Book Into Film: “High Sierra”

(Editor’s note: This is the third installment in a series comparing noteworthy crime, mystery, and thriller novels against their Hollywood feature adaptations—for better or worse.)

By Randal S. Brandt

Book: High Sierra, by W.R. Burnett, 1940
Movie: High Sierra—John Huston, W.R. Burnett (screenplay),
Raoul Walsh (director), 1941
Movie: Colorado Territory—John Twist, Edmund H. North (screenplay), Raoul Walsh (director), 1949

“I’ve been trying to crash out ever since I can remember.”
—Marie Garson (High Sierra)
“This time, Wes, we can really bust out.”
—Colorado Carson (Colorado Territory)

William Riley “W.R.” Burnett had an incredible track record of getting his books adapted for the silver screen. His first novel, Little Caesar (1929), was an overnight success and led to a wildly popular 1931 gangster film of the same name starring then little-known actor Edward G. Robinson. In 1949, he published The Asphalt Jungle, which was filmed the next year under the direction of John Huston and is widely considered to be a quintessential heist film. These are just two examples of Burnett’s output, but he clearly had a knack for turning out filmable fiction. It probably didn’t hurt that he was a skilled screenwriter, as well as a novelist, and often adapted his own work.

Much of Burnett’s storytelling in the crime genre revolved around gangsters and robbery capers. In 1940, he penned a tale that incorporated both and added a twist by moving the action out of the asphalt jungle of the city and into the wilds of the American West. High Sierra, published by Alfred A. Knopf, is the story of Roy Earle, a small-time gangster who ran with John Dillinger and wound up being sentenced to a lifetime’s confinement in prison. As the novel opens, however, Roy is driving across the country, headed for California, after just six years behind bars in Illinois. At 37, he’s been granted a full pardon, secured for him by “Big Mac” M’Gann, who bribed the governor in order to get Roy out of stir. Mac, suffering from ill health, has engineered the heist of a popular mountain resort in Southern California, where all the big shots from Hollywood go to gamble and flaunt their wealth and jewelry, and he wants Roy to pull off one last score for him. Two inexperienced thugs, Red Hattery and Babe Kozak, have been enlisted to do the dirty work, and an inside man, Louis, is providing key information about the layout of the resort. Roy is needed to organize the crew and lead this seemingly easy job.

(Right) High Sierra, Alfred A. Knopf, 1940.

During the drive west, Roy meets “Pa” and “Ma” Goodhue. They have lost their farm in Ohio and are taking their granddaughter, Velma (who is afflicted with a club foot), to Los Angeles to live with Velma’s mother. Roy, who was also reared on a Midwestern farm and longs to return to that idyllic life, hits it off immediately with the Goodhues and is attracted to Velma.

When he arrives at the motor camp near the resort, where the gang is meeting to plan and wait for their go-ahead, Roy finds out there is another person there, Marie Garson, a girl who Babe picked up at a “dime-a-dance joint” in L.A. Roy is not pleased with this turn of events, but he ends up letting Marie stay. He is also introduced to a mangy stray dog called Pard by the camp’s Black handyman, Algernon, who explains to Roy that Pard brings bad luck to anyone who adopts him. Not being the superstitious type, Roy takes in the dog, too.

Can anyone guess where this is going? Right. Pear-shaped.

Marie falls in love with Roy. Roy falls in love with Velma, pays to have her foot operated on, and has his marriage proposal rejected (Velma’s already got a fiancé back home). Predictably, the heist goes sideways—a security guard is shot and Red and Babe are killed in a car crash during the getaway—and Roy, Marie, and Pard end up on the run. Things get even worse when Roy reaches L.A. and finds that Big Mac has died and he has no way to collect his cut of the money for their stolen jewels. In the meantime, Roy is wounded, Louis squeals to the cops, and a manhunt for Roy (now dubbed “Mad Dog” Earle in the press) ensues. Roy convinces Marie to take Pard and head east to San Bernardino to wait for him. Short on gas and cash, Roy holds up a drugstore and is recognized, leading to a chase over a mountain pass in the shadow of mammoth Mount Whitney. When Roy is stopped by a boulder blocking the road, he takes off up the mountain on foot. The police draw near and a marksman shoots him. Fade to black.

High Sierra in paperback (left to right): From Bantam, 1950, with art by Harry Schaare; Corgi, 1958; and Carroll & Graf, 1986.

