What's Necessary

I wish I could see Body Heat again for the first time. Not possible, you say, I'm wishing in vain. I first saw Lawrence Kasdan's film noir masterpiece in the theatre in the fall of 1981. I was with my sister and we both gasped audibly near the end when we figured it out. I don't know how many times I've seen it since then, maybe as many as twenty. Watching Body Heat is pretty much an annual event for me. I know all the dialog, all the remarkable shots and camera angles, the jazzy intense soundtrack, every little nuance involved with every single character. It is the sweatiest, hottest, smokiest, darkest examination of a completely unredeemable woman ever filmed. Matty Walker could do what was necessary. Whatever it took, that was her special gift. And in the midst of it all I still believe that she fell in love with Ned Racine, the hapless lawyer who could be convinced of anything. But even love could not derail Matty's relentless pursuit of the bottom line. Seeing it again for the first time would give me that little chill up my spine at that moment, that very moment of understanding what had happened. And why. I feel this way about any movie that so completely engages me that I almost become a part of it, I don't want it to end so I do the only thing that I can do. I watch it again and again hoping to recapture a tiny fraction of that first viewing experience. To have that shiver of realization that I was just as taken in by Matty's wiles as Ned. She could do what was necessary and Ned was the proverbial putty in her hands. Sometimes I can do what's necessary, but that usually involves the mundane, like unclogging a toilet. Or taking the cats in for their shots. Nothing arcane and exotically twisted like doing in a husband, getting your paramour to do the dirty work, and ending up with all the money. I know how Body Heat ends and I can't wait to see it again.