When I saw The Man in the Iron Mask through to the end, I thought I’d reached the depth of cinematic embarassment. Color of Night, amazingly, is worse.

In this straight-to-trashcan production by Alan Smithee wannabe Rush, Bruce Willis and Jane March co-star in what was probably intended as a psychological thriller, but turned out as a campy comedy with very few laughs. Support actors Pakula, Warren, Dourif and Blades murder lines from a script that should have never been considered for production. The plot roams, swerves and bucks without making any sense at any point in the movie. None of the characters convince or connect, and none of the dialogue moves or sparkles, though Dourif does try.

The Raspberries go to Willis and March, though. Willis gets his for the worst script-picking of his career. And March for the mistake of thinking she’s in a Playboy feature – though the camera work supports this misconception. These two are supposed to be young lovers, but there is no recognizable chemistry whatsoever.

Even the sex scenes are lame and unconvincing. Yes, we get to see Willis’s willy. And yes, there isn’t much of ms. March we don’t get to see. But I’ve never seen two actors who looked less like they enjoyed making out, and I’ve seen Attack of the Clones twice.

If you’re reading this trying to decide if you want to rent this movie, just send me your five bucks. If you’re deciding if you want to watch it on TV, go to your bathroom and watch mould develop instead. You’ll have a better time.