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Feminist Fridays: The Women of The Maltese Falcon

Posted on by under best.films.ever., brandie's faves, feminist fridays, lit adaptations, private eyes are watching you

Chapter Three of Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon is titled, appropriately enough, “Three Women.” It opens with Sam Spade chastising his exhausted secretary, Effie Perine, for allowing Iva Archer, his dead partner’s widow, into the office. Spade is impatient with the woman–his secret lover–and extricates himself from her clutches as soon as possible. He later attempts to track down the elusive Miss Wonderly, who has checked out of her hotel in the wake of Miles Archer’s death.

As with much of the original novel, “Three Women” is translated almost verbatim into John Huston’s screenplay for the 1941 film. And of the three screen adaptations of The Maltese Falcon, Huston’s version best captures each of these women in the cinematic flesh. Through astute casting and subsequently strong performances, the film fleshes out three very different (yet familiar) female archetypes: the helpmate, the “spider,” and the conniving bitch. Spade’s interactions with the three women whose lives are intertwined with his own–Effie, Iva, and Wonderly (soon to be revealed as Brigid O’Shaughnessy)–reveal much about his character, and also illuminate how the über-masculine Spade rejects the very notion of femininity, even while he is, in some ways, very much at the mercy of the so-called “weaker” sex.

Effie (played by Lee Patrick) is the woman who knows all of Spade’s faults and accepts him for who he is (for the most part). Though he is somewhat affectionate in his regard for her–more so than with any other woman in the film–there is little indication that their relationship is, or has ever been, sexual. If anything, Effie treats Spade almost maternally. But theirs is ultimately a business arrangement: as his secretary, she keeps his life in order and follows his instructions to the letter, the very definition of a “Girl Friday.” Perhaps because of this, Spade does not treat her with the same shrouded contempt and judgment with which he views the other female figures in the film–though he still objectifies Effie, much as he does Iva and Brigid, by calling her “angel” in lieu of her given name.

Of the female characters, Iva (Gladys George) comes closest to stereotype as the prototypical “woman scorned.” She thinks enough of herself and her charms (the “web” in which she believes she has trapped the man) to assume that Spade killed Archer just to be with her. But his reluctance to see her after Archer’s death, and his disgusted facial expressions when she throws herself into his arms, indicate that Spade has lost interest in the woman. Spade finds Iva’s weeping–put-on though it may be–a nuisance, and she becomes an albatross around his neck when her fury over his short-sighted rejection of her (and the drama surrounding her) leads to Iva informing the police about their affair. In this case, Spade underestimates the trouble that a woman could cause him, and it ends up putting even more pressure on him as he tries to unravel the mystery of the black bird.

And then there’s Brigid O’Shaughnessy. Of any character in the film, she most matches Spade in both wits and manipulative prowess–as I stated in yesterday’s entry on the film, Brigid and Spade are, in some respects, two sides of the same damaged coin. But Brigid is somewhat more transparent than her male counterpart; her breathless speech and inability to look Spade directly in the eyes (notice how she’s always looking past him or to the side or up at the ceiling in many of their scenes together) mark her as a liar almost from the start. And Spade sees right through what he calls Brigid’s “schoolgirl” act; he does not believe her initial story when she hires him, and he does not believe anything she subsequently says. Knowing Spade distrusts her, however, does not stop Brigid from using her feminine wiles to try and ensnare Spade … and it works, to a degree–the man simply can’t help himself. One could argue that, with the two of them, the attraction is merely sexual, and an extension of Spade’s aggressive nature. The first time he kisses her, Spade grabs her face roughly and practically forces her lips to meet his–it’s an act of pure, possessive lust, not affection. And yet it works, because Brigid instinctively understands and accepts his aggression, because it’s an equally important part of her own nature. The fact that Spade even appears to entertain the thought, however briefly, of allowing Brigid to get away with Archer’s murder indicates the level to which she got to him–when he offers to wait for her, and hopes aloud that they don’t “hang [her] … by that sweet neck,” it’s the biggest concession Spade will allow in regards to the weakness of emotional attachment. Of course, that’s pretty much ruined with his next statement: “If they hang you, I’ll always remember you.” Quite the romantic, that Sam Spade.

