Nico Mastorakis's (Blood Tide, Blind Date)
masterpiece of the absurd, In the Cold of the Night is a hilarious,
dangerous, and ludicrously sexy vaporwave relic of the VHS era. Brimming
with strange performances, endless pizza consumption, deep state surveillance
paranoia, absolutely stunning cinematography, and sexy saxophone riffs that
would make Kenny G blush, this is a potpourri of sleaze and a one-of-a-kind
film viewing experience.
A high-profile fashion photographer begins to have nightmares in which he
murders a woman. His attempts to learn more bring her from his
dreams to his reality, and the pair quickly fall for one another, leading the
duo to discover a hidden conspiracy that threatens everything. Mastorakis
and Greg Perry's script is an incoherent Hodge Podge of De Palma homage,
Sidaris love, and downright insanity. This is a film where there is
always something happening.... regardless of whether or not it actually relates
to the story, if the film even has one. Jeff Lester stars as the
photographer. He's supported by Adrianna Sachs (one of Bob Morton's
prostitutes during his ill-fated, cocaine fueled celebration in Robocop),
Marc Singer, and of course...Shannon Tweed. It's fitting that this would be the
role that would ultimately catapult her to the throne of erotic
thrillers. While it's essentially a cameo, Tweed manages to have one the
most risqué lines in the film, instantly letting the viewer know that this will
be a no holds barred skin flick that could never be made today.
The most important aspect of the film is the A E S T H E T I C. Neon
lights flood every frame, waterbeds glow perilously bright, and the principal
views films on laserdisc. The nightmare sequences have a low-fi computer
game quality that somehow manages to work. This is the absolute magic of
this movie. It should not work, it’s an incoherent mess, and yet it is a
captivating spectacle for every second of its 112-minute running time, the
pinnacle of which is one of the hottest sex sequences ever filmed that
involves... a bowl of marbles. De Palma himself is referenced in the script,
winking to the viewer without any sense of subterfuge while Tippi Hedren
herself appears in what is perhaps the most jarringly meta cameos of all
time. All of these various eccentricities are woven deftly my Mastorakis
into an absolute madhouse of fashion, pizza, and hi-tech mind
control.
All of this is made possible by Andreas Bellis' gorgeous cinematic. His
visual translation of Mastorakis' message is a pristine time capsule of an era
of excess and the message is pure cinematic love. This is a film that is
made for people who love movies. It's not a good movie and if it was, it
would not be as important or relevant as it is because it is a reminder that
the labor in labors of love is the important part, not the final result.
This is a kooky mess that has a relentless charm that simply refuses to let you
not like some aspect of it. You may end up disliking the film, but there
will be some part of it, perhaps Brian Thompson's bodybuilding comic relief or
Sachs riding a motorcycle through her apartment for no reason, that will stick
with you forever.
In the aftermath of Verhoeven's masterwork Robocop, In the Cold of the Night seems like a distant cousin, bred from the noirish roots of Kiss Me Deadly, the lofty hedonism of Blow Up, and the dystopian horrors of a post cold war America. The final result is a weird, sex fueled detective story that showcases how high and how low the genre can go. Currently available via a stunning 4K transfer from Vinegar Syndrome, this is an excellent addition to any film lover's collection or for anyone who is interested in the history of the erotic thriller. An adult oriented fantasy in which nothing actually makes sense, this one is best experienced as a mood piece rather than a traditional story. Do not attempt to find logic or coherence, there be neon monsters here.
--Kyle Jonathan