David Caruso walked away from NYPD Blue because he thought he was going to be the next Clint Eastwood. He wasn't. But while the industry mocked his exit, we actually got the Kiss of Death movie 1995, a gritty, sweating, high-tension crime thriller that deserves way more respect than the "box office flop" label it carried for years.
It’s a remake. Technically. But it’s nothing like the 1947 original where Richard Widmark giggles while pushing an old lady down the stairs. Barbet Schroeder, the director who gave us Single White Female, took the skeleton of that story and draped it in the grime of mid-nineties Queens and Manhattan. It's a world of bridge-and-tunnel criminals, corrupt DA offices, and the kind of desperation that feels like cold coffee on a winter morning.
Caruso plays Jimmy Kilmartin. Jimmy is a guy trying to go straight, which in movie language means he’s about thirty seconds away from being sucked back into a heist. He's got a family. He’s got bills. And he’s got a cousin, Ronnie, played by Michael Rapaport, who is basically a walking disaster. When a job involving stolen alphabetized car parts goes sideways, Jimmy ends up in Sing Sing, refusing to snitch.
That's where the movie really starts to breathe. It isn't just a cops-and-robbers flick. It’s a study in how the system grinds down the little guy between the gears of the law and the mob.
Nicholas Cage and the art of being terrifying
If you mention the Kiss of Death movie 1995 to any cinephile, they won’t talk about Caruso. They’ll talk about Little Junior Brown.
Nicolas Cage was in a very specific pocket of his career here. This was right before Leaving Las Vegas won him an Oscar, and just before The Rock turned him into a global action star. In this film, he is a terrifying, asthma-prone, weight-lifting psychopath. He’s obsessed with his health but kills people with his bare hands. There’s a scene in a strip club—Benny’s—where Cage loses his mind because he thinks someone is "disrespecting" him. It’s vintage Cage. It’s operatic.
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He manages to make Little Junior Brown both a cartoon and a nightmare. He loves his father, he’s insecure about his intelligence, and he has a hair-trigger temper that makes every scene he’s in feel like a ticking bomb. Honestly, the way he uses an inhaler after a burst of violence is more character development than most actors get in a whole trilogy.
The contrast between Caruso’s "less is more" acting and Cage’s "more is never enough" energy creates this weird, magnetic friction. You never know if the movie wants to be a realistic procedural or a fever dream. That’s why it works.
A script written by a man who knew the streets
Richard Price wrote the screenplay. If that name sounds familiar, it should. Price wrote Clockers and eventually became a pillar of the writing team for The Wire. He doesn't write "movie dialogue." He writes how people actually talk when they’re trying to lie to a detective or squeeze a partner for money.
In the Kiss of Death movie 1995, the dialogue is sharp but cluttered with the specific jargon of New York’s criminal underbelly. When the D.A., played by a very sleek Helen Hunt, tries to flip Jimmy, the negotiation feels like a high-stakes poker game where the cards are made of glass.
Price specializes in the "informant" narrative. He understands the soul-crushing weight of being a "rat." Jimmy isn't a hero. He’s a survivor. He’s playing the FBI against the mob because he has no other choice. It’s a cynical view of the world. The cops aren’t necessarily the good guys; they’re just another gang with better paperwork. Samuel L. Jackson pops up as a detective with a scarred eye, and even he feels like a guy just trying to make it to retirement without getting shot or sued.
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The supporting cast is a 90s time capsule
You’ve got a young Stanley Tucci playing a sleazy prosecutor. He’s fantastic. He radiates that specific brand of ambitious Ivy League arrogance that makes you want to see him fall into a puddle.
Then there’s Ving Rhames. Fresh off Pulp Fiction, he brings a quiet, simmering authority to the screen. The movie is stacked. Even the minor roles feel lived-in. You get the sense that every person on screen has a life outside the frame, a mortgage they can't pay, and a secret they’re keeping.
Schroeder’s direction is invisible in the best way. He stays out of the way of the actors. He lets the locations—the gray docks, the cramped apartments, the sterile interrogation rooms—tell the story. The cinematography by Luciano Tovoli uses a lot of naturalistic lighting. It’s not "pretty." It’s moody. It looks like New York before it was cleaned up and turned into a playground for billionaires.
Why did it fail at the box office?
Publicity is a hell of a drug. At the time, the narrative wasn't "look at this great noir." The narrative was "is David Caruso a jerk for leaving his hit TV show?"
The media was obsessed with his ego. They wanted him to fail. When the movie opened to mediocre numbers, the vultures descended. It’s a shame, because if you strip away the 1995 tabloid headlines, the performance is actually solid. Caruso is great at playing the internalised tension of a man who is constantly thinking three steps ahead just to stay alive. He’s the "straight man" to Cage’s lunacy, and that’s a hard role to play without disappearing.
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Also, the mid-90s were a crowded time for crime films. We had Heat, The Usual Suspects, and Seven all arriving around the same era. The Kiss of Death movie 1995 felt more like a throwback to the 70s—think The French Connection or The Seven-Ups. It didn’t have a twist ending or a flashy gimmick. It was just a tough, well-acted story about bad people doing bad things.
The legacy of the "Little Junior" workout
People still talk about Cage’s physical presence in this. He’s massive. He spent months training to look like a guy who does nothing but lift weights and eat raw steaks in the back of a club.
There’s a specific scene involving a bench press that has become a bit of a cult legend. It encapsulates the film's vibe: physical, aggressive, and slightly off-kilter. It’s one of those movies that gets better the more you watch it, mainly because you stop looking for the plot beats and start noticing the textures. The sound of the subway in the distance. The way the characters wear their leather jackets like armor.
Is it a masterpiece? Maybe not. But it’s a high-tier genre exercise. It represents a time when studios still made mid-budget movies for adults. No superheroes. No multiverse. Just a guy, a gun, and a really bad situation.
What to look for on your next rewatch
If you’re going back to watch the Kiss of Death movie 1995, pay attention to the sound design. The city feels loud. It feels oppressive. Notice how Jimmy’s house is the only place that feels quiet, and how that silence gets invaded as the movie progresses.
Also, watch the scenes between Cage and his father. It’s a weirdly tragic subplot. You actually feel a glimmer of sympathy for this monster because you see how much he wants his father’s approval. That’s the Richard Price touch—making the villain human without making him likable.
Actionable insights for film buffs
- Track down the screenplay: If you're a writer, Richard Price’s script for this is a masterclass in subtext. Characters rarely say what they actually mean.
- Compare the versions: Watch the 1947 version first, then the 1995 one. It’s a fascinating look at how "toughness" changed in cinema over fifty years.
- Ignore the "Caruso" stigma: Watch it for the ensemble. It’s a peak 90s New York cast that we likely won't see the likes of again.
- Check out the soundtrack: Trevor Jones’ score is subtle but effectively builds that "no-exit" dread that defines the noir genre.
The film is currently available on various streaming platforms and is a staple of "underrated 90s" lists for a reason. It’s time to stop thinking of it as a David Caruso career move and start seeing it for what it is: a sharp, nasty, and deeply entertaining piece of American neo-noir.