It’s also worth noting that these women are not the only “feminine” characters whose paths cross Spade’s in the film. Just as there is a trio of female foils, there is a triad of male figures whose masculinity–at least in the eyes of Spade himself–is so negligible that they could be considered another “womanly” group within the film (in fact, there seems to be a theme of “threes” within the film–three women, three male criminals, three identities for Brigid, etc. … though the significance of that may be minimal, at best). Peter Lorre’s character, Dr. Cairo, can also be considered a feminine influence on Spade–and a decidedly unwelcome one, at that. Spade’s ire is raised from the moment Effie hands him Cairo’s gardenia-scented calling card, and is heightened when the foppish man enters the detective’s office. Spade takes a great deal of pleasure in bullying the effeminate Cairo, first by essentially emasculating the criminal by disarming the man of his (phallic) weapon, and later through physically imposing his brute strength on Cairo with a solid punch to the jaw. In Spade’s mind, Cairo is the epitome of weakness–a man whose appearance and demeanor are overtly feminine–and the man must thereby be punished. That same mindset extends to the gunsel, Wilmer (Elisha Cook, Jr.); Spade enjoys teasing Wilmer, casting doubt upon his abilities and then taking visible delight when Wilmer attempts to “man up” by threatening to kill Spade. And Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet), though in many ways the most masculine of the film’s evildoers, is, by virtue of being Wilmer’s supposed lover, included in Spade’s derision. When the detective tries to turn Gutman against Wilmer, he does so by reminding Gutman that there is always another “son” (read: lover) out there, but only one gold-encrusted falcon. Spade’s expression during this scene hints at his distaste at the relationship between Gutman and Wilmer, but despite his own rejection of the very concept, Spade is not above using it as a means to an end.

The movie ends with Brigid being taken away to jail, but the book revisits the other two women in Spade’s life, ending with his return to his office, where he must face Effie’s disapproval and Iva’s continued presence in his life. There is a sense, however, that Spade will reject both–that he will ignore Effie’s feelings about what he has done to Brigid, and that he will, at some point, cast Iva out for good, for ultimately, Spade’s rejection of the feminine is an essential part of his character. His rough-hewn exterior–crude, hard-boiled, sometimes cruel–exists, in part, because it differentiates him from the “weaknesses” that affect others. He doesn’t demonstrate outward compassion after Archer’s death because doing so would mark him, too, as somewhat weak. The same goes for his final confrontation with Brigid; to allow her to get away with murder, all in the name of love, would be the action of a soft man, not a strong one. After all, sympathy and emotion are feminine traits, not to be tolerated in a “real” man. The most Spade can manage without compromising his self-made image is an occasional pat on the head for Effie, whose non-sexualized persona is no threat to Spade’s seemingly hard-won masculinity.

“I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble.”

Posted on by under best.films.ever., brandie's faves, lit adaptations, noir, private eyes are watching you

As part of our week-long celebration of the 70th anniversary of The Maltese Falcon (1941), today we are taking a look at the third and final film version of Dashiell Hammett’s pulp crime novel. For a brief introduction to this movie, check out our post on Falcon from last year. For a more in-depth synopsis of the film’s plot, we recommend the AMC FilmSite entry about the movie. And if you’ve never seen any of the film versions or read the book, be warned that we will be discussing elements of their respective endings in all of our posts this week.

The Maltese Falcon (’41) has been judged by many critics to be the greatest detective story ever filmed. The influential 1955 book A Panorama of American Film Noir (1941-1953), initially published in France by film critics Raymond Borde and Etienne Chaumeton, declared Falcon the first true example of Hollywood film noir. Notable critics such as Roger Ebert have labeled the movie as one of the best of all time. And the American Film Institute has cast several laurels in Falcon’s direction: it landed at #31 on the most recent AFI Top 100 Movies list (in 2007); came in at #6 in the “Mystery” film genre; and its closing line, “The stuff that dreams are made of,” was chosen as the fourteenth-best movie quote of all time.

