Anyway, back in November, the Brattle had a Bogart series. The usually play Casablanca around Thanksgiving weekend - the logic probably being that a lot of people are out of town , so rather than miss part of a rep series, they may as well go with a standard that brings the locals in. But, since it's far from a secret that they were hurting for money last year, so they programmed a lot of stuff that would bring people out. Who's going to say no to Bogie at the Brattle? If you want to support the theater, it's a lot easier to do that for these films than, say, Jacques Doillon.
(And, hey, they're not out of the woods yet, despite a one-year reprieve; if you can find your way to give them some extra money via ticket sales, donations, becoming a member, it would be appreciated.)
It's a pleasure, though. When To Have and Have Not is the weakest film in a series, you're doing better than all right. Nobody's perfect, and Bogart made some clunkers over the course of his career - think The Barefoot Contessa - but he was also involved in a really disproporitonate number of outright great movies.
That's the benefit of the studio system - you have Bogart working at Warner Brothers at the same time as John Huston, Howard Hawks, Lauren Bacall, Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, etc., so once there's a combination that works, they can put them together again in fairly short order. Today, with most talent free agents, everyone probably makes closer to what they merit in terms of what they bring in, but trying to capture lightning in a bottle a second time can take years.
Casablanca
* * * * (out of four)
Seen 26 November 2005 at the Brattle Theater (Give Thanks for Bogart)
There is not a whole lot to say about Casablanca that is new. I feel vaguely silly writing anything at all, because anyone likely to read this probably already knows that this film is an all-time classic. Here in Boston/Cambridge, the Brattle Theater runs it at least twice a year, often preceded for a month by a trailer that regulars have memorized ("but they're all trapped!"). People attending a "Great Romances" double feature February 13th were advised to arrive by four the next day if they wanted to get tickets to the annual Valentine's Day showings. And despite Theo's constructing the Red Sox team that finally won the World Series, that his grandfather Philip and great-uncle Julius wrote this classic screenplay may be the Epstein family's greatest claim to fame. This is a beloved, famous movie, and rightly so. Do people really need to be convinced to see this?
Well, sure, maybe. People aren't born having seen it, and even if they have absorbed the plot and some of the greatest lines through osmosis, there's still plenty of delights to be found from actually watching the movie. There's a great cast on hand, so they can get introduced to some of the finest stars and supporting characters of classic Hollywood all at once. They can assure themselves that Humphrey Bogart does not, in fact, use the line "play it again, Sam". And they can witness just how a fantastic cast and crew can make a flawed story into a classic, and what a delight it is when that happens.
Because, let's face it, Casablanca's plot creaks a little. The central plot device - "letters of transit" that will let anyone, even Resistance leader Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), travel freely during a time of war - doesn't really hold up to a second of examination. But that's okay. Those letters are just an excuse to throw Laszlo, his beautiful wife Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman), and her one-time lover Rick Blaine (Bogart) together. Rick runs a bar in Nazi-occupied French Morocco, and comes into possession of the letters after the untimely death of small-time gangster Ugarte (Peter Lorre). The Laszlos have recently arrived in Casablanca, but SS Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt) is watching Rick's like a hawk. Besides, Rick's got a policy of sticking his neck out for no-one, and to help Laszlo escape would mean saying farewell to the love of his life once again.
Look at the events logically, and it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. But we love watching Rick struggle against his better nature, and five minutes don't go by without someone popping out a great line. The cast is full to bursting with great supporting characters; in addition to those already mentioned, there's Claude Rains's gleefully corrupt Captain Renault, and Sydney Greenstreet as a mobster who probably wields as much power in Casablanca as either the French or the Germans. Dooley Wilson is mostly there to sing and play the piano, but he carries himself in a way that makes him feel much essential than many black characters of the time period. The movie is pure, classic melodrama, but also funny and built on winning chemistry between its leads.
