Robin wasn't feeling well, so I found the one channel that is in English on the TV (Paramount). One bad movie after another. I watched Cop Car with her. Kevin Bacon is a bad cop, Shea Whigham is a bad guy, and there are two young boys who are goofing around and take the titular cop car on a joy ride. The beginning, when the boys are having fun, is lightly entertaining, but once Kevin Bacon turns up, the tone fluctuates uneasily between fun and more serious matters. Since I'm writing this on my phone, and since the movie was nothing special, I'll keep this short. 6/10.
The Fly (Kurt Neumann, 1958). Long ago (the 70s?), we saw comedian Bobby Slayton open in a club for two different rock acts. The shows were close enough that Bobby's sets mostly contained the same material. One quickie joke was to open his jacket, revealing a big plastic fly on the inside, at which point, he would squeak, "Help me help me" and close the jacket. He was referring, of course, to this, the original Fly movie. Vincent Price tells a story about the filming of the iconic "Help me, help me" scene. "[E]very time that little voice [of the fly] would say ‘Help me! Help me!’ we would just scream with laughter. It was terrible. It took us about 20 takes to finally get it." The thing is, no matter how much humor can be extracted from the sound of a tiny fly with a man's head begging "help me!" as it is caught in a spider's web while the spider closes in for a meal, everyone who sees The Fly remembers that scene, not just as a joke, but as something truly unsettling. Well, everyone perhaps except David Hedison, who played the man/fly: "[P]eople do an imitation of it all the time: 'Help me!' They had me in the net, and they pasted me white. In the dailies, when I saw that scene it was horrific — the sound of a man who’s gonna be eaten by a spider — I mean, it’s terrible! But they chose to go with that effect — heighten my voice to make it sound like a chipmunk or something — which to me made no sense at all." It takes a special movie to still have a hold on viewers 60 years after it was made, especially when that movie is of the B-variety. There are things that lift The Fly a bit above the competition. Vincent Price helps a lot. Actually, all of the cast are good, consistently treating the material with a straightforward honesty that belies the outrageous plot. While you're watching, it's easy to ignore the multiple implausibilities. Toss in the color Cinemascope picture, and the stereo sound, and The Fly looks and sounds more expensive than the average cheapie. And, for folks who need trivia with their creature features, the script was the first effort by James Clavell, who went on to co-write The Great Escape and to write several novels, including Shogun. 7/10.
Given that The Thing is an accepted part of the modern horror canon, it's interesting that it wasn't a success when it was released. It did relatively poorly at the box office (blame for this is usually placed at the hands of E.T., the optimistic film that had opened a few weeks earlier). John Carpenter calls The Thing his favorite of his movies, and he says he was hit hard when the movie didn't perform. The critics didn't like it, either, although again, the film's reputation has improved over time. I've usually found Carpenter an oddly overrated director. I like most of his movies I have seen, but "like" is the operative word ... in my mind, none of the ones I've seen approach classic status. I remember liking Big Trouble in Little China quite a bit when it came out, but after I'd seen some of the HK films that influenced it, I felt Carpenter hadn't really met their standards.
The same can be said of The Thing. Carpenter loves the original ... some of this version is a clear homage to the 1951 Nyby/Hawks film. Carpenter is known as a Hawks fanatic. He doesn't let the homage go too far, though, because for the basic plot, Carpenter returns to the original story by John W. Campbell Jr. The thing changes form, so in any particular moment, it might look just like a person you know. Given the setting (men isolated in Antarctica), the paranoia sets in quickly ... as the title of Campbell's work asks, "Who Goes There?" This is an intriguing premise ... I don't blame Carpenter for wanting to explore it, even though it is unrelated to the Hawks' film, where the alien is just a giant carrot played by James Arness.