Of course, as with any film, its “greatness” is a matter of subjectivity. Falcon does have its detractors. Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference to the American Style (first published in 1979) describes the film as a “caricature” populated with “one-dimensional” characters, stating that the film suffers from “textbook camerawork” and a “general attitude of contemptuous misanthropy.” And the author is certainly entitled to his opinion. There have been films that have been, by and large, critically lauded over the years which I am … well, less than enamored with. But I do think this review is short-sighted and almost aggressive in its criticism of the movie, particularly in its assessment of the film’s misanthropic nature, which is a necessary extension of creating a cinematic world where the lines between “good” and “evil” are so blurred as to be nonexistent.

For all that the first two screen adaptations of Dashiell Hammett’s book got wrong, the final version gets everything just right. The movie follows the book almost precisely–very little is excised in the translation to the screen, and Hammett’s pitch-perfect dialogue is recreated virtually word-for-word. By and large, the actors are far superior to their predecessors, bringing new depth to these characters. The movie even looks better than the other two versions: its gritty appearance and washes of darkness perfectly encapsulate the story’s mood.

First-time director John Huston was greatly influenced by Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane, which was released in theaters five months before Falcon. Hallmarks of the earlier film can be seen in the way Huston and cinematographer Arthur Edeson populate their movie with a wealth of shadowy shots and low, almost menacing camera angles (Edeson, incidentally, also worked on Satan Met a Lady). When making plans for filming, Huston took a cue from Alfred Hitchcock and story-boarded the entire movie before shooting, plotting out even the most minute details before the camera even started rolling.

Arguably the best element about the entire film is the casting, for Huston wound up with the perfect actors for the leading roles, particularly Bogart as the combative, dark, and enigmatic Sam Spade. Part of the credit for Bogart’s casting, interestingly enough, goes to actor George Raft, who turned down the role of Spade, paving the way for Bogart to take on the defining role of his own career. In fact, Raft can be credited with inadvertently promoting Bogart from supporting actor to leading man in the early 1940s: he also turned down the role of Roy Earle in 1941′s successful High Sierra (due largely to Bogart’s urging), and some sources even claim that Raft also turned down the part of Rick Blaine in Casablanca (though still other sources emphasize that this was merely a rumor). Huston had worked with Bogart on Sierra–he had co-written the screenplay for the movie with W.R. Burnett–and the two had become friends. Bogart, for his part, enjoyed working with Huston and would go on to star in Across the Pacific (1942), The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, Key Largo (both in 1948), and The African Queen (1951) for the director.

A trio of effective villains serve as worthy foils for Bogart in Falcon. Sydney Greenstreet, in his first film appearance, is impressive in both his bulk and his mannered menace as ringleader Gutman. Gutman is the gentleman criminal, hiding his thuggish qualities behind a cultured veneer (and a loyal gunsel/lover, Wilmer, played with leashed fury by Elisha Cook, Jr.). The actor’s smooth voice and high-class accent only add to that facade. Greenstreet was reportedly so nervous before filming his first scene–the monologue in which Gutman explains the origins of the falcon–that he asked Mary Astor to hold his hand before stepping in front of the camera. But there is no sign of this in his polished, masterful performance, and he went on to garner an Oscar nomination for his debut.

This movie also marked the first onscreen partnering of Greenstreet and Peter Lorre–the two worked so well together that they would eventually costar in nine more projects over the next decade. Though both Gutman and Cairo, Lorre’s character, are homosexual, Lorre is given the decidedly “gayer” character. Rather than go over the top with his portrayal, Lorre subtly conveys Cairo’s orientation through his mannerisms–particularly the way he plays with his cane, as he caresses it and moves it near his mouth in a way that highlights its phallic nature. His reactions to Spade’s bullying are even more telling; he is no physical match for the detective, succumbing to a faint after a single punch, and he (perhaps wisely) relies on a gun to do his convincing for him. Lorre breathes realism into a potentially campy character, and ultimately makes a big impact in his few front-and-center scenes.

