Murder, My Sweet

This was my annual birthday movie (a nice hard-boiled noir to be enjoyed alongside an unhealthy amount of scotch and a good filet), and while I realized around five minutes into the movie that I had long ago read Farewell, My Lovely ↗ (the Raymond Chandler novel on which it was based) I hadn’t remembered enough of the plot to be swayed one way or another, which worked out quite well in the sense of vague deja vu that I always associate with noir.

(I think this goes back to my first time watching The Maltese Falcon ↗, sleep-deprived in the bedroom of a college fling, a sense of fog that seemed to enhance rather than dull the experience. But I digress!)

I’m not sure what to say, for the most part, besides the fact that it was a classic and a fun, tense time throughout — it felt like a true Chandler adaptation in many ways, and I think it’s hard to be disappointed except in two small ways:

  • Dick Powell as Marlowe is… tough. This might be a me thing; I am so conditioned at this point to think of Bogart as the classic Marlowe that nobody feels quite up for the role, but certainly not this guy who strikes me as a Jack Lemmon progenitor. He acts well and sells a lot of the harder lines, but…the face is not quite there.
  • The final scene felt like a studio insert.
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