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.

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".

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

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.

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.