Body Heat

Film students in the 1970s were made conscious of the notion of Film Noir. One had either heard the term or had not, and it became a code word for those imagining themselves part of a cinema in-crowd. But pretty much everyone was taken by surprise by the introduction of a new trend, which came to be called Neo-noir.

By 1980 Lawrence Kasdan was already a trusted collaborator of George Lucas, having written both The Empire Strikes Back and  Raiders of the Lost Ark. Lucas helped Kasdan jump to directing, for a full-on attempt to revive the classic noir style — mood, context and hardboiled dialogue. Body Heat is arguably the first self-conscious Neo Noir.  The Long Goodbye,  Chinatown,  Night Moves and  Taxi Driver had paid nostalgic and stylistic homage to the noir world, but Kasdan’s aim was a full revival, modernized yet still focused on the old concerns. Too often described as a spin on  Double Indemnity, Body Heat is more detailed in structure and more pessimistic about human nature. The noir hero for the Reagan years is less like the cocksure Walter Niles and more like the self-defeating Al Roberts of Edgar Ulmer’s  Detour.

When Body Heat became a big hit, it launched a directing career for Kasdan and made stars of its leading actors. Several supporting actors received major career boosts as well. The tale of Ned and Matty still feels modern. It looks and plays better than ever, after decades of ‘neo-noir’ wannabes.

The weather report for southern Florida is hot and steamy, with a chance of lax morals. After losing a particularly embarrassing case to this friend D.A. Peter Lowenstein (Ted Danson), lackadaisical attorney Ned Racine (William Hurt) soothes his ego by leaping into a torrid adulterous romance. His partner is the sultry Matty Walker (Kathleen Turner), a looker who has no difficulty picking. him up in a bar. When Matty and Ned think about the future, all ideas lead to the same course of action — murdering Matty’s obnoxious, but rich, lawyer husband Edmund (Richard Crenna). But how can they pull it off?  Both Peter and Ned’s other friend detective friend Oscar Grace (J.A. Preston) are intimately aware of Ned’s reckless behavior where women are concerned. He’s the kind of nice-guy slacker that normally gets away with nothing.

Body Heat was the film to see in the summer of 1981. The two-page rave review in Time Magazine was so positive, you’d think the critic had been paid off. But the movie generates a powerful noir charge, while delivering on its promise of elegant soft-core sex thrills. Richard Kline’s prowling camera and John Barry’s sinuous music emphasizes a tempting ‘tropical’ state of mind; director Kasdan’s script is a tour-de-force of sexy encounters and anxious suspense. The visuals strike a balance between filmic precision and doubtful effects … isn’t that clown a little too on-the-nose?  We knew the film would end badly for somebody, perhaps everybody. But Kasdan’s clever plot complications outshine those of most of classic-era noir. Viewers not on their toes may need two viewings to fully grok the surprising finale. Could somebody really get away with such a thing?

The basic story structure does resemble that of Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler’s Double Indemnity, substituting an incompetent attorney for a hotshot insurance salesman. Ned Racine is not a cynic like Fred MacMurray’s Walter Neff, but he is woefully incapable of recognizing when he’s out of his league. Ned’s disposition is reasonably optimistic — only in the later stages does he compare with Detour’s pathetic loser Al Roberts. Through most of the picture he’s a better fit with Robert Mitchum’s Jeff Markham of  Out of the Past. Both males are so hooked on a sexual high that nothing else seems real. Matty clearly has Ned’s number when she tells him, “Well, some men, once they get a whiff of it, they trail you like a hound.”  Ned isn’t sufficiently cold-blooded to deal with a truly ruthless female opponent.

Kasdan gets away with his neo-hardboiled dialogue by making it funny, and even letting his characters in on the joke. Ned and Matty know that they’re trying to talk tough, and that their courtship is a game … for quite some time they mask the seriousness of their relationship with their own erotic fantasies. They seem to know only two modes of behavior, passion and murder.

Ned is tall and handsome, but the only place Ned flexes his … masculinity, is in the bedroom. Sitting face-to-face across a restaurant table with Edmund, Matty’s aggressive husband, he becomes an insecure lummox. Seeing how Matty treats her husband over dinner, one would think Ned might wonder what would keep her from such dishonesty with him, as well. The answer is obvious — he’s addicted to the amazing sex.

Kasdan dishes up the expected schemes and intrigues, yet Body Heat scores high for discretion and finesse. The visuals show us that the noir style goes beyond Venetian blinds, ceiling fans and billowing curtains. The images sell the heat of the summer, making us acutely aware of the actors’ moist skin and eyes. Ray Bradbury wrote some good poetic dialogue about high temperatures leading to murder in the Sci-Fi film  It Came from Outer Space; it just remains talk. Kasdan makes us feel the heat through speech, visuals and the music score too.

Body Heat lets us hope that Ned will survive simply because his lawman friends think he’s too lovable and dumb to commit something as outrageous as a murder. His inability to hide anything shields him from suspicion. Ted Danson’s D.A. Lowenstein and J.A. Preston’s cop Oscar poke fun at their friend, yet are sincerely concerned for him. They know Ned’s capacity for screwing up all too well, and intuit that he’s heading toward trouble. But they don’t expect anything as drastic as murder.

Kasdan uses Danson’s ability to tap dance (a writer’s affectation that felt very fresh in ’81)

When not depicted as inherently evil, classic Film Noir femme fatales killed for love and to satisfy some basic urge to destroy; they seemed to be taking revenge on the world for putting arbitrary limits on female power. Body Heat reverses Billy Wilder’s rationale for murder by motivating Matty with a desire for independence and financial security. The 1980s world of ‘greed is good’ is knocking on the door. Matty achieves her goal but at a high price. She does away with an old friend, loses what may be the love of her life and kisses her original identity goodbye. Or do any of those losses bother her in the least?

This is the movie in which both Ted Danson and Mickey Rourke first got real career traction (by my memory). Two years before, I first met Mr. Rourke on the set of  ‘1941’, when he was agonizing about being stuck on Spielberg’s film and unable to rush to Montana for a role in Michael Cimino’s  Heaven’s Gate. John Candy had fun ribbing Mickey for moping around in misery. Both of those pictures were stigmatized as failures, but Body Heat gave Rourke an excellent showcase.

Rarely singled out but worthy of special credit is the lively waitress Stella, played by Jane Hallaren, the star of John Sayles’  Lianna. Her café scenes are mainly there to dispense exposition between Ned and his buddies in law enforcement. Ms. Hallaren provides the extra juice that makes the breakfast scenes fresh and alive. The help of these capable players allows Kasdan to keep his story from feeling too pre-determined, too schematic. The most successful is Ted Danson’s tap dance on a pier: the wisecracking DA has a secret life as a closet Fred Astaire. The diversion is good shorthand to deepen Danson’s ‘utility’ character, and the moment is a break from Body Heat’s rising wave of tension. It may be a writer’s affectation, but it felt very fresh in ’81.