COLOR OF NIGHT: Theatrical & Director's Cut Blu-ray (Hollywood Pictures, 1994) Kino Lorber

At $4 million dollars, the original budget director, Richard Rush thought he could make it for, Color of Night (1994) might have emerged as a taut and tenacious dark thriller with sexual undertones and plenty of excitement. At $40 million – the amount it actually took to bring it to the screen, Color of Night  instead, exited the pantheon as an over-stuffed, grotesquely bungled affair – literally and figuratively - its only thrills, derived from a pseudo-flash of star, Bruce Willis’ manhood (at least, in the director’s cut) bouncing in an underwater sequence. This, presumably, was meant to offset the gratuitous full-on nudity of his uncannily asexual co-star, Jane March, donning all manner of thoroughly unconvincing disguises, but whose love-making sequences with Willis in either the theatrical or director’s cut, proved she possessed the essential perkiness to pull it off, though regrettably, precious little else to hold our attention with her clothes on. Color of Night tries hard, though rather inanely, to wrap the enigma of a typical – and woefully pedestrian – whodunit inside a convoluted riddle of psycho-babble and cosmically flawed transvestitism run amok. Rush wanted a sleeper. The studio – ironically Disney, under its Hollywood Pictures banner – demanded a brooding Hitchcockian suspense epic.  Neither was satisfied with the end result – nor, did allowing Rush to reassemble the picture after its box office implosion theatrically, as he saw fit with a ‘director’s cut’ – adding another 20-plus-minutes of crotch-baring ennui and weirdly orchestrated killings - do anything more to enhance or clarify the leaden plotting. Matthew Chapman and Billy Ray’s screenplay is a gumbo of gawd-awfulness and puts so many red herrings up along the way, the resultant ‘big reveal’ at the end is not so much for the audience’s benefit as mere, sad necessity to link the elements left otherwise to dangle loosely as a pair of stretched testicles in the wind.

A word about Jane Marsh – cast by producer, Andrew Vajna as the slightly buck-toothed and buxom little tart/twink of a girl, playing three separate roles – all of them, badly – a superficial lesbian playmate for headcase/nymphomaniac, Sondra (Leslie Ann Warren), Ritchie - a transgender introvert in group therapy, and, Rose – the sexually liberated, heterosexual playmate of psychiatrist, Bob Moore (Scott Bakula), before migrating those naughty thoughts and deeds over to his best friend, New York head shrinker, Bill Capa (Bruce Willis), who could use a little fine-tuning of his own psyche. Behind the scenes, Marsh was not happy about doing such explicit sex scenes – a sentiment echoed by her husband, Carmine Zozzora. Willis had introduced Zozzora to Marsh. But when they married just as production was getting underway, Zozzora elected to make certain demands about the way his wife’s unmentionables were being photographed on celluloid. In lieu of compassion, modesty or even honesty, Capa gets his knob repeatedly polished by this devious little minx who floats in and out of his life after Moore is brutally slaughtered while working overtime at his downtown office.  There is something queerly incestuous about Capa’s cavalier seduction of his dead friend’s best girl; Moore, barely in his grave before Capa allows himself to just savage and ravage Rose, in the pond, in the shower, splayed across a cocktail table, sweating up the bed, doggy-style, etc. et al (you get the picture…widescreen – a whole lotta sex goin’ on) yet, tinged with the unflattering pall of pedophilia. Despite her sophisticated tease, Marsh’s Rose looks as though she has just had her first period last week. So, Color of Night quickly decelerates from a cagey noir-styled thriller with a thoroughly fucked up femme fatale into softcore kabuki theater for the uninhibited and outrageous.

Even all this might have worked too, had Color of Night not lacked that basic shred of redemptive pathos for its carefully selected ‘daffodils’ – so dubbed by Police Detective Martinez (the ever-fascinating Rubén Blades, as a thoroughly malicious, and damn right hilarious sleuth, determined to get to the bottom of things). You just have to love a slithery, fowl-mouthed cop who tells his potential suspect that to break his case he would “fuck Miranda” just for a promotion.  And Blades is a very interesting fellow in life too. The son of a bongo player turned cop, who ran for the presidency of Panama, winning a respectable 18% of the vote, served as its Minister of Tourism from 2004 to 2009, earned a Grammy for the album, ‘Encenas’ – one of 5 – and, at age 26, hit the ground running in the Big Apple with only a hundred bucks to his name. Did I mention Blades also holds 2 law degrees - one from his native Panama, the other from Harvard? If only Color of Night had more of Blades’ enigmatic bite and less of Willis’ belligerence it might have been one hell of a picture. The rest of the cast is a thoroughly unhealthy blend of lost opportunities, squandering the talents of the aforementioned Scott ‘Quantum Leap’ Bakula, Brad Dourif, as neurotic attorney at law, Clark, Lance Henriksen as Buck, unable to face the death of his beloved wife, and seemingly able to become psychotic in a pinch, out to run down Capa in his red Camaro, Kevin J. O'Connor, as Casey – the ‘artist’ into bondage. Also lost in the shuffle, character actor, Jeff Corey as Capa’s sounding board, Ashland, Andrew Lowry, as Ritchie’s elder brother, Dale, and, Eriq La Salle, barely visible in a walk-on as Det. Anderson. The most prominently featured of the cameos is Shirley Knight, as the embittered, balloonish and frantic widow, Edith Niedelmeyer, whose late psychologist/hubby was probably diddling his female patients on the side.

