Heat

From the New York Times, October 26th, 2001.

"Pat Ast, 59, Film Actress.

WEST HOLLYWOOD, Calif. Oct 26 - Pat Ast, 59, a model and actress who appeared in Andy Warhol films, died on Oct. 2 of natural causes at her home, it was reported in the Los Angeles Times.

Ms. Ast, who was born in Brooklyn, was a receptionist and clerk in a box factory when she met Warhol and starred in some of his films. Her roles led to meeting the designer Halston at a party, and she was a model in his Madison Avenue store.

She moved to Los Angeles in the mid-1970's and appeared in several films, including 'Reform School Girls, and 'The Incredible Shrinking Woman.'"

thought someone might like to know.

This is the last of the Flesh-Trash-Heat trilogy, and my favorite among the three, with its plenty one-liners, stunning acting, lots of flesh showing (tamer than the other two though) and quite sad background.

This is quite different from its prequels in acting, script and camera use. Heat actually has a plot, the actors including Joe Dallessandro are very good and the camera moves, instead of being stable.

Loneliness lurks everywhere, in the forgotten old star's delusion of still having loads of fans, in the ex-child star's dreams of settling down honorably, and all the other inmates of the run-down motel.

A funny, almost mystically seedy story about the impotent, vacuous end-point of trash culture - the former child star now a passive, blankly available icon of smooth flesh: fame and "art" (if there is such a thing) having become mere hollow commodities on the one hand, and a medium for posturing neediness on the other (Miles). The movie has all the elements of a Sunset Boulevard parody, but without any romantic nostalgia or bittersweetness; its depiction of raw desire and lust and loneliness is surprisingly touching despite the artifice and rough-shaped quality. It's unsettling too in depicting the fragility of its personae - Joe a pitiful application of celebrity, saying he's a musician and hanging out waiting for a deal that may never transpire; Miles' celebrity apparently mainly existing in the eyes of a group of sycophants whose power is in definite doubt; Miles' daughter flirting with lesbianism with a woman who abuses her. The ending is an excellently deadpan final note of impotence.

One of my first "art" films after, as a total hick, I fled to the "big city", Vancouver, where I attended its 1973 Canadian premier. I laughed till I cried: Pat Ast, the control freak with the southern accent, inflicting herself on anyone who crosses her path. Wonderful moment: Sylvia Miles on her way out of the motel just after a big fight with Jesse (Andrea Feldman) and there's Lydia-Pat, leaning against the wall in her platforms, shaking her head disparagingly as Sylvia walks by. I mean, she doesn't even KNOW this woman, yet she's passing judgement on sight alone. What a splendidly awful person! Check out the moment when Pat, having bribed Joe into a sexual encounter, starts obsessing on crazy poor Andrea is and how she "just can't" have people like that around her anymore. As if she has any claims to class. Oh, and that scene between her and Sylvia, where she taunts about her sexual conquest of Joe and breaks into psychotic laughter as Sylvia flees in ego-deflated confusion. I love this movie as a whole, but Pat Ast made it total magic. Why isn't she a comedy star?

What a good movie!! Not necessarily for B-movie standards, but just plain good. It's subtle weirdness vs. full-blast sleaze as former child star, Joe Davis (yeah, that Joe) moves into a seedy motel inhabited by some rather questionable individuals. First, there's the land lady, Lydia (Divine?), an outlandish, beast of a woman, who, after one look at Joe, decides exactly how he'll pay rent. Joe doesn't mind, this guy is up for just about anything. Then there's Jessica. Poor girl. After meeting Joe by the pool, she convinces him to come back to her room and hang out with her and her mother, the not-so-famous, Sally Todd, seemingly to get under the woman's skin. At this point we learn that Jessica is trying to convince her mother, and herself, that she's in a lesbian relationship, so she'll give her more money, or at least to get under her skin, probably both. Sally's more interested in Joe. Her and Joe once worked together on a TV show when he was a kid. Sally, the now over-the-hill, hasbeen actress somehow convinces Joe to ditch the freak show motel and shack up with her in her mansion so that she can "help his career". Too bad Sally is old enough to be Joe's great grandmother, otherwise, he would have a pretty swell setup going on. But before Joe knows it, Sally gets all drunk and ornery, and clingy, and all he really wants to do is lay around and chill. To make matters worse, Jessica has now joined them after ditching her suicidal/abusive girlfriend, so now, she's all over Joe, you guessed it, to get under her mothers skin. We go back and forth between Sally's drunken rants, to Joe's not caring, to Jessica's insane babbling, and of course back to the motel shenanigans. Not a wholesome moment to be had, sleaze from reel to reel. This film is apart of the Morrissey Flesh-Trash-Heat Trilogy. Not sure what makes it a Trilogy, but it is. Joe Dallesandro is as indifferent as ever (still no acting skills) and Andrea Feldman (Jessica), as usual, is conveniently out of her mind, probably on acid. She actually killed herself before this film was even released. Just thought you'd like to know. Heat is peculiar, mean-spirited, and vulgar, and filled with Inept, yet highly improvised acting, with very little point, which are just a few reasons to not hate this movie. 10/10