But, as I recall, when it came out, The Thing was known for its gore and its special effects. You might talk after the movie about the paranoia angle, but what got you into the theater, what impressed while watching, was the "ooooh" that accompanied the "best" scenes. Nothing wrong with that ... but ultimately, that's all The Thing is about. Alien, which had come out in 1979, had some similar shocks, but Ridley Scott built up to them. And while Alien and The Thing both share the "isolated working group" setting, the characters are much better defined in Scott's movie. In fact, this is the biggest reason the Carpenter remake isn't up to the original. I saw that original a few months ago, and thinking back on the cast of "hey it's that guys", I realize I still remember some of the character names, like "Scotty" the journalist. I saw the remake just last night, and I'm not sure I can remember any of the characters' names. Instead, I remember Kurt Russell and Wilford Brimley and T.K. Carter and Richard Masur. The Thing is well cast ... Carpenter can use his actors as archetypes because the actors fit the parts ... but any character development would just get in the way of the next gory FX scene.
The Thing works because Carpenter effectively parcels out the scares. But he never lets the audience get beyond that feeling of dread ... what's next? ... and while that's a fine thing to pull off, it mostly stands on its own. The implications of the paranoia angle are only important in the film as a way of increasing the dread.
None of this means I don't like The Thing. It's one of my favorite John Carpenter movies. But over the years, I've decided that John Carpenter movies are never great movies. If you can make a handful of pretty good movies, you've accomplished something. But you aren't Howard Hawks. #314 on the They Shoot Pictures, Don't They list of the top 1000 films of all time. (The original doesn't even make the list, which tells you what I think about TSPDT in this case.) 7/10.
The Unknown (Tod Browning, 1927). This would never have actually turned up on a 60s Creature Feature show. It's a silent movie, and you didn't see those. Tod Browning was a Creature Feature type of director though ... among others, he did the Bela Lugosi Dracula and Freaks. And this movie stars Lon Chaney, the king of silent horror. It also stars a 21-year-old Joan Crawford, who is almost unrecognizable. The story, which features a "Gift of the Magi" angle", is about an armless circus performer (played by guess who) who lusts after Nanon (Crawford). Nanon has a phobia about being touched by men, so when the circus strongman tries to put the moves on her, she recoils. I won't give away more of the plot, except to note that the armless guy is faking his disability. Chaney is very good, and it's nice to put a movie under the Creature Features label that is actually a decent film. There are various versions of The Unknown, and the version I saw ran 49 minutes, with subtitles that were clearly added more recently than 1927. The Unknown was thought missing for many decades, until a copy was found in the Cinémathèque Française. Turns out their archive included hundreds of movies marked "l'inconnu" ("unknown"). Those movies were indeed unidentifiable, and so it was apparently assumed that The Unknown was just another of those films. The subsequent restoration was not complete, but the version that remains is good. 7/10.
The Time Travelers (Ib Melchior, 1964). I want to say "from the sublime to the ridiculous", but in fact The Time Travelers is a decent little movie that takes a low budget and a silly plot and turns it into something watchable. Scientists from the present invent a time machine that takes them far into the future, and, well, what more do you need to know? It has Philip Carey, known to soap opera fans for his decades on One Life to Live and to Baby Boomers for playing Granny Goose in potato chip commercials. There's Preston Foster and the ever-present John Hoyt, and cheesecake from Merry Anders and ex-Playmate Delores Wells. Steve "Chatsworth Osborne, Jr." Franken even has a substantial part. The special effects are pretty bad, although these androids created in the future do have a rather disturbing look to their faces/heads. The cinematography is by future Oscar-winner Vilmos Zsigmond (credited as "William"), and the movie is better-looking that similar affairs. There's nothing great here, but neither does it stink. 6/10.
I can't stop without another mention of those Granny Goose commercials. Here's one:
Now, as I remember, this was a revision of the original Granny Goose commercial. (All of this is dependent on my faulty memory, of course.) In the first commercial, when he tore off the top of the bag with his teeth and spit it out, it just fell to the ground. Again, as I recall, conservationists complained that Granny Goose was littering. So for this version, they added the shot of the paper landing in the litter basket.
