Brian O’Hara’s feature Rock ‘N’ Roll Frankenstein is one of those deliriously demented, anything goes comedies that takes utmost pride in its vulgarity. Beyond (or is it below?) the garish bad taste of John Waters, the movie does not shy away from being offensive. It derives its crude humor from (among many other things) homosexuality, Catholicism, bestiality and necrophilia in such perverse ways that are near impossible to defend and certainly test the tolerance level of the viewer. There is precious little that is politically, or even morally, correct in this film. In a word, it’s sick. 

That being said, Rock ‘N’ Roll Frankenstein is also pretty damn funny. Whether you laugh because something is genuinely clever, or just from pure shock, the movie delivers. It tells the inventive story of a greedy manager who compels his nephew Frankie, an unorthodox scientist, to create the “perfect” rock star, assembled from the various body parts of famous deceased musicians (Elvis’ head, Hendrix’s hands, etc.) The experiment seems to be a success at first, until the monster is inadvertently grafted with Liberace’s genitalia instead of sex idol Jim Morrison’s. The flamboyant pianist’s penis begins to have an uncharacteristically crass- and psychopathic- influence over the King’s libido (“I’m havin’... these unnatural urges”), and the results are thoroughly unwholesome. 

The film does falter a bit towards the end, not quite reaching the over-the-top, out-of-control heights that one would expect. And there is the subjective issue of if this kind of far-out humor can go too far (a twisted scene in a church is harsh enough to make an atheist gasp). But the production values are good, and the acting and effects are appropriately campy. Rock ‘N’ Roll Frankenstein is no-holds-barred silly entertainment that should be seen at one’s own risk. You have been warned.