Notice how in long sequences narrating back story, Huston relies on the exotic accents of his characters to keep us interested. One way to appreciate Huston's choices is to LISTEN to the movie. Telling it straight wasn't possible too many twists. For Huston, telling this story posed a different problem. That assertion of strength, bowed but not broken, defines the enduring quality of Bogart on screen.
The climax of `The Maltese Falcon' ranks with the last scene of `Casablanca,' another Bogart vehicle, in showing how the tough guy has to put himself back together after his emotions almost get the better of him. Struggling to maintain his own independence against the claims of love or his own penchant towards dishonesty the Bogart hero can do little better than surrender, with a rueful shrug, to the irony his survival depends on. Bogart was luckier than most noir heroes, but it cost. Audiences knew that when the tough guy said, `I'm wise to you, babe,' he'd be dead within a reel or two. Huston invented what the French called film noir, in honor of Hollywood films (often `B' movies, cheap to make, second movies in double features) that took no-name stars into city streets to pit tough guys, often with a vulnerable streak, against dangerous dames. The art of Huston and Bogart doesn't come across until a second or third viewing. We see more and appreciate more each time we watch it.
That's what makes `The Maltese Falcon' a classic. But the whodunit becomes less important than how we respond to the strong screen presence of Bogart and his co-stars. First, his partner is killed, then Spade pushes through her lies to uncover connections to an effete foreigner (Peter Lorre) and a mysterious kingpin (Sydney Greenstreet).
San Francisco private eye Sam Spade (Bogart) is pulled into the search for a fabulously valuable statue by a woman who seeks his help. Few people who cherish this film can summarize its story in a sentence or two. The novel, thick with plot, wasn't easy for director John Huston to untangle. (It had been filmed before.) Hammett practically invented the tough guy so deep in cynicism nobody could hope to put anything past him. `The Maltese Falcon,' directed by John Huston in 1941, reprised Dashiell Hammett's thriller. What he had in classic films like `The Maltese Falcon' was a voice that cut through a script like a knife. What turns a man into a legend? The man himself wasn't much: a slight build, not too tall, no Stallone muscles to swell his suit. Humphrey Bogart died nearly fifty years ago, but polls still put him at the top of all-time Hollywood stars.
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