The novel has two major flaws. The first is the abruptness of its ending. For a book called High Sierra, the chase up that 14,505-foot mountain and subsequent standoff occupy fewer than four pages at the end. Both film versions discussed below vastly improve on the drama and tension of Burnett’s original climax. The second flaw is much more serious. The racism the author heaps on Algernon is unforgivable. Not only is the character treated as a stereotype and a caricature, but he is repeatedly referred to with vile racial epithets, both in the white characters’ dialogue and in Burnett’s exposition. Even for 1940, this seems extreme, cruel, and wholly unnecessary.

The initial big-screen version of High Sierra, which premiered on January 25, 1941, is an important bridge between the popular gangster films of the 1930s and film noir (a term that had not been coined yet). It is not really a gangster film, or a heist film, or a film noir, and yet it contains elements of all three. The screenplay was written collaboratively by John Huston and Burnett, and the plot is extremely faithful to the novel. For the role of Roy Earle, director Raoul Walsh reluctantly cast Humphrey Bogart, who up until that time had only served in supporting roles in B-pictures.

(Left) Humphrey Bogart with his younger screen “moll,” Ida Lupino.

According to Marilyn Ann Moss, in her 2011 biography of Raoul Walsh, Bogart lobbied Warner Bros. hard for this role. He won it after top Warner star Paul Muni, who’d played the lead in Scarface—a 1932 Howard Hawks-directed feature that Burnett had also had a hand in scripting—and George Raft, who was adamant that his fans did not want to see him die onscreen, turned it down. Bogart didn’t get top billing, though; that honor went to Ida Lupino for her role as Marie. Lupino’s star had risen significantly after her appearance the previous year in They Drive By Night, also directed by Walsh and starring both Raft and Bogart. A big part of the reason Warner wanted Raft for High Sierra was due to the success of Drive; studio execs saw the Walsh-Raft-Lupino combo as a winner.

Shot on location outside Lone Pine, California, High Sierra was a box office hit and made Humphrey Bogart a star. It also boosted John Huston’s career and, based on the success of this film, Warner Bros. decided to let him try his hand as a director. His debut in said capacity came with The Maltese Falcon, which was released later that same year, starred Bogart as San Francisco private eye Sam Spade—another role that Raft refused to play—and, well, you know the rest of the story. Bogart never again received second billing to anyone.

But Ida Lupino, then only 23 years old, deserved her headliner status in this film. Her performance is terrific as Marie, the taxi dancer who wants to crash out of her dead-end life and sees Roy as the means to that end. It also helped pave the way for Lupino to begin writing, directing, and producing her own motion pictures by the end of the decade. (And in 1953, she became the first woman to direct a film noir when she helmed RKO’s The Hitch-Hiker.)

The official, 1941 trailer for High Sierra.

As mentioned previously, the ending of this flick vastly improves on what the novel offers. Maybe Burnett realized his original was jarringly abrupt and was happy to get a do-over, or perhaps the credit belongs to Huston. In any event, this time the standoff with Roy on Mount Whitney lasts long enough for a large crowd to gather below, including newspaper and radio reporters. (In a bit of coincidental casting, Jerome Cowan appears as a journo with just about as many lines as he would be given later that year playing Sam Spade’s doomed partner, Miles Archer.) The standoff also provides time enough for Marie and Pard to arrive on the scene. When Marie refuses to call up the mountain to Roy and lure him out into the open, Pard’s barking does the job, giving a police sharpshooter the opportunity to take him out. After Roy’s lifeless body tumbles down the slope, one of the closing shots is of Pard, licking his hand. That dog was bad luck, after all.

The movie also treats handyman Algernon (played by Willie Best) marginally better than the book. There are no racial slurs in the dialogue, but a cringe-worthy portrayal of Algernon as a lazy, superstitious “Stepin Fetchit” stereotype is hard to watch.

In many respects, High Sierra reminds the viewer of a western, especially with it climactic shootout amid dramatic mountain scenery. Director Raoul Walsh certainly saw those qualities in the first film adaptation and, in 1948, when Warner Bros. found itself short on good scripts, he pitched the idea of actually turning High Sierra into a western. Studio mogul Jack Warner approved the project, shooting took place in New Mexico from September to November, 1948, and the finished Colorado Territory premiered in June 1949.

