Rock & Rule (1983) – Review

I give you Rock & Rule, a post-apocalyptic rock opera where the fate of the universe depends on whether Debbie Harry can hit that high note before a demon explodes through a synth-powered portal to hell. No studio wanted this. No parents asked for it. But it exists, somehow, like a neon relic from a parallel universe where animation grew up, dropped acid, and started a band with Ralph Bakshi.

“The war was over…The only survivors were street animals: dogs, cats and rats. From them, a new race of mutants evolved. That was a long time ago…”

And with that bit of information, Rock & Rule kicks off, a story taking place somewhere in the radioactive future, where rats and dogs have evolved into sexy humanoid musicians—and you’re going to pretend that’s not cool? This is not a movie. This is a cosmic mixtape, carved into celluloid by the ghost of glam rock. This film was a Canadian animated vision quest, one that crawled out of a post-apocalyptic dumpster behind a synthwave nightclub and declared, “Only the chosen voice shall sing The Demon Open.”

“Let’s get the party started!”

The story follows sweet singer Angel (Susan Roman, but sung by Debbie Harry), who has caught the eye of Mok (voiced by Don Francks, sung by Lou Reed), who is like David Bowie’s evil twin, having traded eyeliner for dark magic. He’s a legendary super-rocker who has retired from music to work on deciphering an ancient code that would unlock a doorway between this world and another dimension to bring forth a powerful demon. But one thing stands in his way: he is missing the last crucial component…a very special voice.

Can you guess who that is?

Sadly, in the role of hero, we have Angel’s boyfriend/bandmate Omar (Greg Salata), an arrogant, jealous guitarist with good hair but a hot temper and a terrible attitude, who looks like a cross between Han Solo and a punk rock coyote. He’s kind of a punk, but he’s our punk. He’s also got big “I would die for you, but I won’t say it” energy. Along with Angle and Omar are their bandmates Dizzy (Dan Hennessey) and Stretch (Greg Duffell), who play at various clubs and argue a lot. But everything changes when Mok hears Angel’s voice and realizes she’s the one. Not “the one” like a Matrix prophecy. The voice that can awaken the demon.

“Is your soul up for sale?”

So Mok does what any logical rock legend would do: he kidnaps Angel, with the help of his trio of hilariously bizarre henchmen  – Toad (Chris Wiggins), Zip (Greg Duffell), and Sleazy (Brent Titcomb) – and whisks her off to Nuke York (yes, that’s a thing), to complete his evil musical ritual. Omar, jealous and angry at first (and let’s be real, a little emotionally constipated), eventually realizes he actually cares about Angel. With Dizzy and Stretch in tow, he follows Mok’s trail to rescue her.

I think he overloaded his angst.

From here, it’s an electric journey of music, magic, and mayhem. Omar and the band set off to rescue Angel from Mok’s clutches, travelling through sketchy wastelands, trippy dreamscapes, and glam-horror concerts. Let’s just say, many hijinks ensue. Mok uses high-tech wizardry and sheer glam-rock malevolence to force Angel into singing the final notes needed to summon a massive interdimensional demon, and things start to look bad for our heroes and the world.

“Hello, I’ve just arrived here from Bald Mountain.”

At a climactic, over-the-top concert inside a massive arena, Mok begins the final ritual. Angel is on stage, bound to a music board, and the demon is literally beginning to manifest from another dimension. It’s monstrous, glitchy, and CGI in a way that screams “early ’80s experimental animation.” We get the villain preparing to open the portal to the demon dimension—cue swirling vortexes, fire, and a lot of dry ice fog. In a psychedelic, laser-scorched finale, the band reunites just in time. Omar finally stops brooding long enough to realize teamwork is cool and joins Angel in a duet. Their combined voices—love-powered rock harmony—defeats the demon.

Yes, rock music defeats evil. Not bullets. Not logic. Power chords and emotion.

Stray Observations:

• Mok’s full name was intended to be Mok Swagger, but the talent representation of The Rolling Stones’ lead singer, Mick Jagger, objected and forced the producers to drop the character’s surname.
• The animation swings wildly between “Whoa, that’s stunning!” and “What acid trip am I on?”
Fluid, rotoscoped character movements one moment, jagged trippy demon seizures the next.
• Lou Reed wrote Mok’s lyrics himself. And he ad-libbed much of the dialogue, often ignoring punctuation in the script entirely—because, well, Lou Reed.
• Disney’s Tron, which used state-of-the-art computer graphics to create its worlds, came out one year earlier. Could the artists at Nelvana have been inspired by that film?

“Disney has nothing on me, kid.”

Directed by Clive A. Smith, Rock & Rule stands as a fascinating, if flawed, experiment in adult animation, one that blends post-apocalyptic storytelling, experimental visuals, and an eclectic soundtrack. And while the story is somewhat derivative and loosely structured, its themes reflect the era’s anxieties and aspirations: the power of music, the tension between artistic integrity and commercial exploitation, and the mythologizing of celebrity. Mok, the antagonist, is less a standard villain than a critique of egotistical stardom; charming, decadent, and obsessed with power.

A wild blend of mad science and dark magic.

Despite a modest budget, Rock & Rule exudes a gritty charm, favouring atmosphere over polish. The animation has a punk DIY aesthetic, befitting the rebellious themes of its soundtrack and story. It’s no Disney production—rougher around the edges, but more experimental and personal. In fact, one could say this film was the antithesis of what Disney was putting out – there are no cute furry sidekicks, but we do get a rock princess. That said, the film isn’t as adult as Ralph Bakshi’s Fritz the Cat, but it has enough adult elements to make it a not-so-family-friendly outing, and that made it a hard film to market.

“Were you in Heavy Metal?”

The film’s visual ambition is one of its most striking qualities. Canadian animation studio Nelvana pushed the boundaries of animation technology at the time, combining traditional hand-drawn animation with early computer graphics. The result is a visually rich experience, full of detailed backgrounds, moody lighting, and imaginative character designs. Mok, in particular, is a standout, a slithering, exaggerated presence whose design and movements match his seductive menace. While the world is decaying in the background, with giant cities made of chrome and broken dreams, all lit in hot pinks and radioactive blues. The animation veers between “whoa, that’s stunning” and “is this melting?” Which is fitting, because half the time you feel like your eyeballs are being serenaded by a haunted Moog synthesizer.

A slave to music?

The soundtrack is arguably the film’s greatest asset, featuring songs by rock legends performing as the film’s characters; the music is seamlessly integrated into the narrative. Lou Reed lends his distinctively detached cool to Mok, while Debbie Harry’s vocals (as Angel) give the character a heartfelt, ethereal quality. Iggy Pop provides the raw demonic growls of the summoned beast. Seriously, what could be better than that? These musical sequences transcend the film’s narrative weaknesses and stand out as moments of audiovisual synergy.

“I have witnessed the power of Rock and Roll!”

In conclusion, Rock & Rule is a flawed but fascinating artifact of 1980s counterculture, a film that dares to mix dystopia, demonology, and glam rock into a psychedelic package. While its story may be uneven and its characters underdeveloped, the film’s creative ambition, striking visuals, and unforgettable soundtrack make it a standout in the history of animated cinema. It may not have ruled the box office, but in the world of cult animation, Rock & Rule rocks on.