Heat (1995) is more than just a heist film – it’s an epic, a shambling three-hour monster of a movie that soars and frustrates, leaves your jaw hanging in awe and you scratching your head wondering what the hell is going on.  The star power it unleashes is literally unparalleled, the direction by Michal Mann is superb, the music is incredible (go buy the soundtrack now), and the cinematography creates a vision of Los Angeles that is more real than the reality.

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I will not insult your manhood by recapping the plot.  Actually, it’s so dense and convoluted it would take forever anyway.  Plus, there are the tangents that I still don’t fully get – what the hell is that whole Natalie Portman subplot doing in there anyway?  And some parts you just have to see for yourself – think Waingro’s plot line.  Bottom line: if you have never seen Heat, go buy it immediately.  Until you do, if you are biologically male, you are not entitled to stand while urinating.

For many of us, Heat has a personal connection that comes from both its time and place.  I saw Heat in Houston the day it came out (December 15, 1995), having been waiting for it for months thanks to the remarkable trailer.  I was there for a buddy’s wedding the next day; at that wedding, I would meet my hot wife for the first time.  About a month after, the giant law firm I was then slaving away for moved into the 444 South Flower building.  You probably know it best as the bank De Niro’s crew robs.  Before I quit (I had more business than many of the partners but they offered me the same crappy $500 bonus they gave to the guy caught sleeping under his desk, so I counter-offered that I’d keep everything), I must have walked past the spot where Val Kilmer first opens up with his CAR-15 a hundred times thinking, “Dude, I know where you’re coming from.”

But even if the movie might not be wrapped around your life as it is mine, it’s likely to have hit you at some deeper level.  Heat is a man’s film in a very true way – it’s about loyalty, honor, and commitment.  It brooks no compromise – the men in it must do what they must do regardless of the cost and regardless of their personal feelings.  Al Pacino’s Vincent Hanna gives up his potential for a normal life because Robert De Niro’s Neil McCauley must be stopped.  And De Niro’s McCauley gives up his chance too because he owes it to his dead buddies to see that Waingro pays for his betrayal.

These are men who live this code.  They don’t whine.  They don’t talk about their feelings.  They don’t make excuses.  They are everything our liberal culture despises – real men, even if not necessarily good men.  And they sure as hell don’t buy into that “COEXIST”/“Violence Never Solves Anything” crap.

These men walk to their fates heads held high, knowing their ends are the results of their choices and accepting the responsibility for the consequences.  I’d take a Neil McCauley over a Harry Reid and his liberal ilk in a heartbeat – they both pillage money from decent folks, but at least McCauley doesn’t wrap it in sanctimony and pretend he’s something else.

The film’s classic set piece – one of many classic set pieces – is the high intensity bank heist and shoot-out scene on downtown Los Angeles’s Fifth Street.  Let me throw this out there: it’s the best gunfight in the history of the cinema.

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Watch Val Kilmer in particular.  Now, director Michael Mann had former SAS operators train the cast on weapons and tactics, and Kilmer really took to it.  Check him out as he pivots, fires a short(ish), controlled burst, then pivots again and engages a new target.  When he runs out of ammo, watch him drop the empty mag, slap in a new one, and re-engage in about a second.  That’s some nice suppressive fire there, Tex.

And listen to the sound effects – Mann understood the effect of the shock of the noise from the gunfire (especially in an enclosed space surrounded by skyscrapers) and cranked up the volume.  You feel every burst of fire.

Interestingly, Heat is a remake of Mann’s 1989 TV movie L.A. Takedown, a nearly forgotten flick made on about a thousandth of the budget.  Most of the key elements are there, including much less awesome versions of the bank shootout and the famous Pacino/De Niro coffee scene (the Heat scene was filmed at Kate Mantalini in Hollywood – you can sit at the same table).

The cast is remarkable not just because of the big stars but the ones filling in the supporting roles.  William Fichter is great as a scumbag businessman.  Henry Rollins, taking a break from bad slam poetry and punk rock, is a terrific petty criminal.  Danny Trejo is in the house too – he has a great death scene.

