The latest entry in our series of writers picking their most rewatched comfort films is a nostalgic trip back to 1995
I
meet up at least once a year with a group of university friends. We pick a city, descend on it and then leave 48 hours later, often a little worse for wear. I would say about 60% of all communication on these trips is quotes from Michael Mann’s 1995 heist thriller, Heat. Screaming like Al Pacino’s coked-up Los Angeles police detective Vincent Hanna or calmly saying “I have a woman” like Robert De Niro’s robotic master thief Neil McCauley if any of my friends ask me about my wife.
The comedian and film-maker Stanley Sievers did a skit about a guy whose life is destroyed because his whole personality is the film Heat. I laughed along with that awkwardly, while considering just how many times I said “the action is the juice” the last time I met up with my friends.
My social media algorithms know me well enough to feed me Heat content: a bumper sticker that reads “honk if you’ve seen Michael Mann’s critically acclaimed masterpiece Heat”, a comedian doing an impression of De Niro auditioning for Heat 2 by laughing maniacally, 30-year-old casting polaroids, action figures of the horrendous villain Waingro. It’s never-ending and it’s also never enough. I could watch this slop for hours.
