Heat

Heat is of the best films I have ever seen, and I consider it one of the greatest ever made. Must a great movie be slick, artificially lit and laboriously plotted?

Heat is an honest and hilarious portrayal of dysfunction, ugliness and despair with comedic innocence at its core. It is a visionary look into the souls of the much-less-than-beautiful people in a sun-bleached setting where poverty and suicide lurk just around the corner to glamor (glamor that is only parodied by the impoverishment of the production). At the height of their improbability, the characters are more real, more vivid and enigmatic than 99.9% of Hollywood factory fare. In the moments of their most wooden acting, the fascinations of the real person - whether it be the gapingly numb Joe Dallesandro, the ogrishly preening Pat Ast or the gonzo mystery of Andrea Feldmen, emerges with overexposed brilliance.

Sylvia Miles plays her role with subtlety and iconic ugliness. She is not trying to look "marketable," as so many do, but to play a part as naturally as a spirited animal defecating in a forest. There is rarely an ending so original in a film, too - the impotence of further tragedy in an already so tragic film. Burning through the most awkward of 70s fashion and through its slick rivals with fashion-model actors, Heat is raw psychological meat on an open flame.

The perennially struggling actor, the withering diva, the junkie daughter, and the sleazy motel owner are the main clowns in Paul Morrissey's trash fest, "Heat", famously produced by Andy Warhol. Most are already familiar with the film's plot and the "Sunset Boulevard" connection, as well as the infamous cast including Pat Ast, Andrea Feldman, Sylvia Miles, and, of course, Joe Dallesandro.

The memorable opening theme, the mostly eccentric characters, and the retro vibe of the film are major reasons why "Heat" is so entertaining. Dallesandro helps set the tone right from the beginning in one of my favorite opening scenes on celluloid. I'm not the type to go gaga over theme songs but I can still hear the film's very retro-kitsch opening music. The 70's California vibe is so palpable it's almost a character unto itself. It could be as simple as a pony-tailed Dallesandro lazing around the pool but a lot of the scenes are somehow so definitive there's no mistaking time and place. Opportunistic, predatory, needy, or just plain deranged, these characters form a hodge-podge of amusing characters that would make Jerry Springer proud. There's a lot of sex and fighting going on and they all center on the Dionysian male sex object and Warhol muse, Dallesandro. The film was made certainly just to have an excuse to ogle him on screen for 90 minutes.

"Heat" is among the trashiest films I have seen and my favorite, the most palatable in the famous Warhol trilogy (with "Trash" and "Flesh"), and the quintessential 70's "art"/trash film. There are no grandiose aspirations here, just a sunny, lackadaisical brand of California nostalgia punctuated by one of the era's most prominent male sex symbols.

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

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?

For fans of the utterly deadpan only. Those looking for more conventional laughs might choose to look elsewhere. Not as overtly funny as "Trash," this one requires a little more patience--or, in the case of suffering through Andrea Feldman's TERRIBLE "acting," a LOT of patience. It's basically a one-joke affair, with all the mundane (though slyly hysterical) chatter leading up to the funny last few seconds. Paul Morrisey's camera typically meanders around, catching whatever it can on the fly, but for one classic moment: Sylvia Miles walking into frame and interrupting a twisted little encounter between Joe Dallesandro and Feldman; the camera stays stock still, but the timing of the movements of the actors is a stitch! Dallesandro is his typically passive self--but this is probably the most gorgeous he has ever looked on camera. There are times the camera just stares at him with awe. He isn't quite as bad an actor as his reputation makes him out to be--he's actually quite subtle and kind of funny when he dumps Miles at the end--but one look at him and you know why he's in this movie.