In the Cold of the Night

The first 10 minutes: a 90's fashion shoot with bikinis, neon strobes, and Peggy Lee's Fever. The meathead "fashion" "photographer" takes one of the models (willingly) home, where they then have sex on his internally-lit waterbed and at the height of passion he tells a sexist joke ("How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"). He then hallucinates a murder in VHS and meets Brian Thompson working out in Venice. The rest was a mess of body butter and soft porn jazz.

In the Cold of the Night plays out like something David Lynch quickly wrote down on a cocktail napkin while losing it to heat stroke. The sloppiest hottest sax solo player in the business follows our dumb hero wherever he goes, it’s nonstop and fantastic. I was confused why this got the NC-17 but than our boy pulls out his giant dish of marbles. The finale is complete nonsense and because I was so drenched in steamy neons I didn’t or couldn’t care.

Not a terrible movie except for maybe the middle. Lots of '80s implants. The friend was a pretty cool bro. Overly dramatic ending. Fav scene: I didn't know you could get a lighted waterbed.

Terrible.