Which is all well and good. But in the meantime, you've got these gross stereotypes of Mexican bandidos. That's OK, at least Goose wasn't littering.
Those of us of a certain age (and location ... I believe Granny Goose was out of Oakland and the commercials were run locally) can quote lines from this commercial to this day. "You may not believe this, but my name is Granny Goose." "What's in the bag, Goose? Money, hey?" "Interesting. Well-seasoned. Provocative." "Are you grown up enough for Granny Goose?"
Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid is one of those movies where you need to begin by saying which version you have seen. Briefly, the original (which I saw in a theater in 1973) was butchered by MGM (Peckinpah's movies were often cut by the studios, of course). Peckinpah had put together a preview version, which he showed at least once (Scorsese claims to have seen it). The studio cut it from 124 to 106 minutes. There is a story that at the preview showing, friends of Peckinpah stole the reels and gave them to Sam. In 1988, Ted Turner took over the MGM library and had the film done to match the preview version. This wasn't a perfect product ... the preview version had some technical problems that needed fixing, if nothing else. That version, called the "Turner Preview Version", ran 122 minutes. Peckinpah had died by 1984, so he had nothing to do with this or other versions, although everyone who worked on those versions claimed to be restoring Sam's vision. (It can be argued that there is no complete "Sam's Version", since the last time he worked on it, he only produced the first cut he showed at the preview.) Finally, in 2005, a "Special Edition" was released on DVD that used the Preview Version as a starting point, improved the technical problems, added a long-lost scene and cut or changed a few others. This version runs 115 minutes, and it's the one I watched yesterday.
So, I saw the original butcher job once, 44 years ago, never saw the Preview Version, and now I've seen the Special Edition but for the most part, my memories aren't going to let me truly compare the two versions I've seen.
Blah blah blah ... is the movie any good? I'd say it's a must for Peckinpah fans. Am I one of those people? Hard to say. I hated Straw Dogs, thought most of the other Peckinpah movies I've seen were worth watching, and named The Wild Bunch my 8th favorite movie of all time a few years ago. Given that, I can't help but see Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid in the context of The Wild Bunch, partly because I can't see any Western since 1969 without thinking of The Wild Bunch. Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid deserves to be considered on its own merits (or lack of same), but for me, it is as much a commentary on The Wild Bunch as that earlier film was a commentary on the Western genre.
The Wild Bunch was a nostalgic look at a time that was passing rapidly into the past. The Bunch were romanticized as the last of their kind, and the infamous violence, culminating in that amazing ending, was orgasmic in how it said goodbye to Westerns. But there is precious little romanticizing going on in Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid, and pretty much nothing I'd call orgasmic.
Pat Garrett (James Coburn) is tired, but he doesn't even get the camaraderie The Bunch share. He's all alone ... Billy was his friend but now he's a target, and one scene (left out of the original) where Pat stops by his house and gets told off by his wife shows that Garrett's life has alienated even the woman who loves him. Essentially, he has no home to return to, and no purpose other than to capture Billy the Kid for the landowning bigshots who hire him.
Billy has a lot of charisma, at least as Kris Kristofferson plays him (and this is one of his better performances), but an early scene shows how much that charisma actually means. He pulls a gun on an old friend who is trying to keep The Kid in jail, saying he doesn't want to kill the guy. The guy says Billy wouldn't shoot a man in the back and turns to walk away. Billy shoots him dead. (There's a "funny" scene where The Kid and Jack Elam walk ten paces and then try to kill each other. But once Elam starts walking, Billy turns around so he can see, and when Elam gets to "8" and turns around to get the jump on The Kid, Billy shoots him dead. "I never could count" says Elam.) There is no attempt to make Billy the Kid out to be better than he is ... he's not a good-bad guy like The Wild Bunch, he's just a killer.
