In the Heat of the Night

(1967)

Directed by

Norman Jewison

Review by Zach Saltz

What we remember most fondly from In the Heat of the Night (1967) is Sidney Poitier’s stirring “They call me Mr. Tibbs!” parlance, the racist, gum-chewing Chief Gillespie, played in an Academy-Award winning performance by Rod Steiger, and the modern recognition of the film being a cornerstone in cinema examining race relations in America, particularly the south.  What we tend to forget is that the film is primarily a murder mystery -- an unsuccessful one, with a set-up that’s uninvolving and a conclusion that is simply outrageous and convoluted.   But I think most viewers can forgive its shortcomings; the true value of a film, after all, is the sum of the whole of its parts, and the effect it leaves on its audience.  What I felt most throughout the film was the same bottled-up rage of the Poitier character -- anger toward an oppressive and archaic society that stubbornly refuses to accept African-Americans as anything more than hoodlums and low-achieving hindrances to society.

Unfortunately, the film’s actual storyline mars its effectiveness as a much-needed social commentary on the sour state of race relations down south in the 1960s.  It involves the murder of a wealthy industrialist found dead late one night on a street in the town of Sparta, Mississippi, and Poitier, a Philly cop who just so happens to be at the right place at  the right time, is inclined to stay a few extra days to help idiot racist Police Chief Gillespie (Steiger).  It would be easy enough to pick at the problematic discrepancies laced in the script, but how much of the actual story of The Rules of the Game or Breathless do we really remember?  It’s more important to identify the film an important piece of cultural cinema, as a symbol of the changes that were to come as a result of people’s minds being opened as they flocked to theaters in 1967 to see it.

That’s not to say In the Heat of the Night is entirely devoid of interest in its story -- the scenes of hot racial tension are what resonate the best.  The central conflict between the two men is Gillespie’s maligned assumption that Tibbs believes he’s better than everyone else (which, of course, he is) and Tibbs’ own astonishment of the ineptitudes of the police force.  Indeed, there are three different instances over the course of the film when Gillespie foolishly arrests an innocent man and charges him with the murder of the black sympathizer businessman Colbert -- including Tibbs himself, at one point.  This leads to the film’s best scene, as a weary and tired Tibbs is arrested while waiting for his train to return to Philadelphia.  Gillespie’s reaction to the discovery that he has arrested a fellow officer is almost worth the price of admission alone.

The technical aspects of the film are noteworthy due to the A-list roster of names behind the scenes.  Haskell Wexler’s camera works best when it focuses on the magnificent faces of Poitier and Steiger; we see Tibbs come THIS close to breaking it at least three times, and Gillespie’s visage expresses a somber isolation when he gradually accepts the notion that Tibbs is a better cop than he’ll ever be.  The upbeat funk score is unmistakably Quincy Jones, and like the soundtrack of a certain other film released in 1967, The Graduate, the music adds a cultural significance that makes the film timeless.

Sidney Poitier is certainly an American legend onscreen, and appeared in almost every racially-themed motion picture of the 1950s and 60s: Blackboard Jungle (1955), A Raisin in the Sun (1961), Lilies of the Field (1963), A Patch of Blue (1965), and Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967).  He was the Hiram Revels and Jackie Robinson of the cinema -- the first black actor to get top billing in major motion pictures, rendering thousands of black actors to find work and inspire a sect of battered Americans to find strength and solace in their struggle for equal rights.  And while Poitier won the Academy Award for Lilies of the Field, Virgil Tibbs is his most memorable creation; a brilliant detective as well as a symbol of hope to a ravaged minority of Americans.  That he refuses to be referred to as “boy” or “nigger” or even “Virgil” speaks volumes about even the smallest battles that must be fought -- the struggle to be recognized as a formal and unencumbered Mister Tibbs.

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