Partners in Crime: Bogart & Huston

Celebrating cinema's greatest collaborations


There are a lot of actor/director teams in the history of cinema whose frequent collaborations have led to a wealth of great movies. Sometimes these pairings bring out the very best in both parties, revitalizing each with a renewed burst of energy and creativity, pushing and challenging each other to new heights (Scorsese/De Niro, Kurosawa/Mifune, Herzog/Kinski immediately spring to mind). Sometimes these pairings start strong, and then succumb to a creative laziness that leaves their projects open to diminishing returns (*cough* Burton/Depp *cough*). One of the more fascinating actor/director team ups is that of Humphrey Bogart and John Huston, who only made four films together but made them all so distinct from each other that you could never argue that they were repeating themselves.

Great Last Scenes: The Maltese Falcon

Year: 1941
Director: John Huston
Great Because...: It’s the stuff that dreams are made of. A great ending to one of the best detective movies ever made, one which is perfectly attuned to that dark humour that runs through film noir. It ties everything up nicely and gives star Humphrey Bogart some premium lines with which to send off femme fatale Mary Astor.

The Best Picture Countdown #16: Casablanca (1942)

Note: this post is modified from a previously published post

Director: Michael Curtiz
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Paul Henreid, Claude Raines

You must remember this: the enduring tale of love and sacrifice, of wartime politics and subterfuge, noble men and scoundrels, and Rick’s Cafe Americain – the original bar where everyone knew your name. Casablanca is a movie with a little something for everyone, a thoroughly satisfying film for the romantic and the cynic alike.

Whether you’ve seen the film or not, the plot ought to be familiar to you: Casablanca, located in French Morocco, is one of the stops along the way for those wishing to flee the Nazis and take refuge in the US. Rick’s Cafe Americain is the local hot spot, owned by Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) and frequented by Captain Louis Renault (Claude Raines) and black market dealer Ugarte (Peter Lorre), amongst scores of others waiting and plotting their escapes from Casablanca. As the story begins there are three new arrivals in Casablanca: the German Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt), concentration camp escapee Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), and Laszlo’s wife, Isla (Ingrid Bergman). Strasser has come to ensure that Laszlo, a resistance figure, doesn’t make it to America. Laszlo and Isla were meant to get the letters of transit which would allow their escape through Ugarte, who is arrested before he can sell them but not before he can give them to Rick for safe keeping. When Laszlo and Isla come to make the deal, Rick is confronted with his past, having loved and lost Isla in Paris. Now Rick, who has been determined not to stick his neck out for anybody, must decide whether it’s worth it to put himself in danger to help Laszlo, and Isla must decide what she’s willing to sacrifice (or not, depending on how you look at it) to ensure that Laszlo gets out of Casablanca.

Casablanca is about a lot of things, but it seems to me that above all else, it’s the story of desperation. The people in Casablanca are all desperate to get out, to get on to the States, and one of the film’s subplots involves a woman who agrees to a liaison with Renault in exchange for his agreeing to help her and her husband to flee. Laszlo is desperate to escape the Nazis and continue his work. Rick and Isla are desperate in their love for each other – but each is also desperate for something else, too. Isla wants to make sure that Laszlo is able to continue his work, for which she admires him so greatly, and Rick, despite his hard shell and his roguish pose, wants to do the right thing.

Isla’s relationships with Rick and Laszlo are, of course, the central focus of the story. Isla loves Rick but she worships Laszlo, whom she had thought was dead when she and Rick met in Paris. In certain respects, Isla is an empty character, an object to be bartered over by the two strong male figures who will determine her fate, but in the hands of the luminous Bergman, the character is given depth and dimension. Henreid, as Laszlo, has a role that ought to be thankless – the spotless hero and cuckold – but he, too, makes more of it than what is present on the page. There is a great scene early on when Laszlo and Isla discuss all the times when they might have gone their separate ways but instead stayed together that demonstrates why Laszlo is a legitimate rival for Rick, rather than just a device of the plot.

