Hollywood isn't as liberal as it likes to think. Too often its message movies are behind the times they condemn, trailing behind the trailblazers who have the nerve to speak out when it matters. In The Heat of the Night is something of an exception. Beyond that, it's simply a great film.
Principally a detective story, the murder of a wealthy businessman in small-town Mississippi is, for the most part, only a framework around which the real story can be told. This is a battle-of-wills between Detective Tibbs and Chief Gillespie, a struggle for power between black and white, a contest for acting honours between Sidney Poitier and Rod Steiger. While there is no doubt as to which character is the victor, and which race is the most shamed, the actors are absolute equals. Both give superb, layered performances. Steiger's Gillespie is racist, proud, but lets us feel a degree of pity; Poitier's Tibbs is intelligent, thoughtful, but shows a degree of arrogance. These are not simply characters, but people.
Some have complained that its message is far from subtle, that the lines are too clearly defined, that the racism is too overt. Such criticism comes from those with little understanding of history and little appreciation for context. This was 1967, this was the south; this was how it was. Remember, this film came only four years after Martin Luther King told us his dream, only three years after amendments to The Civil Rights Bill were passed, only two years after the murder of Malcolm X, and only one year before the murder of Dr King. Its message certainly was not subtle, it had no need to be. Its delivery, however, is subtle enough that even today's audience can appreciate it.
Beyond the superb performances, and the dignified message they contain, there are details that give the film a greater depth. When Poitier is being frisked by Officer Wood, he's told to spread his fingers apart, so that he can `see all ten'. Poitier doesn't move them; they're apart enough already. That non-reaction is a great moment, showing that he's been here before, that he knows the drill, that'll he'll tolerate it because for now he has to, but that he won't take orders without reason.
There is so much to praise here. The slow pace of the film should kill its tension, but instead it reflects the sticky heat and the leisurely pace of life in the town. Never is it too slow. The scene where Steiger would rather condemn one of his own officers than lose another point to Poitier's big-city detective skills is a high point, as is the gentle yet vicious racism from Endicott. The conversation between the leads in Steiger's house is surprisingly touching; its brief moment of bonding never seems patronising or contrived, and is expertly ruined by the crudeness of Steiger's racism. The characters' growth is slight, uneven, and without any real payoff. And that's by no means a criticism.
In the Heat of the Night is a film that simply has to be seen, one that soars despite all that could have brought it down. It should be preachy but it isn't; it should have dated but it hasn't; its slow pace should be leaden but it's perfect. This is a rare kind of a film, and one that after a run of terrible movies has helped to remind me why I love cinema in the first place. I'm grateful for that.
Principally a detective story, the murder of a wealthy businessman in small-town Mississippi is, for the most part, only a framework around which the real story can be told. This is a battle-of-wills between Detective Tibbs and Chief Gillespie, a struggle for power between black and white, a contest for acting honours between Sidney Poitier and Rod Steiger. While there is no doubt as to which character is the victor, and which race is the most shamed, the actors are absolute equals. Both give superb, layered performances. Steiger's Gillespie is racist, proud, but lets us feel a degree of pity; Poitier's Tibbs is intelligent, thoughtful, but shows a degree of arrogance. These are not simply characters, but people.
Some have complained that its message is far from subtle, that the lines are too clearly defined, that the racism is too overt. Such criticism comes from those with little understanding of history and little appreciation for context. This was 1967, this was the south; this was how it was. Remember, this film came only four years after Martin Luther King told us his dream, only three years after amendments to The Civil Rights Bill were passed, only two years after the murder of Malcolm X, and only one year before the murder of Dr King. Its message certainly was not subtle, it had no need to be. Its delivery, however, is subtle enough that even today's audience can appreciate it.
Beyond the superb performances, and the dignified message they contain, there are details that give the film a greater depth. When Poitier is being frisked by Officer Wood, he's told to spread his fingers apart, so that he can `see all ten'. Poitier doesn't move them; they're apart enough already. That non-reaction is a great moment, showing that he's been here before, that he knows the drill, that'll he'll tolerate it because for now he has to, but that he won't take orders without reason.
There is so much to praise here. The slow pace of the film should kill its tension, but instead it reflects the sticky heat and the leisurely pace of life in the town. Never is it too slow. The scene where Steiger would rather condemn one of his own officers than lose another point to Poitier's big-city detective skills is a high point, as is the gentle yet vicious racism from Endicott. The conversation between the leads in Steiger's house is surprisingly touching; its brief moment of bonding never seems patronising or contrived, and is expertly ruined by the crudeness of Steiger's racism. The characters' growth is slight, uneven, and without any real payoff. And that's by no means a criticism.
In the Heat of the Night is a film that simply has to be seen, one that soars despite all that could have brought it down. It should be preachy but it isn't; it should have dated but it hasn't; its slow pace should be leaden but it's perfect. This is a rare kind of a film, and one that after a run of terrible movies has helped to remind me why I love cinema in the first place. I'm grateful for that.