It's a love triangle that works, because neither leg seems less than genuine, and the film portrays love as a powerful force that can wreak havoc on these people's lives and, because of their actions, the world around them. Bogart's Rick is the apparent epitome of cool, growling and appearing unfazed by the evil around him. It's a front, of course - not sticking one's neck out is an attitude born of fear, not strength, and it's a front that crumbles upon Ilsa's return. Henreid's Laszlo, on the other hand, does make a habit of sticking his neck out, but that sort of activity takes a toll on a man, and he needs the support Ilsa give him. Meanwhile, we see Ilsa genuinely torn between her two lovers, devoted to her husband but ever mindful of the raw passion she and Rick shared. English isn't her first language and she doesn't seem as assured delivering her lines as the others are, so the movie at times has to rely on her looks to explain why she is so central in these two men's lives. Being one of the most beautiful women ever captured on film is one hell of a crutch, though.
And in the end, that this must be relied on doesn't matter a whit. The cast is thoroughly charming, the love story is grand and uncompromising without ever being saccharine. Michael Curitz knows his stuff, working in both snappy patter and gunplay without ever losing the focus on the central romance and drama.
Of course, you should already know this. If you like movies, you should probably have this half memorized, and not just because you're expected to. It's a great movie, one that stays great even if it couldn't be made the same way today.
The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
* * * * (out of four)
Seen 26 November 2005 at the Brattle Theater (Give Thanks for Bogart)
Nasty thing, greed. It's in every one of us, lying dormant while we have nothing, waiting for us to get a taste of prosperity before flaming up and convincing us that it's not enough. That's The Treasure of the Sierra Madre in a nutshell, and few if any have played that theme as well as director John Huston and his cast.
As the film starts, we see Fred C. Dobbs (Humphrey Bogart) homeless in Tampico, Mexico, begging money off American tourists. After hitting the same American up for money three or four times, he's directed to Pat McCormick (Barton MacLane), who's offering work. There he meets Bob Curtin (Tim Holt), and after they convince McCormick to actually pay them rather than running off, they meet an old-timer named Howard (Walter Huston), who convinces them to re-invest their earnings in a gold-mining venture. It's hard, at first, but that difficulty is nothing compared to what happens when the mine pans out, and each is worrying about the others coming after his hoard.
Few of Humphrey Bogart's most memorable roles are steadfast heroes, and his characters don't get much scuzzier than Fred Dobbs. We get hints of what's to come when we first meet him, as we see him push his luck panhandling, but we can chalk that up to desperation to simply survive. Later on we we see his a hard worker when he gets the chance, but we don't see Bogart's best work until Dobbs has his gold and will be rich no matter what. Then we see him crazed with gold fever, twitching, looking at his friend like he expects to be killed at any moment. It's the type of manic performance that can make a lesser actor look like, well, a lesser actor, but Bogart's tense body language and facial expressions that can jump from calm to crazed to conniving sell it.
And Bogart isn't even necessarily the performance people remember from this movie; that honor likely goes to director John Huston's father Walter. He makes Howard a lovable old coot whose acquisition of wisdom with age just means he can see his future screw-ups coming. He knows that he'll blow his gold on women and booze and probably end up right where he started, and he sees his partners' paranoia as an inevitability. He talks like a rube and dances funny jigs, but there's never any doubt that he knows the score. Indeed, the audience will spend a lot of time wondering if he's playing his younger partners against each other. Mostly, he makes relating hard-won knowledge sound like a reminder of something any fool should know, and gains the audience's respect without ever distancing himself from them.
The rest of the cast is pretty good, too, although it's tough to outshine Bogart and Huston Sr. on-screen. Tim Holt doesn't get to go enthusiastically insane like Bogart as the other partner; he's got the unenviable task of being the most apparently level-headed one in the group, a couple steps behind Dobbs in terms of the gold fever. Bruce Bennet appears midway through the film as James Cody, a young guy who stumbles upon the camp, and thus increases the tension between the secretive miners. And, of course, there's Alfonso Bedoya, whose character leads a crew of banditos who menace Dobbs and company in the last act. He essays his part broadly but with genuine menace. His most famous line ("Badges? We ain't got no badges...") has become a target of many bad puns over the years, but Bedoya sells it with venom.
