Howard Hawks makes a witty, charged thriller whose people are more compelling than its mystery. Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall justify the evening, though the muddled plotting remains a fault, however good the company.
Howard Hawks makes The Big Sleep a thoroughly enjoyable thriller, provided we accept that its mystery is not satisfactorily explained. It is interested in how sharp people behave when nobody quite trusts anybody else. The story keeps arranging encounters, and those encounters are often so entertaining that we temporarily stop asking how they fit together. Adapted from Raymond Chandler’s novel, the film gives Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall plenty of opportunity to challenge each other.
As Philip Marlowe, Humphrey Bogart gives the film a steadiness its storytelling badly needs. His insolence is funny because he does not wait for our approval, and his confidence makes following him agreeable even when following the investigation takes work. He can make a question sound like a small provocation without labouring the effect. We believe in his ability to handle the person in front of him, which helps carry us through the less persuasive connections between encounters.
Lauren Bacall, as Vivian Sternwood Rutledge, gives him someone who can make a conversation difficult without making it tedious. The romantic sparring works because both performers seem alert to the possibility of being outdone; neither is simply waiting to deliver the next polished line. We laughed at their insolence towards each other, and at how little it discourages the attraction. The actors make that carefully written dialogue sound as though each has just thought of something the other deserves to hear.
Martha Vickers makes Carmen Sternwood disconcerting company, which is useful in a film whose leads make verbal combat so inviting. John Ridgely, as Eddie Mars, contributes a harder, less playful presence. The supporting cast gives the film people worth noticing rather than a queue of possible explanations. Even when the details of the mystery slip away, there is usually someone whose manner makes us want to hear what they will say next.
Sidney Hickox’s cinematography gives the faces enough weight for a look to compete with a line. That suits a film in which listening to someone can be as revealing as speaking. Christian Nyby’s editing keeps the exchanges quick without making them feel hurried, allowing the actors time to enjoy a challenge before answering it. Composer Max Steiner reinforces the suspense effectively, although the voices need little help holding our attention.
Jules Furthman, Leigh Brackett and William Faulkner receive the screenplay credit, and the dialogue earns its reputation for wit. The problem is that a succession of good exchanges cannot always tell us why one event follows another. Most critics accept the confusion for the sake of the performances and dialogue; we accept it too, but it sometimes reduces suspense by making the immediate stakes difficult to grasp. There are stretches when the film’s pace has to do the work that a clearer chain of events should have done.
The usual detective-film bargain is that close attention will eventually be rewarded with clarity. Here, listening closely pays off sooner, in the turns of a conversation and the pleasure of catching what a remark is doing besides answering a question. That makes it worth revisiting without pretending that the plot will necessarily become more satisfying on another viewing. If an unanswered question will keep us awake, there are tidier mysteries to choose.
