Buried within this overlong, rambling tale is the horror equivalent of Martin Scorcese's film AFTER HOURS. A last-minute trip to a convenience store for condoms results in a series of random, bizaare events that turn increasingly violent. Laymon has a nice way with setting the scene but his pointless, rambling dialog is grating as are his icky obsessions with the female anatomy. Some judicious editing would have really made TONIGHT a far better listen/read. Gene Engene is an odd choice as narrator; his Wilford Brimley-like delivery is sometimes at odds with the very graphic nature of the material.
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