User reviews

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.

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

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.

Have you ever overheard a bizarre conversation between 2 or 3 people and despite the fact that you find the words bizarre there is something interesting? You can't tear your ear away? Well, that's basically what happens here.

We are in the company of a small group who lead very unconventional lives. It's hard to watch all of it and it can be confusing and nauseating but you can't stop. All of the actors/actress' do a very good job here-especially and not surprisingly Silvia Miles. The way she turns her head in frustration while rolling her eyes upward-perfect! She nailed her character. Joe also does a very good job as does Pat Ast, perfect in her role as the concierge of a small Hollywood Motel.

At times the film suffers from poor editing and maybe some rough acting but you believe these people. That's the uneasy part. Watch this with an open mind and I'll bet you want to see it again at some point. I drag it out once a year to watch and am always glad I did.

Another slice of (decedent) life from Paul Morrissey & Andy Warhol utilizing their patented 'fly-on-the-wall' Cinéma vérité style. Joe Dallessandro plays his usual befuddled loser who finds himself in the company of bigger freaks than himself. As with any Warhol film there is a cast of a dozen or so said freaks, half living on the edge of society & the other half the high society & the two halves meet for 90 minutes or so in movie form. The real star of the film is the editor. This film is obviously culled & spliced together from hundreds of hours of improv dialogue, like, the director told the actors 'here's where your character talks about this thing & then that thing.' Then the editor splices the few interesting scenes into a movie. It's all low budget (sad Sylvia Miles took this role after winning an Oscar nomination but thank you Sylvia!) and not especially hilarious (your mind will wander a few times) but overall it's an artifact from a bygone day that, perhaps, fleeted by too soon. Recommended, at least once.

"Heat" is the final film in Paul Morrissey's 'Bad Taste Trilogy', following "Flesh" (1968) and "Trash" (1970), all from the Andy Warhol studios. Joe Dallesandro, star of the previous two films, plays Joey Davies, an ex-child star, who comes to a run-down motel, populated by a variety of strange people, including masochistic lesbian Jessica Todd (Andrea Feldman), who keeps her baby quiet with sleeping pills, and the obese and flamboyant land-lady Lydia (Pat Ast). Jessica introduces Joey to her mother Sally (Sylvia Miles), who once acted with Joe on a TV show and who is now a fading Hollywood star. Joe starts an affair with Sally, hoping to restart his career, as well as having affairs with both Lydia and Jessica.

The film is more accessible than "Flesh" and "Trash", and is at least similar to conventional mainstream cinema, with something like a story, basically a pastiche of Billy Wilder's "Sunset Boulevard" (1950), and actors playing characters. However it suffers from not being as affecting as the previous Morrissey films. The problem is that it is very ordinary, by Warhol standards. Certainly the sex and nudity are far tamer in this one, then in the other two. One of the film's main advantages though is the rotten "Hollyweird" atmosphere that the whole film has: something undeniably sleazy and rancid.

On a trivia note the film was shot mostly at the Tropicana Motel in Los Angeles where musician Tom Waits resided in the early 1970s, and co-star Andrea Feldman killed herself shortly after the film was released, indeed she does appear dangerously unbalanced throughout the film.

Contains swearing and nudity.

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.

Cult film with no direction.

Just a bunch of stuff in a long video.

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?

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.

67/100. Campy classic, extremely low budget and the third in Paul Morrissey's collaboration with Andy Warhol. The acting is quite poor, the sound quality is bad. However, it was quite frank and controversial back in 1972 with it's blunt sexuality and racy situations. It's fascinating in respect to it's historical cult significance. Supposedly based on Sunset Boulevard, but in my opinion, there is only a minimal resemblance. It has some of the worst editing I have ever seen, bad enough to severely disrupt the films flow and to the point of being distracting. The sound quality is the same way, it has a bit of an echo to it and sometimes it's difficult to distinguish what the actors are saying.

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.

The area of Hollywood LA - a strange place to the uninitiated. It was in my younger days: a cheap hotel on my drive south. Not far from Sunset Boulevard. The swimming pool reassures me the joint is 'respectable'. I don't lock my room door. In walks a girl. "Hey - I saw you and thought we could have some fun," she says, peeling her top off. Strangely, I don't feel attracted. "Of course," she purrs, edging forward and thrusting her ample assets closer, "you know I'm a man . . ." . Prurient or inexperienced - or let's say 'discerning' - I beat a hasty retreat. Warhol-Morrissey's film, Heat, uses the themes from Billy Wilder's famous Sunset Boulevard movie, but by stripping it of prurience and distractingly high production values, makes the moral dilemmas more accessible.