One guy who stands out is Big Hollywood’s own Jon Voight as Nate, the crew’s sickly fixer and voice of reason.  I saw him and, frankly, thought Voight was about to die.  I mean, he looks like he’s at death’s door – which is a tribute to Voight’s power as an actor.  You see him in Heat and come out thinking he needs either an Oscar or an IV or maybe both.

Hell, Jeremy Piven is in it for about a minute as a squirrely doctor and even he’s great.  Yeah, that Piven!

And the dialogue is alternately funny, harsh, and (again) true.  Michael Mann’s words take the cast’s work to the next level, elevating it into the iconosphere.  You could go an entire day speaking in nothing but cool lines from the movie.

Finally, there is the music.  Much of it is electronic, giving the film a kind of tech noir vibe that works perfectly.  Of special note is the Moby(!) cover of Joy Division’s ominous New Dawn Fades that plays while Hanna roars down the I-105 freeway after Cauley.  And a Moby original, the soaring God Moving Over the Face of the Waters, plays over the climax and the credits.  Who would have thunk it – a pinko, vegan twerp like Moby making some of the most amazing music ever on screen in a flick like Heat?

Now, if you’ve read this far and have not gone to get your Heat DVD, or went out to buy a DVD, or borrowed a DVD from someone much cooler than you, I’m not sure I can help you.  Heat is one of the rare movies that is truly essential – a movie that tells basic truths that many people don’t want to acknowledge and that strikes a common chord in its fans so that it has become a part of the American male canon.

To paraphrase De Niro’s Neil, you must have nothing in your life that will prevent you from seeing Heat in 30 seconds flat.

For those who haven’t seen it, “Quiz Show” is about the, um, quiz show scandals that rocked TV in 1958. America tuned in by the millions to watch “Twenty One,” sponsored by Geritol, the “fast-acting tonic, high-potency tonic that makes you feel stronger…fast.” Turns out the show were completely rigged, and it all comes crashing down…because of a snub.

Ralph Fiennes, fresh off Schindler’s List, plays Charles Van Doren, the latest sensation sweeping the nation. The son of noted poet and author, Mark Van Doren (Paul Scofield), Charles teaches at Columbia University, and tries out for Tic-Tac-Dough on a whim. The producers, Dan Enright (David Paymer) and Albert Freeman (Hank Azaria), love him. He’s the answer to their prayers. See, the reigning champion is an odd character, equal parts dork and blowhard, a Queens’ native named Herbert Stempel (John Turturro).

Stempel sees everything as a conspiracy to keep him down – not because he’s a crass jerk, but because he’s Jewish. Attanasio gives Stempel some cringe-funny lines, like when he offers Goodwin a rugelach: Come on, they’re a Jewish delicacy. Before Toby eats it. While we don’t like Herbie, we empathize with him and feel his humiliation. We know he’s a blue collar guy because he watches professional wrestling. Word has come down from Geritol’s Martin Rittenhome (Martin Scorsese): Herbie no longer moves Geritol. The other major character is Richard Goodwin (Rob Morrow), a Congressional Attorney who longs to make headlines with a big “collar.” Who better than TV?

The characters are wonderfully complex. Herbie’s supposed to be a whistleblower, but he cheated, too, a fact that breaks his wife Toby’s heart. Worse, he’s an attention whore who in the words of one character, has to be “dragged from the spotlight with his teethmarks still on it!” He believes Enright promised him a panel show, but when Enright doesn’t deliver, he goes after the show. Enright is a calculating, shrewd manipulator at every turn, compassionately sending Herbie to a psychoanalyst on his own dime, then offering the bill to Goodwin as proof of Herbie’s mental delusions.

On the other hand, Van Doren is a WASP all the way. He’s so WASP-y his family plays a Shakespeare quoting game. For fun. His dad doesn’t have a TV, has never seen the show, and thinks it’s a distraction from Charles’ teaching. But this never comes across as overbearing, there’s genuine love behind Mark’s desires for his son to succeed in Academia. He never condescends him about TV, it’s just a generation gap. This is perhaps the most interesting aspect of the story, and the part that could have been both the most boring and the most clichéd.