Bogart has the film’s best role (though Raines runs a close second as the shady but ultimately sentimental Renault) as a man who puts on a tough show, but is really a romantic on the inside. He’s quick to tell people that he’s out for number one, that he cares about himself and himself alone, but what he consistently shows is that he cares a great deal about other people and wants to help them. Sure, he doesn’t lift a finger to help Ugarte when Renault decides to round up “the usual suspects” in an effort to track down those two missing letters of transit, but he does help the woman who was willing to prostitute herself to Renault by ensuring that her husband wins big at the roulette table, and he has a history of fighting the good fight, even if he does insist that he only did it for the money. Further, when he’s making plans to sell the cafe, he makes sure that his employees will all be well taken care of. Rick is a really well-rounded character and through the course of the film he truly earns the right to make that great and selfless speech to Isla, the one about three people whose problems don’t amount to a hill of beans in the grand scheme of things.

From a technical point of view, the film is perfectly crafted, unfolding at a brisk pace, without ever taking a wrong turn, without a single moment that is out of place. It’s one of the most quotable movies I’ve ever seen (from “Here’s looking at you, kid” and “We’ll always have Paris” to “We haven't quite decided yet whether he committed suicide or died trying to escape,” hardly a scene goes by without at least one priceless line) and its story is compelling, as demonstrated by the number of times it’s been cribbed by other films, television shows and stories. There isn’t a second of this film that I don’t cherish and adore. To me, this is absolutely and without a doubt, the best movie ever made.

Review: To Have and Have Not (1944)

* * * 1/2
Director: Howard Hawks
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall

“You know how to whistle, don’t you Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.”

Not even Bogart had a clever rejoinder for that one. To Have and Have Not, besides just being downright enjoyable, is an important film for being the debut of one of the big screen's best pairings: Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Without that electric pairing the film may well have been a retread of Bogart's earlier and very successful romantic war drama, never rising to the occassion of becoming a film in its own right. Of course, being directed by Howard Hawks couldn't hurt either.

From the opening credits – laid out over a shot a map in a way that’s reminiscent of Bogart’s previous hit – the film seems intent on emulating the Casablanca formula. Take a foreign location, a reluctant hero, a blonde love interest, a tricky political situation, a colorful supporting cast and a club with plenty of music and, well, here's looking at you, kid. The plot of To Have and Have Not is similar in many ways to Casablanca in that it takes place in a Vichy occupied French territory and centres on an American who is intent on having nothing to do with resistance efforts but finds himself drawn into the fight for the sake of a woman. There are some important differences, however, not least of which is that the affections of the love interest are never in question and, perhaps because of that, she's got a lot more spunk.

The protagonist in this one is Harry Morgan, captain of a fishing boat and occasionally known as “Steve,” and the love interest is Slim (Lauren Bacall), a young woman in bad financial straits who sashays into his life after stealing a wallet belonging to one of his clients. They engage in a bit of back and forth before being interrupted by the Free French fighters, who want make a deal to use Harry’s boat. Harry isn’t interested at first, but when his passport and all his cash are confiscated by the corrupt police, he decides that he has no choice but to take the chance. Besides, he wants to give Slim the means of getting back to the States - although she has other ideas.

It goes without saying that the chemistry between Bogart and Bacall is off the charts. They play off each other with a great deal of ease, clearly enjoying their interplay as much as we, the audience, do. It’s surprising that this was Bacall’s first screen role (and that she was only 19 when filming) because she brings such self-assurance to the character. Played by Bacall, Slim is a woman of intelligence and resourcefulness, in control of her sexuality at all times, except for a few moments when she’s alone with Harry. There’s a lot of fire in this character which perfectly complements Bogart’s more laid-back style of taking care of business.

The film itself, directed by the great Howard Hawks and loosely adapted from a novella by Ernest Hemmingway, runs at a good pace, never taking itself too seriously but managing, nevertheless, to remain grounded in reality. Through the caper at the story’s centre the film manages some subtle commentary on political/military attitudes amongst Allied forces, most obvious in an exchange between Harry and the Free French fighter he’s hired to ferry on his boat. When a patrol boat happens upon them Harry’s ready to fight while the Free French member is almost immediately prepared to surrender – a fact which Harry wastes no time in mentioning and which can be read as a commentary on an undercurrent of U.S.-French relations during WWII (especially since the film takes place "shortly after the fall of France"). The film doesn’t delve too deeply into this particular aspect of the story, but of course the story itself is really just an excuse for the romantic sparring at which Bogart and Bacall excel.