In place of opening credits, an intertitle asserts: "In 1971 another film studio, the Fox Lot on Sunset Boulevard was torn down." Cut to an attractive young man standing on a demolition site.

Several strands are immediately established. The historical development of Hollywood as a geographical area, former nexus of the film industry. A metaphor for the re-working of the Billy Wilder classic. A scene of empty desolation as a metaphor of Warhol minimalism. And the emptiness into which our protagonist will seek to re-enter his former glory.

Joey, the youngster on the empty lot, is a former star child actor, now struggling to make a living. He rents a room at Lydia's motel. A respectable place. Especially now there's a 'star' staying there. Joey needs to keep overheads down so isn't averse to advances from fat, middle-aged Lydia. But through a chance meeting with another resident, Joey meets the very well-heeled Sally Todd (Sylvia Miles). Sally is middle-aged but well-preserved. She disapproves of the pervs at Lydia's motel, including the brothers who earn a living by having sex on stage, and her own daughter Jessica who is going through a lesbian 'phase'. Joey latches on to Sally. She buys him expensive gifts, and tries to get him back into movies. Sally has all the trappings of success, although we sense that her 'stardom' days were maybe slightly more modest than she lets on. If Joey plays his cards close to his chest, Jessica is completely up-front about her relationship with 'Mom', openly claiming she's only interested in her money.

Morrissey uses Warhol's distancing techniques to establish Brechtian analysis on the part of the audience. Much of the acting and editing is amateurish, as if the characters are mere ciphers for the themes they represent. The sexually charged sequences make this apparent at gut-level. When Joey lets Lydia seduce him, the palpable sexual excitement is in stark contrast to the blandness of much of what has gone before. As bored Joey gropes her under her dress, the unashamed lust on the face of this less-than-attractive, sexually frustrated, middle-aged woman is like something off a reality show. The control-freak has scored and lets herself loose. It has neither the manufactured, over-acted look of pornography nor the air-brushed unbelievability of the 'erotic' scenes from mainstream movies.

When Sally enters the story, things progress to a more traditionally dramatic level (Sylvia Miles went on to become twice Oscar-nominated for later films). Her craziness is of the blind sort that often goes with sexual obsession focused on a much younger partner. Her wealth, success and social standing have blinded her and made her intolerant, denying even the possibility that her daughter could be lesbian. Sally's hypocrisy is exposed when Jessica later makes a jealous play for Joey.

The moral ambiguity is developed by making the younger characters sympathetic. They are open-minded, decent people in many ways. Sally's traditional morality is exposed not only as bigoted but (more importantly to anyone who sympathises with ultra-conservative values) self-deluding and sexually controlling. This makes us reconsider the morality of the youngsters, who are using their good looks simply to survive. They are also, by comparison, in control of their sexuality, whereas the older characters are enslaved by it.

In Wilder's Sunset Boulevard, we can now question the ethics of all the characters, including the clean-cut Betty Schaefer. Like Jessica, she is just doing the job for the money, and has no qualms about renouncing her engagement when she gets a more lubricious offer. Boulevard's Joe Gillis, like the Joey of Heat, really has no faithfulness to anyone. He rejects the younger, more attractive girl rather than blow his material fortune. Like it or not, the crazy Sally Todd (Sylvia Miles) / Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson), has her feelings protected by society.

Morrissey takes bare Warhol aesthetic and makes it accessible. To Warhol, cinema was a visual perception-event, an art experience to challenge how we observe. Morrissey uses the trappings of narrative, pulling us into the experience by associating the familiarity of a conventional movie. Many of his films appeal to minority audiences. Heat, although containing themes that some might still find offensive, can appeal to most thinking audiences. Character-for-character comparisons with Sunset Boulevard instantly raise it above the "unsavoury piece of work laced with sex, lesbianism, self-abuse and perversion" with which one tabloid equated it.

