I have a man-crush on Humphrey Bogart the size of Texas, which is why it's so difficult to say that his dramatic performance as paranoid gold prospector, Fred C. Dobbs, in the 1948 film, Treasure of the Sierra Madre is a mite uncomfortable to watch. Even though cinema's all-time leading man has been dead for over half a century, he should consider asking for his money back from whichever acting school taught him those chops.
Unlike a large percentage of men and women currently cavorting across the screen today, the problem was not that Bogie was a bad actor - he's not. Roles like Rick in Casablanca and Philip Marlowe in The Maltese Falcon were tailor-made for his brand of tough guy. Unfortunately, Dobbs was as far from tough as a paranoid, whining, sissy-baby could be, ready to stab his cohorts in the back in an instant to make sure he got what was coming to him.
Unfortunately, Tim Holt, who received second billing as Curtin, actually pulled off a more believable performance in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Here's the story in a nutshell. Dobbs and Holt, two down and out American drifters, hook up in the Mexican town of Tampico. Before long they've come upon enough money to throw in with an old gold prospector, Howard (Walter Huston, father of movie director John Huston), who leads them into the mountains, where they spend months refining and bagging gold dust. There are the obligatory mine shaft cave-ins, gila monster invasions, and restless nights after they decide to divvy up the treasure as they go, making each man responsible for hiding his own stash from the others.
But then a stranger shows up in camp, with a gang of Mexican banditos not far behind. By this time all three of the gold diggers have got gold fever bad, and become quite deplorable gentlemen, with Bogart leading the way. It's about this time that we get probably the most famous line in the film dropped:
"Badges? We don't need know stinkin' badges!"
The last half hour keeps us busy watching Howard revive an Indian kid who fell in the river with some kind of white devil Boy Scout hocus pocus. Looked to me like all he did was move the youngster's arms back and forth a bit and burp him. Meanwhile Dobbs and Curtin are on the trail to Durango with $105,000 in gold dust on their burros. By this time, Bogie is showing off his incredibly overwrought acting chops with a running internal dialogue that, unfortunately, has become entirely external. After about ten minutes of that hog wash, I'm starting to wish Curtin would shoot him in the back.
Reading this, you might think I hated the Treasure of the sierra Madre. If so, you would be wrong. I loved it! It didn't win three Oscars for no reason, and I defy you to keep your eyes on anyone besides Bogart when he's on the screen. It might be bad acting but it's world class bad acting.
Long live Humphrey Bogart! They don't make 'em like him any more.
Unlike a large percentage of men and women currently cavorting across the screen today, the problem was not that Bogie was a bad actor - he's not. Roles like Rick in Casablanca and Philip Marlowe in The Maltese Falcon were tailor-made for his brand of tough guy. Unfortunately, Dobbs was as far from tough as a paranoid, whining, sissy-baby could be, ready to stab his cohorts in the back in an instant to make sure he got what was coming to him.
Unfortunately, Tim Holt, who received second billing as Curtin, actually pulled off a more believable performance in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Here's the story in a nutshell. Dobbs and Holt, two down and out American drifters, hook up in the Mexican town of Tampico. Before long they've come upon enough money to throw in with an old gold prospector, Howard (Walter Huston, father of movie director John Huston), who leads them into the mountains, where they spend months refining and bagging gold dust. There are the obligatory mine shaft cave-ins, gila monster invasions, and restless nights after they decide to divvy up the treasure as they go, making each man responsible for hiding his own stash from the others.
But then a stranger shows up in camp, with a gang of Mexican banditos not far behind. By this time all three of the gold diggers have got gold fever bad, and become quite deplorable gentlemen, with Bogart leading the way. It's about this time that we get probably the most famous line in the film dropped:
"Badges? We don't need know stinkin' badges!"
The last half hour keeps us busy watching Howard revive an Indian kid who fell in the river with some kind of white devil Boy Scout hocus pocus. Looked to me like all he did was move the youngster's arms back and forth a bit and burp him. Meanwhile Dobbs and Curtin are on the trail to Durango with $105,000 in gold dust on their burros. By this time, Bogie is showing off his incredibly overwrought acting chops with a running internal dialogue that, unfortunately, has become entirely external. After about ten minutes of that hog wash, I'm starting to wish Curtin would shoot him in the back.
Reading this, you might think I hated the Treasure of the sierra Madre. If so, you would be wrong. I loved it! It didn't win three Oscars for no reason, and I defy you to keep your eyes on anyone besides Bogart when he's on the screen. It might be bad acting but it's world class bad acting.
Long live Humphrey Bogart! They don't make 'em like him any more.