On the surface, few people could relate to this elite family. They write “Happy Birthday, Father” on Mark’s birthday cake. Father! Did I mention they play a Shakespeare quoting game? For fun?! But Charles’ desire to make something of himself is very endearing, and Fiennes creates a character that we deeply like, even though we know he’s wrong. What I also love about the character is that he never wanted to cheat. When the idea is proposed to him, he rejects it before adding, “Was that a part of the test?”

For all his smarts, he is deeply naïve, wondering how they could cheat if the questions are locked in a bank vault. That the bank vault canard fooled the public and Charles speaks volumes about the naïve attitude Americans had concerning mass media at the time. Enright promises no cheating, “So pure, it floats,” he purrs. But Charles wins on a question he already got right in the audition. In the aftermath of his win, he’s swarmed with admirers. Herbie offers a hand in congratulation, but Charles doesn’t see him for the throng of people. Herbie walks away, feeling snubbed and vengeful. His rage intensifies when he hears someone remark, “Better to have a true intellectual than a freak with a sponge brain.” Thus begins Herbie’s obsession with taking down Charles Van Doren.

Charles becomes instantly intoxicated with all the attention he receives. Time magazine covers, Today Show appearances, and throngs of adoring fans. At one point, as a limo drops him off at school, he pretends to tie his show. In reality, he’s waiting for the classrooms to empty so he can be worshipped and adored on his way to his office. Later, with Goodwin bearing down, he calls Enright from a pay phone, and we see the adoring crowds starting to get under his skin. Before long, he avoids the crowds, asking the limo driver to drop him off behind the studio. But he remains likable, and is truly a good son: he gives his father a TV for his birthday. Mark tries to watch the show, but snaps off the TV, saying it’s too “nerve-racking,” Scofield’s voice cracking so believably on the line.

As Goodwin begins investigating Charles, they become sorta friends. Goodwin finds himself torn between his desire to fit in with this intellectual clique and his desire to bring down TV. Through exhaustive research, he discovers another player, a beatnik artist named Snodgrass appeared on the show months earlier. When he answered a question correctly, Jack Barry responded, “I’m sorry that’s – waitaminute!” Goodwin seeks him out. Snodgrass had mailed the questions to himself days before his appearance on the show. It’s the smoking gun he needs, and when he confronts Enright, we see the first crack in the producer’s armor. “Why would he do that?” he wonders aloud, before using the only arrow in his quiver – TV- meekly asking Goodwin “How would you like to be on a panel show?”

It all boils down to a hearing before a Congressional sub-committee. Charles is offered several chances to come clean, but he’s held steady to his word that there is no impropriety. Goodwin doesn’t want to hurt Charles. His wife tells him, “Putting the quiz shows on trial without Charles Van Doren is like putting on Hamlet without Hamlet,” adding, “You’re the Uncle Tom of the Jews.” Ouch. Attanasio’s dialogue is great, and the final exchange between Charles and Goodwin is amazing. Charles poses a hypothetical question to Goodwin: if someone offered you all this money to simply answer questions you knew the answer to, would you do it? Goodwin’s terse “No” sparks Charles to say, “And I would?”

Of course we know he would, but as for Goodwin, it’s easy to take the high road when the offer is purely hypothetical. As Charles feels the noose tightening, Freeman assures him, “Everybody knows the magician doesn’t saw the lady in half. This is show business.”

We know that this will be the final defense. But for Enright and Freeman’s dodging and denying, it might be a valid one. The cast is uniformly strong, but no one shines as bright as Scofield, playing arguably the movie’s only honorable character. We feel his hurt and shame as Charles confesses, and again when he learns Charles will be forced to resign from Columbia. His scenes with Fiennes are among the strongest in the film, like one where they share a slice of cake and Mark says, “Mother always said you were the actor in the family.” Wow. Fiennes effortlessly captures the infatuation, the intoxication, and ultimate disgust – with fame. His walk of shame towards the waiting cameras after his admission of guilt is tragic and inevitable. Rob Morrow holds his own, but he could have toned down the accent. Turturro is suitably annoying, and Azaria & Paymer knock it out of the park.

