“Death could never be so cold.”
Reggie is a nerd. You can tell because he wears glasses and because he’s “studying physics, biology, computers, and . . . also studying martial arts.” You know, just regular nerd subjects. He works at the post office, fumbling packages and getting teased for being, well, a nerd.
Nerds gonna do what nerds gonna do, which means he goes to the mall and gets a whole new wardrobe. Unlike 99% of all makeover montages ever filmed, the soundtrack to this sequence is very ominous. The low buzzing synth score is so creepy and dark that you actually think a serial killer will pop up behind the sale rack. You can just feel that something bad is going to happen, and it does: he buys a blazer with large shoulder pads and heavily pleated slacks. Fashion claims another victim. But Reggie dons his new threads, takes off his glasses, and boom, he goes from zero to hero, just like Clark Kent. It’s just that easy. Now it’s time to cruise for that tang.
Reggie hits the club. He picks up a girl. And then they get busy. While she showers, something nefarious turns in him. He tosses a hair dryer in the stall. Zzt.
He proceeds to kill other women but unfortunately we don’t see them because those scenes are in a different movie. The local news is calling him Dr. Ice, because he’s a cold-blooded killer. Brr.
Now two cops are on the chase, though James and Billy aren’t getting along. They’ve got drama. They end up in a strip club and argue because all Billy “ever thinks about is titties.” If there’s one place you’re going to think about titties, it’s at a strip club, so I find their argument a little exasperating. You too will find it exasperating.
From there Dr. Ice unfurls into a standard cat-and-mouse chase and by-the-numbers police procedural. There’s a hot-blooded captain, a hot-blooded girlfriend, and another hot-blooded detective from a different precinct. Everyone is hot-blooded, save for Dr. Ice. Cops visit the Psychic Institute, white people dance badly, and there’s a discussion of a kitchen renovation, which is notable only because I’m helping my parents redo their kitchen. This scene really spoke to me. But the greatest thing that happens involves a remote-controlled car and a real car and a real explosion.
Dr. Ice is like an extended episode of Miami Vice, Starsky and Hutch, Law and Order, NYPD Blue, or any cop show you’ve ever seen on TV. The plot is straightforward and familiar and everything is played safe. Producer, director, writer, and star James A. Brooks achieves what many other DIY filmmakers have not: creating a film that actually looks like a film and makes sense. The editing is solid, the photography works, and every scene is lit. There are even different locations and a car chase. Storylines develop and characters grow, and in a stunning first, there’s a strong female character. For a low-budget SOV, Dr. Ice is incredibly adept and professional. If anything, the fault of the film is that it’s too adept and professional. Nothing in this film is coked out or batshit crackernuts, which is odd for a film about a serial killer. This is a measured and organized movie that lives within its means. You get the sense that at the wrap party, everyone was delightful and congenial and Brooks gave a heartfelt speech. There are painfully few Black filmmakers in this era—and really, in any era—which makes Dr. Ice a diamond. I only wish it had more madness and murder from Dr. Ice. A more apt nickname would’ve been Dr. Lukewarm.
