By now everyone should know the plot. At its' core is the search for a jewel encrusted statuette by a disparate group of sketchy people, each having their own motivations. In the end nobody gets what they want, the falcon becomes a macguffin, the Hollywood happy ending is nowhere to be found. What was considered revolutionary storytelling in 1941 is still in use today. However film has evolved from the staginess of TMF--being the first noir doesn't necessarily make it the best. The movie is essentially a series of rapid fire script readings in precious few locations: Sam Spade's office, then his apartment, Gutman's apartment and a scant few other locales linked with occasional outdoor sets. Bogart is magnificent, his antihero bad boy being the main reason to see this picture but he is unfortunaely surrounded by so much blandness.
Not nearly as good is the mannered acting of Mary Astor as the femme fatale. Astor over-emotes which served her in the silent era but conspicuously now sticking out like a sore thumb against Bogart's more modern acting and cooler-than-cool bad detective. I never found them believable as a couple, Astor looking much older and tired-looking when compared to the charismatic Bogart, this is a major failing. I could only imagine what other actresses of the day could have done. Considered for the role were Paulette Goddard, Geraldine Fitzgerald and Joan Bennett each of whom would have played much better against Bogart. Think how Bette Davis or Barbara Stanwyck would have played Brigid O'Shaughnessy and you'll realize what a poor casting choice Mary Astor would become. Much was made about Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre but they played it so straight as the bad guys they came off as caricatures.
The story itself is unnecessarily complex and at times hard to follow the sheer number of offscreen characters, especially when the actors read their lines at breakneck speed. Characters appear then disappear and are disposed of without resolution, chief among them being Archer's wife. Sam Spade seems to disarm villains so easily, evaporating any tension with the baddies at every turn. Even the musical interludes have a treacly soap opera vibe, violins playing heartbreakingly every time Mary Astor has an emotional snit. Beyond Bogart the only other saving grace is the beautiful German Expressionist style of cinematographer Arthur Edeson, every shot postcard perfect. John Huston's framing keeps the film interesting, approaching the precision of Citizen Kane, the far superior film released only months earlier. In the end The Maltese Falcon is one of those "must see" films for completists of classic cinema, unfortunately it just doesn't hold up as well as its' lofty reputation.
Not nearly as good is the mannered acting of Mary Astor as the femme fatale. Astor over-emotes which served her in the silent era but conspicuously now sticking out like a sore thumb against Bogart's more modern acting and cooler-than-cool bad detective. I never found them believable as a couple, Astor looking much older and tired-looking when compared to the charismatic Bogart, this is a major failing. I could only imagine what other actresses of the day could have done. Considered for the role were Paulette Goddard, Geraldine Fitzgerald and Joan Bennett each of whom would have played much better against Bogart. Think how Bette Davis or Barbara Stanwyck would have played Brigid O'Shaughnessy and you'll realize what a poor casting choice Mary Astor would become. Much was made about Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre but they played it so straight as the bad guys they came off as caricatures.
The story itself is unnecessarily complex and at times hard to follow the sheer number of offscreen characters, especially when the actors read their lines at breakneck speed. Characters appear then disappear and are disposed of without resolution, chief among them being Archer's wife. Sam Spade seems to disarm villains so easily, evaporating any tension with the baddies at every turn. Even the musical interludes have a treacly soap opera vibe, violins playing heartbreakingly every time Mary Astor has an emotional snit. Beyond Bogart the only other saving grace is the beautiful German Expressionist style of cinematographer Arthur Edeson, every shot postcard perfect. John Huston's framing keeps the film interesting, approaching the precision of Citizen Kane, the far superior film released only months earlier. In the end The Maltese Falcon is one of those "must see" films for completists of classic cinema, unfortunately it just doesn't hold up as well as its' lofty reputation.