But Pat Garrett isn't any better, he's just older and more tired. And so, for two hours, Pat Garrett searches for Billy the Kid, with Billy not seeming all that interested in escaping, and Garrett not seeming all that interested in capturing his former friend. It's a languid film, without even dazzling shootouts to break the calm. (There are shootouts, but there's not much to them, as if Peckinpah got it out of his system in his earlier Western.)
Peckinpah pays homage to the Western by hiring a tremendous supporting cast, some of whom only have one scene. (A couple of them have no scenes, apparently ending up on the cutting room floor through three separate versions ... it would have been fun to see Elisha Cook Jr. and Dub Taylor.) So there's Chill Wills, and Jason Robards as the guy who wrote Ben-Hur, and Jack Elam and Emilio "Mapache" Fernandez and Harry Dean Stanton, even Peckinpah himself as a guy who makes coffins. And lots of people less tied to the Western: Richard Jaeckel, Richard "Al Neri" Bright, Charles Martin Smith. And, to keep Kristofferson company, Rita Coolidge and Bob Dylan as "Alias" (Dylan, of course, also did the soundtrack). Best of all are Slim Pickens and Katy Jurado as old friends of Garrett's who have only one scene but make the most of it ... it's the best scene in the movie:
Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid is long and slow and erratic, and who knows at this point what Sam intended. But it works as an elegy. #537 on the They Shoot Pictures, Don't They list of the top 1000 films of all time. 8/10.
It's odd ... I've seen Klute before, but all I could remember of it (vaguely) was that it ended inside a building with hallways and offices. That turned out to be accurate enough, but if that's all there was to Klute, it wouldn't have been good enough to watch again. Because while Klute is a serviceable mystery thriller, serviceable is as good as the thriller gets. It's no better than a hundred others.
You'd think I'd remember Jane Fonda, because her performance not only carries the movie, but is one of the great acting jobs ever. Fonda has always struck me as an intelligent actress ... you can see her brain working. At her best, though, she makes that intelligence seem a natural part of the character she is playing. Sometimes, you'll see an actor trying so hard to stay on top of a role that the effort distracts from the result. Other times, an actor will bury themselves so deeply that all you get is emotion. But Fonda can convey intelligence and emotion at the same time, no more so than as Bree Daniels in Klute.
Bree is only confident when she's turning tricks. She is in control when she can make men do what she wants while making them think it's them who want it. But she herself wants more, as we learn in her therapy sessions. She isn't as sure of herself in the therapist's office as she is when she's working. And when the environment in which she works turns more dangerous than usual, her fear is rooted in the loss of control that implies.
The writing is good enough to earn an Oscar nomination (it lost to Paddy Chayefsky's The Hospital, and I've had a soft spot for another runner-up from that year, Penelope Gilliatt's Sunday Bloody Sunday). (It's interesting that I described Glenda Jackson in the latter film by saying "her acting often suggests an intelligent woman" ... although later I noted that "Glenda Jackson in particular is always clearly acting … she’s very good at it, but she isn’t a 'natural' actress.") As I say, the script is fine, but it is at its best in making room for Fonda's work as Bree. The actual mystery is pretty mundane.
Alan Pakula doesn't help much, although this remains my favorite of his movies. He attaches his standard, spooky paranoia (The Parallax View), but is rather aimlessly arty when it's not necessary. Gordon Willis is his usual great self as cinematographer (for no reason, I blame Pakula for the arty stuff). His next movie was The Godfather.
I've gotten this far without mentioning Donald Sutherland, who after all plays the title character. He does an excellent, self-effacing job ... he stays out of Fonda's way, supports her the way Klute supports Bree.
But this is Jane Fonda's picture. She got the second of her seven Oscar nominations, and picked up her well-deserved first win, beating out, among others, the aforementioned Jackson in Sunday Bloody Sunday.
As for a rating, I was torn between a 9/10 to reflect Fonda's performance, and 7/10 to reflect the rest of the movie. Since I apparently already gave it 7/10 that forgotten time when I'd seen it before, and since I want to tip my cap to Jane Fonda, 8/10.
