Bogart is bluffing with such authenticity, he is deep and cannot be disenchanted; enters a lady with a tricky case.
Huston is, as a storyteller, simply narrating. A lot of directors have come and gone, but none of them was just reading it to you, tucking you in, he whispers the book in his infamous adaptation like it is his, the director’s, John Huston. The story, if you are aware of it, has been wielded before too, but it didn’t come out this durable and.. well, shiny. The narration is a bit tricky in here, since it is something that would- I wanna say be better if on paper, because it is and it was good- resist if exaggerated.
The scenarios, the characters, the entire tone of this film-noir is bound within four walls. It ping-pongs here are there with “He said. She said” affair where as an audience you are in a rush to figure out what actually is going on or has been going on in this first act. After which the film reveals all its cards and we relaxed back in our seats, hoping for something “Bang!” to go wrong. But it doesn’t. This is where the film cheated me the most and left me in awe of it.
For if I think about it I never wanted it to go wrong or right or in fact anywhere. Huston’s filmmaking is so present in that room where around three to four major characters are sitting around or roaming about that you don’t want this day to end. Anticipation is the game then, and the tease, is Huston’s key to success. Watch how a simple phone call or a knock on the door pumps up your heartbeat fast, scared, hoping that it wouldn’t collapse, “The stuff that dreams are made of.” The Maltese Falcon is as good as any historic event, I say claim it history and be done with it.