The Maltese Falcon and Film Noir as a ‘Flaneur-Maker’
Film Noir, having been granted its self-determination from the gangster films of the 1930s, became the first embodiment of a genre that had formerly only existed in the written word. It is felicitous that the pioneer noir film, through the cinematic direction of John Huston, was taken of the pages of Dashiell Hammet’s The Maltese Falcon and placed on the silver screen. The 1940s and the Second World War marked the arrival of these detective films to the box office, and this film in particular contained some of the most quintessential stars of the era. With Humphry Bogart cast as lead detective Sam Spade and Mary Astor as the leading lady, John Huston endows upon his viewers the codes of the detective novel through a brand new medium. The camera at his fingertips allows Huston, in a testimonial to Walter Benjamin, to create two flaneurs. His first, is Same Spade – who had already been provided this role through the words of Hammet. His second, is the viewer – one that had never existed before.
Throughout his works, Walter Benjamin presents this idea of the ‘detective-as-flaneur.’ In his Arcades Project, Benjamin explains, “Preformed in the figure of the flaneur is that of the detective. The flaneur required a social legitimation of his habitus. It suited him very well to see his indolence presented as a plausible front, behind which, in reality, hides the riveted attention of an observer who will not let the unsuspecting malefactor out of his sight (Arcades 442)." This analysis defines the lifeblood of the private detective, embodied at this juncture by Sam Spade. The whole operation relies on the ability to see without being seen. He holds the persona of any other walker on the street, having the uncanny ability to camouflage himself against a crowd. It is this ability that allows him to always close a case and never let his “unsuspecting malefactor out of his sight.” However, Spade’s invisibility is both a blessing and a curse; it represents the plight of the flaneur. “The flaneur is still on the threshold, of the city as of the bourgeois class. Neither has yet engulfed him; in neither is he at home. He seeks refuge in the crowd (Reflections 156)." Spade is a perpetual outsider. His mode of operation relies on abiding loneliness. His barren apartment and lack of attachment to anyone besides his secretary holds true to Benjamin’s assertion that Spade is never “at home.” So he must “seek refuge in the crowd.”
Spade speaks in the “dialect of flanerie.” Central to the plot of the film is the accusation of the San Francisco police department that Spade himself murdered his partner. It is as if Walter Benjamin has this instance in mind when he describes the flaneur- “on one side, the man who feels himself viewed by all and sundry as a true suspect and, on the other side, the man who is utterly undiscoverable, the Hidden Man (Arcades 420)." Indeed Spade is a “true suspect,” and according to the story this is not an unfamiliar role for him. He is constantly racing the police to find the malefactor and clear his own name. While the viewer is inclined to believe Spade’s innocence, there is very little insight into his true identity. Spade consistently puts on various acts and shows of emotion to acquire information and ‘play’ those around him. Yet, the true details of our protagonist’s life are kept an enigma. In his description, Benjamin capitalizes “Hidden Man,” defining it as a proper noun, seemingly interchangeable with the name of Sam Spade himself.
It is in the nature of the detective story that Spade should see things that his peers don’t see, always one step ahead of those who are watching. This too is in line with the role of flaneur as an incessant observer. A prime example of Spade’s prowess is when he can lose Wilmer within seconds of being followed, and then spots the guns in the deep pockets of Wilmer’s trench coat mere seconds after he comes into view. Yet, it is more than Spade’s ability to read physical codes that provides him with his insight. As Benjamin says, it is the phantasmagoria of the flanerie: to read from the faces the profession, the ancestry, the character (Arcades 429)." True to the form of the flaneur, Spade has the ability to read his compatriot’s “faces” and “character.” It is with this ability that Spade assesses Brigid’s guilt in Archer’s death, playing his way through the criminal personalities of Cairo and The Fat Man, while clearing his own name in the process.
While Hammet and Huston equally portray Sam Spade in the role of flaneur, it is Huston that composes a method of bestowing on every viewer the identity of flaneur. Through his creation of Film Noir, Huston brings the detective story enthusiast into a world that could never have been inhabited through the written word alone. According to Benjamin, film “can bring out aspects of the original that are accessible only to the lens (which is adjustable and can easily change viewpoint) but not to the human eye; or it can use certain processes, such as enlargement or slow motion, to record images which escape natural optics all together (Work of Art 61)." While the “aspects of the original” that Benjamin refers to may not be available to the “human eye,” they are always available to the prodigious eye of the detective. In The Maltese Falcon, Huston uses his lens to give his viewers access to images that, while available to Sam Spade, would have evaded their “natural optics all together” as text on a page.
The first few clips of the film introduce the viewer to the City of San Francisco, with a panorama of the Golden Gate Bridge. With this, Huston welcomes the viewer to the city whose streets and avenues are home to Sam Spade – flaneur and detective extraordinaire. Using a technique that Benjamin describes as “accessible only to the lens,” Huston then slowly introduces Sam Spade, “approaching from the outside in” (Richards 98). Spade appears to be sitting in silence, "waiting for the story to come find him. [Yet,] for almost five seconds … the camera waits for him, as he turns his swivel chair in our direction” (Richards 98).
