Director: Michael Mann
Starring: Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, Val Kilmer, Jon Voight, Tom Sizemore, Ashley Judd, Wes Studi
Another great review from Adam Truscott.
The One Where I Love HEAT, And You Should Too
I mentioned in my Pulp Fiction review that it goes toe-to-toe everyday in my head with Heat and Fight Club, as my favourite movie.
*cue wiggly lines down the screen, to insinuate day me dreaming*
Do you remember Movie Watch? Johnny Vaughn used to present it on Channel Four. People held giant numbers up, to score a film out of ten. I may pinch that idea for my own Blog in 2011.
Anyway. When reviewing Heat, they claimed it was an 18. And with that, a piece of me died.
I was fourteen in 1995 when Heat came out at cinemas. An 18 would have meant a few years wait to see it. There were no cheeky film streams back then, and that was something I just couldn’t take.
I started to forge a plan to get into my local cinema, (A glorious fleapit. Not like those span dangled multiplexes we all reside in now). The plan was flawless.
Then something happened.
Heat was released as a 15.
So essentially, I need not have bothered. If nothing else, it shows what I was willing to do to see this film.
If Vincent Vega thinks you’re either a Beatles man, or an Elvis man – Heat makes me come up with my own version of that. You’re either a De Niro man, or a Pacino man. (Or woman, obv). There is a flip side to every coin.
Me? I’m De Niro. And bizarrely that’s from my Mum. My Dad would maybe struggle to decide. What we would be in agreement on though is that we both hate “shouty Al”. Shouty Al for those not in the know is when Pacino feels he needs to SHOUT REALLY LOUD. You know, even when it’s not necessary. (“YOU COULD GET KILLED WALKING YOUR DOGGY!” is a good example.
I have to say, Heat really challenges that theory. Pacino plays his cop as so burnt out. So on the edge (where he’s gotta be), that it works.
When Michael Mann talked about Pacino on the DVD a few years ago, it clicked into place. Vincent Hanna does cocaine. He’s so wired all of the time, so buzzed, that he’s constantly trying to keep himself in check.
And that’s the thing I love about Heat. The layers.
Years of it being my favourite film, and I never realised.
A cop, so into what he does, that he thinks nothing of throwing his TV on the side walk.
It makes him a great adversary to Neil McCauley. De Niro here is the complete opposite in personality. (“Lady, why do you care so much about what I say, or what I do?”). But all the time, Heat is setting up the similarities, and mutual respect, between the two.
They are 24/7. They never sleep. Always on call. They would both rather stand and look out at the blue ocean, with the blue sky, and the blue coffee table as their only companions. Because they live sparse. There is no décor. No colour. (Apart from Blue).
When they meet, in that scene, it’s everything you want it to be. Sharing the screen, (sort of), if nothing else, I just feel like I can mentally tick it off of my list of ten things I want to see before I die.
Their second meeting, as Moby (remember him?), plays “God Moves”? That’s even better. As closing shots go, it’s maybe my favourite of all time.
Both still alone. Both always working. Neither of them sleeping that night.
I have too many moments to mention, as potential favourites.
I can’t mention the shoot out. I know my limits when writing. I can’t do that justice. I just hope by unfolding all of my memories in my head I jog someone to see it again. Christ, maybe for the first time. (I envy you if that’s the case).
The way Mann shoots L.A at night. A trick he’s been perfecting ever since – for me never topping. (Although being on top of the roof of the club with Tubbs and Crockett comes close).
The way things come full circle for characters. How I always forget about Danny Trejo, until De Niro goes to his home, thinking he’s the one that ratted them out.
The one-liners. (The script is full of lines I quote all the time).
“Who am I talking too? ‘Cos the fucker on the end of this line, is a dead man”.
It’s not with out its critics. It’s too long. Too cold. Too masculine. (And not in a gay Top Gun way).
Hmmm… Maybe. But actually the women in the story are portrayed perfectly for me. Fed up with being given the money, but no one to share it with. Most just wanting someone to sleep next too at night. But these guys don’t sleep. They can’t sleep.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
