. —Rod Lott

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From a village in Lancashire, the elderly Ballantyne sisters stick to the traditions they know best: tea time, neighborhood gossip, monster hoarding — you know, that sort of thing. When soldiers at a nearby base begin dying “vicious, brutal” deaths, forthright Joyce (Flora Robson, The Shuttered Room) and batty Ellie (Beryl Reid, Psychomania) start to wonder and worry that perhaps their, um, “housemate” is to blame.

After all, as the title has it, they have The Beast in the Cellar.

There’s not much to this Tigon production from James Kelley, writer and director of the pervo thriller What the Peeper Saw. Much of it takes place in the Ballantyne household, which wouldn’t necessarily be a negative if more happened besides talking. Conversations more mundane than macabre fill the film to its brim, even after a fall confines Joyce to bed — and sedatives — for an extended period.

The scenes of slaughter are brief and bloody, yet shot with whiplash-inducing camera movement to retain a semblance of mystery, although viewers can read Cellar’s cards before it dares show them. When it does, the reveal is even more abrupt than it is underwhelming, especially preceded by a good 10 minutes of Ellie’s exposition dump, which not even Reid’s wonderful performance can save. After that kind of buildup, you deserve better. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.