Red Roses of Passion

Where to begin, five nearly nude buxom women, one is tied up and one is dominatrix. One needs to be punished and all our devil worshipers. That's just the first 20 minutes. The grainy style is magnificent, if you wanted a lesson in kink this thing would cover most of them.

Red Roses of Passion (1966)

** 1/2 (out of 4)

Carla (Laurene Clair) is a sexually unsatisfied woman and a lot of it is due to the fact that she lives with an uptight aunt who sees everything as a sin. Carla's luck changes when she has a tarot card reader (Helena Clayton) introduce her to a group of Pan worshipers.

Joe Sarno's RED ROSES OF PASSION is a fairly interesting movie that fans of his will certainly want to check out. I must admit that I find Sarno's work to be extremely hit and miss and I've probably had more misses at this point of my time viewing his films. With that said, there's no doubt in my mind that the man had talent and I often tip my hat to the fact that he was trying to do something more artful than the typical sexploitation movies out there during this period.

Sarno's work mixes arts with sex and nudity and this film is certainly a beautiful one to look at. The B&W cinematography by Anthony Lover was exception terrific and I was shocked to see that this here was actually his first of a very few number of films. The cinematography perfectly captures the mood and spirit of the film and there's no question that it helps with the strange and surreal atmosphere. It's also worth noting to fans of cult cinema that the editor here was David Durston, the same man who would later direct films like I DRINK YOUR BLOOD and THE BLUE SEXTET.

As far as the performances go, for the most part I enjoyed all of them. There's no question that the one thing lacking in Sarno's corner were that he didn't have "A" list talents like the filmmaker he apparently most wanted to be and that was Ingmar Bergman. With that said, I thought the cast was good here and especially Clair in the role of the sexually held back woman. The film certainly drags in a few spots and it doesn't hold your attention as one would have wished but RED ROSES OF PASSION is still worth watching.

In the male-dominated world of 1960s American cinema, director Joseph W. Sarno's "Red Roses of Passion" stands out as a cult sexploitation film that offers a female-centric narrative, albeit a controversial and quirky one. Through the character of Carla, the film explores themes of sexual frustration, societal expectations, and the search for freedom within the confines of a conservative era.

The story follows Carla (played by Patricia McNair), a young woman living with her aunt and cousin after the death of her parents. Carla is portrayed as a modern woman, embracing her sexuality and living in the moment. Her aunt, however, embodies the uptight and judgmental social norms of the time, shaming Carla for bringing male companions home. This dynamic sets the stage for Carla's frustration and her subsequent search for an outlet that embraces her desires.

Enter the tarot card reader, a character who introduces Carla to a group of Pan worshippers. This marks a turning point in the film, offering a glimpse into the surreal and dreamlike world that Sarno creates. The film, with its blend of arthouse and grindhouse elements, becomes a trip into a fantastical realm where reality bends and passion reigns.

While the cinematography is praised as visually appealing, the plot falls short of capturing the audience's attention consistently. The film has been described as "nonsensical" and "ludicrous," with a tendency to drag in certain spots. However, it's also acknowledged as an interesting and fun piece of cinema, particularly for fans of Sarno's unique style. The director's signature surrealism and mood-driven storytelling are on full display, creating an experience that is part arthouse, part grindhouse.

"Red Roses of Passion" is a product of its time, reflecting the societal expectations and sexual politics of the 1960s. It offers a glimpse into a world where women were expected to conform to strict norms and explores what happens when a character like Carla dares to break free. Despite its shortcomings, the film remains an intriguing artifact of cinematic history, a testament to the evolution of female representation on screen, and a showcase of Sarno's distinct style.

No accounting for taste, but this ludicrous Joe Sarno film fails in both the porn and fantasy/suspense realms. I've watched it several times, and have yet to be hypnotized by its nonsensical plot & direction.

Quite bluntly, it's about getting even, with an indigestible dollop of fake-spiritualism and mumbo jumbo added. Had Sarno gone for a more straightforward (and appropriate) voodoo plot line, I suspect fans would have rejected it outright.

Instead he has blonde heroine Carla (Patricia McNair, appearing using a pseudonym and punished with 9th billing) bamboozled by her co-worker Enid (tall but unattractive Carol Holleck) to become mixed up with Cult of Pan leader Martha (big-bosomed Helena Clayton). (This is hardly at the level of classic fantasy writing on the subject by Arthur Machen.) It's established early on, killing suspense stone dead, that Martha is using her retarded brother as part of the Quarter Moon rituals held by scantily clad priestesses of the cult. Of course there's a brother/sister incest scene inserted (but tame) by Sarno, as is his wont.

Ridiculous fantasy involves an aphrodisiac, one of Sarno's lamest and most oft-used plot ploys. In this case it becomes a fantasy motif. Carla is angry with her relatives who repress her, Aunt Julie (Bella Donna, equally lousy in Sarno's MY BODY HUNGERS) and Julie's daughter (her cousin) Tracey (blank 1-shot thesp "Laura London"). She uses Martha's magic potion to turn them into uncontrollable nymphomaniacs.

Key element, and you have to be a card-carrying Sarno sycophant to buy it, is the title roses (black & white hardly does them justice), which are not just the cult's chief fetish but the nympho trigger. They are delivered like clockwork to the victims, triggering the unquenchable lust in conjunction with the aphrodisiac potion. They also come in handy at the rituals, for sexual stimulation by rubbing them all over the woman designated as Pan's chosen one, after drinking the wine of Delphi. I much prefer Sarno's explicit lesbian dramas to this sublimation approach.

Watching this asinine nonsense, mainly played with a straight face, though fortuneteller Martha occasionally recites cliché howlers like "It was in the cards" or "The moon waits for no one", is a chore. I'm not sure whether RED ROSES qualifies as high camp or low camp, but an adaptation for the stage by Charles Busch might be in the cards.

The scenes of aunt and daughter going sexually mad are not titillating but merely stupid, as they attack the rose-delivery-men with a "me first" attitude. Incest between the two is also implied, this being a Sarno film. For ultra-cheapness, the first delivery boy is played by the film's assistant gaffer! Also cheap is the use of a crummy library music score, and basically two under-dressed sets: the dim-lit ceremony room where the gals get freaky with nights of wine & roses, and the desultory apartment where Carla's family lives. Supposedly ironic ending has little impact -Sarno could have taken a few lessons from William Castle before treading on his suspense "shocker" territory.

Sarno is one of the last "undiscovered" auteurs, and though this is an obscure title, it is likely his finest work. As in his best-known American film, Sin in the Suburbs, his camera subtly pries into the confined and frustrated world of Kennedy-era suburban America. Without any explicit sex or nudity (save for a few see-through peignoirs), he is able to conjure up an overwhelming atmosphere of mystery and eroticism, tinged simultaneously with anomie and longing. And as in the earlier film, the occult trappings serve to intensify the characters' escape from "normality" and lure the viewer into breathless complicity. Although technically primitive, the many strikingly lit and composed images place this work squarely in Lewtonesque territory.