To Have and Have Not is an immensely enjoyable film to watch, one that’s fast-paced and well-acted and just generally quite charming. It doesn't have the gravitas of Casablanca, nor is it the best of the four Bogart & Bacall outings (that would be The Big Sleep), but it's a well-made lark of a film with many memorable moments. It’s definitely a must-see.

Review: Dark Passage (1947)

* *
Director: Delmer Daves
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall

Dark Passage is a strange film when compared with the other Bogart and Bacall films or, indeed, any other Bogart film. This is a film where Bogart plays a protagonist who is heard but not seen for the first half and seen but covered in bandages for much of the second. This is a gimmicky film and one which, to me, didn’t really transcend the gimmick to make the story worth telling all on its own. If I were to rank the four Bogart-Bacall films in order of preference, this one would come in at a distant fourth (though, to be fair, I like the other three so much that this one could have been great and still come in fourth).

The central character is Vincent Parry, who is basically played by the camera with voice-work by Bogart for the first hour or so. We meet him as he’s escaping from prison where he’d been serving time after being convicted for killing his wife. On the road, he meets two motorists: the first is Baker (Clifton Young), who wants to turn him in for the reward and is quickly disposed of with a punch to the face; the second is Irene (Lauren Bacall), who wants to help him. He recognizes her as having attended every day of his trial, even though they don’t know each other, and she explains that she believes in his innocence, having seen her own father railroaded for a similar crime in a similar way.

With his face all over the news, Vincent decides to take the advice of a helpful cabbie, who knows a doctor who would be willing to perform plastic surgery in secret for the right price. The original plan was that Vincent would recover at the home of a friend of his but while he’s going under the knife, his friend is murdered and now he’s the prime suspect in that crime as well. Luckily Irene is still around to lend a helping hand and allows him to convalesce in her apartment, which naturally leads to the two falling in love. As the bodies continue to pile up and the police continue to close in, Vincent’s only hope is to get out of town and make it to Peru where, if all goes according to plan, he and Irene will one day be reunited.

While I appreciate the filmmakers’ attempt to do something different, I found that the lengths to which it goes to not show Vincent fairly distracting and too drawn out. The focus of the film is so completely on the idea of hearing but not seeing Bogart that the story itself is given short shrift. As for the story, it relies perhaps a little too heavily on coincidence, from the fact that Irene just happened to be out near the prison painting when Vincent made his escape, to the fact that Irene just happens be an acquaintance of Madge (Agnes Moorhead), the woman whose testimony played a pivotal role in putting Vincent in prison.

All that aside, it is, as always, a joy to watch Bogart and Bacall play off each other on-screen. They had the kind of crackling, easy, playful chemistry that few other on-screen couples then or now could duplicate. In terms of individual performance, Bacall is luminous and engaging, which might be a result of her directly addressing the camera in many of her initial scenes. As for Bogart, it’s sort of difficult to really gage his performance because he’s at a something of a disadvantage for so long, being just a voice. However, once he actually shows up in the flesh he really owns the character and makes it work.

100 Days, 100 Movies: The Final Selection

99 movies down and only one selection left, this spot reserved for the absolute best movie ever made (by which, of course, I mean my favourite). Drum roll please...



Casablanca (1942)

Director: Michael Curtiz
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Paul Henreid

You must remember this, the enduring tale of love and sacrifice, of wartime politics and subterfuge, noble men and scoundrels, and Rick’s Cafe Americain – the original bar where everyone knew your name. Casablanca is a movie with a little something for everyone, a thoroughly satisfying film for the romantic and the cynic alike.