Color of Night is impossibly inane at utilizing any of this ‘killer cast’ (pun intended) as anything better than window-dressing for the unhinged and turbo sex-charged badinage that envelopes Capa in this perverted little ado about nothing. As Marsh’s various disguises fool no one – her protruding jaw and buck-tooth grin physically trademarked into each of her alter egos – the notion that a psychoanalyst as astute as Capa could not see this one coming from ten miles away really places the integrity of his ethics, profession and brain power, situated somewhere south of the equator, in jeopardy long before the bullets begin to fly and the knives and power tools come out. Oh, yeah – did I mention there is a truly cringe-worthy moment with a nail gun. Color of Night begins in Capa’s Manhattan high rise office, listening to the truly disturbed ramblings of his patient, Michelle (Kathleen Wilhoite) who, after attempting suicide in her own apartment with a pistol in her mouth, decides instead that leaping through the window of Capa’s office and plummeting some thirty-floors to the pavement would be an easier way to die. The moment marks Capa with extreme guilt and, as a result, he is unable to see the color red. Aside: not entirely sure why this is pertinent, since the screenplay never addresses it again until the final moments when Capa, having spared Rose/Ritchie the fate of her twisted brother, now regains his ability to perceive that lurid hue in all its glory.

But for now, Capa flies to L.A. at the behest of his good friend, Dr. Bob Moore who invites him to partake of a group session with some of his most disturbed patients. We meet Sondra, Buck, Ritchie, Casey and Clark and are privy to their screwed-up ramblings. Nice touch. Nothing to do with the plot. Afterward, Bob reveals his ulterior motives. Someone is trying to kill him – possibly, someone from the group. Only Capa doesn’t buy it. No one in the group has either the brain power or the guts to carry off a perfect murder. Nevertheless, the next night while Moore is locking up, he is stalked by an unknown assailant who brutally stabs him 36 times. Enter Det. Martinez who all but accuses Capa of the crime. Indeed, it would sort’a make sense; friendly rivalry turns to jealous rage. Only Capa is innocent and not even Martinez actually believes he is responsible. Now, living in Moore’s posh seaside digs, Capa encounters Rose for the first time. She nails him in Moore’s Beamer from behind and then claims to not have insurance. A short while later, Capa takes Rose to dinner. They flirt. But she ends it amicably, taking a taxi home alone. Unfortunately, the girl has already seeped into Capa’s blood. The next day, Rose arrives at Moore’s home unannounced and in just a few moments tears off Capa’s sweaty track shorts. The two have raw, uninhibited sex in the pond adjacent Moore’s house, then in the shower, on the bed, across the countertops, coffee table.

Martinez forewarns Capa, the girl is too young, too sophisticated, too something to be good for him. Naturally, Capa ignores all these caution flags because his own staff is flying at full mast each time, she enters the room. Rose’s intermittent disappearances and prolonged absences from Capa’s life become increasingly troublesome. So, Capa decides to tail Rose when next she runs out on him. Unfortunately, Buck’s red Camero is on the prowl, seemingly to do Capa some harm. Car chase! Capa narrowly escapes a wreck and dodges another car pushed from the top floor of a parking garage. Just as things are getting interesting with Capa, the Chapman/Ray screenplay departs into various vignettes meant to whet our appetite for what is going on with the various other members in the group. Capa probes Sondra for answers about Ritchie’s troubled past.  She is insulted Capa has not come to her home for…you know. Instead, Sondra indulges her lesbian companion, but then spurns her for a hunky trainer who arrives for…well…you know. We regress to Casey’s seedy factory/studio where he is being tortured – but in a good way – to achieve sexual arousal from an unseen playmate. Later, when Capa arrives, he finds Casey gutted and hanging upside down among his crude canvas renderings of women in bondage.  It finally begins to dawn on Capa: Rose, Ritchie and Sondra’s lesbian gal/pal may be one in the same. To this end, Capa confronts Edith Niedelmeyer with the notion Ritchie was already deeply disturbed when he attended her husband for therapy, and that likely the good doctor and his patient shared much more together after hours. Edith denies this, but infers something unhealthy about Ritchie’s relationship with his brother, Dale. This is significant, as Dale has been pushing for Ritchie to leave group and move in with him.

