Mark Reviews Into The Night!!!

Into the Night (1985) Universal 115 mins. 

d John Landis p George Folsey JR, Ron Koslow s/p Ron Koslow c Robert Paynter

lp Jeff Goldblum, Michelle Pfeiffer, Dan Aykroyd, David Bowie.

So there I was, standing in Oxfam scouring their video shelves in the hope of procuring an obscure cinema classic, when my eyes clapped sight of Into The Night. This was a VHS that was literally screaming, “Buy me”. Firstly, it is directed by John Landis and was made in 1985, not long after The Blues Brothers (1980), American Werewolf in London (1981) and Trading Places (1983)- three Landis films which should be part of the staple diet of any cinephile. In addition to this, he had also recently directed the famous music video to Michael Jackson's Thriller- frequently voted the greatest music video ever made. In the early to mid 80’s, Landis was pretty hot shit, so it seemed logical to think that some of his Midas touch would rub off on the movie I was about to purchase.

Its director however, was merely the tip of the iceberg. In the starring role was a certain Jeff Goldblum, in my view one of Hollywood’s most underused stars whose easy going yet quirky screen presence could surely breath life into even the most putrid turkey. Alongside him was Michelle Pfeiffer, one of the hottest starlets of the era, her partnership with Goldblum a possible storm of blistering chemistry.

What really sealed the deal however, were the cameo appearances by Dan Aykroyd, David Cronenberg and David Fucking Bowie- how could this comedy-thriller, as it was billed in the sleeve, possibly be anything less than a work of pure unadulterated celluloid genius?

It pains me to say it, but not only is Into the Night Mondeo drivingly, estate agent workingly average, it is also the biggest waste of talent I have ever witnessed in a movie. In addition to the stars mentioned above, minor roles are also dished out to Vera Mills, Richard Farnsworth - of The Straight Story (1999) fame and Oscar winning make up artist Rick Baker- responsible for the stunning lycanthrope transformation effects in American Werewolf. It is a total mystery to me why so many skilled individuals would want to put their name to something like this, and I can only conclude that they owed Landis a favour and hadn’t bothered to read the confused, poorly plotted, unfunny, and frankly dull script.

The film has absolutely none of the charm, warmth, humour and humanity that make Landis’s previous outings so effortlessly enjoyable, and here it truly feels like the bearded auteur is directing on autopilot. The shots are poorly framed, the art direction is flat and devoid of imagination, and it has that jarringly uneven tone rare in mainstream Hollywood filmmaking. For example, knock about slapstick will give way clumsily to some really quite unpleasant scenes of violence (the “comedy” Iranian villains shoot an elderly man’s dog, there are numerous stabbings and even a moment of implied sexual assault) that feel like they were cut in from another movie.

This is disappointing considering how seamlessly Landis handled the shifts from intense horror to brilliant humour and vice versa in American Werewolf in London, in my view the only comedy-horror film to be both genuinely frightening and highly amusing without sacrificing coherence or believability. With Into the Night, it is clear that Landis just didn’t give a damn. Even the car chases here provoke boredom rather than excitement- unbelievable since the director had made The Blues Brothers just 5 years previously, featuring two of the finest vehicle based destruction derby’s ever committed to film.

Blame cannot be placed entirely at John Landis’s door for Into the Night’s myriad failings. Though Goldblum’s laconic charm is partially present in his role as the movies insomniac hero Ed Okin, Pfeiffer’s performance is pretty routine and crucially there is absolutely zero chemistry between the two leads- it’s as if they read their lines in different rooms. This totally punctures any chances of “will they/ wont they” (the don’t, but by then you won’t care) thrills and this hinders audience involvement in the entire enterprise. However, it would be unreasonable to expect Oscar winning performances to be had from such ropy material.

Ron Koslow's script starts of well enough, and in the first 15 minutes we  are treated to reasonably funny cameo’s from Aykroyd and Cronenberg. We also cant help but feel for likable Jeff when we discovers his wife’s infidelity and subsequent decision to drive to the nearest airport, perhaps taking stock of Aykroyd earlier speech advising him to go the Vegas and get laid. While sitting in his car, he is suddenly confronted by Pfeiffer's distressed Diana ("like Princess Diana"), who demands to be let into Okin's car so she can escape from a bunch of Iranian gangsters who have just murdered her male companion.

After much boring exposition we discover she is a smuggler embroiled in some kind of plot involving precious Iranian jewels- and it's up to poor old Jeff to keep her safe from a nasty death- much to his initial chargrin. What could have been an enjoyable screw ball comedy thriller is soon reduced to an uneven mess, and this is partly down to the filmmaker's obvious desire to pack in as many celebrity cameos as humanly possible.  This results in the twin effect of preventing any of the characters from enjoying enough screen time to make an impression, and creates an atmosphere of smug, matey Hollywood self indulgence. 

David Bowie crops up around the half way point as a rat faced English gangster weirdo, intent on killing Goldblum. This bit- part actually made me a little bit angry. Standing next to man giant Jeff, the rock legend appears positively gnome - like as he twitches like some oddball on the bus you pray won't catch your eye. Props to the Thin White Duke for playing against type and all- but one of the coolest rock stars ever should never have allowed himself to be portrayed as such a loser in a film of this quality.

I purchased Into the Night in the hope that I was fishing a lost Landis classic from the dustbin of film history- ready to lavish it with the kind of attention and respect previously denied. Sadly, as it turns out, the film going public's decision to ignore this movie over the ensuing years had been perfectly justified. Into the Night is a self indulgent bucket of dog egg's, and I'm going to re-assess my earlier statement- this is'nt Mondeo drivingly average- its Austin Allegro drivingly cack.





Verdict - 39%