Review: Black Roses (1988)
Directed by: John Fasano
Starring: John Martin, Ken Swafford, Julie Adams
Written by: Cindy Sorrell
Music by: Elliot Solomon
Country: Canada
Available on: DVD (Synapse Films)
IMDb
Every horror kid who spent some time wandering the rows of their local video store got to know a few of the VHS boxes better than others. There were some I made sure to avoid because they scared the shit out of wussy pre-teen me, like The Deadly Spawn and Scared to Death. But then there were those whose gimmick ensured I would ogle it for at least a few minutes every trip. The zombie with the flashing green eyes on the cover for The Dead Pit was one. The three-dimensionally textured and colorful cover for John Fasano’s Black Roses was another.
One of a handful of heavy metal-themed horror movies released at the height of the Satanic panic of the late ‘80s, Black Roses concerns the titular heavy metal band, whose arrival in the small town of Mill Basin for a series of concerts sparks outrage amongst conservative parents. The teens who attend their shows end up dabbling in homicide and other unsavory behaviors, and it’s up to a mustachioed and lecherous high school teacher to save the kids before Mill Basin is just a giant orgy of death, destruction, and floppy rubber monsters.
Although Black Roses the film is thoroughly outperformed by its snappy VHS box art, it’s still a joyfully silly flick that’s having a great time playing off the ridiculous, unfounded fears of every uptight Reagan-loving parent. There’s an interesting vibe at play here, too — though the movie earns its R rating with some naughty language, gratuitous nipples, and violence (though things never get especially gory), its fun selection of demons (which are more of the cartoonishly evil muppet variety than anything that would haunt nightmares) and over-the-top deaths (including Big Pussy from the Sopranos consumed by an insectoid nesting in a subwoofer) ensure Black Roses never gets too haughty for its own good. For the most part, the movie is paced well, with either a murder, a monster, or a mammary every few minutes to hold attention. A few more nasty slayings in the first half of the movie would have been appreciated, though.
Most of the soundtrack is provided by “Black Roses” the band, whose lineup includes members of King Cobra and Quiet Riot, and is actually pretty decent stuff, depending on your tolerance for hair metal. (Though if you hated the W.A.S.P.s and Alice Coopers of the world that much, would you really be watching this?) The metal, however, is offset by a completely goofy score by Elliot Solomon that’s more ludicrous than this incredibly ludicrous movie deserves. Black Roses feels like an attempt to harness the glory and garishness of the decade into one final leather-gloved and -tasseled middle finger to a polite society spinning John Denver and sipping mint juleps. It’s a movie that makes one long for the era in which every hero wore a mustache into battle against the supernatural forces of the world. It’s all hair spray, tight black, flying Vs, devilry, and excess. It’s a supremely preposterous movie that’s delightfully amusing.
Overall rating: 7 out of 10
