GREGORY DARK WEEK: Night Rhythms (1992)

EDITOR’S NOTE: You can check out an alternate viewpoint from R.D Francis in this article.

This movie is so not from our reality and that makes me love it so much. Imagine a world in which Nick West (Martin Hewitt) can put on a nightly radio show where he gets multiple female callers to have phone sex with him. And he’s very not so great at it, other than having a gravelly voice, but they instantly become jelly on the phone lines, telling him how horrible their husbands are and why only he truly understands them.

Then one night, Honey (Tracy Tweed, sister of Shannon) gets through to Nick, who decides to dial Radio Moscow with her live on the air while people listen because obviously, the FCC does not prosecute for obscenity in the world of Night Rhythems.

Nick ends up taking it to Honey so hard — there’s some choking — that they both pass out but she doesn’t wake up. She’s dead and several very horny women basically heard Nick kill her on the air with his lovemaking. Even he isn’t sure what happened.

The one person who can help Nick is Cinnamon (Deborah Driggs, the one-time wife of American Rickshaw star Mitch Gaylord), an ex-dancer that understands the world that Honey came from, a place where the criminal Vincent (David Carradine) controls the ladies on and off the stage of his club. The cops are on his trail, mainly Jackson, played by Sam J. Jones, but Nick also keeps scoring with the ladies, like Jamie “The Brat” Summers, Julie Strain, Kelly Royce, Kristine Rose (who is in Joe D’Amato’s Passion’s Flower and Eleven Days, Eleven Nights 2), Tamara Longly and Alicyn Sterling.

You may figure out the twist early, which is fine, because obviously, it’s Bridget (Delia Sheppard) as the person trying to go from being Nick’s producer to taking over the show. What is a shock is that Wally Pfister, who has been the cinematographer for Christopher Nolan’s films (as well as Amityville: A New Generation and several more movies for Dark).

It all adds up now. Every frame is filled with smoke, sax solos, neon and the need to make the kind of love that only exists in movies, where no one gets a sprain or kneels on someone’s hair or looks anything less than their absolute sexiest.

Gregory Dark knows what he’s doing. This is probably one of his better efforts, at least mainstream.

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