Karina Longworth's great podcast, "You Must Remember This", just finished a series on Fonda and Jean Seberg. This episode discusses Klute:
Here's a scene from Klute:
Fonda discussed her role on Inside the Actors Studio:
Finally, here's one of the most famous (and shortest) Oscar acceptance speeches of all time. People were worried she would "get political". She asked her father what she should say, and then she took his advice:
Electronic Lover (Jesse Berger, 1966). Why do I bother? Every once in awhile I get the idea of watching some of the movies I'd seen on Creature Features on Saturday night when I was a kid. The problem is, I don't always pick the good movies from the array of choices (and they do exist). Electronic Lover is a sexploitation "nudie". but when I watched it for free on Amazon Prime, all of the nudity was edited out. (As a sign of how much nudity is in the movie, it runs 79 minutes but the Amazon version only lasts 60 minutes.) A sexploitation movie without the nudity pretty much has no reason for being, and I suppose I shouldn't rate this one too low since I saw an expurgated version. But trust me, it is so abysmal I'm positive the nudity wouldn't have helped. A crazed voyeur sends "Brother" out in the world with a hidden camera and watches the results from home. It is so cheap, it almost feels like an avant-garde film. Purely dreadful. 1/10.
Spies-a-Go-Go (aka The Nasty Rabbit) (James Landis, 1964). Another in the long line of Arch Hall movies. Arch Hall Sr. wanted to make movies, and after a couple of decades on the margins of the industry, in the 1960s Hall started cranking out what Wikipedia gently refers to as "some of the worst films ever made". The peak of his filmmaking was Eegah, in which he also starred alongside his son, Arch Hall Jr., and Richard "Jaws" Kiel in the title role. Junior appeared in many of his dad's movies ... he wanted to be a musician, so he'd play several songs, rather like Ricky Nelson in his family's TV show, except Junior didn't have much talent. Spies-a-Go-Go (titled Nasty Rabbit in the copy I saw) tells of a Soviet plot to release rabbits in the U.S. that have been infected with deadly bacteria. I think. The whole thing is played as a slapstick comedy ... bad slapstick comedy, although that probably wasn't intentional. Junior is a teen-idol rocker who is also an undercover spy. Oh, did I mention the rabbit occasionally talks to the audience ... he even gets the best lines (the IMDB only lists one "Memorable Quote", when the rabbit asks us, "I wonder if John Wayne had to go through this to get his start."). It's nowhere as good as it sounds. Richard Kiel pops in again for a cameo. Award-winning cinematographer László Kovács (Easy Rider, Five Easy Pieces, Ghostbusters) turns up as "The Idiot", while his longtime friend Vilmos Zsigmond takes on the cinematography. (They teamed up more than once in the early days of their career, most "notably" when they were both behind the camera for The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies.) Finally, the legendary Liz Renay, who played Muffy St. Jacques in John Waters' Desperate Living, has a substantial role. I really wanted this to be "so bad it's good", but instead it's "so bad it's bad". Still, it's better than Electronic Lover, so 2/10.
But stop ... there's more trivia! In this clip from Spies-a-Go-Go, Junior sings a song accompanied by his band, which included Pat and Lolly Vegas, who later formed Redbone.
Here is Redbone's biggest hit:
And finally, for you youngsters who actually made it this far, a brief reminder of where you've heard that song before:
So there you have it: the connection between Spies-a-Go-Go and Guardians of the Galaxy is exposed!
In some ways, a perfect Film Fatale selection. Low budget, directed, written, and edited by women, the story of a 20-something photographer and her relationships, mostly with her women friends.