Heat's sheer comic inventiveness will keep you glued to your seat wondering what surprise turn will hit you next. As an unassuming introduction to the work of Morrissey (and his mentor Warhol) it is possibly unsurpassed. Filmed in LA over a two-week period, for a budget of $50,000, it is a remarkable accomplishment in arresting film technique, improvisation, and stark observation of contrasting social mores. It throws new light on an old classic (which should be viewed first) and is also an acute commentary on the weird and wonderful world of 70's LA. Heat is an insightful film for the discerning; and a fresh, unpredictable romp for the liberated.

I caught this one late at night on the culture channel and expected nothing much, except maybe a bit of skin, lots of artsy film student tomfoolery and wonky camera-work throughout. I thought I'd check out maybe 15 minutes of it so that I could make up my mind about it and then wipe it off my personal "things to do in this here life on earth"-slate. And then the film grabbed me, sucked me in and knocked me over.

OK, so this pic has the technical perfection of a VHS holiday video, and marketing it under the labels "art" and "Andy Warhol" might actually be more of a setback these days, but it's one hell of a movie. Just the characters are incredible, they are so raw it's almost painful to watch, like witnessing the divorce proceedings of an old couple. Take Pat Ast in the underpart as Lydia, the sexually predatory landlady: she is so hauntingly scary that I would prefer a blind date with Hannibal Lector over having to haggle her for the rent. Andrea Feldman as the psycho lolita brat is something else, I was very sad to learn that she committed suicide shortly afterwards; while she may be acting, when she's vying for Joey's attention or whining "I just want my money!" in a husky squeal, she gives you the impression that you couldn't fit a sheet of paper between her and her role. And I could heap equal praise on the other actors.

Forget all the gimmicky rigmarole about how little this movie cost to make, how it was being shot in just two weeks and all the other irrelevant gossip: this is great cinema, and Paul Morrissey did for a pittance what Hollywood so frequently fails to do for a budget that could send a man to Mars.

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.

Paul Morrissey's FLESH, TRASH, and WOMEN IN REVOLT are classics of underground cinema. While I prefer TRASH and WOMEN to FLESH, all of them have a certain appeal (wether it be Joe Dallesandro or the Factory transvestites) that keeps a legion of fans happy. HEAT, while a technically superior film to the above-mentioned, has less of that appeal, but is still enjoyable.

Joe Dallesandro is Joey Davis, a former child star who is trying to revive his career. He takes up residence in a sleazy motel run by Pat Ast and also occupied by Andrea Feldman, an odd lesbian whose mother, Sylvia Miles, is a has-been actress. Miles and Dallesandro have a brief affair that cuts itself short when Joe begins having sexual encounters with every person he runs into!

As usual, Morrissey's film relies on great acting by the cast. Joe Dallesandro is good, as usual, but was much better in TRASH. Sylvia Miles is excellent in what could be an extension of her role in MIDNIGHT COWBOY. The two actors who really steal the film are Pat Ast and Andrea Feldman. Ast is pretty outrageous with huge frizzy hair and ugly costumes highlighting her obesity, but has great dialogue ("Is that so unbelievable...to believe?") and commands quite a presence in every scene of hers. Feldman, who is memorable from TRASH as the acidhead, proves herself as an actress. While many believe she is basically playing her crazy self, I think she manages to create a wild, yet sympathetic character and making this performance even more believable is the fact that Feldman killed herself shortly before the film was released. I wonder if her career would have continued had she lived?

HEAT has a Hollywood feel to it, despite being filmed in the standard cheap way by Morrissey, which makes it a bit less realistic to some viewers. I liked it, not as much as Morrissey's other works, but it still was saved by the outstanding cast. I would recommend this over any other Morrissey work for those who have yet to venture into the world of Andy Warhol's films, as this is easily accessible and is a bit easier to view (FLESH has bad sound and editing, TRASH has unflinching realism) for the mainstream film viewer.

