The buddy-cop genre has been spun a dozen different ways from sundown (there’s even an afterlife version with Jeff Bridges and Ryan Reynolds, in the form of this summer’s forthcoming R.I.P.D.), but the paired-female version has, for a variety of reasons, never been given much of a serious Hollywood treatment, either dramatically or comedically, on the big screen (sorry, Cagney & Lacey). That changes with The Heat, a fresh, funny and indefatigably paced offering starring Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. Helmed by Bridesmaids director Paul Feig, and powered by great comedy of contrasts, the movie channels the same anarchic spirit as last year’s 21 Jump Street, delivering a wild and enjoyable ride of nicely balanced verbal sparring and physical comedy.



Sarah Ashburn (Bullock) is a hard-charging, by-the-books FBI agent with her eye on a promotion. Sent by her boss (Demian Bechir) from New York up to Boston to try to untangle a lead on a drug dealer, the difficult Ashburn immediately locks horns with Shannon Mullins (McCarthy), an uncouth local police officer whose lack of adherence to rules would seemingly mark Lorenzo Lamas or Steven Seagal as her heroes. Begrudgingly thrown together and powered by their shared fierce desire to bring down a mysterious criminal kingpin, they begin to suspect there might be a mole in the Boston Police Department or another government agency.

Screenwriter Katie Dippold (Parks & Recreation) leans readily on recognizable character types and the reliable tension between McCarthy’s boundless, foul-mouthed energy and Bullock’s initial condescension and deadpan, slow-burn persona, but she uses an audience’s familiarity with and acceptance of these tropes in smart, amusing ways. There’s definitely a bit of the same buttoned-up spirit Bullock brought to the Miss Congeniality films, but with less doted on personality flaws. Likewise, all the sputtering, go-it-alone rage of McCarthy’s character comes from a sincere place; having locked up her druggie brother Jason (Michael Rapaport) in order to protect him from both himself and others, Mullins is a pariah to her own stereotypically dysfuntional Irish family (a group that includes Jane Curtin, Bill Burr, Nate Corddry and, yes, ex-NKOTB-er Joey McIntyre — all very funny, and of an agitated piece).

Ergo, these characterizations feel more fully rounded, and the film as a whole has a savvy touch; while in some respects it’s a pin-prick satire of the puffed-up, masculinized clichés of the genre, it invests wholeheartedly in the feeling behind the behavior. Feig showcases great instincts for where and how to end scenes (the film is smartly edited, if a pinch overlong), and as with Bridesmaids, there’s also a distinctive array of worthy supporting characters — all honestly motivated, and not sacrificed at the altar of cheap, take-what-you-can, scene-to-scene laughs.

Bullock and McCarthy’s superb chemistry is The Heat‘s chief draw, however. It starts out as voluble, but as Ashburn and Mullins recognize and appreciate the occupational passion in one another, and pass through first a détente and then into friendship, it gives the movie a bit of welcome and surprising heart to match its bawdiness. (20th Century Fox, R, 117 minutes)