This time around, the protagonist is mid-19th-century bank robber Wes McQueen (played by Joel McCrea), who is busted out of jail by his old friend Dave Rickard (Basil Ruysdael) and told to head off to Colorado Territory. In the stagecoach along the way, McQueen meets Fred Winslow (Henry Hull, who played the doctor in High Sierra) and his daughter, Julie Ann (Dorothy Malone—not disabled like Velma Goodhue, just in a very bad mood); they are bound west to take up ranching. Julie Ann is the spitting image of Wes’ old girlfriend, Martha, who died while he was in prison. McQueen travels to the ghost town of Todos Santos, where he meets the rest of his gang: Reno (John Archer), Duke (James Mitchell), and Colorado Carson (Virginia Mayo), who Reno picked up in an El Paso dance hall. In this version of the story, the gang has been assembled to execute a train robbery. Wes is tired of the outlaw life and hopes to use his share of the loot from this one last job to buy his own ranch and settle down, preferably with Julie Ann as his wife.

Following the general outline of High Sierra, McQueen is betrayed at every turn, first by the “inside man” railroad station agent, then by his partners, and finally—and most cruelly of all—by Julie Ann, who is barely stopped by Colorado Carson from turning him in for the reward money, a selfish impulse that earns her a slap from her father. Only Colorado can be trusted, and Wes eventually recognizes her as his true love. They go on the lam together and try to get married at the derelict Todos Santos mission, but the padre there explains he is “not a priest, only a brother,” and cannot perform wedding ceremonies. When Wes realizes the posse is closing in on them, he unsaddles Colorado’s horse to prevent her from following him. He rides into the “Canyon of Death,” hoping to elude his pursuers and escape south into Mexico, where he and Colorado can be reunited. Not so easily deterred, Colorado follows on foot and eventually catches up to the posse, which has McQueen holed up in the abandoned “City of the Moon,” an ancient Pueblo settlement carved out of the canyon wall. When Colorado arrives, the sheriff tricks her into luring Wes out into the open, where a sniper can shoot him. This time, though, Wes is only wounded. Colorado races up to meet him, carrying two pistols. As Colorado starts blasting lead at posse members, the doomed couple is cut down in a hail of gunfire, dying hand in hand.

Again, a much more dramatic climax than Burnett’s novel offered.

Not surprisingly, given its source material and director, Colorado Territory is a very good production, one which American film historian David Meuel thinks, “in several ways, improves on the original.” Although not quite an “A” picture, it definitely rises above “B” status. It is also a prime example of the “noir western” subgenre that combined elements of film noir (including cinematography techniques) with the traditional western—Walsh was a pioneer of the noir western, with his 1947 film, Pursued, featuring noir stalwart Robert Mitchum, often considered to be one of the earliest examples.

The original, 1949 theatrical trailer for Colorado Territory.

The acting in Colorado Territory is strong, even if the Wes McQueen role is somewhat miscast. A veteran of countless westerns, Joel McCrea was resistant to playing “bad guy” parts during his career. So, he is not quite believable as an outlaw, even one who wants to leave behind his life of crime and settle down with the woman he adores. But he has strong chemistry with Virginia Mayo and he is not someone to be messed with in a gunfight. There are no dogs or racial stereotypes in this version, although we are told that Colorado is a “half-breed” (“Unusual for a blonde, wasn’t it?” Virginia Mayo is reported as saying years later). Otherwise, the Native Americans in the film, although in small roles, appear to be treated in non-stereotypical ways and with basic respect and dignity—on both sides of the law.

High Sierra was remade again in 1955 as I Died a Thousand Times. It is described as a scene-by-scene remake of the 1941 version, albeit in color, and this time Burnett is the sole credited screenwriter. In an interview (quoted in Marilyn Ann Moss’ Walsh biography), Burnett stated that the script for the original was weakened by the interference of associate producer Mark Hellinger and indicated his clear preference for this version. “The main point wasn’t as strong as it should have been. I corrected that in the remake … The remake is a better picture. Except we had two repulsive people in it—Jack Palance and Shelley Winters … I think the script is much better. I cleaned up the script …” This writer has not yet seen it.

SOURCES
Meuel, David. The Noir Western: Darkness on the Range, 1943-1962. McFarland & Company, 2015.
Moss, Marilyn Ann. Raoul Walsh: The True Adventures of Hollywood’s Legendary Director. The University of Kentucky Press, 2011.
Nott, Robert. Last of the Cowboy Heroes: The Westerns of Randolph Scott, Joel McCrea, and Audie Murphy. McFarland & Company, 2000.

