Heat

Heat beggins at an empty and blurry train station and ends at an airport. Belonging is not an option into Mann's nihilistic and idilic L.A. As he did with Thief (1984), mixes genre cinema (taking its forms and predominant elements) and the character study to create a depply emphatic tale about lonely people in a big and indiferent alien city. The narrative is presented with intercalated vignates of action scenes or conversations between the characters. They talk about triying the loneliness and decadent world of violence they live in, about what keeps them there. And in both cases, it's for the same reasons. Those moment's create small climaxes, and drive everything with some kind of poetic tension that continues after the very end of credits.  I usually give less atention to acting, because that's not the filmic element that moves expectator. When we see actors in films, it's not the copy-paste of the real people what creates the empathy, that it's never the same with every person, not even the same in every viewing. Here, de niro's and Al Pacino's small gestures are one of the main reasons why this film feels trascendental. 

The strikingly sexual composition of visual textures and slightly saturated blue paleted of blurry city lights, of the sea, of a post-modernistic bullshit house, of a bank and the streets, dialogues and monologues of punctual poetic simplicity and the cinephile fetish of watching Al Pacino and de Niro together in the same film, the best audio mixed and with space conscious shooting scene of entire cinema (yes, this is an statement), gives the film a dreamlike aura. Heat trascends it's genre, or it's maybe (one of the things) that most filmmakers should do with it. Mann's gives lyricism to action and it's beautiful.

It was impossible to me to have any rational thought after the last shoot and move until the score and white small letters over the blackness have finally gone. It's a signal, for us, to understand that even in the darkest moments, films can make it worth through.