THE MALTESE FALCON

by Kevin Koehler

I'll assume you've already seen The Maltese Falcon.  It is a classic film, after all.  An iconic film.  It is, well, The Maltese Falcon.  I'm also going to assume you think it's a great film, because it is, so I won't tire you with a redundant and masturbatory laundry list of its chief attributes.  I'll be foregoing a plot synopsis as well - these things you can find elsewhere.  What you may not find mentioned elsewhere is that for as great as The Maltese Falcon is, the picture has two fairly significant shortcomings that no one really wants to talk about.

Fuck it.  Lets.

The lesser solecism of The Maltese Falcon is an obvious narrative cheat, something that wouldn't be a big deal (even the best films do it) if this particularly transgression weren't so central to the plot.  This cheat is, of course, how Sam Spade receives the Falcon.  For those who need their memory refreshed, Spade discovers that the boat on which the Falcon was transported - La Paloma - was set fire to while at harbor (how Spade discovers the boat, its arrival time conveniently circled in a newspaper, is likewise a narrative cheat; it's minor, so we'll leave it alone).  The elder ship captain Jacoby (played by the director's own father, Walter Huston) arrives at Spade's office shot full of holes; he literally leaves the Falcon at the detective's feet before promptly dropping dead.  Spade turns to his secretary: "Couldn't he have stayed alive long enough to tell us something?"

Naturally, if he did stay alive long enough to talk, this would have ruined some of the machinations that follow.  As Spade's receipt of the Falcon - no matter how random and illogical it is - is necessitated by ensuing, preordained plot elements, so is the Captain's immediate expiration upon his relinquishing the Falcon.  It's a disappointingly hollow narrative conceit, honestly, one you would think exceptional dramatists like Huston and Hammett (the author of the book) were above.  The way Kasper "Fat Man" Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet, who won an Oscar for his performance) later tells it, his "gunsel" Wilmer (Elisha Cook Jr.; the homosexual undertones of the character toned down immeasurably from the book) shot Jacoby "more than once" as the Captain descended a fire escape.  "Jacoby was too tough to fall or drop the Falcon," Gutman says.  "He climbed down the rest of the way, knocked Wilmer over, and ran off" to Spade's office.  Handed over the Falcon.  And died.

Does this make any logical sense?  Does this not stretch suspension of disbelief to its limits?  Can a critical plot element in what many think is the greatest film noir of all time be so awkwardly executed?

Perhaps.  But what about a central, doomed romance that exhibits as little authentic passion, provokes as little empathy as the one in Falcon?  We're supposed to believe Spade is a man divided, torn between the woman he loves and serving justice (particularly to his dead partner, whom she killed), going as far as to list the pros and cons of setting Brigid O'Shaughnessy (Mary Astor) free.  "You know whether you love me or not," says Brigid.  "Maybe I do," says Space.  "I'll have some rotten nights after I send you over, but that will pass."

It's a great line, poetic in the way that so much of the film is.  But it's poetry without pathos - I don't believe a word of it.  The chemistry between Bogart and Astor is non-existent, their supposed love affair resolutely undeveloped; I blame Astor (or rather, Huston for miscasting her).  "You'll be out of Tehachapi in twenty years and you can come back to me then."  Seriously?  One imagines an alternative universe with Bogart's wife/frequent costar Lauren Bacall in the O'Shaughnessy role, but I suppose that splendid vision became reality with the similarly-themed The Big Sleep (released five years after The Maltese Falcon; Bogart's Marlowe differs from his Spade in name more than anything else).  That's really what dreams are made of, Spade.

© Pretentious Musings. This review may not be reprinted, in whole or in part, without the express consent of its author.