One of the top reviews here describes this as "maybe the most elegant, accessible, and exacting piece of film criticism ever." That's about how I'd put it if we were talking about Eadweard Muybridge, Zoopraxographer; but this is pretty great, too. King's sardonic, at times almost caustic voice-over — starkly different from Dean Stockwell's earnestly melancholy delivery — is a perfect fit for Andersen's ornery observations.
Not so much 'crime saga' as the densest, most brazen work in what's now superficially referred to as hyperlink cinema. The difference between this and the usual suspects lies in Mann's refusal to trivialize the collective struggle of urbanity; instead of mechanical cutting between elaborate but soulless character arcs that would ostensibly build up to some kind of epiphany, Heat is a messy stream — of images, ideas, moments, and gestures. The only two people who get any closure are…