INTO THE NIGHT" is the sort of film that most people would put in "the worst movie I've ever seen in my whole life" category. As for me, it's still "The Return of the Pink Panther," in which leading man Peter Sellers was literally dead when filming began.
Jeff Goldblum, torpid star of "Into the Night," isn't dead, it just looks that way. Goldblum plays an insomniac who rescues fast- laner Michelle Pfeiffer from four stooges, apparently the Curly, Larry, Mo and Mohammed of Iran. Hijinks ensue.
Goldblum, known for his acerbic work in "The Big Chill," is miscast as a contemplative wimp here. And his performance, perhaps by necessity, is as tired as Ron Koslow's script, an unsure, scattered series of scenes involving this truly boring individual. Perhaps a guy with narcolepsy next time, eh?
Pfeiffer, however, is appealing as a shrewd and beautiful smuggler who draws the reluctant Goldblum into a night of international intrigue and high-stakes shenanigans. Though flat at times, Pfeiffer fares well compared with the other players under John Landis's inept direction.
The cast, heavily star-studded but to no avail, also includes cameos by Dan Aykroyd (boring), Irene Pappas (inert), directors Paul Mazursky and Roger Vadim (who cares?), David Bowie (not bad), Carl Perkins, etc.
Don't go "Into the Night." It will numb your mind. It will bore your soul. And it will cost you $5. INTO THE NIGHT (R) -- At area theaters.