L.A. Takedown (TV movie; various previous names)
Michael Mann, USA, 1990, 95 mins; Missing In Action
Review by Gerald Houghton (1996)

When you get down to it down few films are very original, it's just that some are more original than others. Some dissenting voices were raised over Michael Mann's Heat earlier this year, but few if any called the fact that the three hour cop-and-robber extravaganza was actually a remake. And not just mortgaging the odd idea either - L.A. Takedown is Heat in all but name. And, crucially, technique.

Shot for TV in 1989 from a decade-old script, this film (now released to sell-through, not unreasonably) condenses the salient facts from its bigger, more prestigious sibling into half of that monumental running time. In watching it, one is immediately persuaded how much Heat was already in Mann's mind over five years before. The set-pieces - that kinetic security van robbery, the bank, the celebrated coffee-shop meet - are all present and correct. It makes for eerie viewing.

Scott Plank and Alex McArthur stand in for Pacino and De Niro, as staunch cop and career criminal, respectively. After the opening robbery (freakishly, almost shot for shot), the film settles into a familiar cat and mouse, the identification and mutual respect of hunter for hunted that climaxes in that fascinating one-on-one. Except that no one is paying to see this pair on screen together for the first time.

We take it for granted that L.A. Takedown is the inferior twin. From the jump its TV origins scream at the viewer, from ragged sound through the harsh lighting; the tenebrous, deserted Los Angeles of Heat looks as cheap as one of Hugh Grant's whores. Similarly, some of what Mann shot again at night - the coffee shop especially - were caught then in blinding noon-day sun. Creepy and vampiric there; soap-opera prosaic here.

That Plank and McArthur are no match for the Method heavyweights goes without saying, even though the Ray Liotta-ish Plank seems to be assaying a portentous Stars In Their Eyes Pacino from time to time. And he is definitely the star, with McArthur's crim a very second fiddle. Often times they're doubling-up on the same words, albeit with none of the gravity. Their supporting cast is strong, though, sporting names like Xander Berkley and Michael Rooker.

Still, to do the same thing in half the time must mean sacrifice, and that is not always the drawback it might first appear. Certainly the blazing fire-fight outside of the bank is much reduced (L.A. Takedown was shot in 19 days, while Heat's bank job alone took 12.) Still thrilling, what it loses is the almost surreal longevity. The same is true of much of the film. More seriously, the gang are less defined, and the entire (and vital) Val Kilmer sub-plot excised. So too the brilliant abandoned robbery under the law's watchful eye; a gaping hole is left in the middle of Heat's careful three-acter.

But all is not deficit, surprisingly. The cop's marital problems are gutted to just one or two pivotal scenes, and the tedious step-daughter sub-plot removed en masse. Plank's reasons to be at the hospital at the end are far more tangible. Writer-director Mann's stab at a more profound climax for the second film succeeds in being merely longer. His final gesture is intriguing, for sure, but the pace and immediacy of L.A. Takedown's reading is better. Interestingly, he uses Terje Rypdal's doleful jazz guitar in both movies to great effect.

In the end then, what's the point of reviving L.A. Takedown? For better cinematography, performances, music (Billy Idol here, the Kronos Quartet and Brian Eno there), it's obvious where to look. This is a decent B-thriller to Heat's diamond chip investment, but as a virtually unparalleled essay in the development of a major feature, it's invaluable. Casual viewers are directed down the road; Mann obsessives and film students should linger a while.