READ MORE: W.R. Burnett’s 1982 Obituary.

An Earful of Spade

Being a resolute fan of the 1941 film version of Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon, I always think of that as the definitive big-screen presentation. But of course, there were two previous cinematic interpretations: one that came out in 1931, under Hammett’s title, and the other released in 1936 as Satan Met a Lady.

In addition, that memorable story of greed and gumshoeing was adapted more than once for radio. As Evan Lewis reminds us today in his blog, Davy Crockett’s Almanack of Mystery, Adventure, and the Wild West, Hollywood luminary Edward G. Robinson played San Francisco private eye Sam Spade in an hour-long, Lux Radio Theatre production of Hammett’s yarn that aired on February 8, 1943. Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Sydney Greenstreet, and Peter Lorre—all of whom had starred in 1941’s The Maltese Falcon—reprised their roles in an abbreviated, 30-minute adaptation of the movie from September 1943. I also find on YouTube a slightly different, and shorter version—also starring Bogart—that was reportedly broadcast in July 1946.

I must now resist the compulsion to spend the remainder of this afternoon listening to each one of those, back to back.

Brigid Loves Birdie

Let’s cut to the chase: Today marks 80 years since the premiere showing, in New York City, of Humphrey Bogart’s The Maltese Falcon, the third adaptation of Dashiell Hammett’s marvelous 1930 novel introducing San Francisco private eye Sam Spade. (It had previously been shot in 1931, also under the book’s title, and in 1936 as Satan Met a Lady.) It’s a film I first watched—rapt by its noirish atmosphere and punchy parlays—in a Portland, Oregon, theater that specialized in classic pictures, but have seen more than a dozen times since. I may even screen it again this evening, to commemorate its birthday.

The story has just about everything going for it: a case filled with misdirection; a loner gumshoe, tough-talking but surprisingly sensitive at times, who won’t be anyone’s chump; a femme fatale of outstanding dimensions; a calculating, smooth-talking chief villain; and of course, a long-lost, mysterious McGuffin. At this late date, it hardly seems necessary to spell out the plot, but here it is anyway, borrowed from an essay about the 1941, John Huston-directed movie published earlier this year on—of all things—the World Socialist Web Site:

The Huston film is conspicuously faithful to the Hammett book. Virtually every line of dialogue is borrowed from the original source. In San Francisco, private investigator Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) becomes involved with a group of devious and scheming adventurers in pursuit of a solid gold, jewel-encrusted statuette allegedly worth a king’s ransom.

The series of events, which ultimately leads to the killing of three men (four in the novel), begins with a visit by a Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor) to the offices of Spade and his partner Miles Archer (Jerome Cowan). She claims to be looking for her wayward younger sister, who is keeping company with a roughneck, Floyd Thursby. Spade and Archer (who personally volunteers to follow Wonderly that evening) agree to take the case.

The same night, Archer turns up dead, shot at close-range. Only a half-hour later, Thursby is also murdered. The police come knocking at Spade’s door, hinting that he might have killed Thursby in revenge for his partner’s being knocked off. Spade angrily rejects the imputation, and also protects the identity of his client.

In any event, everything that “Miss Wonderly” told Spade and Archer was untrue, starting with her name, which is actually Brigid O’Shaughnessy. However, when Spade tracks her down, she still refuses to explain what she is up to. Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre) soon arrives at Spade’s office and offers the private eye $5,000 if he can help locate a mysterious “black figure of a bird.” Later, Spade encounters Kasper Gutman (Sidney Greenstreet), and his hired thug, Wilmer (Elisha Cook Jr.). Cairo, O’Shaughnessy and Gutman, the latter of whom fills in the details about the object of their collective desire, have been pursuing the figurine, which supposedly dates from the 16th century, all across the globe.

In the end, no one ends up with the supposedly priceless gold bird, several people are dead and others on their way to prison.

Hammett never penned another Spade novel, though he did later produce three short stories featuring the character. Still, that P.I. went on to become a radio-drama star in the 1940s and early ’50s, portrayed most memorably by Howard Duff. In 1946, The Maltese Falcon was adapted into comic-book form, with artwork by Rodlow Willard. George Segal starred as “Sammy” Spade Jr. in a comedy sequel of sorts, 1975’s The Black Bird. And kind of making up for Hammett’s failure to deliver another Sam Spade book, in 2009 veteran crime-fictionist Joe Gores published a prequel to Falcon, titled Spade & Archer.