The finger wagging at corporate greed is tiresome, but expected. At one point Goodwin advises the deeply guilty Enright to roll over on NBC and Geritol because, “They’re the ones making all the money.” The anti-corporate message mars the final act, as does Goodwin’s melodramatic observation slash warning, “I thought I was going to get television. The truth is, television’s going to get us.” Still, the movie is riveting, beautifully shot by Michael Ballhaus, well acted, unexpectedly funny, and until the end, offers sharp observations about human nature.

There’s also only one laugh — one — and all the special effects in the world simply can’t make up for a single chuckle over 105 very long minutes. The only good news is that Ben Stiller appeared to be even more bored than I was.

If you remember, Larry Daley (Stiller) was once a night guard at the Museum of Natural History in New York City where after the sun went down, thanks to ancient artifact, the exhibits all came to life. Mayhem ensued, adventure was had and lifelong friendships were formed.

A few years have passed (between films and for our characters) and today Larry has managed to tinker his way into fortune and some fame as a highly successful entrepreneur hawking inventions, like his glow-in-the-dark flashlight (so you can find it when the power goes out, duh), on infomercials.  

As is always the case in these films, success has made Larry unhappy and distracted, too worried about business meetings and deal-making to be the good father and friend he once was. For months now he’s neglected his museum friends and when he does show up for a long overdue visit he finds most of them boxed up for permanent storage, bound for the basement of the Smithsonian in Washington DC.

Of course Larry will have to save them and in the process the entire Smithsonian comes alive, including paintings, sculptures, a black and white Al Capone, a preening General Custer (Bill Hader), an obnoxious, hyper-feminist Amelia Earhart (Amy Adams) and even the giant President Lincoln normally found seated in his DC memorial.  Returning for a second round is Owen Wilson’s miniature cowboy, who’s given much more to do than the barely returning Robin Williams as Teddy Roosevelt, Attila the Hun and Sacajawea.

Hank Azaria is our flamboyant baddie Kahmunrah, a lisping Pharaoh desperate to get his hands on the artifact that brought him and everything else to life. The plan is to resurrect his 2000 year old army and take over the world … or some such thing.

Other than the special effects, which are convincing, it’s obvious no one cared about anything else like believable relationships or a plot that made a lick of sense. The plot holes that keep Larry alive and running around all on his own are insulting. This isn’t a movie aimed at kids, this is a movie aimed at dumb kids … kids in need of helmets.

The dialogue’s terrible, full of those halting, irreverent asides that increasingly pass for wit these days, and the action scenes lack both excitement and tension. People run, people fight, people talk and talk and talk. Every character arc feels forced, the relationships even more so. When the great Ricky Gervais can’t brighten up his bookended moments, what hope is there for anything else?

Most lacking is any sense of magic or joy. When a movie advertises the Smithsonian coming to life, no matter how lackluster the rest might be, you expect at least a couple of “wow” moments, but there’s not a single one.

If there’s anything to recommend it’s a rare and appreciated sense of reverence director Shawn Levy shows for American history in this, a mainstream Hollywood film produced for young, impressionable minds. Even General Custer is given an un-PC opportunity to redeem himself and it’s nice to hear Teddy Roosevelt call America “a great country” and Amelia Earhart credit “American ingenuity” for the invention of flight. It’s just a sad fact these days that characters aren’t allowed to talk like this.  

Most interesting is a moment in front of the White House when a historical character says something like, “I’ve heard a great man leads this union.” You have to wonder if that line would’ve been allowed when Bush was president or had McCain won… Damn, I’m cynical.

Between this and the equally uninspired “Terminator Salvation,” if you must leave the house for a movie this holiday weekend, Blockbuster is your best gamble.