Girlfriends could be remade with Greta Gerwig and released today, and it would fit right in. Low budget, charismatic lead performance, character-driven. More than one writer has noted the similarities between Girlfriends and Frances Ha. Katherine Maheux called it "the best movie Noah Baumbach never made". And then there's the TV series Girls. Lena Dunham has admitted the influence:
[T]his movie feels like my oldest influence, yet I saw it for the first time less than a year ago. I was dragged (because I was tired, not skeptical) to a screening at 92Y by a friend well versed in lost classics who said this was truly my kind of movie. And she was right—from the first shot, I was transfixed. By the complex relationships, the subtlety, the odd comedy that was awkward long before awkward was cool. It was the 1970s of my mother’s youth, which I discuss in Tiny Furniture through her journal entries. Claudia was at the screening for a Q&A, and I found her stories and general manner (tough but sensitive; third woman admitted into the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences; great effortless hair) really transfixing.
It's interesting that a film which feels very much of its time would have such resonance 40 years down the road, not for the evocative presentation of the late-70s, but because it feels fresh like the 2010s.
Weill and star Melanie Mayron have had careers based more in television than in movies. Weill, who also works in the theater, directed It's My Turn in 1980, and then moved to TV, where she worked on everything from Thirtysomething and My So-Called Life to the (perhaps inevitable) episode of Girls. Mayron is probably best-known for the four seasons she appeared on Thirtysomething, but she also moved on to directing for television (her IMDB page lists 50 different series she has worked on). She is especially busy on Jane the Virgin, where she has directed 11 episodes while appearing in ten of them as Jane's writing instructor.
You won't hear me complaining about the value of TV work over movies. Still, it would have been nice for Weill to get more opportunities to create features. But it's good that newer talents like Lena Dunham and Greta Gerwig are able to credit Girlfriends as an important marker for their own work. 8/10.
(Explanation of the Film Fatales Series.)
It's easy to see why MGM would want to make this picture, from a novel by James Jones. Jones had previously written From Here to Eternity, which as a movie won 8 Oscars, including one for Frank Sinatra. MGM succeeded partially ... Some Came Running received five Oscar nominations, although it won none. Sinatra is very good here, but his role is far less showy than the Oscar-winning Maggio. But the movie did get three acting nominations, Best Actress Shirley MacLaine, Supporting Actor Arthur Kennedy, and Supporting Actress Martha Hyer. (The actual winners were Susan Hayward, Burl Ives, and Wendy Hiller.) The women fare better than Kennedy, whose blustering performance didn't do much for me. MacLaine gets the showy role here, a woman with a heart of gold and not a lot going on in the old noggin. It's a stereotypical part, but MacLaine makes you believe in it, and makes you care about her. This was probably the best role in Martha Hyer's career, and she is great. Meanwhile, the film was made when Dean Martin was establishing himself as someone who, yes, could be a good actor. His next film was Rio Bravo.
Wikipedia calls Some Came Running a "crime film", which is pretty far-fetched. It's a melodrama about post-WWII America, and fairly astute about how difficult was the return from war (Sinatra's Dave Hirsh has just been released from the Army). But it's going too far to suggest this is the central theme of the film. What drives the narrative is class issues. Dave's brother Frank is a social climber who, along with his wife, looks down on Dave. Dave's own class status is somewhat fluid ... he's a veteran, although that doesn't seem to carry much weight in the small Indiana town that he returns to. MacLaine and Hyer lie on different ends of the ladder. MacLaine is a "loose woman", while Hyer is Gwen, a teacher of creative writing who lives with her professor father. Gwen is a good fit for Dave, since Dave was once a novelist, although he hasn't written for a long time. MacLaine loves and looks up to Dave, Dave loves and to some extent looks up to Gwen, and Frank and his wife look down on everyone, although Frank also suffers because his wife comes from money.
I was reminded more than once of a favorite movie of mine, The Chase. That film also features a stratified society ... it even has Martha Hyer. But The Chase was way over the top ... Kael described it as the story of "a corrupt, blood-lusting Texas town in the mythical America of liberal sadomasochistic fantasies ... where people are motivated by dirty sex or big money, and you can tell which as soon as they say their first lines." Some Came Running is a "better" movie than The Chase. You never get the feeling that Vincente Minnelli is losing control. Better, sure, but The Chase is a lot more fun, and I like it enough that I've seen it several times. I can't imagine watching Some Came Running again. But watching it once was rewarding. #453 on the They Shoot Pictures, Don't They list of the top 1000 films of all time (The Chase isn't on the list). 7/10.
