Heat [—] the moment when cop movies became militarized and gallons of bullet casings began to roll through the streets. A metabolization of the Rodney King riots three years earlier, Heat tells us that the specter of policing can no longer be cloaked in the soft fabrics of trench coats and floppy hats. For [its cinematic predecessors], back in the middle of the American century, we are still flâneurs, not yet targets.
— Sasha Frere-Jones (Metrograph)
The only thing a Mann man ever does that seems like fun is go to a nightclub, and even then, it is absolutely for work—to make a phone call, to stage a handoff in a backroom, to kill a man. He drinks but never too much. We do not ever see him sleep, but we may see his dreams: icy and perfect visions of the future or the past, of work or what work might yield. Most people agree that Heat (1995) is Mann’s best movie. It’s certainly a turning point for him, a culmination of years of work in which all his stylistic throughways—dreamlike soundscapes, ruthlessly logical plotting, roughneck philosophical reveries—coalesce into something operatic, epochal. No less than three superstar actors get top billing; all play Mann men, Al Pacino in particular responding to the prompt with such over-the-top swagger that he risks rupturing the keening romanticism at the movie’s core.
— Clayton Purdom (Los Angeles Review of Books)
Synopsis: Obsessive master thief Neil McCauley leads a top-notch crew on various daring heists throughout Los Angeles while determined detective Vincent Hanna pursues him without rest. Each man recognizes and respects the ability and the dedication of the other even though they are aware their cat-and-mouse game may end in violence.