James Cagney is great as "Cody" Jarrett, a big baby and a brutal bastard, whose murderous outbursts of sociopathic rage are understandable, at least, as the result of his mother issues. The plausible psychology of this film is as surprising as its effective police procedural elements—both seem way ahead of their time. And Cagney plays it with such volatility that the film's violence, while visually tame when compared with, say, Michael Madsen slicing a dude's ear off, is just as shocking as anything you'll find today. Edmond O'Brien is the undercover detective who's out to snare Cagney, and there are some really tense moments in a few prison sequences where his real identity is nearly discovered. Then there is Virginia Mayo, who is one of those old film starlets who you hear about, but then when you finally see her, you're like, "Jesus! For a black-and-white chick who's long been dead, that bitch is LUSCIOUS!" Wait, actually, upon fact-checking that sentence, I find that she died in 2005! Well, shit, had I seen White Heat earlier, I may have had a chance to "hold the Mayo," if you know what I mean. Do you know what I mean? Anyway, she's great as Cagney's two-timin' floozy of a girlfriend. The flick is tight and suspenseful, and while the fact that it's more than 50 years old should make it more campy than exciting, it's so well acted and well-directed that even the chase scenes (in old, dated cars) and the forensic work (done with protractors and maps) holds up and easily thrills to the same level of a great episode of "CSI." But the coolest component is definitely Cagney, who owns the show with an unpredictable ruthlessness that De Niro has only rarely shown. The final scene, with Cagney literally going down in flames, ought to be a lot more iconic than it is—it's chilling, terrifying, and spellbinding to behold. Ultimately there may be a few too many old-movie clichés to call White Heat an unqualified masterpiece, but at its best, it is just as good as, say, GoodFellas. Or even Good Burger!
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