If chuzpah were an Olympic Event David Zelag Goodman and Dick Richards would take Gold going away. For reasons best known to themselves this pair of mediocrities decided they could improve Raymond Chandler by taking liberties with his novel that was already close to perfection. They get it wrong right from the start: we open towards the end of an ongoing investigation into what turns out to be two linked cases. By opening at this point Marlowe is obliged to tell Lieutenant Nulty stuff he already knows - Chandler told his story chronologically - such as how he encountered Moose Malloy whilst rounding off another case and even more ludicrously he has to tell Nulty (because he needs to tell US, the audience) who one of the most prominent citizens in LA is. This is sloppy writing whichever way you slice it. Not content with that they transform Jules Amthor - a 'mystic/clairvoyant' in the novel - into a notorious madam, thus changing both the sex and calling. They omit entirely one of the strongest characters in the novel, the cop's daughter who finds Marlowe after he's been sapped and Marriott has been killed. In the novel the girl lived close to the isolated location, chosen for that reason by blackmailers to exchange cash for jade; as it stands in this movie, Marlowe is now found by a patrol car which had no logical reason to be in the middle of East Jesus in the middle of the night. In the novel it is Jesse Florian who gives Marlowe the wrong photo in order to mislead him; here, for no real reason, Goodman more or less invents a whole new character, complete with family to do it. I could go on but what's the point. Mitchum is a fine actor and one I admire enormously but he's a little to coarse for Marlowe as re-written by Goodman and Richards. Chandler created for want of a better word, a gentleman detective; the clue is in the name he chose, a name resonant of the playwright Christopher Marlowe (Chandler was educated at an English Public School, Dulwich) who wrote 'Is this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burned the topless towers of Ilium, sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss', and Chandler's Marlowe is more inclined to speak in street poetry than say things like 'that's a lot of s***' that Goodman puts in his mouth. On balance the Dick Powell version was light years ahead.
Review of Farewell, My Lovely
