Maybe Mickey Rourke should burn, but this movie shouldn't...

One of the better movies I've seen in a while, that I've enjoyed for every aspect, is Angel Heart. The performances drove 25th Hour, but this movie has everything going for it- acting, style, a cool plot, a solid ending, and symbolism out the wazoo. It isn’t a great movie by any means, and I doubt it intends to be, but what it does, it does so well. I imagine I’ll find myself renting it several times over the course of my life.

Mickey Rourke is, quite plainly put, the bomb. The style and character he brings to our Manhattan protagonist, “Harry Angel”, is cool beyond words. He fits so naturally into this type of role, that you’re sure, even if you have never seen him before, that this is the person he is in every film he’s in. Because Rourke isn’t that popular, he wasn’t the big face on the poster- this was Robert De Niro, whose always been popular, playing an ominous, demonic looking gentleman with a pentagram ring on his finger. Obviously, this compelled people to see the film (and repelled any Christian fundamentalist). De Niro’s good, but you expect that, because he always is. He plays a man called Mr. Cyphre, who is paying Angel, an NY private detective, to find out what happens to a certain client of his. You know something’s up with Cyphre the minute you seem him. He of course “appears” to be a gentleman, but the long coat, the pentagram ring, the beard, and the cane all let you know he has some sort of agenda. The only major character outside of Rourke’s and De Niro’s is “Epiphany Proudfoot”, who is the daughter of the “client” Angel is searching for. She’s remarkably good, as a woman with whom you know something is up, but the innocence that seems within her makes you doubt herself. Women of mystery are the bomb.

Everything about this movie is obvious- it just screams the word noir, and thus every character must fit into its stereotypical being, and we expect some sort of plot surprise, which is fairly easy to figure out if you’ve seen enough of these types of movies. But Alan Parker, a director I’m unsure of, pulls it off so well, that even what you can predict, you can respect. Obviousness, in movies where it is not intended, is bad. In movies like this, where there’s an “obvious obviousness”, it rocks. Right from the beginning, Parker makes sure the cinematographer puts in a blue tone as the camera peers into an alley. A cat sits on the window sill of an apartment building. There’s a trash can with it’s lid slightly tilted. There’s the most sad Jazz music you’ve ever heard. And as the credit music plays over this scene, you know this is the mood of the entire movie.

It completely lives up to its foreshadowing, and the film’s even more respectable because Parker wrote it. He knew exactly what he was doing, no doubt. Those were the exact words that went through my mind while I was watching this. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.” There’s gruesome murder. Freaky psychics. A dark underground cult. A mental hospital. Catchy, unreal character names. Mysticism related to the war. Premiscuous sex. A venture into the world outside the city. This is the most perfect stereotypical movie I’ve ever seen. The way it handles itself is masterful.

The film also has the first credit sequence since School of Rock that I’ve sat all the way through. This is good- I like movies that motivate me to do such an unlikely thing. It makes your credit sequence enjoyable as you keep your seat- sad jazz plays over and we flip between visuals and credits. The symbolism that comes along with it all explains almost too much, and Parker doesn’t kill everything by adding unneeded stereotypes to what he already has. He lets us figure out what we need to.

Rating: B