Skip to main content

Damned by faintest praise:Richard Benjamin's City Heat

 Clint Eastwood, Burt Reynolds, Madelaine Kahn, Rip Torn, Richard Roundtree. Dir. Richard Benjamin, Warner Bros., 1984


7 lbs of movies, #6

What might have been. When the preproduction lore is the best thing about your movie, you're in trouble. City Heat started as a screenplay Blake Edwards wrote but never sold, entitled Kansas City Jazz. His wife, Julie Andrews, thought it had something and encouraged him to develop it as his next project. He did, and Warner Brothers hit on the bright idea of teaming the two top box office stars, Clint & Burt, who wanted to do a picture together. Warners execs must have been counting the money. Blake Edwards writing and directing his dream project, starring the two biggest movie stars in the US. What could go wrong?

Blake Edwards could decide Clint Eastwood was an idiot for disagreeing with his vision of how Eastwood's character should be played. Eastwood, a director, himself, and a fan of Edwards, could be so disappointed by his meeting with Edwards he refused to do the movie with Edwards directing. Warners could hire, instead, Richard Benjamin, a talented director in his own right (My Favorite Year, Racing with the Moon) who had no feel for the material or stars and mostly did it as a favor to the studio. Blake could write the screenplay under the pseudonym Sam O. Brown, the initials of which spell SOB, a reference to his earlier film, and to City Heat's role in getting him to write SOB 2. The movie, shot on a $25M budget, could scrape in at $38M box office.

These represent the most, and only, interesting things about City Heat. Like all shoulda-beens, I feel tempted to drill down into all the ways this picture fails, but that would require me to watch more of it and wouldn't be any more interesting.

That's correct - I am writing about a movie I stopped watching after 20 minutes. Truth is, I already had this on bluray, and I made it through once, not on my first attempt. Since it came in the 7 lbs., I figured I'd watch it again and have another writeup for the blog.

Which I do, only not based on a complete viewing. I still can't figure how drunk I was to make it all the way through at all, because this time I had the exact same problem as my abortive first try. City Heat is supposed to be a comedy-action caper, set in the '30s, featuring snappy comic repartee and great gangster gun battles. At times within the first 20 minutes, I recognized dialogue as allegedly comic, allegedly hardboiled, but I didn't laugh or appreciate good crisp writing or really even respond at all. If the lines have any humor, they need to be delivered with timing and investment, and they're spoken with all the sincerity of reading cue cards.

Eastwood's a straight-arrow police lieurenant. Reynolds is a flashy former detective running a dying detective agency. They don't like each other. When Reynolds's partner in the agency, Diehl (Richard Roundtree) gets in trouble with the KC mob, the unlikely allies will work together to yada yada. We've been here before. It's a buddy-picture, a riff on every unlikely-allies story ever, this one set in Prohibition-era Kansas City. And it's not a good one. It's slow, flatfooted, the characters are cardboard cutouts, and in 20 minutes I didn't find myself engaged by any of it. Compare that to Blood Work, which had me before the opening credits ended.

Even before its opening credits ended, City Heat tired me, had me feeling listless and alienated and unwilling to continue. I watched it once. I did my bit for humanity.

This dvd did come in what's called the "bookbox format." The case is made of cardboard, like digipak cds, but a black flap swings and snsps shut, giving the case a book aspect. I like the old bookboxes, they're usually attractive packages, and they weren't around long. I'm always a little jazzed to find a new title in that format. That's the one fullthroated compliment I will pay City Heat. Great lookin' box.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

No Return:Stanley Kramer's IT'S A MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD WORLD

 IT'S A MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD WORLD. Spencer Tracy, Ethel Merman, Milton Berle, Mickey Rooney, Sid Caesar. Dir. Stanley Kramer, MGM, 1963 I do not generally write about films I stop watching halfway. What's the point? I either have nothing positive to say about it or was in the wrong mood. In both cases I'm ignorant of its full length to perhaps do it justice. In the case of Stanley Kramer's 1963 comedy smash, however, I feel compelled to make an exception.  My problem with the movie is not my mood, nor disappointment because it's not the movie I once heard. In fact, my biggest problem is that I haven't heard it described in glowing terms, or any, since I was about 9. See, IAMMMMW used to air anually on one or another of the networks, often in December. My parents didn't care for it and never watched it, but my friends watched anytime it aired and talked about it in rapturous terms. Until about 9-10 years old, when it seemed to drop out of conversation, or conv...

Junkie-fatigue: Taylor Hackford's Ray

 Jamie Foxx, Kerry Washington, Terence Howard, Warwick Davis, Curtis Armstrong. Dir. Taylor Hackford, Bristol Bay/Universal, 2004 Jamie Foxx, nominated for both Supporting Actor and Best Actor at the 2004 Academy Awards, won Best Actor for Ray and, watching Ray tonight for the first time in about 15 years, I'm glad it went down that way. Tom Cruise gave a career-best performance in Collateral, for which Foxx received his Supporting Actor nod. It's a great performance, too, but no moreso than Cruise, ignored by the Academy, so it feels right to me that Foxx got his statuette for the movie where he didn't share the spotlight with a star of Cruise's magnitude. Not that it would make much difference if Foxx had some high-voltage costar in Ray, because the movie simply doesn't exist without Foxx and his essay of Ray Charles. Not unlike Coal Miner's Daughter, the other music biopic whose star picked up a Best Actor, Ray occurs from Ray's point of view, so ther...

Obligatory TL;DR Statement of Purpose

 A not-so-brief explanatory note as to how this blog works: I can't recall a time when movies weren't my passion, my compulsion, my addiction. Ever since my parents took me to see Disney's Bedknobs&Broomsticks, I've been hopeless. Born in 1967, I grew up with free range parents. They took my brother and me to all kinds of movies, often using Hollywood as a babysitter. We saw movies about which many parents today would cluck their tongues (though nothing R-rated until I was 12. My first R-rated movie was MONTY PYTHON'S LIFE OF BRIAN.) Though my parents were professionals and we grew up affluent, our home saw its share of dysfunction. Dad was in the house, but not often present. Mom, stressed and disappointed at discovering her marriage wasn't an equal partnership, took out her frustrations on me.  Without getting too far into the weeds, let me just say my adult life has been far from typical middle class stability. I've never had a career. Never finished ...