Inspired by the heavy metal hysteria of the era, Black Roses is the second film by director John Fasano to link rock music with demonic horror.

His first, the legendarily bad/awesome Rock ‘n’ Roll Nightmare is so uniquely terrible/wonderful, there was no way his second attempt couldn’t be both better and worse in comparison. Blessed with a higher budget, Roses is a more professional looking affair, but in a way that merely works to highlight its deficiencies rather than make them the virtues Nightmare did.

In a small town just a few miles away from wherever Footloose took place, the local teenagers are excited to find out that popular band Black Roses are coming to perform a series of shows in order to rehearse their upcoming national tour. The town’s moral defenders express concern about the sex, drugs and debauchery such concerts will inevitably generate, but the kids get the music they desire, only to discover — too late — that the group’s aim is not to entertain, but to turn their young fans into demonic slaves to their dark lord Satan!

With only the local mustachioed English teacher (John Martin) to stop them, it doesn’t look good for the kids or anyone else who thinks Top 40 is too gay. To its benefit, Black Roses doesn’t take itself seriously and avoids becoming a cinematic Jack Chick comic book. The effects are mostly terrible, but work despite their cheesiness. Not bad enough to be great like Nightmare, Roses is still good enough to earn a rental. —Allan Mott

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When I popped the Night of the Demons remake into my machine, I did so with complete certainty that no matter how much it sucked, I would still prefer it to the 1988 original. Y’see, I came to the first Night late into the game, so instead of nursing fond teenage memories of that crazy film where that chick sticks a lipstick container into her boob, I instead think of it as 90 minutes spent with the most singularly obnoxious collection of horror movie assholes I’ve ever seen.

As the remake started, however, I found my faith tested. Once again, the screenwriters seemed to mistake having their characters insult each other for the first 20 minutes as a witty form of character development.

It isn’t, screenwriters. It really, really, isn’t.

Eventually, the demons appeared at the Halloween party and the characters grew less overtly hateful, and while I never actually found myself enjoying the film, it also never tortured me as much as the original. It is interesting to note that in the remake’s recreation of the infamous lipstick-in-the-tit scene, Diora Baird’s fake fake boobs look much more fake than Linnea Quigley’s original fake fake boobs, which suggests the art of fake-boob prosthesis is the one special effect that hasn’t advanced much in the intervening years.

Speaking of Quigley, she has a short cameo at the beginning. It made me sad. As did the performances of pretty much the rest of the cast, none of whom actually seem to want to be associated with the film — the worst offender being Shannon Elizabeth (completely miscast as Goth queen Angela), whose only remotely authentic moment comes in the scene where she fellates a wine bottle.

So, yeah, the terrible remake of Night of the Demons is pretty fucking terrible, but not as terrible as the terrible original, which I believe sets the terrible standard for horror movie terrible. Terrible progress? —Allan Mott

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Stressed out? Watching Open Water will not help. Hyped as Jaws meets The Blair Witch Project, the micro-budget, shot-on-video shark flick sports a unique concept in that most of it takes place in one location: the middle of the ocean.

Cute couple Blanchard Ryan and Daniel Travis seek an escape from their hectic lives by taking an impromptu vacation, part of which entails scuba diving in the deep blue sea. But when their boat miscalculates the head count and leaves for shore without them, the two quickly realize their trip is on a fast-track toward hell. With nothing but horizon surrounding them, the duo tries to cling to the hope that they will be rescued before they dehydrate or, worse, turn into chum.

I wasn’t sure if the movie was going to work, because Ryan and Travis didn’t seem like they were doing acting. Then I realized that’s the point: This is shot in a quasi-documentary style, with fly-on-the-wall glimpses into this couple’s ordinary life. It’s supposed to feel real, rather than theatrical, and does.

But how can watching two people bobbing in the water for an hour not get boring? Their conversations are just compelling enough in an oh-shit-now-what fashion to keep your attention, and you never know when a shark is going to pop up (mostly because the stars were surrounded by real ones, who don’t take direction).

I wouldn’t say Open Water is harrowing, but toward the end, it’s tense and nerve-racking, especially in a late-night scene in which the screen is completely black, and you only catch glimpses of what’s going on when lightning flashes. Once more, it’s what you don’t see that can frighten you the most. Expect a riveting action film and you’ll be disappointed; expect a low-key character study and you won’t. —Rod Lott

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Like a little Omen with your Outbreak? The sixth horror film under the Dark Castle Entertainment shingle, The Reaping takes investigative scientist Katherine (Hilary Swank) to Haven, La., to determine why the dirty little town’s river has turned red with blood. The locals blame a cute lil’ girl (AnnaSophia Robb) who looks as if she’s feral and has menstrual blood caked on her leg, but Katherine’s not so sure.

She’s a miracle-buster, after all, explaining away dozens of so-called religious occurrences with good ol’ scientific know-how. Her time in Haven may change all that, however, as frogs rain from the sky, flies swarm, lice propagate, cows die, locusts attack, Idris Elba takes off his shirt, yada yada yada – it’s as if the 10 biblical plagues are actually happening!

Stephen Hopkins’ film isn’t nearly as bad as its icy reception would lead you to believe. Okay, so it’s overly orange-looking and has an end scene that you can predict halfway through, but it’s fun enough and I’m always up for a movie in which fat people’s faces are covered with boils.

The one thing that does suck is the climax, in which Hopkins goes overboard on the special effects, bleeding every last drop from the budget. I liken it to when you go to Chili’s and pay with a gift certificate, and then the waiter tells you he can’t give you change, so you’re like, “Okay, I guess we’ll get the Molten Chocolate Cake, too.”

Moral: Never trust a British actor trying to wrangle a Bayou accent. —Rod Lott

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Dude, you got zombies in my Nazi war movie!

Yeah, well, you got Nazis in my zombie flick!

Wait, how about we combine them and make a movie about … zombie Nazis! They come back to life to kill a bunch of annoying med students in the mountains of Norway. We’ll call it Dead Snow and it’ll be an homage to Sam Raimi, only even wetter. We’ll have this scene where one of the zombies gets stuck in a tree and one of the heroes goes off the edge of a cliff with another Nazi zombie holding on to his waist, and the only thing that keeps them from falling all the way is that the med student is holding on to the tree Nazi’s intestines, using them as a rope.

Yeah, and we can have a guy cut off his arm with a chainsaw because he’s been bitten and he thinks he has to cut off any body part a zombie chomps down on, and then another zombie bites him in the crotch. Just imagine the look on his face!

We can make it a little scary at the beginning and then let it all get funny, like Raimi used to do. Not too much sex, if you don’t count the guy who gets ridden hard in the outhouse just before the girl gets pulled into the dump hole.

And the best part is it doesn’t even have to be good, because one of those assholes who write for Flick Attack will kind of like it, no matter how lame it is.

Dude, I write for Flick Attack.

Really? I meant one of the other assholes.

Well, all right, then. —Doug Bentin

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