Heat

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.

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.

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.

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.

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