But the strongest villain, by far, in the entire film is Astor’s Brigid O’Shaughnessy. Her cold, calculating nature is a mirror of Spade’s own: they are two sides of the same damaged coin. Astor is a revelation in the role, which is a great departure from her previous “good girl” screen persona–but is, funnily enough, much closer to her controversial off-screen life. In the wake of her divorce, details of Astor’s personal diary, in which she reportedly wrote about her sexual conquests, came to light, and her image in the public had suffered. Whether or not that experience colored her portrayal of Brigid doesn’t really matter, though–however she did it, Astor managed to perfectly capture the darker nuances of the character in a way that few actresses of the time likely could. [Side note: I will further address Brigid--and the other female characters--in a separate post.]

The Maltese Falcon is, in a word, brilliant. The film is populated by a cast of characters whose actions and behavior is morally repugnant and off-putting. Yet Bogart and company, led by Huston’s steady, guiding hand, bring a level of sympathy to these not-so-good people. Spade’s an unmitigated asshole–unfeeling, harsh, and not at all above betrayal and subterfuge if it gets him what he wants–and Bogart plays him full-out, warts and all. Still, there’s something almost disturbingly sexy and enticing about Spade. He’s as appealing an anti-hero as has ever been created. In the end, Falcon works because we want to see what these rather reprehensible people, doing everything they can to assuage their desirous greed in an unclean world, will do next. Their interactions are just that damn entertaining.

Tomorrow: we’ll wrap up our week-long look at The Maltese Falcon with a Feminist Fridays post examining the female characters in the 1941 film.

The stuff that dreams are made of.

Posted on by under 31 days of oscar, 5-star films, brandie's faves, lit adaptations, noir

The Maltese Falcon (1941)

Airing March 2nd, 9:30AM EST

If you have never seen this movie, you have deprived yourself of something truly spectacular.

You should fix that. Immediately.

The granddaddy of film noir–the biggest and best of them all–The Maltese Falcon is one of those landmark films which ushered in an entirely new genre in movie-making, all on the very capable backs of director John Huston and actor Humphrey Bogart. This film launched Bogart into the stratosphere, helping craft the gruff, hardboiled, anti-heroic guise that would become his trademark in the latter half of his career. In Sam Spade, Bogie found a perfect match for his rather low-key, yet intense acting style, and the result is pure cinema magic.

In the film, Bogart’s detective Sam Spade and his partner, Miles Archer, are approached by the beautiful and mysterious Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor), who seeks their assistance in finding her runaway sister, whom she claims was seduced by a man named Thursby. The detectives agree to take the case, but Archer is killed that evening while following the purported suspect, and Wonderly disappears. When Thursby, too, ends up dead, Spade is suspected of committing both crimes, the motive being his secret affair with his partner’s wife, Iva. When Spade finally encounters Wonderly again–now under her real name, Brigid O’Shaughnessy–she admits that she had completely fabricated the story about her sister and claims to know nothing about the murders. When a man named Cairo (Peter Lorre) appears in Spade’s office and searches it for the statue of a bird on behalf of his criminal boss, the “Fat Man” Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet), Spade finds himself pulled into the search for the statue, all while trying to figure out who murdered his partner and fighting off the advances of both the alluring Brigid and the incessantly needy Iva.

The plot is somewhat convoluted, and upon the first viewing, it may be difficult to follow who is doing what to whom and for what reason. But in the end, the plot doesn’t matter overmuch; the real draw of the film is the cast and their fiery interactions throughout the film. In adapting Dashiell Hammett’s original story, not much was changed; the majority of the dialogue was retained in the film version, and the only omissions were some epithets and occasional references to sexual relationships as per the rules of the Hays Code. The gritty story stays very true to the spirit of the original; the striking cinematography, in which low lighting and atypical camera angles are used to create a rather unsettling mood, heightens the uneasy mystery of the tale.