The people in this film didn't need to act, they just played themselves and who they were. More an example of inadvertent Cinema Verite than anything else, Heat is surely Sunset Boulevarde transplanted to the Hollywood/LA motel scene and is at once heartbreaking and astonishing. Sylvia Miles said she improvised most or all of her lines. A one time Hollywood star, now relegated to appearing on game shows to make ends meet while her effeminate ex-husband attempts to perform fellatio on the detatched and unassuming eye candy that was Dallesandro.Was she playing herself? Was Pat Ast playing herself as the rude, lasvicious lounge lizard motel proprietor? Most notably, Andrea Feldman played.....who else - Andrea Feldman. Somebody once quoted, that the saddest and most criminal element of this film was that Feldman didn't have to play or 'act' crazy, she was actually clinically insane at the time. You only have to look at her and watch her in this film. However, instead of supporting her or taking this into account, the people involved mercilessly exploited her, the camera gloating on her obviously dire condition. Needless to say, before the film premiered, she went waltzing out the window of her parent's 14th floor NYC apartment. Rest in peace darling, you were priceless. Every character or more appropriately 'person' in this movie is spiralling sadly and gladly out of control in the phoney muppet-like quagmire that is Los Angeles, California. It's an hilarious, touching and ultimately unnerving masterpiece, made even more so when you realize that very few of the cast were any different from the actual roles and 'characters' assigned to them. Despite the amateurish production values and the involvement of both Warhol and Morrissey, it's decadent, desperate, sun-baked squalor will remain with you the rest of your film going days if you are game enough for it.

If you want to see movies in the style of John Waters without the theatrics, you are guaranteed to love any Paul Morrissey movie. Heat revolves around a few characters, a hag who runs a motel, an aging actress, brothers who have sex on stage in a nightclub act, a young lesbian who isn't quite sure if she is a lesbian, and yes girls..Joe Dallesandro.

Joey is a struggling child actor, who has come back from a stint in the army and hopes to get back into acting. He meets an aging actress, has sex with her and her attempts fail to get him any acting gigs. There really are no major plots or twists or even morals in any of Morrissey's movies even more so in heat. Half an hour into the film and you ask yourself.. what has happened? Well nothing..and boy is nothing interesting. The fact that a director can make movies based on real life exploits of real life people and make it interesting makes him a brilliant director.

This movie is ugly, sexual, amusing and obscure, the fact that nothing really happens shouldn't put you off, you will be entertained and amused by the actors, if you really get bored you could pick out the flaws such as- Why does everyone have a New York accent when they live in LA, or is that a man or a woman? But for us girls Morrissey delivers us another film in which we can drool over Dallesandro, sadly he doesn't spend nearly half the amount of time naked as he did in flesh. You might also notice the little homage to midnight cowboy in the movie; he comes in the form of a gay man named Harold. (Pat Ast is actually in Midnight Cowboy) For fans of trivia ..Heat is essentially an unofficial remake of Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard with Dallesandro playing William Holden's part.

I feel Paul Morrissey is a highly underrated director, every film I have seen of his has left me wanting more, left me shocked, disturbed, in hysterics and leaves me raving about how simplistic yet fantastic they are. His movies make you want to go find your trashiest friends and make movies about them.

Which does not mean it is a bad movie. The film begins and ends with a cool song, signed John Cale. The revelation of the film is Sylvia Miles, she is the best, most natural and believable. Pat Ast, as Lydia, she is very natural too. Andrea Feldman, who was to commit suicide after this role, is as good as in Trash (1970), perhaps even better. Joe Dallesandro is the same as in all his movies. The film is original and makes me think, from point of view style, topic and interpretation, at the films of John Cassavetes. The difference is that Paul Morrissey, funded by Andy Warhol Factory, provides much sexuality. Recommended only for connoisseurs.

I'm not always in the mood for this film, but when I want a great laugh this one hits the spot each time. It is hilariously funny and quite eccentric,to be sure, but the parody on "Sunset Boulevard" ends up being a parody on its characters. And this is done on purpose and not by accident. The female protagonists are unbelievably effective through the entire film and the fit near the end had me doubled over in laughter. These characters are really not to be taken too seriously. They have their own universes which collide with any standard view and the exploitation of characters rings an occasional bell - but only occasionally. The people on the screen (with the possible exception of the male lead) are constantly playing games and taking on new roles. It's not too good a choice for those viewers sensitive to proper language and behavior but for the rest of us, it's one of the funniest films around.

Morrissey took the lose, improved nature of his earlier films and made something with a tighter narrative and a great actress, with a brilliant use of non-professionals. Unfortunately, countless indie filmmakers have tried to rip him off with disastrous results. There are very few directors who can treat things with such amazing cinematic simplicity, creating crazy characters you want to follow. It's almost an impossible formula to get right, and very difficult to reproduce.