Hurrying to Dale’s studio, Capa discovers Ritchie nail-gunned to a chair. In freeing ‘him’ from these restraints, Capa realizes Ritchie and Rose are the same person. Dale reveals himself to be the psychotic killer, fixated on maintaining the warped relationship between himself and his sexually confused sister whom he has desperately tried to transform into his late brother. At this juncture, Martinez resurfaces. And although he possesses the upper hand – a real gun against Dale’s nail gun, Dale nevertheless manages to staple Martinez to the wall and impale Capa in the shoulder. Capa frees himself in time to witness Rose put a nail through Dale’s head. Screaming in terror, Rose flees to the smoke stack just beyond Dale’s studio, scaling it during a perilous thunder storm. Capa follows and, at the last possible moment, manages to save Rose from her fatalist’s finale. The couple embraces atop the stack as thunder and lightning echoes all around. Thus ends, Color of Night. Interestingly, the director’s cut removes several scenes of quaint domesticity between Rose and Capa that comprise an entirely different middle act, including a scene where Rose makes a valiant attempt to cook – half naked – for Capa in Moore’s kitchen. The 140-minute version also extends the already gratuitous sex scenes into soft-porn vignettes. These have absolutely nothing to do with the story, and stop the plot dead in its tracks for a montage of hard nipple play and the massaging of suede-like buttocks, otherwise pinched, plucked and prodded in tandem.

Screenwriter, Harris was mortified by the 122-minute theatrical cut of Color of Night and blamed the movie’s fiscal implosion on its director. I sincerely shudder to think what he might have to say about the extended cut – a devastating case for ‘more’ decidedly adding up to a lot less. Color of Night in either incarnation is ill-served. But if Harris has his complaints, he ought to take most of them to the man staring back at him in the mirror, as it is his screenplay Rush is cribbing from to get his kicks and giggles. And what a shallow, distorted, and exasperating mess it is, buttressed by some ugly, unscrupulous and unhinged reprobates who continue to stir their own sanity with a vicious stick that enjoys beating the audience over the head with one totally forgettable moment and/or red herring laid upon the next. Rush’s cut does not clarify anything. Moreover, it is far too invested in sex for sex’s sake, earning the dreaded ‘X’ rating. As most saw it, Color of Night was rated ‘R’. But thanks to Andrew Vajna’s quick-skilled editing, the theatrical cut is at least coherent – a quality utterly lacking in the director’s cut. Evidently, Rush and Vajna went to loggerheads over whose wholesale cutting would prevail as ‘the’ definitive version. And although it is rumored Rush’s screenings fared better with audiences, Vajna’s response was to fire Rush, citing his contractual rights to take over and release whatever version of the movie he deemed the best.  This battle royale ended when Rush suffered a near-fatal heart attack. Vajna released his version theatrically, but Rush’s would go straight to home video where it earned a solid cult following.  Eventually, 4 versions of Color of Night found their way into distribution: a US, theatrical/R-rated version, the international theatrical cut, the R-rated director's cut and the unrated director’s cut.

Color of Night bombed so spectacularly at the box office, its successful home video release took everyone by surprise – go figure. Viewed today, it is a fairly disposable thriller with Golden Razzies to prove it, even if they have since elevated the picture’s status to that of a good ‘bad’ movie. Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray includes the 121-minute theatrical cut for the first time, and Rush’s 140-minute home video edit, housed on two separate discs.  Image quality is more solid on the theatrical cut. The ‘director’s cut’ suffers from anemic contrast and a softer and less refined image. Colors are subdued on both versions, although the theatrical cut has a few bursts of color that are not nearly as prominent on the extended cut. Grain levels are fairly consistent. But contrast seems a tad boosted on the 141-minute cut, while appearing perfectly balanced on the theatrical cut. If I had to guess, I would say the theatrical cut was sourced from a negative and the extended cut from a print master. Both contain minor instances of age-related debris, though the softer image on the extended cut makes these anomalies all the more distracting by direct comparison. Audio on both is 5.1 DTS and adequate, if undistinguished.  On the theatrical cut, Harris waxes about his participation and chagrin. On the extended cut, Rush gets to have his say. Neither commentary is particularly engrossing. We also get theatrical trailers for this and other thrillers being peddled by Kino. Bottom line: Color of Night is darkly disturbing, weird and tacky. If I had to pick a preferred version to watch again (aside: I would sooner pluck an eye out with a hot poker) then I guess I lean toward the 141-minute director’s cut. But if I want a car chase, I’ll watch Bullitt and if I want to be ‘stimulated’ I’ll just watch porn. The Blu-rays, while adequate, did not enhance my overall appreciation for either version of this forgettable and badly mangled yarn. Regrets.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

Theatrical - 2.5

Director’s Cut - 3

VIDEO/AUDIO

Theatrical - 4

Director’s Cut – 3

EXTRAS

2