Whether you’ve seen the film or not, the plot ought to be familiar to you: Casablanca, located in French Morocco, is one of the stops along the way for those wishing to flee the Nazis and take refuge in the US. Rick’s Cafe Americain is the local hot spot, owned by Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) and frequented by Captain Louis Renault (Claude Raines) and black market dealer Ugarte (Peter Lorre) amongst scores of others waiting and plotting their escapes from Casablanca. There are three new arrivals in Casablanca: the German Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt), Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid) and his wife, Isla (Ingrid Bergman). Strasser has come to ensure that Laszlo, a resistance figure and concentration camp escapee, doesn’t make it to America. Laszlo and Isla were meant to get the letters of transit which would allow their escape through Ugarte, who is arrested before he can sell them but not before he can give them to Rick for safe keeping. When Laszlo and Isla come to make the deal, Rick is confronted with his past, having loved and lost Isla in Paris. Now Rick, who until now has been determined not to stick his neck out for anybody, must decide whether it’s worth it to put himself in danger to help Laszlo, and Isla must decide what she’s willing to sacrifice (or not, depending on how you look at it) to ensure that Laszlo gets out of Casablanca.

Casablanca is about a lot of things, but it seems to me that above all else, it’s the story of desperation. The people in Casablanca are all desperate to get out, to get on to the States, and one of the film’s subplots involves a woman who agrees to a liaison with Renault in exchange for his agreeing to help her and her husband to flee. Laszlo is desperate to escape the Nazis and continue his work. Rick and Isla are desperate in their love for each other – but each is also desperate for something else, too. Isla wants to make sure that Laszlo is able to continue his work, for which she admires him so greatly, and Rick, despite his hard shell and his roguish pose, wants to do the right thing.

Isla’s relationships with Rick and Laszlo are, of course, the central focus of the story. Isla loves Rick, but worships Laszlo, whom she had thought was dead when she and Rick met in Paris. In certain respects, Isla is an empty character, an object to be bartered over by the two strong male figures who will determine her fate, but in the hands of the luminous Bergman, the character is given depth and dimension. Henreid, as Laszlo, has a role that ought to be thankless – the spotless hero and cuckold – but he, too, makes more of it than what is present on the page. There is a great scene early on when Laszlo and Isla discuss all the times when they might have gone their separate ways but instead stayed together, that demonstrates why Laszlo is a legitimate rival for Rick, rather than just a device of the plot.

Bogart has the film’s best role (though Raines runs a close second as the shady but ultimately sentimental Renault) as a man who puts on a tough show, but is really a romantic on the inside. He’s quick to tell people that he’s out for number one, that he cares about himself and himself alone, but what he consistently shows is that he cares a great deal about other people and wants to help them. Sure, he doesn’t lift a finger to help Ugarte when Renault decides to round up “the usual suspects” in an effort to track down those two missing letters of transit, but he does help the woman who was willing to prostitute herself to Renault by ensuring that her husband wins big at the roulette table, and he has a history of fighting the good fight, even if he does insist that he only did it for the money. Further, when he’s making plans to sell the cafe, he makes sure that his employees will all be well taken care of. Rick is a really well-rounded character and through the course of the film he truly earns the right to make that great and selfless speech to Isla, the one about three people whose problems don’t amount to a hill of beans in the grand scheme of things.

From a technical point of view, the film is perfectly crafted, unfolding at a brisk pace, without ever taking a wrong turn, without a single moment that is out of place. It’s one of the most quotable movies I’ve ever seen (from “Here’s looking at you, kid” and “We’ll always have Paris” to “We haven't quite decided yet whether he committed suicide or died trying to escape,” hardly a scene goes by without at least one priceless line) and its story is compelling, as demonstrated by the number of times it’s been cribbed by other films, television shows and stories. There isn’t a second of this film that I don’t cherish and adore. To me, this is absolutely and without a doubt, the best movie ever made.

100 Days, 100 Movies: The Maltese Falcon (1941)

Director: John Huston
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, Sidney Greenstreet

Never again would noir be so simple or unfettered, and rarely would it reach such brilliant heights. Earlier films sowed the seeds of noir, but this is where the elements of the genre really crystallized, emerging in its defining form and establishing tropes that would become crucial to the films - especially the detective films - that followed. But when you watch it, it isn’t just a matter of experiencing a cinematic landmark; it’s also a matter of being greatly entertained. As the man said, it’s the stuff that dreams are made of.

