Three months ago, I discussed my reactions to having read Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon. I explained how a travel article investigating the "noir-ish" qualities of present-day San Francisco had led me to read the book that had later spawned the famous Humphrey Bogart movie of the same name.
I'd seen the movie before, but many years ago. But last Thursday, I saw it again. Thanks to the Seattle Art Museum's 37th annual Film Noir series, which a friend and I are attending. If my reading of the book gave me flashbacks to my earlier viewing of the movie -- especially in my picturing of the various characters in terms of the film's stars -- viewing the film on Thursday gave me continual flashbacks to my reading of the book during the summer.
I often say -- read the book, skip the movie. This time, however, the film so perfectly brings the book to life, with so little violation to either the letter or the spirit of Hammett's tale, that all I can say is read the book first, then see the movie. Or vice versa. It really makes no difference.
The Maltese Falcon is the first of nine movies to be shown in the series. It's also the only one with which I'm familiar -- obviously my education in noir is only beginning. The remaining films are:
I look forward to my further initiation into the genre. I'm learning the rules: Trust no one. Especially not the Fat Man. Or the beautiful woman who throws herself into your arms.
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