Week 9

The Maltese Falcon (1941) & Casablanca (1942) 

Bogie week this week. And there might be another in the future. Lots of Bogie films on this list. And I get it. He has, what many call, presence. That’s especially true in Casablanca. His Rick Blaine is magnetic. Sure, he sort of fills the protag trope of tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious. But it works. Nearly every character in the film (believably) respects him. Most even like him. And we do, too. Even when he seemingly takes a turn towards self-interest, we can empathize with what he’s going through.

Most critics agree that Casablanca is a film that no one expected to be great. It had big stars in Bogie and Bergman, of course, but most at the time figured it would be another solidly made, if inconsequential, studio production.

But that obviously wasn’t the case. It’s now considered one of the most beloved American pictures of all time. Bogie and Bergman are a big part of that. As is the supporting cast (which includes Peter Loore and Sydney Greenstreet, who—incidentally—also both appeared in The Maltese Falcon with Bogie a year earlier). And perhaps its release, right in the midst of World War II, played a role.

The biggest factor, though, is likely the story itself. Rick and Ilsa’s tale strikes a chord. I’ve seen this film several times now, and I’m convinced it actually gets better with subsequent viewings. And I know that gets said about a lot of films (I’ve said it myself—probably even on this blog), but this film truly is richer each time you see it, because you understand Rick’s and Ilsa’s relationship—especially their time together in Paris—better each time. Every sentence they say to each other has a new layer of meaning. Every close up of their faces when they see each other gets a little sadder. Every iteration of “As Time Goes By” gets a little more painful to listen to.

And where we at first might “choose sides” in the love triangle, choose sides among the political forces in Casablanca, with each viewing, I like all of the characters a little more (with the exception of the Nazis, of course) and feel compelled to align myself specifically with Team Rick or Team Laszlo a little less.

And the film is full of so many lines from the classic film lexicon that it’s easy, on a first viewing, to dismiss them, even chuckle at them, because they’ve become so caricature-ized over the decades. But the more you’re invested in the story and understand how these iconic words fit into the context of what’s happening on the screen, the more lines like “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine” or “[I]t doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world” feel poignant and authentic, and you understand just how they became so oft-quoted. 

Finally, Rick’s choice at the end of the film is the choice. It’s just the right choice for the story. There’s so many ways the film could have ended, and Hollywood usually chooses the wrong way, the perceived “happy” ending, but here the studio got it right, and it was the difference between this being just another Warner Brothers’ studio production and CASABLANCA, an important and iconic film that we’re still watching and talking about more than seven decades after its release. 

The Maltese Falcon is probably the definitive detective story of film noir. It’s claustrophobic, twisty, darkly humorous, and full of interesting and enigmatic characters (portrayed by a stellar cast—including, again, Peter Loore and Sydney Greenstreet). It’s Huston’s first, and possibly finest, film, and that’s saying a lot when you look at his output from the 1940’s and 1950’s (which includes The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Asphalt Jungle, Key Largo, and The African Queen). And the character of Sam Spade (especially how he is portrayed by Bogart) is a big part of it, too. Dashiell Hammett wrote the original story, and based much of it (especially many of the well-drawn characters) on his experiences as a Pinkerton operative. Many speculate that Spade, while not exactly autobiographical, was a composite of what many Pinkerton operatives hoped to be.

There’s just so much going on in this film. There’s a woman who lies about who she is and hires Spade and his partner with a story that neither of them believes; a murder; a murder of a murderer; a “grieving” wife who not only suspects Spade killed her husband (his partner) but hopes he did—so that she and Spade can be together; police detectives who go back and forth between thinking Spade’s protecting someone and thinking Spade committed the murder himself; antagonists that are at turns businesslike and cordial and gentlemanly, malevolent and trigger-happy, and generally bumbling and clueless; and alliances that are in constant flux so no character ever trusts any other character for very long.

As with Casablanca, this is a film that rewards viewers for repeated viewings, but not for the same reasons. Casablanca’s story is emotionally resonant, but The Maltese Falcon is a technically superior film, carefully crafting its scenes to evoke its precise atmosphere and tone. It’s high-class pulp.