I’ve written many times on this page about The Maltese Falcon, occasionally including video clips from the flick. But with today being its 80th anniversary and all, I’ve decided enough is never enough. So below you’ll find two treasures: the original Warner Bros. trailer, and the scene in which Brigid O’Shaughnessy—anxious to escape police pursuit and solicit Spade’s assistance in securing the infamous black bird for herself—pleads for the shamus’ sympathy, knowing from the outset, no doubt, that she hasn’t a hope in hell of winning it.





READ MORE: “The Maltese Falcon 80 Years On,” by John Harvey (Some Days You Do …); “Why Writers Are Always in Pursuit of the Maltese Falcon,” by Gordon McAlpine (CrimeReads); “Regarding the Real-Life Mystery of the Maltese Falcon, a Famous Movie Prop Lost for Decades” (SFist); “The Maltese Falcon: The Best Covers, Ranked” (CrimeReads).

Happy Valentine’s Day, Everyone!

Dashiell Hammett’s third novel, The Maltese Falcon, was serialized in Black Mask magazine during the closing months of 1929. However, it wasn’t until February 14, 1930—90 years ago today—that publisher Alfred A. Knopf first released that tale in book form.

Two motion-picture adaptations of Hammett’s only novel starring private eye Sam Spade were made during the 1930s, but it is the 1941 Falcon—directed by John Huston, and starring Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor (shown above)—that everyone best remembers.

(Hat tip to Up and Down These Mean Streets.)

Doin’ Bogie Proud

Humphrey Bogart fans should definitely take note of this. A press release recently found its way to my e-mailbox, telling me about a new Bogart film festival to be held down in Key Largo, Florida, from May 2 to 5, 2013. That release explained, in part:

The inaugural Humphrey Bogart Film Festival is to mark 65 years since the premiere of the Key Largo, starring Bogart and his wife Lauren Bacall, which was partially filmed on the island at the top of the Florida Keys archipelago.

Celebrating the life and films of the man the American Film Institute named “America’s greatest male screen legend,” the festival is the only event of its kind to ever be backed by the Bogart Estate, which is producing the event in partnership with the Key Largo Chamber of Commerce.

"We have long been looking for a natural home for a family-backed Bogie film fest, and we believe there is no better place than Key Largo," said Stephen Humphrey Bogart, son of the iconic performer.

“My father and mother starred in Key Largo and the actual boat from The African Queen is here in Key Largo,” Bogart said. “It just feels right to honor my father and his movies in this beautiful place, which has such an organic connection to his legacy.” ...

Highlights of the film festival include a rotating selection of the performer’s classic films and a group of movies focusing on the film noir genre. Also planned are a formal Bogart Ball, an outdoor screening of Casablanca, a display of Bogart memorabilia and canal cruises on the fully restored African Queen, which is docked at the Holiday Inn Key Largo, mile marker 100.

Check here for more event information.

READ MORE: “The Secret of Humphrey Bogart’s Distinctive Voice,” by Miss Cellania (Neatorama).

“I Won’t Play the Sap for You”

In addition to today being the 50th anniversary of The Dick Van Dyke Show’s debut, it’s the 70th anniversary of the date on which the best-known movie adaptation of Dashiell Hammett’s novel, The Maltese Falcon (1930), had its New York City premiere. That version, of course, starred Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor, and was directed by John Huston. It’s not only an incredibly popular picture, but has been named one of the greatest films of all time.

Rather than go on at length about the attractions of 1941’s The Maltese Falcon, I shall simply embed a brief clip from that motion picture. Below, Bogie, portraying San Francisco private eye Sam Spade, confronts his alternately seductive and scheming client, Ruth Wonderly/Brigid O’Shaughnessy (Astor), about her role in the shooting death of his business partner, Miles Archer. It’s a powerful scene, based closely on the book’s denouement, that loses none of its impact with repeat viewings.



Thank you, Mr. Hammett, for penning The Maltese Falcon, one of my favorite private-eye novels. And thank you, Mr. Bogart and Mr. Huston, for bringing that story so vividly to the big screen.

READ MORE: “The Maltese Falcon,” by Tim Dirks (AMC Filmsite); “Ten of the Best Fat Men in Literature,” by John Mullan (The Guardian).

