The Maltese Falcon

Cannot remember the first time I saw this film or how many times since, but I do not tire of watching Samuel Spade try to figure out what his cast of characters are after and why. And the style? Well, seems a dictionary's definition of film noir could simply read "The Maltese Falcon."

Other than John Huston's masterful working of Dashiell Hammett's story, making the dialogue as snappy as Dash's original, when I think of the movie, I remember small visuals like the shadow of the agency's painted name falling on the office floor, Spade and Archer, just before it becomes only Samuel Spade. I remember the dangerous teasing of Wilma, the low angle shows of Greenstreet that makes him look even bigger than he is, and I can almost smell the lilac perfume on Joel Cairo's calling card, and feel the caressing of the black bird when it is finally in the group's hands. For a black and while film, there is plenty here for the senses...all five of them.

Yet, in all the watchings, I am never convinced of a romance between Spade and Brigid O'Shaughnessy. Perhaps it is because I am not particularly moved by Mary Astor, but I think it is largely because I don't need a romance in the story. I don't need Sam Spade to feel...just to outwit and act quickly. But that small bit does not distract from my keeping this film close to the top of any list of Pablo's films.