Bogart is decidely brilliant as Spade, but the film’s real strength comes from its supporting cast. Astor, who until this point in her long career had been relegated to playing ingenue roles in silent films and light comedies, is an unexpected revelation in Falcon. She deftly portrays the alluring, conniving Brigid, switching easily between simpering femininity and leashed ferocity, all while allowing just a hint of reluctant sympathy to enter her performance. She practically snatches your attention from Bogart in their shared scenes–something incredibly difficult for any actor to manage, truth be told. And Astor is not the only one to accomplish this–as the criminal duo Cairo and Fat Man, Lorre and Greenstreet add their typical, respective gravitas to each role, and Greenstreet’s performance is especially impressive considering that, at the age of 62, this was his first time on film.

I own the three-disc special edition of this film, and it’s been one of the best additions to my personal classic movie library. Not only does the set include the digitally-remastered Bogart edition, but it also features both of the  earlier versions of the film. It’s great fun (well, in my world, it’s great fun) to compare the three versions of the story for yourself and see the strengths and weaknesses of each. You can also hear three different radio adaptations of the story! The set also includes some great extras, including an interesting documentary about the film and several Warner Bros. shorts and cartoons. For less than $25, the set is a true bargain.

Should you miss it this time, The Maltese Falcon will air again later this month, at 10PM on March 22nd.

Oscar checklist:

Nominations: Best Supporting Actor (Greenstreet), Best Screenplay, Best Picture

Tidings of comfort and joy.

Posted on by under brandie's faves, classic disney, holiday picks

As Thanksgiving has passed us by, it is officially the holiday season, and that means TCM will be bursting at the seams with Christmas flicks in the upcoming month. The usual suspects (A Christmas Carol … yawn) abound on the schedule, but I want to direct your attention to a couple of particular gems that, though you may not have seen them or even heard of them yet, are well worth your time.

These two films feature one of my favorite actresses of all time, the lovely and clever Barbara Stanwyck, playing opposite two of her more effective male co-stars, Dennis Morgan and Fred MacMurray. Stanwyck, who began her career in Hollywood playing the vampish man-stealer in naughty (by 1930s standards, anyway) pre-Code films such as Night Nurse (1931) and Baby Face (1933), had graduated to leading-lady status in the latter part of the decade following an Oscar-nominated performance as the self-sacrificing titular mother in the 1937 melodrama Stella Dallas (Stanwyck lost the Academy Award to Luise Rainer, nominated for The Good Earth). But as the 1940s loomed, Stanwyck began to make broader strides into comedy, a genre that clicked with her natural quick wit and comic timing.

Indeed, in 1940 Stanwyck deftly straddles the line between drollery and pathos in Remember the Night, a comedy-drama written by future director Preston Sturges (for whom Stanwyck would make a splash the following year in the sharp screwball comedy The Lady Eve). Playing straight man to Stanwyck’s wily shoplifter is MacMurray, in the first of his four pairings with the actress (the most notable of which is likely 1944′s Double Indemnity, in which both play against type as conniving adulterers determined to kill Stanwyck’s husband for the insurance money). Also notable in a supporting role in the cast is Sterling Holloway, a prolific character actor who would become known in later years for his voiceover work in Disney films such as Bambi (as the adult version of the skunk, Flower), Alice in Wonderland (as one of my particular favorites, the Cheshire Cat), The Jungle Book (as the snake, Kaa), and as the original voice of the silly old bear himself, Winnie the Pooh.

The film revolves around a young woman, Lee Leander (Stanwyck), who comes before the New York district court just before Christmas, accused of shoplifting. D.A. MacMurray delays her case until after the holidays, thinking it will give him a better shot at a conviction, but in a fit of remorse, he bails Lee out of jail and takes her home with him to Indiana for Christmas. Through a series of farcical mishaps involving cows, fire, and heavy snowfall, the two fall in love, and Lee finds a typically sentimental holiday redemption in her relationship with the young, upright attorney.