Humphrey Bogart stars as the iconic Sam Spade, a private detective who becomes enmeshed in the search for the Maltese Falcon by the original femme fatale, Mary Astor, playing Brigid O’Shaughnessey. In the course of his search he encounters Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre), Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet), and Gutman’s henchman Wilmer (Elisha Cook, Jr.), all of whom want to get their hands on the Falcon and are willing to do anything to get it.

Prior to this The Maltese Falcon had been made twice, in 1931 with the same title and in 1936 as Satan Met A Lady. The first version is a passably entertaining pre-code film notable for what it managed to get away with that the Huston/Bogart version couldn’t. The other version is more or less a parody, a ridiculous comedy starring Bette Davis. This version takes what works from the first two, puts its own hard-boiled spin on it and creates something that seems new even after you’ve seen the others. This is the film that made Bogart a bona fide star and it’s easy to see why. Here he plays a lovable scoundrel, an unsentimental tough-guy who can tell Brigid “I hope they don’t hang you, precious, by that sweet neck. Yes, angel, I’m gonna send you over. The chances are you’ll get off with life. That means if you’re a good girl, you’ll be out in 20 years. I’ll be waiting for you. If they hang you, I’ll always remember you.” As Brigid, Astor is like a ball of fire burning beneath an icy exterior, setting the standard for bad girls to follow. She and Bogart have great chemistry, both as lovers and antagonists, so that we’re never quite sure where they really stand with each other or who currently has the upper hand on whom.

Mixed in with Bogart and Astor are two of the eras great character actors, Greenstreet and the incomparable Lorre. Greenstreet with his huge (literally and figuratively) presence that is so affably threatening and his particular way of reading a line like “By Gad, sir, you are a character. There’s never telling what you’ll say or do next, except that it’s bound to be something astonishing;” and Lorre, who always looked like he was up to something, always trying to pull something over, and who supplies most of the film’s gay subtext (there are some undertones to the relationship between Gutman and Wilmer, but not nearly so developed as what we get with Cairo). Cairo is pretty much openly coded as gay, dressed in his effete way with his phallic cane and his gardenia scented handkerchiefs. And of course there’s the underlying sadomasochism of his relationship with Spade, who informs him, “When you’re slapped, you’ll take it and like it.”

The inter-play of the actors in all their combinations is a joy to behold. My favourite is the first scene between Spade and Cairo when Cairo pulls a gun and finds himself disarmed by Spade. They proceed to have a relatively calm conversation and come to an understanding, at which point Spade gives Cairo back the gun, and Cairo sticks him up again. Bogart and Lorre play off each other very well as Cairo consistently attempts to make Spade take him seriously, and Spade just swats him down at every turn.

The Maltese Falcon is the prototype for detective noir, but differs from those that would follow in many key ways. Its story is relatively straight forward (especially compared to Bogart’s other great detective film The Big Sleep), its hero turns on the woman he loves where it’s more common to find the hero undone by a woman he knows is bad but can’t tear himself away from, and ends not only with the hero coming out alive but unaffected enough to provide the film’s final quip (in Out of the Past, Robert Mithcum gets to quip but loses his life, in Chinatown Jack Nicholson is alive but at a loss for words). This is a very uncluttered film that had the benefit of being able to create itself, rather than be created by the accumulated essentials of an established genre. It is also a ridiculously watchable film that rewards with each and every viewing.

100 Days, 100 Movies: The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)

Director: John Huston
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Walter Huston, Tim Holt

“I know what gold does to men’s souls,” the old man says in this film that looks like a western, but plays like the deepest of psychological dramas. Writer/director John Huston perfectly balances a narratively intimate character study with larger than life entertainment and in the process gives Humphrey Bogart the best character he’d ever play. Greed, paranoia, treachery, action, adventure and madness are all woven seamlessly together in this one of a kind film.

