Two masked bandits are discovered holding up a bank. They're dressed in black, wielding automatic weapons, and wearing body armor. They're quickly surrounded by dozens of LAPD and SWAT members. Instead of surrendering they make a stand in the parking lot and spray lead all over the place, wounding police and civilians alike, until they're finally shot down and killed.
In summarizing this 44-minute war, one of the SWAT members being interviewed, Ron Livingston, remarks that in a situation like that, "You either have the fire power or the will power. We had the will power." Is he kidding? The police are all around, taking cover behind cars and other objects, and pumping rounds from their pistols into the two bandits, who casually stroll around and shoot it out, toe to toe, until their deaths. They don't make any serious effort to escape. They'd rather die.
There were really two ways a film of this real-life story might have gone. The writers might have given us plenty of material on the home life of the police officers. It would have tugged at our heart strings. And it would have taken up screen time until the final brief, bloody confrontation on the streets.
Or, they might have judged that the audience for a movie like this really weren't that interested in having the cockles of their hearts warmed. They wanted an action movie "based on a true story." At any rate, that's what they got.
The home life of the police, and their comradeship in the office, are briefly sketched in, just enough to let us know how diverse and yet how normal they are -- a pregnant wife, a black cop who wants to keep kids from becoming gangstas, the stern officer in charge of the SWAT team, the team member who once let a suspect escape only to learn that he later murdered someone during a robbery.
Surprisingly, the bandits are given some material to work with too. They live alone, like slobs; they're ruthless and one is the expectable ugly punk, but at least we're able to tell one from another. And their later circumstances almost generate a bit of sympathy for them. One of them, hopelessly surrounded and with an AK-47 that doesn't seem to work (unusual for such a weapon) shoots himself through the head out of desperation. The other, having survived the impact of innumerable bullets, is barely able to drive the getaway car at the pace of a man walking, while being pursued by fifty men intent on killing him. It's a tense scene, seeing that bullet-riddled car crawl slowly along an empty Los Angeles residential street.
Michael Madsen and Ron Livingston are both quite good in their police roles. They're the ones we get to know best. But the writers have almost succeeded in divesting the characters of all personality. There are so many gun shots and slow-motion cartridges bouncing off the asphalt, so many bullet holes appearing in some many cars, so many shattered windshield turning to lace, so many bodies rushing from place to place, that the people play second fiddle to the gun play. The climactic shoot out in "Heat" was just as electric but more involving because we knew the men involved.
During the first ten minutes I thought the director might pull it off, regardless of which path the script itself took. The introductory scenes were casual and there were some interesting camera angles. But then Yves Simoneau blows it. I understand the need for close ups in a television movie, although it could be argued that we need them less now than we dead when everybody was watching 15-inch screens. But close up follows close up inexorably, invariably, with the devotion of the obsessed. Often it's not a close up of a whole face -- just two inexpressive eyeballs peering out of black woolen ski masks. Slow-motion shots of bodies collapsing was trite two generations ago. There are shocking jump cuts, seriatim, sometimes three in a row, focusing on such important objects as the "Hollywood" sign. The only thing missing is the camera's wobbling as if wielded by a spaz.
Throughout, there is the constant complaint that the bandits are armed with Chinese-made AK-47s, formidable sub machine guns, while the cops only have their little Beretta pistols. It occurred to me while watching this that the audience might neatly be divided into two polarized groups: (1) Those believing that neither the bad guys nor the cops should have AK-47s, and (2) those believe that everybody should have one.
In summarizing this 44-minute war, one of the SWAT members being interviewed, Ron Livingston, remarks that in a situation like that, "You either have the fire power or the will power. We had the will power." Is he kidding? The police are all around, taking cover behind cars and other objects, and pumping rounds from their pistols into the two bandits, who casually stroll around and shoot it out, toe to toe, until their deaths. They don't make any serious effort to escape. They'd rather die.
There were really two ways a film of this real-life story might have gone. The writers might have given us plenty of material on the home life of the police officers. It would have tugged at our heart strings. And it would have taken up screen time until the final brief, bloody confrontation on the streets.
Or, they might have judged that the audience for a movie like this really weren't that interested in having the cockles of their hearts warmed. They wanted an action movie "based on a true story." At any rate, that's what they got.
The home life of the police, and their comradeship in the office, are briefly sketched in, just enough to let us know how diverse and yet how normal they are -- a pregnant wife, a black cop who wants to keep kids from becoming gangstas, the stern officer in charge of the SWAT team, the team member who once let a suspect escape only to learn that he later murdered someone during a robbery.
Surprisingly, the bandits are given some material to work with too. They live alone, like slobs; they're ruthless and one is the expectable ugly punk, but at least we're able to tell one from another. And their later circumstances almost generate a bit of sympathy for them. One of them, hopelessly surrounded and with an AK-47 that doesn't seem to work (unusual for such a weapon) shoots himself through the head out of desperation. The other, having survived the impact of innumerable bullets, is barely able to drive the getaway car at the pace of a man walking, while being pursued by fifty men intent on killing him. It's a tense scene, seeing that bullet-riddled car crawl slowly along an empty Los Angeles residential street.
Michael Madsen and Ron Livingston are both quite good in their police roles. They're the ones we get to know best. But the writers have almost succeeded in divesting the characters of all personality. There are so many gun shots and slow-motion cartridges bouncing off the asphalt, so many bullet holes appearing in some many cars, so many shattered windshield turning to lace, so many bodies rushing from place to place, that the people play second fiddle to the gun play. The climactic shoot out in "Heat" was just as electric but more involving because we knew the men involved.
During the first ten minutes I thought the director might pull it off, regardless of which path the script itself took. The introductory scenes were casual and there were some interesting camera angles. But then Yves Simoneau blows it. I understand the need for close ups in a television movie, although it could be argued that we need them less now than we dead when everybody was watching 15-inch screens. But close up follows close up inexorably, invariably, with the devotion of the obsessed. Often it's not a close up of a whole face -- just two inexpressive eyeballs peering out of black woolen ski masks. Slow-motion shots of bodies collapsing was trite two generations ago. There are shocking jump cuts, seriatim, sometimes three in a row, focusing on such important objects as the "Hollywood" sign. The only thing missing is the camera's wobbling as if wielded by a spaz.
Throughout, there is the constant complaint that the bandits are armed with Chinese-made AK-47s, formidable sub machine guns, while the cops only have their little Beretta pistols. It occurred to me while watching this that the audience might neatly be divided into two polarized groups: (1) Those believing that neither the bad guys nor the cops should have AK-47s, and (2) those believe that everybody should have one.