Rock & Rule

Let me preface this review by saying: This film, despite rumors to the contrary, was NOT made by Ralph Bakshi. His name would, logically, have appeared in the titles if it had been.

His films are all great, by the way. ALL OF THEM.

Now, where was I?

Ah, yes.

One thing you can say about Canucks: when they make fantasy sci-fi apocalyptic cartoons full of anthropomorphized animal characters and blaring hard rock soundtracks, those hosers don't fool around.

They first gave the world Heavy Metal, thereby ameliorating somewhat all of the other damage they've done to my nerves since they came into existence during one of my previous incarnations as a talking mongoose (apologies to Gef). Since then, it's been nothing but hockey and ridiculous accents hittin' me like a flying homicidal puck launched from a roller rink in Manitoba.

Heavy Metal might be derided purely due to its undeniable French roots, but once the film is actually viewed, one begins to see what an awesome celestial spell it weaves upon the unsuspecting viewer, though they be logically and understandably wary of whatever those Gaelic gobsmacks gratify with glory.

Rock & Rule is a film so overwhelmingly entertaining in a mind-boggling sense that it makes the casual viewer say to themselves, "Self, how is it they spent around EIGHT MILLION dollars American making this unheralded masterpiece, only to recoup around three hundred THOUSAND in ticket sales? How could it happen, Lord? How? How? Can you just answer me that?"

Angel and Omar, who are both animal-people characters, are living in a post-apocalyptic wasteland that is otherwise animated very fluidly, trying to make it as a punky, weirdy, new wave kind of 1983 band, and not maybe having much success. Thankfully, they have a manager who seems like an unintentional antisemitic caricature, and they are on the tube, or American Post-Apocalyptic Bandstand, or at a contest, or something. Anyway, there's bad blood brewin', and Omar and Angel squabble, but thankfully, to pick things up, a thick-lipped gray, cadaverous, Niborg-snortin' weirdo named Mok, who is both a "super-rocker" and a black magician, kidnaps Angel. Why? you may wonder.

Because her golden tonsels are going to open up a portal to the fourth dimension (read: HELL) and unleash a green, slimy, tentacled Lovecraftian horror with razor-sharp fangs that will—I dunno. What was the point of this again?

Rock & Rule - "My Name is Mok" by Lou Reed

In between, Angel is kidnapped and held prisoner. We have Omar and the gang going on a rescue mission to "Nuke York" (a name that might very well be appropriate after Mamdani finishes his term as mayor), but then everyone goes to a power station in "Ohm Town," and then the action climaxes and we all almost die. The end.

Hold up.

We have scenes with Omar and the gang at disco parties scored by Earth, Wind & Fire, and of course some of the less striking musical stylings birthed and belched up by Debbie Harry (who I mistakenly thought at first was the voice of Angel), Lou Reed (sometimes mistakenly credited as the voice of Mok), Cheap Trick, and the Godfather of Punk his bad self: James Osterberg, a.k.a. IGGY POP. Yeah, baby.

The images and animation are gorgeous, and the animation, as noted before, is not choppy, slow, or crude—it's pure, fluid, hand-drawn, old-school bliss, as are the live-action effects (it was, after all, 1983). The only problem is that, like Chinese food, after viewing a sizable midsection chunk of the film, I found I was still hungry for something—or must have been, because I'll be damned if I can remember much of Rock & Rule besides the beginning and the end.

Oh, we have Angel chained to, like, a computer console; a Satanic AI sporting inverted pentagrams in trapezoids (à la a symbol actually employed by arch-Satanist Anton LaVey); Niborg-snorters borrowed from the sexaholic round space cruiser in Heavy Metal (shades of Harold Ramis and John Candy abound); just... I can't remember much else that happened until Angel and Omar sing a power-pop ballad duet at the end.

But what the hell. Whatever it was, I enjoyed the HELL out of it.

Break me off some of that fat-ass old-school jam, y'all. I'm hip. I'm hop. I'm a super-rocker wannabe in a world gone mad.

But at least I'm not French Canadian.

Rock & Rule (Trailer HD)

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