Though this sentimentalism becomes a bit heavy in the film’s final moments, it befits the Christmas setting, and Sturges’ witty script and the performances of the two stars keep the movie on track and prevent the characters from completely drowning in schmaltzy tepidity.

This little gem is finally getting a new DVD treatment, which is being released today exclusively as a part of Turner Classic Movies’ Vault Collection (check out the other titles available through the Vault–they’ve released some really amazing rare films over the past year!). Remember the Night will also be showing on TCM on December 6th at 2PM, and again on Christmas Eve at 8PM. Make sure you tune in; you definitely don’t want to miss this classic holiday treat.

Nor do you want to miss 1945′s wonderful Christmas in Connecticut, a more screwball take on the holiday season. This film features supporting turns by two of my favorite character actors of all time, Sydney Greenstreet and S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall. Some may disagree with terming Greenstreet as a “character” actor, considering his (literally) larger-than-life persona on the screen. Greenstreet, however, was far from a typical leading man; he did not make his screen debut until his appearance as the “Fat Man” Kaspar Guttman in 1941′s The Maltese Falcon, at which time he was a robust 61 years old! In his very short career (Greenstreet would die only 13 years after his film debut), the actor only appeared in 24 films. Yet, what films they were–among them, the aforementioned Falcon, Casablanca, and Passage to Marseille all paired Greenstreet with, arguably, the greatest film actor in history, Humphrey Bogart, and Greenstreet’s portrayals of wily criminals often outshone Bogart’s nuanced tough-guy persona on the screen. Greenstreet’s supporting roles in these films were the essence of what makes a good character actor: he embodied his characters, putting that melodious English accent and genuine bonhomie to solid use and drawing the audience to even the most reprehensible of figures.

Like Greenstreet, “Cuddles” Sakall also created a niche for himself in Hollywood, impressive considering his sometimes indiscernible accent. But that was most assuredly part of his charm. His “hunky dunky” attitude and warm, open smile populated many notable films of the 1940s, including Casablanca (though he shared no scenes with his future Connecticut co-star Greenstreet), The Devil and Miss Jones, Ball of Fire (another gem starring Stanwyck), and Yankee Doodle Dandy. In the fifteen years between his American debut in 1940′s It’s a Date until his death in 1955, Sakall appeared in over 40 Hollywood films, making his mark in every one.

In the film, Stanwyck plays Elizabeth Lane, a writer who poses as a Connecticut farmwife in her monthly magazine column, though in real life she has very little aptitude for the domestic duties she espouses (particularly cooking). Stanwyck’s publisher (Greenstreet) sends Jefferson Jones (Morgan), a young sailor who had recently been rescued from his sunken ship, to Elizabeth’s “farm” for a Christmas visit, and decides to join them at the last minute. In order to keep her job, Elizabeth agrees to marry an old friend and use his farm as the backdrop for the visit. But borrowed babies, a wayward cow, a runaway sleigh, and a budding romance with the sailor continually get in the way of her upcoming nuptials …

The screwball comedy in Christmas in Connecticut flies fast and furious, aided by a well-paced script by romantic comedy veterans Lionel Houser and Adele Commandini (from an original story by Aileen Hamilton). The ensemble cast works really well together, resulting in a truly warm and familial sense of camaraderie that shines through the screen.

Christmas in Connecticut has been available on DVD for several years now (and is currently selling for an extremely low price of $5.79 on Amazon.com–go buy it!). I own this edition and, while it lacks any insightful extras, it’s still a wonderful transfer of the film–no noticeable glitches or scratches in the film itself, and the sound is wonderful. Plus, this is the original black and white–no icky, unnecessary colorization of this amazing little film!

TCM will be showing Christmas in Connecticut three times this month: December 6th at 12PM; December 17th at 8PM; and Christmas Day at 12:15PM. This is one you’ll want to watch with the whole family, so gather ’round!

I hope you enjoy both of these wonderful holiday films. And now that I’ve had my say, tell me: what are YOUR favorite little-known holiday delights? Post your comments below, and let us know what makes those films so special!