A review by Damian Cannon.

An outstanding detective yarn, The Maltese Falcon benefits from a superb cast and an admirably tight script; it only improves with every successive viewing. In San Francisco Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) works as a private dick, available to anyone for a price. When the elegant Ruth Wonderly (Mary Astor) entered into Sam's low-rent office, he greets her as if she were a ray of sunshine. A prospective client, Ruth explains that her sister has gone missing with a thug named Thursby, forcing her to travel from New York. When Sam's solid partner Miles Archer (Jerome Cowan) waltzes in, he gets a brief recap.

They agree that a pair of hundred dollar bills will allow them to start the investigation. Since Ruth is all set to meet Thursby that evening, Archer decides to tail him from that point on.

When the phone lances a hole in Sam's sleep, early the following morning, he's a trifle unprepared for the news -- Miles has been shot dead. He doesn't evince much outward shock though, coolly instructing their secretary Effie Perine (Lee Patrick) to visit Miles' widow Iva (Gladys George). At the crime scene Sam finds nothing that the cops haven't already picked up on, so he heads home with a mind full of questions. Unfortunately another unpleasant surprise lies in wait for Sam, in the overbearing form of Detective Lt Dundy (Barton MacLane). It seems that Thursby has also been gunned down, swinging the finger of suspicion right around until it points directly at Sam. Given that Sam refuses to reveal anything about Ruth, it's the natural conclusion.

For those who like to dissect the enchantment of cinema, to strip its emotional carcass until only dry bones are left, any film can be boiled down to a marriage of precursor elements. To create a film, merely mix together the necessary quantities of action, image, dialogue and montage. That's one argument. On the other hand there's The Maltese Falcon, a movie in which these ingredients are inextricably bound, linked together at every level. Sure, the film is superb in each of these individual areas, but it is in their synthesis that The Maltese Falcon becomes great.

That said, for the sake of discussion it's far easier to approach the film with some form of logical framework in mind; if you want to experience the glorious mesh of interaction which is The Maltese Falcon, go and watch it.

If you're still here then it's worth noting that the film's structure and mood are founded in John Huston's economical screenplay, very directly translated from Dashiell Hammett's book. Here there are eccentric plot twists galore, always thematically consistent yet equally happy to suggest blind alleys. Cemented into the gaps, the dialogue is meaty but precise, clever yet always in harmony with the character speaking. Finally, it is with the hard, perceptively written roles that the entire enterprise takes shape. As no compromise is made over their naked greed, all are shown to be equally despicable.

With the passing of time, Huston's casting decisions (for his directorial debut) have shown themselves to be sound. As the keystone of The Maltese Falcon, Bogart's interpretation of Sam is perfection. A hard-bitten, sadistic, almost "too clever for his own good" fellow, Bogart makes you root for Sam through the sheer force of his personality. It's a consummate performance, by turns chilling, callous and cunning, in a role that Bogart dearly wanted to make him a star. He'd been stuck on the sidelines for too long, this was his chance to strike gold. As it happened, Bogart got a lot of assistance from Huston; Sam is in practically every frame, the focus of every scene (even when he's off-screen Bogart remains the centre of attention). With this sort of exposure, and the best lines, Bogart could hardly fail to impress.

Astor is similarly impressive, though over a far smaller span of screen time. She has the uncanny ability to deceive, to lie convincingly on all scales, as though this was second nature. Bogart pretends to see through her mistruth, but you've got to wonder -- Astor is that good. She ruthlessly manipulates the men that she needs, men like Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet) and Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre). That they come to their senses, as Ruth turns her charm on Sam, is part good fortune and part an act of will. Since both Greenstreet and Lorre are renowned for their ability, it's no surprise that they fill their roles wonderfully.

The former is massive and avuncular, the latter beautiful and evasive; a great match. Nearby lounges Elisha Cook Jr. as the rather detached and childishly dangerous gunsel Wilmer Cook; all puff. Yet despite the quality which soaks through The Maltese Falcon, Bogart dominates. He's that good.

The avaricious and tortuous search for the "Black Bird" occupies every player in The Maltese Falcon, yet this is very nearly a McGuffin. Of far greater importance are the interactions of the characters and the film noir universe which they inhabit. Here the quicksand concepts of honour, sexual magnetism and greed are concrete. Strikingly illuminated by the great photography and unusual camera angles of Arthur Edeson, the air here is thick with bluff and double bluff. Everyone, including the definitive anti-hero Sam, is out for himself or herself. He does the right thing but only because that's what his personal code demands, the polar opposite of what everything inside him wants. The deep ambiguity that Bogart brings to Sam's personality, this conflict of integrity and insincerity, just makes him all the more compelling.

These are timeless themes, spreading far beyond the confines of the detective genre. As they tumble out, one after another, each opening a new vista of possibility, The Maltese Falcon surpasses itself. It makes for a terrific serving of cinema, this stunning conjunction of performers at their peak, laconic screenplay and a young director with something to prove.