When Horror Runs Out of Ideas, It Mows the Lawn
By 1989, the slasher genre had given us masked maniacs, dream demons, killer dolls, and homicidal hitchhikers. Then came Blades, a film distributed by Troma Entertainment that asked the question nobody wanted answered: What if Jaws, but on a golf course… and instead of a shark, it’s a lawn mower?
Yes, this movie exists. Yes, it’s about a possessed lawn mower. No, it’s not scary. And no, it’s not funny either, unless you consider “extended golf puns followed by bloodless death” the height of comedy.
The Plot: Caddyshack Meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre on Valium
The story begins the way all horror classics do: with horny teenagers making out in the woods. Except here, they’re killed not by a slasher in a mask, but by an offscreen lawn mower. Their mangled remains are found near a golf hole the next morning, setting the tone for the rest of the film: death by yardwork.
Norman Osgood, the greedy owner of Tall Grass Country Club, doesn’t want the murders to ruin his nationally televised golf tournament. The police are called in, but like every low-budget horror comedy, they’re useless. Enter Roy Kent, a washed-up golf pro (not to be confused with the beloved soccer coach from Ted Lasso, who is infinitely scarier and more charismatic). Roy decides to investigate, uncovering “clues” like oil stains and busted golf balls, as though Columbo himself would show up and say, “Yup, clearly lawn mower homicide.”
Eventually, the golf course descends into chaos when a possessed lawn mower rolls in like the Grim Reaper of landscaping, slicing up members in scenes that are more America’s Funniest Home Videos than Friday the 13th.
Characters: Fore-gettable at Best
The characters in Blades are so bland you could swap them for mannequins and no one would notice.
-
Roy Kent (Robert North): The washed-up golf pro turned action hero. He delivers every line with the enthusiasm of a man stuck in line at the DMV.
-
Kelly Lange (Victoria Scott): The assistant pro and token love interest. Her biggest contribution is suggesting sugar in a gas tank, proving once and for all that her degree is in Home Economics, not golf.
-
Deke Slade (Jeremy Whelan): The town weirdo accused of being the killer, who turns out to be right. His backstory involves his dad being decapitated by the same mower in a “suicide,” which sounds less like tragedy and more like a deleted Monty Python sketch.
-
Norman Osgood: The greedy club owner who cares more about golf tournaments than human life. He’s basically Mayor Vaughn from Jaws, but with fewer brain cells and a worse wardrobe.
These aren’t characters. They’re tropes that wandered onto a set and got mowed down.
The Killer: Less Jaws, More John Deere
Let’s talk about the real star: the killer lawn mower. In theory, this could’ve been so-bad-it’s-good genius. In practice, it’s a riding mower that moves slower than your grandma on a Rascal scooter.
Every “attack” consists of people screaming and flailing while the camera cuts to spinning blades. The mower never actually touches anyone onscreen—because, shocker, it’s hard to make a Craftsman riding mower terrifying. So instead, the director uses shaky camera work, oil stains, and the power of suggestion to convince us people are being dismembered. It doesn’t work.
Jason Voorhees had a machete. Freddy had dream powers. Chucky had homicidal one-liners. The mower has… blades that move at three miles an hour. If you die in Blades, it’s not because of supernatural evil—it’s because you’re too stupid to sidestep a lawn mower.
Gore and Effects: Mulched Potential
This being a Troma release, you’d expect buckets of gore. Instead, Blades plays things weirdly safe. Victims are mangled offscreen, and we only see the aftermath: some fake blood, torn clothes, and in one case, a guy stuffed into the mower bag like yard clippings. It’s neither gruesome nor funny—it’s just lazy.
When your premise is “killer lawn mower,” you’d better lean into the absurdity. Have it decapitate golfers mid-swing! Have it chew through a golf cart! Have it scalp someone with the rough-cut setting! But no. Instead, we get endless shots of grass clippings blowing in the wind, as if Mother Nature herself is laughing at us.
The Climactic Showdown: A Swing and a Miss
The grand finale involves Roy, Kelly, and Deke trying to lure the mower with hay bales tied to balloons (because, apparently, it’s also part bull). Deke dies heroically, proving that yes, you can lose a fight to lawn equipment.
Roy finally defeats the mower by tossing an explosive at it and putting a golf ball onto it—yes, you read that right—causing it to explode. If that sounds thrilling, imagine it filmed like a public access commercial for Miracle-Gro. The mower goes out with more of a whimper than a bang, and the audience goes out with less satisfaction than a lukewarm putt-putt game.
Comedy? Horror? Neither.
Blades bills itself as a horror comedy, but it forgets the “horror” and the “comedy.” The jokes are limp—golf puns, greedy country club owners, and a police chief dumber than dirt. The scares are nonexistent. Even the suspense music sounds like it was stolen from a 1950s educational short about mowing safety.
If this is supposed to be satire of Jaws, it fails spectacularly. Instead of parodying Spielberg, it accidentally parodies itself. By the halfway point, you’re not laughing with the film—you’re laughing at it, and even then, mostly out of despair.
Production Values: Rough, Not Ready
The cinematography is flat, the editing sloppy, and the acting wooden. Every scene is shot like a community theater production of Murder on the Fairway. Even the golf course setting, which could’ve been lush and atmospheric, looks like any suburban municipal course where retirees hack their way to a double bogey.
Troma is known for making bad movies with heart. But Blades feels like it was made on autopilot, without the gleeful chaos that makes their other schlock enjoyable. It’s not outrageous enough to be fun, and not competent enough to be good.
Why It Fails
At its core, Blades fails because it doesn’t commit. A killer lawn mower movie should be outrageous, bloody, and self-aware. Instead, it drags, it dithers, and it wastes its ridiculous premise on endless filler. It’s too slow to be fun, too tame to be scary, and too stupid to be smart satire.
In a decade that gave us Killer Klowns from Outer Space and Sleepaway Camp II, Blades somehow manages to be both weirder and duller—a cinematic bogey in every sense.
Final Verdict
Blades is a horror comedy with neither horror nor comedy, a film that turns a golden idea for cult schlock into 90 minutes of lifeless turf. It’s not scary. It’s not funny. It’s just a lawn mower on a golf course, moving slower than the audience’s eyelids trying to stay open.
If you’re looking for a so-bad-it’s-good Troma flick, skip Blades and watch The Toxic Avenger. If you want to see a possessed lawn tool done right, Maximum Overdrive at least had the decency to be insane.
