Former mercenary Nick Escalante (Burt Reynolds) is sleepwalking through life in Vegas, dreaming of escape but unable to find the means.
When his ex-girlfriend Holly (Karen Young) requests his help, Nick sees trouble - but it might also give him the means to fulfil his dream…
Dick Richards' name may be on the credits but apparently six people were involved with getting Heat over the line.
According to the trivia I read, Richards directed 41% of the final film, while Jerry Jameson directed 31% - which leaves 28% for the other four.
I am sure one of those names was the star, who reportedly caused this BTS problem by punching Richards during an argument.
Despite the directorial musical chairs, Heat never feels incoherent.
It is not particularly stylish, but the movie has a functionality that lets the story and the characters breathe.
Based on a novel by William Goldman (who also wrote the adaptation), Heat is a meal of a movie.
A noir, action movie, and character study of a sad sack, Heat is fantastic.
While it came out in 1986, the film feels like it could have come out in any particular era.
This movie reaffirmed how poor my knowledge of Burt Reynolds’ filmography is.
I have seen Smokey and the Bandit and Boogie Nights, but for some reason, they did not pique my interest in him. Instead, this movie - the other Heat - caught me.
Part of the film’s magic is the lead character: Nick is such a sad sack.
Over the course of the first half of the movie, we watch Reynolds peel apart his persona to reveal the vulnerability underneath.
The character initially comes across as a familiar tough guy.
He is on the margins, but he is not a criminal. Morally he also rides a line.
The movie is not plot-focused: in the first couple of sequences, the film feels like it is setting up a couple of potential premises.
In the first, Nick helps Holly (Karen Young) get revenge on a sadistic gangster’s son (Neill Barry) who assaulted her. In the second, he has a business providing bodyguard services, and is dealing with a new, green client (Peter MacNicol).
At the halfway point, these plot lines appear resolved, and Nick is on his way toward fulfilling his dream of escaping to Venice.
And then the film shows its hand.
Nick takes his $10k and starts betting at the casino.
The longer the scene plays out, the more tense the scene should get, as the amount of money, and the bets, get larger and larger.
But Reynolds plays against those stakes
He appears relieved, almost like he is resigned to this behaviour.
After racking up and losing a fortune, Nick is back where he started.
Nick’s self-defeating and addiction are present from the beginning but this sequence immerses the viewer.
Part of it is a function of the script but it also serves as both a counter to Reynolds’ assuring presence (there are no winks at the camera or any equivalent gestures) and an output for his inherent sense of pathos.
It is the high point of the movie.
The third act is enjoyable, but a little familiar: our hero turns the tables on the villain. The final confrontation is legitimately underwhelming, but it does not deflate the movie as a whole.
And as for our hero, Nick ends the film wounded but victorious.
Sadly, for Reynolds, Heat was another bomb.
On top of the star’s offscreen behaviour, Heat has been buried by its title, and how synonymous it is with Michael Mann’s 1995 crime epic.
While it is no hidden masterpiece, Heat ‘86 deserves a better reputation than relative obscurity.
No comments:
Post a Comment