From the start, the style of film accentuates the details that define the “dialect of the flanerie.” The viewer is forced to watch a ringing phone, a trivial everyday object that would ordinarily deserve no notice. Yet, the camera keeps the protagonist hidden – commanding the viewer to take notice. In an absolutely germane assay on the genre of film, Benjamin says "by focusing on hidden details of familiar objects, by exploring commonplace milieu under the ingenious guidance of the camera, the film, on the one hand, extends our comprehension of the necessities which rule our lives; on the other hand, it manages to assure us of an immense and unexpected field of action (The Work of Art 61)." This close up of the ringing phone is precisely one of these “hidden details of familiar objects” that the viewers are forced to imbibe through the “ingenious guidance” of Huston’s camera. Beginning the film with such immense attention to detail sets the stage for a cinematic experience where the viewer becomes subconsciously aware of every such detail. In the vein of the flaneur, the viewer sees without being seen, absorbing the details of the minutia from the safety of the crowded theater.
The angles that the camera provides grants the viewer a sense of self-awareness as the narrative unfolds. “A rare exterior shot punctuates the mostly interior diegesis when Miles Archer is shot dead (Richards 101)." The perspective of the shot itself jars the viewer into consciousness. As the camera caries her audience down to the level of a walker on the street, the viewer – in the fashion of flanerie- is imminently aware of his surroundings, having been shown the signs at the intersection of Bush and Stockton streets. The proceeding scenes are odd. They are shot as if from the perspective of a passerby who, in a confounded state, catches a fleeting glimpse of an event out of the corner of his eye. “The camera captures Archer stepping into the shot, tilts up to show him looking confused, and then a revolver appears in the frame, firing a single shot at him (Richards 101)." This particular shot turns the viewer into the aforementioned passerby, further dragging the audience into the experience of the film. Benjamin explains that film is a unique medium precisely because “the audience is put in to the position of the camera” and is therefore allowed to view an alternate reality from a first hand perspective, offering viewers the opportunity to be “part of the work of art (Work of Art 68)."
Yet, even from this first hand fleeting perspective, the shot demands that proper attention be paid. “Like any event captured in medias res, like a photographic still, the shot of Archer's murder draws attention to its materiality: in chiaroscuro lighting, a man in a trench coat and a hat emerges from the darkness, while a gleaming revolver appears in the frame's foreground (Richards 103)." The discordance of the scene in relation to the rest of the film again stirs a heightened level of consciousness in the viewer. Because every object in the frame appears as a confusing affront to the senses, details that in ordinary circumstances may have gone unnoticed now present themselves in hyper focus.
Through additional tricks of cinematography, the viewer is invited into Spade’s apartment, and made to feel equally as uncomfortable as they would if they were physically crammed in to the already claustrophobic space. In the first apartment scene, Spade has just entered his apartment when two police detectives visit him. While it is clear that he has grown familiar with these detectives throughout his time in the business, they are there to interrogate him about the death of his partner, Miles Archer. The angles and images captured by the camera add an additional acumen to the conversation, as they portray the shifting power dynamics between each occupant of the room. First, the viewer is painfully aware that “the cops' hats and overcoats contrast sharply with Spade's wrinkled white shirt and bare head (Richards 105)." As the scene unfolds, “the camera occupies different points of view in the room, depending on which side has the upper hand (Richards 105).” Again, the cinematography allows the viewer to engage in the behavior of the flanerie, having insight into the scene that delves beneath the superficial exterior.
While certain shots are rarely utilized, there are others that Huston returns to time and again. As The Maltese Falcon was the catalyst for the rest of the film noir genre, these shots in turn defined the noir aesthetic. For example, in Spade’s apartment “whether the two cops sit across from Spade, as if interrogating him, or the three characters gather around to have a drink, the images portray the sparse interior typical of film noir…From the massive leather chair that Dundy occupies rather awkwardly, to the unmade bed where Spade sits with his back to the camera, to the strategically placed lamp on a side table that permits ominous shadows, every shot is carefully composed (Richards 105)." It is precisely the well-orchestrated composition of these shots that appear to have made Film Noir so successful. This success is derived through forcing the audience to watch the film from the perspective of the flaneur, observing those details that were formerly only available to the keen eye of the detective himself.
By observing the phenomenon of Film Noir through the trope of Walter Benjamin’s theories, new intricacies and codes of the genre reveal themselves. Through inviting the viewer onto the street and into the room with Sam Spade, The Maltese Falcon permits this unorthodox reproduction of a detective novel “to reach the recipient in his or her own situation, [and] it actualizes that which is reproduced (Work of Art 62)." While Hammet’s novel utilized written rhetoric to portray Sam Spade in the image of the flaneur, it was Huston’s reproduction of his work, through the medium of film that allowed him to create an unprecedented culture of flanerie in American cinema. Huston used his camera to address each viewer individually “in his or her own situation,” inviting the viewer to take part in the story – thus, bringing the story to life and making each viewer a ‘fellow flaneur.’
Works Cited
- Benjamin, Walter. Reflections: Essays, Aphorisms, Autobiographical Writings. New York: Shocken Books, 2007. 156. Print.
- Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. 4th ed. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003. 417-447. Print.
- Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art In The Age of its Technological Reproduction”. The Cultural Studies Reader. Ed. Simon During. 3rd ed. London: Routledge, 2010. 60-80. Print.
- The Maltese Falcon. Dir. John Huston. Perf. Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, and Elisha Cook, Jr. Warner, 1941.
- Richards, Rashna Wadia. "Loose Ends: The Stuff that Movies Are Made Of." Arizona Quarterly: A Journal of American Literature, Culture, and Theory. 63.4 (2007): 83-118. Web. 2 Mar. 2012. <http://muse.jhu.edu.ezaccess.libraries.psu.edu/journals/arizona_quarterly_a_journal_of_american_literature_culture_and_theory/v063/63.4richards.html>.
