Coldblooded (1995)

Coldblooded is the kind of deadpan, off-kilter crime comedy that sneaks up on you: it takes a basement-dwelling mob bookie and treats his “promotion” to hitman with such calm absurdity that the laughs come from the chill in the air, not the punchline. Jason Priestley is terrific against type, playing Cosmo with a blank stare that somehow becomes its own comic instrument, while the film’s low-key surrealism and oddball supporting turns (including a perfectly used Janeane Garofalo) give it the feeling of a noir dream that’s learned to smirk. The vibe is laconic and darkly playful—violence exists, but it’s framed with a wry, sideways sensibility rather than action-movie swagger. If you need broad jokes or high-octane thrills, it may feel too dry, but if you like your comedy black, your crime story strange, and your performances quietly daring, this one’s an underrated treat.

Coldblooded is aiming for that mid-’90s “quirky hitman” crime-comedy vibe, mixing deadpan violence with offbeat romance and a wink at gangster-movie cool. The problem is it often feels like it’s borrowing someone else’s swagger rather than earning its own, and the central gag of an emotionless guy stumbling through murder and love gets stretched until the pacing turns clunky. If you’re expecting sharp action, big laughs, or a genuinely fresh twist on the genre, this can come off slight and a bit try-hard, with more mannerism than momentum. Still, Jason Priestley commits to the blank-slate oddball angle, and if you enjoy low-budget, Tarantino-adjacent crime comedies as a time capsule, you may find it mildly charming in a scruffy way.