Robert Altman
Il lungo addio

Once it was over, when that abrupt and conclusive ending paved the way for the closing credits, I went to take a piss, and as crude as it might be to tell you, I must admit it was a great splash! The bladder, in fact, had been demanding a restroom since the detective Philip Marlowe lit up the tenth match, and from that point on, where the thought of a waterfall increasingly forcefully invaded my mind, that great bastard with the always-knotted tie must have incinerated just as many. Feeling much lighter, I was carried by my feet to the bedroom, but after about ten minutes in a horizontal position, I was back in front of the PC, armed with a steaming cup of black coffee, ready to watch "The Long Goodbye" again, which I will now try to recount for you.

The figure of Raymond Chandler’s private detective has always tantalized Hollywood’s palate, and so for four decades, many (Bogart and Mitchum being the only performances I've seen) have tackled the role of the likable, sarcastic, brilliant, and unflappable son of a bitch. An Elliot Gould in "M.A.S.H.!" mode buries their performances from all points of view. The supporting cast accompanying him, if they can be called that, is of high level, with standout performances from the Wade couple: the unforgettable portrayal of an indomitable Hemingway-like writer by Sterling Hayden, and the sensual Nina Van Pallandt as the femme fatale.

The film, although it features a fairly complicated and tortuous plot, is almost entirely devoid of tension and is accompanied by a melancholic and hypnotic soundtrack that will be repeated continually in various forms. The work proceeds smoothly with the detective's confident stride for a film crafted with precision, with the right pace, a suitable number of successful lines, and skilled direction capable of enriching a great script with attention to detail. The photographs of matches being struck wherever they might, with a regular and almost reassuring cadence, are fleeting moments of rare beauty. Brief scenes alternate with sarcastic nuances, abrupt and unexpected climaxes, leading to a finale you don’t see coming, one that Chandler hadn't even written, capable of leaving you stunned by its rapidity, intensity, and power like a well-placed punch to the nose.

I can't remember where exactly, but on the web, I read that the film slightly alters the plot compared to the eponymous book from which it takes inspiration. I must thank that website because it made me want to read the noir to form a clear opinion about it. That said, Brackett's screenplay doesn't slightly diverge from the original text; it takes a sledgehammer to its knees, sending cartilage, menisci, ligaments, and tendons flying off in a tangent. Pipes, in fact, transform into cigarettes, murders become suicides, love stories get lost in the ocean waves, magically bringing to shore gangsters, cats, and neighbors never birthed from Chandler's pen. Even the ending gets turned on its head: Marlowe, from a bastard anti-hero, yet in his own way loyal and kind-hearted though victim to events, manages to redeem himself, becoming a staunch advocate of the law of retaliation.

Altman's work is superb precisely because, even while profoundly changing a great novel, it manages to maintain the fundamental characteristics of classy noir unscathed (Zsigmond’s opaque and almost smoky cinematography is in perfect symbiosis with the book) and provides, with a few scenes and carefully written dialogue, a character that Hollywood had never managed to fully capture despite numerous devoted efforts.

Yesterday I stopped by the bookstore during my usual weekly visit; with my hands in my pockets, I headed towards the DVD section and unexpectedly, under the letter "S"—what a nice surprise! I turned over the thin rectangle to memorize the price, put it back in its place, and who knows; maybe on one of the upcoming 27th, when the purchasing power of my meager salary seems greater than it really is, I might just take it home.