John Huston writes and directs, working from a novel by reclusive expatriate B. Traven (rumored to have been on-set as a technical advisor under a pseudonym). The movie divides into clear chapters - Dobbs begging, the building job, mining, bandits, etc. - connected by the characters' growing distrust. Huston is able to choose shots that emphasize the world closing in around the party even while shooting outdoors, on location in Mexico; it's either night, or there's a mountain rising sharply to cut off part of the sky, or the like. He's got no trouble making things progressively more grim, or pushing Dobbs further and further from being redeemable.
Which is as it should be. Stories of human greed seldom have happy endings, and the bitter, violent conclusion of The Treasure of the Sierra Madre is just what it should be.
(Formerly at EFC
To Have and Have Not
* * * ¼ (out of four)
Seen 28 November 2005 at the Brattle Theater (Give Thanks for Bogart)
So, it's World War II. Humphrey Bogart is playing an expatriate American running a small business in an occupied French colony, more or less minding his own business until an important resistance figure and his wife show up and turn his world upside down. This sounds awful familiar, but the action takes place not in Morocco, but Martinique.
Truthfully, To Have and Have Not really only resembles Casablanca in broad outline. Bogart's Harry Morgan operates a small fishing boat, and business isn't nearly so good as it is at Rick's Café. His first mate Eddie (Walter Brennan) drinks most of the profits, and his most recent customer (Walter Sande) refuses to pay up. The beautiful Marie Browning (Lauren Bacall) arrives on the island just as the war starts to come in earnest - a trip to secretly transport de Gaule lieutenant Paul de Bursac (Walter Szurovy) and his wife Hellene (Dolores Moran) ends with de Bursac wounded and the authorities hot on their trail.
Though based on a novel by Ernest Hemingway and featuring a screenplay by Jules Furthman and William Faulkner, the film is famous for not being constrained by its pedigree. The events of the film are only alluded to in the novel, the cast improvised many of their lines, and the focus of the story changed with the discovery that Bogart had much more chemistry with future wife Bacall than with Ms. Moran. By the time it was all said and done, the film Howard Hawks made bears scant resemblance to Hemingway's novel.
But, it works quite well as a movie, thanks in large part to how Hawks lets his costars' chemistry dictate the movie he makes. So you get the sort of love at first sight between Harry and Marie that reveals itself via sarcasm and teasing; you also get a sense of long-held camaraderie between Harry and Eddie. At times, Harry is in the position of a child dealing with a parent who has lost his faculties, holding on to what initially made him admire his old mentor, even if all anyone else can see is a sad drunk.
Indeed, even though we're trained to look at the romance as the central relationship in a movie, it's Harry's caretaking of Eddie that serves as the film's main metaphor. After all, it's easy to fall in love with a girl as attractive as young Lauren Bacall, especially when she takes the lead in flirting and just refuses to ignore requests that she go away for her own safety. Eddie's aware that he's a burden, though, and if Harry were to tell him to go away and not come back until he'd dried up, he'd probably understand and slink away. It's sticking by the Eddies of the world, even when they do nothing but cause trouble, that define a man's character, and suggest that he'll do the right thing by the fugitive de Bursacs, even when it would be simpler to turn them in.
Still, Walter Brennan's Eddie grows on us fairly quickly; he's a genial drunk with a core of sadness. This sort of performance looks somewhat outdated now, but it gets the core of the character across without us having to deal with a great deal of exposition about how Eddie got to this point. Bogart, meanwhile, plays Morgan as a curmudgeon - short-tempered with everyone but Eddie but practical about his reliability once he's left the room. Bogart has a very recognizable way of delivering his lines which suits Morgan well: Dry as a bone most of the time, until something gets the character angry, at which point his speed picks up and the words gain an edge that hits the audience like a physical blow. Bacall, meanwhile, is unflappable; the actress was only about nineteen years old when this film shot, but she projects much more confidence. Her character (nicknamed "Slim", which would stick with Bacall afterward) can trade wit with Morgan without being intimidated, and Bacall makes herself a movie star through sheer force of personality.
