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.

As I had been anticipating, the third and last of Paul Morrissey's trilogy of films with Joe Dallesandro as the (willing) object of desire of practically the entire cast irrespective of gender, is the best made and most accessible. With no full-frontal nudity this time around, the services of an Oscar-nominated actress in Sylvia Miles, a narrative which obviously (and not unamusingly) parodies Billy Wilder's SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950) and a generally more disciplined approach, Morrissey was clearly striving towards the mainstream here…although HEAT is still full of offbeat, individual touches and the dubious ingredients associated with this type of film.

Dallesandro is now a minor ex-star of Western TV series who's keen on kickstarting a singing career and Miles a fading character actress who likes to think she still has influence in the business and promises her support in return for certain favors. After a stint at a dingy Hollywood resort (the scene has shifted from New York to Los Angeles as per Joe's ambitions) – where he submits to the wiles of the obese and frizzy-haired female owner played by Pat Ast – Joe is soon shacked up in Miles' old-style mansion as a kept man. Here, however, he also attracts the unwelcome attention of Miles' mixed-up daughter (whom he actually met at the resort, where she was staying with her possessive girlfriend and baby in tow); appearing in this role is Andrea Feldman – the girl in search of a trip in TRASH (1970) – who seems to have been troubled in real-life as well, seeing how she committed suicide before this film had even opened!

Unlike the previous films in the trilogy, here Dallesandro is pretty much the observer – or, rather, the catalyst for the histrionics of the three women (Miles, Feldman and the acid-tongued Ast); two other notable characters (also residing in the run-down motel) are siblings involved in an incestuous stage act(!), one of whom is a dimwit who wears female clothes and has an embarrassing penchant for public manifestations of masturbation!!

While the plot only really parallels that of SUNSET BOULEVARD on the surface, the ending of the film sees Miles attempting to shoot Dallesandro as he leaves her for good – just as Gloria Swanson did to William Holden in the unforgettable climax of the Wilder classic – with, admittedly, hilarious results! Ex-Velvet Underground founder John Cale's "score" is good but, disappointingly, only plays over the opening and closing credits and was not even written specifically for the film but taken from his then-current album, "The Academy In Peril".

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.

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.