“A Hero in an Antihero’s Trench Coat”

Just over a week after author Kelli Stanley championed two of Humphrey Bogart’s motion pictures on this page, self-proclaimed “movie geek” Jake Hinkson has delivered an excellent tribute to Bogie in his own blog, The Night Editor. Hinkson writes, in part:

He’s one of the great noir actors--his best film is one of the greatest noirs of all, In a Lonely Place--but he was too heroic to really embody the noir ethos. For that you need Robert Mitchum. Bogart wouldn’t play the sap for anyone. Mitchum had sap tattooed across his big handsome forehead. Mitchum, in other words, was an antihero.

Bogart was a hero in an antihero’s trench coat. The Maltese Falcon and The Big Sleep and Casablanca aren’t just great movies, they’re instruction for how to live a life of integrity and style. That Bogart didn’t live up to these principals in real life is as ultimately inconsequential as John Wayne’s dodging military service. As actors, their job was to act. Make us laugh or cry or cringe or--this is the tough one--make us aspire to a certain code of behavior.

He explored his dark side in films like In a Lonely Place, The Two Mrs. Carrolls and The Treasure of Sierra the Madre, but he was first and foremost “Bogie,” a figure as heroic and iconic as John Wayne or Gary Cooper. He was more urban than Wayne or Cooper, more gritty than Cary Grant. He fit, in many ways, Chandler’s conception of the character of Philip Marlowe (whom he played in The Big Sleep), the tarnished white knight.

You can enjoy the entirety of Hinkson’s piece here.

Hills of Homicide: The Mysteries of San Francisco -- Movies

(Editor’s note: We asked Kelli Stanley, the San Francisco author of City of Dragons [2010] and an admitted film noir obsessive, to name her favorite noirs set in her hometown. She sent back the article below.)

1. The Maltese Falcon (1941). OK, so it wasn’t really filmed here. Still, it feels authentic. During your Bouchercon visit to San Francisco you can stop by Dashiell Hammett Street, right by the spot where Sam Spade’s partner, Miles Archer, meets his end. And there’s Don Herron’s fabulous Hammett tour, too. And of course, The Maltese Falcon is a seminal noir, faithful almost to the letter to author Hammett’s 1930 novel, with a superb cast (including Sydney Greenstreet in his first film role). It is arguably the best adaptation of any private-eye novel ever.

2. Vertigo (1958). I didn’t get it when I was in my 20s. Too baroque, too outré, too ridiculous ... but Vertigo is a film I’ve come to better understand and savor with each passing year. As a fever-dream of obsession--and a metaphor for the fear of death, which makes the age difference between Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak all the more richly textured--and as a garishly colored, hallucinatory, San Francisco-set noir, it stands unique. It’s also the most powerful personal testimony to director Alfred Hitchcock’s genius. Watch for scenes shot at Fort Point, the Palace of the Legion of Honor, and Mission Dolores.

3. Nora Prentiss (1947). If you subscribe to the most piquant definition of noir---about the characters being “fucked from page one”--then translate that sentiment into a black-and-white melodrama, the kind usually starring Joan Crawford (see below) ... add in San Francisco and Ann Sheridan, with cinematography by James Wong Howe and direction by Vincent Sherman ... the result will be Nora Prentiss. This picture also perfectly captures the honky-tonk atmosphere of the old Fisherman’s Wharf ... which you can still sense on an occasional Friday night, when the Bay wind floats a rich combination of fresh crab, beer, and desperation in just the right proportions. Not yet available on DVD, but be sure to watch for this film on TCM.

4. The Lady from Shanghai (1948). Rita Hayworth. Orson Welles. The movie that ended in divorce for Welles and Hayworth, and not just because he sadistically made her cut her hair and dye it blond.

Exterior shots of Playland-at-the-Beach, the fabled but unfortunately long-gone Coney Island of San Francisco, and a brilliant, much-imitated last scene in the amusement park’s Hall of Mirrors (embedded at left). The classic Steinhart Aquarium. And shots of Welles running through Chinatown and Portsmouth Square (with a visit to the old Hall of Justice). Watch especially for the scene on Grant Avenue where he passes by the Li Po bar. That place is still there, and not long ago hosted Dominic Stansberry and I for a reading of Subterranean Noir through the auspices of City Lights Bookstore and Peter Maravelis, the editor of San Francisco Noir.