That an off-screen romance developed isn't surprising - while this sort of on-screen passion can be simulated between two actors, what would make these two movie stars is the larger than life charisma that they brought to the screen in their various roles, and that probably doesn't come from nowhere. Saying it shows on the screen is probably just interpreting data to fit a known conclusion, but knowing that this film is where one of Hollywood's biggest romances started certainly adds interest.
Of course, even without that factor, To Have and Have Not is still a highly entertaining movie, well worth checking out. The talent involved, both in front of the cameras and at the typewriter, just grabs one's attention.
The Big Sleep
* * * ¾ (out of four)
Seen 28 November 2005 at the Brattle Theater (Give Thanks for Bogart)
The Big Sleep isn't confusing; it's rich. Its plot is too convoluted for many to fully grasp in one viewing, but where that could be seen as a negative for many films, it's a delight for this one. Depending on the type of person you are, it either gives you an excuse to re-watch it (and experience all the bon mots and pretty ladies again), or it will allow the film's stature to build when you watch it again for all the great lines.
Private detective Philip Marlowe (Humphrey Bogart) is hired by dying General Sternwood (Charles Waldron) to investigate the blackmail of his daughter Carmen (Martha Vickers). Before he can leave the Sternwood mansion, though, older sister Vivian Sternwood Rutledge (Lauren Bacall) is looking to take control of the situation. Good luck with that; every rock Marlowe turns over reveals some new crime, be it blackmail, drugs, gambling, or murder. And when the person initially blackmailing the Sternwoods is found dead, that doesn't mean their problems are over - it just means there's more (and more dangerous) people involved than had originally been thought.
The plot is kind of incidental, though. It throws Bogart and Bacall together, and occasionally gets someone trying to kill them. Either Marlowe has dealt with cases like this before or he's got a copy of the script, because he's got a knack for knowing just what each turnaround means despite the clues not being nearly so transparent to the audience; it's a good thing for us that he's got Vivian tagging along much of the time for him to explain it to. The fun comes from watching Bogie be James Bond before Bond was much more than a twinkle in Ian Fleming's eye; he saunters through a dangerous case with calm self-assurance, breaking out firearms when necessary, stumbling across beautiful women who are instantly attracted to him (including Dorothy Malone and Joy Barlow as a bookstore proprietress and a cab driver, respectively) and thugs who want to kill him at roughly the same rate.
These encounters are all great fun because Marlowe's wit is even quicker than his draw, and he's got a comeback for everyone, whether it be crook, client, or beautiful young widow (or is it divorcée, not that it matters?). Bacall's Vivian has the best responses, which isn't really surprising; director Howard Hawks and his writers (William Faulkner, Leigh Brackett, and Jules Furthman) rewrote and reshot scenes after seeing how the audience responded to them in To Have and Have Not, resulting in the film's release being delayed two years (try to imagine how poisonous the internet buzz would be if that happened sixty years later). Hawks, Faulkner, and Furthman had also worked on that film, so they had first-hand experience with making this work. The dialogue is easily the best part of the script, which famously had Hawks and Bogart calling original novelist Raymond Chandler to ask whether a character was murdered or committed suicide.
When you've got a pair of leads as well-suited to each other as Bogart and Bacall, you can let some of the plot slide so long as their constantly being fed chances to work off each other. Here, they almost seem to be in a competition to see who can deliver their great lines more casually, trying to convince us that yes, they are this clever in every conversation. They're well-matched, both affecting worldly amorality while displaying obvious affection for and loyalty to the general. Martha Vickers has a very nice turn as Carmen, all bratty and spoiled and cold sexuality. It's a shame we don't see her and Bacall playing off each other more than they do; that could have been a very fun dynamic.