I'd never had the chance to see the 1931 version. This is Pre-Code, and you can tell. People clearly sleep with each other ... del Ruth uses a clock to indicate the passage of time, letting us draw our own conclusions about why people are still around in the morning. Joel Cairo is more clearly homosexual than in Huston's version ... heck, so is Wilmer and probably Gutman. These things were significant enough that when Warner Brothers tried to re-release it in 1936 ("post-Code"), they were denied by the Production Code office, because the movie was no longer appropriate. (This prompted WB to film a new version, Satan Met a Lady, with Bette Davis.)
The 1931 Falcon is a much lighter affair than the better-known 1941 version. Ricardo Cortez as Sam Spade is much more the skirt-chaser than Bogart. Bebe Daniels as Ruth Wonderly is far less conniving than Mary Astor. It's a breezy film, with little to suggest that there was a classic hidden somewhere in the source material.
I've written before about the 1941 version, in my dissertation, and when I chose it as my 18th-favorite movie in our Fave Fifty project a few years ago. I wrote then:
John Huston, who also wrote the screenplay, realized from the start that Dashiell Hammett’s novel, with its terse style and realistic dialogue, was as perfect a screenplay as any novel could be. Huston allows Sam Spade to emerge, as he does in the book, as a self-interested hero with more than a little of the sadist in him.
What is missing from this film version is the critique of Spade that Hammett offers. Hammett uses the third-person to allow the reader to “see” Spade; the reader is encouraged to evaluate Spade rather than identify with him. Huston changes this perspective by shooting the movie largely from Spade’s point of view: while in the novel, Hammett’s description of Spade as he beats Joel Cairo is oddly distancing, as if the reader were interrupting Spade as he slept, the movie, with Bogart’s face showing clear enjoyment as he roughs up Cairo, allows the audience to feel superior to Cairo and to join Spade in his pleasure. The audience’s identification with Spade turns actions that would otherwise seem cruel into positive actions.
Though noteworthy for its seeming faithfulness to the novel, Huston’s movie does eliminate a final scene that is remarkable for what it shows about the movie’s desire to remake Spade’s image. Hammett leaves the reader with a hero who, for all his seeming victories, has lost more than he has won, someone who has alienated his best friend and sent his true lover to jail, someone who will return to a sleazy affair he had never enjoyed. It is a downbeat ending in line with Hammett’s cynical mistrust of heroic individualism. Huston omits this final scene, with its implications of failure, ending his movie instead with the barred elevator doors closing on Brigid O’Shaughnessy and Sam Spade walking down the steps, the faux falcon (“the stuff dreams are made of”) in his hands. Spade has lost his lover, but he has solved the case and avenged his partner. By dispensing with Hammett’s final chapter, Huston is able to maintain the aura of invincibility that Bogart/Spade has carried with him throughout the movie, in direct opposition to Hammett’s more despairing conclusion.
I should note that the 1931 film is much closer to Hammett than I would have expected, at least in the dialogue, which like Huston's movie, lifts plenty of lines directly from the book. Having said that, there is a fairly large space between the 1931 movie and Hammett's novel, primarily in the performance of Ricardo Cortez. It's possible at this point we just can't see anyone but Bogart in the role. But Cortez's Spade lacks the sadism of Bogart/Hammett.
There are historical reasons to was the Roy del Ruth film ... if you like Pre-Code movies, you might like this, and it makes for an interesting comparison with the later classic version. But there are better Pre-Code movies, and there is most certainly a better Maltese Falcon. The 1941 version is #276 on the They Shoot Pictures, Don't They list of the top 1000 films of all time. 1931: 6/10. 1941: 10/10.