Bogart, Walter Huston and Tim Holt star as Dobbs, Howard and Curtin, three Americans who set off into the mountains of Tampico, Mexico to make their fortune in gold. Of the three, only Howard is an experienced prospector, a man whose exuberant eccentricities hide an observant, knowledgeable person. Before they’ve even set off, he pretty well knows how things will turn out, his words laced with warning. “As long as there’s no find, the noble brotherhood will last, but when the piles of gold begin to grow, that’s when the trouble starts.” Given his past experiences, it’s a wonder that he goes at all, but the promise of gold is enough to overcome any misgivings and, besides, he knows that without him, Dobbs and Curtin would be done for.

True to Howard’s prophesy, the partnership begins to go sour once they start to find gold. Dobbs, in particular, insists on dividing the loot at the end of each day, rather than simply dividing the money after they’ve returned to civilization. It’s here that the film begins to seem claustrophobic, giving us more frequent close-ups, having the characters occupy smaller spaces together and letting the camera close in tightly on them (many shots are set-up to make it look as if the three are practically standing on each other so that it seems as if there’s not enough room for all three and the camera on what is meant to be a wide-open mountain). The paranoia implied by immediately separating the shares is increased by the fact that all three hide their shares at the end of each day, making them naturally suspicious whenever one of the others disappears on some unexplained errand. In one scene, Curtin accidentally comes across Dobbs’ share, almost leading to a showdown between the two.

Besides having to contend with their own psychological turmoil, the trio is in for more grief with the arrival of Cody (Bruce Bennett), a fellow American who meets Curtain when he goes back to town for supplies and then follows him back up the mountain and tries to muscle his way into the operation. Shortly after Cody come a gang of bandits and the film’s most famous line: “Badges? We ain’t got no badges! We don’t need no badges! I don’t have to show you any stinking badges!” Cody is killed by the bandits, who are run off by the approach of the Federalis, and Dobbs, Curtain and Howard are free to make their way back to town with their loot. After Howard is separated from them, Dobbs’ madness takes over and he kills Curtin (or so he thinks), determined to make off with all the money himself, not stopping to think that it might not be such a good idea for a man to try to make his way through bandit country on his own.

While the film can function on the level of pure escapist entertainment, it also functions on a deeper level, where it exposits an anti-Colonialist/anti-Capitalist message. The pursuit of wealth – specifically of wealth to be hoarded by one person – is characterized not only as bad, but as dangerous, and the act of foreigners coming into a place and staking a claim where they have no right is shown to be futile. Aside from the fact that Dobbs is willing to kill anyone who comes between him and the loot, there’s also the fact that Dobbs and Curtain are brought together in the first place by McCormick (Barton MacLane), a fellow American who cons them into working his oil field and then attempts to cheat them out of the money owed to them. But the trio isn’t really better than McCormick, because they, too, engage in shifty behaviour in order to retain something that isn’t rightfully theirs. They have no real claim to the gold in the mountains, a fact which they fully admit to each other and which necessitates disguising the mine and camping elsewhere to make it look like they’re just hunters. However, the knowledge that the gold isn’t rightfully theirs doesn’t stop them from taking it, or from being willing to kill anyone who comes near it. In Dobbs' descent into madness we see played out on a smaller scale the greedy, brutal mentality of every Colonialist expedition to enter a foreign place and slaughter whomever was in the way in order to secure land and goods. When the gold is found dumped on the ground and being swept back into the mountains by the wind, Howard is right to laugh because it’s only fitting. It was never “their” gold and now it’s being returned to where it belongs.

Of the three main actors, Huston was the only one to be nominated for an Academy Award (which he won). Bogart would have been equally deserving, fully committing to Dobbs’ descent into insanity and desperation (regardless of what Dobbs has done beforehand, it’s difficult not to feel for him when he’s cornered by the bandits at the end and attempts to talk his way out of it), delivering soliloquies which attempt to justify what he’s done and convince himself that he’ll get away with it. As Curtin, Tim Holt has an unfortunate role, stuck as he is between these two giants of characters. However, he does a serviceable job, acting as the balance between the two extremes played by Huston and Bogart. As a director, Huston only makes one misstep, and that’s in showing Howard’s time in the Indian village, which completely detracts from the tone the film has built up until that point. It’s a scene that belongs in a different movie and it’s jarring to see it played out here. But, leaving that aside, what Huston delivers here is a taut, effective psychological drama that has been often imitated, but will never be surpassed.