Hawks and his writers keep the movie barreling along at a rapid pace; plot twists come nearly as quickly as great lines, so much so that there's scarcely a moment to breathe even with the occasional stops to explain what's going on to the audience. If anything, the movie is too punchy. It's hard to build up suspense when the plot twists often come straight out of left field; shaking things up, after all, is only noticeable when the ground had been steady at some point. The way Marlowe and Vivian fall for each other is kind of perfunctory, but that's okay; this isn't the sort of movie where we really need to believe that they stick together until the day they die. Just finding someone they like and can relate to in the middle of a world full of scheming and murder is enough.
The mystery story is there, and makes a certain amount of sense after a few viewings. But figuring out the whos, whens and whys is only a quarter of the fun of this movie. The real delight is the fun dialogue, delivered like only Bogie & Bacall could.
(Formerly at EFC)
Key Largo
* * * ½ (out of four)
Seen 30 November 2005 at the Brattle Theater (Give Thanks for Bogart)
Key Largo was one of four movies Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall did together, and as such it's tempting to make them the central focus of the review. But I've already written a couple bits about them recently, so let's talk about Edward G. Robinson.
If you compare stars of yesteryear to those of today, Edward G. Robinson might be said to be his era's Christopher Walken. He was ubiquitous, showing up in a lot of supporting roles. He had an instantly recognizable voice, look, and persona that he carried between films, so that when he showed up, it didn't take more than a few moments to know what this guy was about. He played a lot of bad guys, and bounced freely between A and B movies. He was a famous enough name to be prominently displayed on the poster, but his presence alone probably didn't put a lot of butts in seats. People were glad to see him more than they went looking for him.
People are still glad to see him. In Key Largo, he plays Johnny Rocco, a big time New York gangster who, after a few years exiled in Cuba, is returning to the States in a big way with a bunch of counterfeit money. He's made special arrangements to use a hotel on the titular island during the off-season, but his plan doesn't take into account two factors: A massive hurricane about to hammer the Florida Keys, a police manhunt for two Native American escaped convicts, and Frank McCloud (Bogart), a WWII vet coming to meet the family of his killed-in-action war buddy: Wheelchair-bound father James Temple (Lionel Barrymore) owns the hotel, and widow Nora (Bacall) lives and works with him. He's got his favorite moll and a quartet of enforcers with him, and that should be enough to hold tight until the deal is done, but maybe it won't...
Robinson has scenery to chew here, and he launches into his role with gusto. Johnny Rocco's been the top dog for too long to even consider failure, even though his situation is obviously reduced - his goons are idlers, and lover Gaye Dawn (Claire Trevor) is getting a bit past her prime. Robinson has a different attack when nature's fury throws the situation out of his control, still blustering but with enough nervousness to clearly expose him as a coward. He and director John Huston use Robinson's his girth to indicate power and powerlessness in turns, and his delivery is a combined sneer and growl.
Of course, this isn't really Robinson's movie, even if his is the most outsize performance. Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall are, after all, both around. Compared to some of their other collaborations, there's less of a spark here. She is, after all, playing the widow of his comrade-at-arms, and the sort of immediate, can-you-top-this flirting of To Have and Have Not and The Big Sleep would be inappropriate. Bogart carries survivor's guilt in his initial interactions, despite how quickly the Temples warm to his character. The war has drained this man. Bacall and Barrymore play less conflicted roles; Bacall's Nora is tense but has faith in Frank; it's nice to see that their chemistry holds even when it's not primarily sexual or romantic. Barrymore's role can be summed up with "if I wasn't stuck in this chair..." He's impotently righteous, not only expressing his disdain for the gangsters at every moment, but wanting to shelter the local Indians during the storm (he's described as having been a friend to them when many others aren't) and acting as a father figure to the forlorn Bogart. Barrymore sells us on Temple's rectitude, making us believe in his strength despite his physical weakness.
