or: How I learned to stop worrying and love writer's block.
Its been a couple of weeks since I posted something new. It isn't that I haven't watched anything recently (I have), or that real life has intervened (despite job dramas and the release of GTA V). Instead, having watched The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, I find myself having greatly enjoyed a film, and yet having little of interest to say about it.
This lack of an angle of approach has meant I've sat down to write something on multiple occasions to write something, and gotten bogged down after a paragraph or two. (Indeed as I write this, it is above the carcass of another DOA attempt, kept for now in case I can cannibalise any of it for this attempt!)
Do I talk about the terrific performances? Humphrey Bogart is terrific as the venal Fred C. Dobbs, the penniless miner who loses his soul to greed for gold. Walter Huston provides the definitive portrayal of a grizzled gold prospector, right down to his madcap jig performed when they strike gold. Hustons performance was so good he won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his work here.
I could highlight the familial connection in the film, with John Huston directing his father. Huston junior won the Academy Award for directing, making it the first time father and son had been honoured for the same film. John Huston also has a cameo as the affluent American Dobbs pesters for money at the beginning of the film.
Perhaps I could talk about the escalating sense of dread and unease which builds throughout the film. As Dobbs paranoia grows, and he acts more and more erratically, we are drawn into the twisted web of his madness. The audience is given less space to breathe as the film progresses, and the final act of laughter comes as needed catharsis.
I haven't even mentioned Tim Holt as the third member of the gold mining crew, or the fourth American to join the group and the fateful decision to which it leads our principals. I could discuss the depiction of the Mexican people in the film, and how it will appear racist and anachronistic to a modern audience. But is it fair to nit-pick over what is admittedly a minor part of the film?
At the end of the day this is a compelling film, anchored by some virtuoso performances. It remains as taut and fraught today as it would've in 1948, and is highly recommended to any and all film enthusiasts. Just don't ask me to write about it!
Random Acts of Criticism will return with Witness for the Prosecution
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