100 Days, 100 Movies: The Big Sleep (1946)

Director: Howard Hawks
Starring: Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall

Two years after she taught him how to whistle in To Have and Have Not, Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart were together again in The Big Sleep, where Bogart played the second of his great screen detectives (the first being Sam Spade in the film that made him a bona fide star, The Maltese Falcon). This is a dark, cynical story about the decaying morals of the upper class, the members of which are drowning in so much vice that they hardly notice their foundation is crumbling. No one gets off easy here, no one is really “good.” It’s a bad world and it’s full of bad people, all of whom want to get in on the action while the getting is good.

Bogart plays Phillip Marlowe, a more polished, less rough and tumble detective than Sam Spade. They share a few things in common – both are smart, can get tough if they have to, and have a soft spot for potentially dangerous women – but they’re ultimately quite different. Spade thrived in his seedy environment, whereas Marlowe is more of a gentleman detective; not itching for a fight, not looking to pull anything over on anyone, just aiming to accomplish the job he was hired for. Then again, perhaps Marlowe just seems more polished because the world he’s moving in is that of high society – albeit a high society with a dark, gritty underbelly. The plot of the film hinges on multiple murders, pornography, and two sisters whose indulgences in booze, sex, gambling and God knows what else, has led their father (also an indulger in all those things) to write them off as being no good.

The father is General Sternwood (Charles Waldron), who hires Marlowe to take care of the gambling debts of his younger daughter, Carmen (Martha Vickers). Carmen is a drunken nymphet who wastes no time making eyes at Marlowe (“She tried to sit in my lap while I was standing up”) and proves to have a deeper involvement with Geiger - the man to whom she supposedly owes money for gambling debts - than was originally thought. The General’s other daughter, Vivian (Bacall), is also quick to call herself to Marlowe’s attention, though her intentions (at first) are less amorous. Her interest isn’t in Marlowe himself, but in what her father has hired him to do. Namely, she believes that Marlowe has been hired to find Sean Regan. The two elements are, of course, related, resulting in numerous dead bodies (many of which end up, at different times, in the same house) and some wonderful verbal exchanges. The dialogue itself is arguably the best thing about the film, especially in the scenes between Marlow and Vivian, which capitalize on the real-life relationship between Bogart and Bacall.

The plot of the film can be difficult to follow. There’s a famous anecdote with regards to the death of a chauffer that no one involved with the story – including Raymond Chandler, who wrote the source novel – could explain. But the thing about this movie is that the first time you watch it, you don’t even really realize that you’re not completely following the thread of the mystery, because the plot itself is really secondary to the dialogue and the characters. In a genre defined by smart dialogue, this is one of the sharpest, with the characters dodging each others barbs twice as often as each other’s bullets. Bogart, naturally, gets the lions share of the best lines, but there’s an exchange between him and Bacall about horses that provides her with her sizeable number of zingers and double entendres. Part of the joy of watching this film is just watching Bogart and Bacall play off of each other.

There’s another version of the film in which Vickers gets more screen time and makes the most of every moment, more or less showing up the film’s leading lady. Because of this, and because Bacall generally seemed a little stiff in some of her scenes, it was decided to cut many of Vickers’ scenes and reshoot some of Bacall’s so that a potentially viable leading lady would not find her career crushed before it could really get off the ground. It’s true that Bacall is overshadowed by Vickers in the first version, and that she herself delivers a better performance in the second, but there are some other minor changes to the second/“official” version which ultimately serve to make it tighter and more focused. It’s a shame for Vickers, whose film career never really had a chance to take off, but the cutting and the reshoots did, ultimately, make for a better film. Both are worth watching, but the “official” version is the film that we want, with its wit and sharp edges and, of course, the interplay between Bogie and Bacall.