Director John Huston adapts a play by Maxwell Anderson, and even though the majority does take place on the hotel's ground floor to give some feeling of being claustrophobic and trapped, but it's a large enough set to keep things from looking too monotonous. He also gets outside and onto the water for the action climax, and some nice-looking exteriors before the hurricane hits. It's probably easier to show some destruction if the set doesn't have to be rebuilt every night, too.
Key Largo is perhaps not as much fun as some of the other movies to pair Bogart & Bacall, but that's okay with Robinson walking off with every scene he's got. And, hey, who doesn't love Edward G. Robinson?
(Formerly at EFC)
The Maltese Falcon
* * * * (out of four)
Seen 1 December 2005 at the Brattle Theater (Give Thanks for Bogart)
The Maltese Falcon straddles the line between pulp fiction and film noir like few other films. The black statue of the title is a fantastical target for the film's motley crew of thieves and scoundrels, and ancient treasure suggesting far-off places and high adventure. It's not in some mysterious European vault, though; it's in Los Angeles, and none of the people involved in the caper are particularly high-minded.
Certainly not Miles Archer, a private detective who is putty in the hands of a woman (Mary Astor) who claims to be seeking her missing sister. The next morning, though, Archer's dead, and even as his business partner Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) is unceremoniously having the office door re-stenciled, he aims to find out why. The trail leads to a pair of hoods (Peter Lorre, Elisha Cook Jr.) and a collector of rare antiquities (Sydney Greenstreet), all looking for a black statuette originally belonging to the Knights Templar.
Bogart is at his best when doing the right thing doesn't necessarily come easy to him, and Spade is far from a saint. He doesn't waste any time mourning over his dead partner, nor does he flinch at guns in his face. Bogart plays Spade drier than usual, with a bit of a mean streak where Marlowe was playful. He describes avenging his partner as a vague obligation, and the way he seems equally at ease among cops and crooks makes the audience wonder whether he just doesn't care about the law and justice, whether he does care but has to wear a mask of amorality in order to survive in his environment, or whether the life of a private investigator has eroded his sense of right and wrong so that he's somewhere in between, heading in the wrong direction. At times, Bogart projects cynicism, at times common sense, and it's the audience's sad job to figure out where the line between the two lies.
He's mixed up with a fine set of scoundrels. Mary Astor, for instance, who is so convincing as the damsel in distress at the start of the story that she retains our good will even as the things her character initially hides from the detectives are revealed. She gets under our skin by not vamping it up as a femme fatale, even though she could have easily gone that way. Peter Lorre is weaselly perfection as Joe Cairo, the sort of henchman who constantly and ineffectually plots for his own gain. He and writer/director John Huston have a little fun playing up a sort of petty rivalry with Elisha Cook's Wilmer; there's something a little more than vaguely gay about both characters, which at the time the film was made would translate to "sneaky and disreputable". It's a different take, and gives a different feel compared to standard toothpick-chewing toughs.
Also making an impression as alpha villain Kasper Gutman is Sydney Greenstreet. It's Greenstreet's first screen role (though he was already in his sixties) and he makes us wish he'd started a little earlier. His Gutman is a classic antagonist in part because he contrasts so well with Bogart's Spade, being mountainously large, well-spoken, and happily committed to his goal. When they're on-screen together, though, you can tell they understand each other all too well, recognizing other intelligent, ruthless people on a quest whose cost is likely not ultimately worth the reward.
Also making his debut, as a director, is John Huston. Working from a Dashiell Hammett novel, he makes a prototypical film noir. We're denied anybody we can like without reservation, and most of the action takes place either indoors or after dark, keeping the natural world from brightening things. He's got a knack for throwing a fair amount of information at us without stepping up to overload - the story has as many players as The Big Sleep, but each step does feel like it's getting Spade closer to the answers, rather than just stringing events together.
When people have imagined a private detective over the past sixty years, Humphrey Bogart is the image most often conjured up. That's in part because he also played Philip Marlowe, but mostly on the strength of this film.
Next up: Probably Game 6, as I try to balance reviewing stuff while it's fresh in my mind with working down the backlog.
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