5. Thieves’ Highway (1949). Richard Conte could portray heroes and villains with equal panache, but his role here is arguably his best (with Mr. Brown in The Big Combo coming in a close second). San Francisco’s waterfront Produce Market--where part of the action is set--is now long gone, and Thieves’ Highway is a lasting testament to the city’s pre-suburb days. It’s also a stirring reminder--from the sublime Jules Dassin (director) and A.I. “Buzz” Bezzerides (writer)--about the labor struggles behind bringing an apple to market. You won’t ever look at your Granny Smith in quite the same way again.

6. Sudden Fear (1952). Joan Crawford, Gloria Grahame, and Jack Palance--what a cast! One of the best proto-feminist noirs around, Sudden Fear, like most of Crawford’s noirs, is what they used to call a “woman’s picture.” It’s

suspenseful and deliciously played by all, and you’ll enjoy authentic shots of the city from Nob Hill mansions to Art Deco apartments. Go, Joan, go!

7. Dark Passage (1947). If you’re lucky, you’ll get to ride the very cable car Humphrey Bogart did when he and Lauren Bacall were filming. And of course, there’s the fabulous Telegraph Hill apartment where La Bacall lives ... and the memorable scene in which she drives an old wood-sided station wagon through the Golden Gate Bridge toll lane (everything looks exactly the same, but the price is considerably higher nowadays). If you do happen to cross the bridge, look to your right (heading north) when paying your toll, and you’ll see a round building. That used to be a restaurant in the 1930s and is currently a gift shop. (Watch a scene from Dark Passage above.)

8. D.O.A. (1950). A fun B-movie with some bizarre touches (such as the sound effects in the hotel when Edmond O’Brien is “on the make”), D.O.A. is also a great record of 1950 San Francisco and Los Angeles. Watch for O’Brien’s run down Market Street.

9. The Man Who Cheated Himself (1950). If you’re intrigued by Fort Point after watching Vertigo, by all means try this film. It’s a tight, well-paced little noir, with some fantastic scenes filmed at San Francisco’s Civil War-era fortress, directly beneath the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge. You’ll also get to see Spock’s mother (Jane Wyatt) play a femme fatale. And she’s got a cool house on Sea Cliff!

10. Woman on the Run (1950). Ann Sheridan strikes again, this time with Dennis O’Keefe. This is a fabulous, low-budget film shot mostly on location here, except for the scenes supposedly taking place at Playland-at-the-Beach. You will, however, get a close-up of Laughing Sal, whom you can still meet (and who apparently terrorized generations of children who saw her at Playland). Just head down to Pier 45 and walk into the magic of the Musée Méchanique.

Honorable Mentions
Devotees of the genre may note that I have failed to include Out of the Past (1947) on this list. Although it’s one of my favorite noirs, the supposedly San Francisco locations are not altogether believable (unlike those in The Maltese Falcon and even Nora Prentiss), which is why I’ve skipped it. Other films to enjoy:

• The Lineup (1958), which includes a lengthy scene at the long-ago-demolished Sutro Baths, and a great car chase through the city--just about completely accurate, too!
• Experiment in Terror (1962). Lee Remick drives across the Bay Bridge and we visit George Washington High School in the Richmond district.
• The House on Telegraph Hill (1951). Sadly, Julius’ Castle--the famous restaurant on the Hill--has been closed since 2008.
• Impact (1949), offering many shots of Nob Hill and environs.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t call attention to a helpful, pocket-sized paperback called San Francisco Noir (2005), by Nathaniel Rich. While you may disagree with his inclusion of a few films (Dirty Harry, Invasion of the Body Snatchers), the book is extremely well-researched and includes addresses from many of the locales in his list of films.

If you’re interested in film noir and haven’t joined the Film Noir Foundation, please check it out. Founded by Noir Czar (and this year’s Bouchercon Toastmaster) Eddie Muller, the FNF helps preserve films such as these from further deterioration and eventual loss.

My, You’ve Aged Well, Sir

In addition to this being Christmas Day, it’s also what would have been the 110th birthday of American actor Humphrey Bogart. (He died in January 1957.) There are any number of movie clips I might have chosen to celebrate his career, but since I recently had the opportunity to write an essay about Dashiell Hammett and his 1930 novel, The Maltese Falcon, I decided to embed a scene here from the 1941, John Huston-directed film version of Falcon. In it, we see Bogart, portraying hard-boiled San Francisco private investigator Sam Spade, meeting the wily Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet) for the first time. A reminder of Bogey’s performance in this classic picture qualifies as a gift in my book.

Merry Christmas, everyone!