The only feature directed
by Dennis McGuire, whose sole Hollywood credit outside this project was
cowriting the bizarre insane-asylum picture End
of the Road (1970), this obscure drama somewhat anticipates the notorious
Rodney King incident, because the plot concerns a young man capturing an episode
of police brutality on film. Unfortunately, McGuire—who adapted the script from
a novel by Paul Tyner—can’t quite figure out where to go from his incendiary
jumping-off point. Instead of taking the obvious path by creating a thriller
wherein the police officer tries to prevent evidence from surfacing, or even
the more challenging path of exploring the societal repercussions after the
evidence is released, McGuire opts for a two-pronged character study. Most of
the scenes depict the bad cop in his everyday environment, carousing and
drinking in between bouts of Catholic guilt and self-loathing. A smaller number
of scenes depict the person who shot the incriminating footage, a young,
African-American film student. Neither of these characters is put across in a
satisfying way, and it doesn’t help that idiosyncratic actor Michael Moriarty
plays the leading role—he’s alternately somnambulistic and weird, conveying the
surface of the cop without providing much psychological insight.
The film
starts on an interesting note, setting up the possibilities and problems of
McGuire’s ambiguous approach. Beat cop Herby (Moriarty) gets caught taking a
bribe in exchange for not writing a traffic ticket, so he’s briefly suspended.
Meanwhile, young Lamont (Eric Laneuville) spends his time filming a praying
mantis for an experimental film project. One day, their lives collide. Back on
the beat, Herby casually murders a suspect in an alleyway, and Lamont films the
altercation from his apartment window several stories overhead. Then, once
Herby is suspended again while the investigation grinds along, the lawyer (Paul
Sorvino) representing the dead man’s widow finds Lamont and arranges for him to
be a surprise witness at Herby’s trial. Yet much of the picture concerns
tangential stuff, like Herby’s debauched exploits with fellow sleazebag Garrity
(Earl Hindman). McGuire tracks and resolves the story in an awkward manner,
largely ignoring obvious and worthwhile possibilities for expanding the
narrative’s sociological impact. Shoot It
Black, Shoot It Blue contains intimate and strange details, but it also
contains lots of pointless filler. So by the time the picture reaches its
fashionably cynical finale, McGuire has lost most of his authorial credibility.
Shoot It Black, Shoot It Blue: FUNKY
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