Alright fellow tapeheads, slide that worn copy of The January Man into the VCR, maybe give the tracking a little nudge, and settle in. Remember this one? Popping up on the shelves in early '89, right after playwright John Patrick Shanley had snagged that shiny Best Original Screenplay Oscar for Moonstruck (1987). Expectations were sky-high. The buzz was that Shanley, the new darling of Hollywood scriptwriting, had another quirky, character-driven gem up his sleeve, this time wrapped in a thriller. What landed, however, was something... else. Something uniquely, bafflingly, and often wonderfully weird – a film that feels like three different movies got thrown in a blender with half of New York City’s character actors.
### A Cast That Defies Logic (In the Best Way)
Seriously, let’s just pause and appreciate the sheer wattage of talent crammed into this picture. You've got Kevin Kline, fresh off his own Oscar win for A Fish Called Wanda (1988), playing Nick Starkey, a disgraced-cop-turned-firefighter-turned-eccentric-genius. He’s flanked by Susan Sarandon as his former flame Christine, now married to his tough-as-nails police commissioner brother Frank, played with simmering intensity by Harvey Keitel. Add Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio as the Mayor’s resourceful daughter Bernadette (who becomes Nick's unlikely ally and love interest), Alan Rickman having an absolute blast as Ed, Nick's bohemian artist neighbor, Rod Steiger chewing scenery as the blustering Mayor Eamon Flynn, and Danny Aiello as police captain Vincent Alcoa. It’s a murderer’s row of late-80s acting royalty. Reportedly, Shanley's Moonstruck heat helped draw this incredible ensemble to what was, on paper, a very unconventional script he'd actually penned before his big hit. Seeing them all bounce off Shanley's stylized, sometimes theatrical dialogue is half the fun.
### Serial Stranglers and Sophisticated Banter
The plot itself sounds like standard gritty thriller fare: a calculating serial killer is terrorizing Manhattan, strangling women according to a bizarre calendar-based pattern. The city is panicked, the Mayor (Steiger) is apoplectic, and Commissioner Starkey (Keitel) is out of ideas. His only option? Bring back his estranged, black sheep brother Nick (Kline), the brilliant but highly unorthodox detective dismissed from the force years prior. Nick agrees, but only on his own terms – which include demanding a date with his brother’s wife (Sarandon), involving the Mayor's daughter (Mastrantonio) in the investigation, and generally operating like a caffeinated, free-associating Sherlock Holmes let loose in the pre-Giuliani grime of NYC.
What unfolds is less a tense procedural and more a series of eccentric encounters, witty (and sometimes baffling) exchanges, and sudden shifts in tone. One minute we're dealing with the grim reality of the murders, the next Nick is conducting elaborate data analysis involving ordnance maps and classical music, or engaging in flirtatious banter with Bernadette, or navigating the simmering romantic triangle with Christine and Frank. Did I mention Alan Rickman mostly paints, offers cryptic advice, and hosts impromptu dinner parties? Because he does, and it’s glorious.
### Shanley's Sidewalk Symphony
Shanley’s script is the undeniable star and perhaps the central "problem" of The January Man. It crackles with that same heightened, almost poetic urban dialogue that made Moonstruck sing, but here it’s applied to a much darker, more disjointed framework. Characters don't just talk; they declare, they pontificate, they engage in rapid-fire verbal sparring that sometimes feels more suited to the stage than the screen. Director Pat O'Connor, known for more grounded dramas like Cal (1984) and later Circle of Friends (1995), seems occasionally unsure how to visually corral Shanley’s linguistic fireworks and tonal leaps. The result is a film that feels authentically New York – capturing that late 80s energy, the look of the city before intense gentrification – but also strangely artificial in its human interactions. It's a unique flavour, for sure. I distinctly remember renting this, drawn by the cast and the thriller premise, and feeling utterly bewildered yet strangely captivated by its sheer oddness.
### Quirky Charm or Tonal Mess?
Let's be honest: The January Man was not a hit. Critics were largely baffled, calling it uneven and tonally schizophrenic (it holds a pretty grim score on review aggregators based on contemporary reviews). It barely made back its modest $4.6 million budget at the box office, pulling in around $4.8 million. Yet, like so many fascinating failures, it found a second life on VHS and late-night cable, becoming a sort of cult puzzle piece for fans of the cast or Shanley's unique voice.
Does it all work? Not really. The shifts between dark crime story, romantic comedy, and character study are often jarring. The central mystery gets resolved in a somewhat perfunctory climax after Nick has an almost comical "Eureka!" moment. There's a certain lack of grit one might expect from the premise; the film feels less dangerous and more like an elaborate, intellectual game. But... is it entertaining? Absolutely. Kline is magnetic as the eccentric Nick, Mastrantonio is sharp and appealing, Sarandon smolders, Keitel broods effectively, and Rickman steals every scene he’s in with effortless charisma. It’s worth watching just to see these titans interact within Shanley’s peculiar snow globe of a story.
VHS Heaven Rating: 6/10
Justification: The score reflects the film's undeniable flaws – its tonal inconsistency and occasionally awkward plotting prevent it from being a true classic. However, the stellar, committed performances from an absolutely killer cast, Shanley's uniquely stylized (if sometimes baffling) dialogue, and its sheer, unforgettable oddity earn it significant points. It's a fascinating experiment, even if the experiment didn't entirely succeed.
Final Rewind: The January Man is the cinematic equivalent of that weird, unlabeled mixtape you found in a box – baffling track transitions, unexpected genre shifts, but with moments of pure, unadulterated brilliance from artists you love. It’s a flawed, fascinating relic from a time when studios might still take a gamble on something this determinedly quirky, and a perfect slice of late-80s NYC captured on tape. Definitely worth dusting off for a rewatch, if only to ask yourself afterwards, "What did I just see?"