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That is, if the finished product is actually worthy of its source material, which is so often not the case. And sadly, that accurately describes the state of Robert Altman's The Long Goodbye. In spite of the fact that Chandler provided both finely honed dialogue and a deviously constructed plot, this film manages to tamper with and undermine his creation. You keep watching only because you want to know what's going on, what lurking motives are driving the surface events. As the film unfolds you get glimpses of different people's lives and inevitably you want to know how they're connected, where they fit into the tapestry. It's at about three-quarters through that you realise the truth.
Which is, without giving the game away, that The Long Goodbye is thoroughly straightforward, to the extent that it can be wrapped up in a single, abrupt scene. Then it becomes clear that while none of the characters are strangers, in most cases their connections aren't meaningful. In other words their time together has no bearing on the central story, it's merely background fluff, included because Brackett could do so. This inefficiency is actually kind of irritating because it's a scam, the film is purporting to be more than it is. That's why The Long Goodbye is ultimately deeply unsatisfying, a real disappointment.
So, in all honesty, the film cannot be considered to be a murder thriller or even a competent detective story. Instead it's better to approach it as a mood piece, an intangible suggestion of a time and a place. This is where Altman's direction takes you, his layered and convoluted scenes reminiscent of Nashville. Unfortunately, in this instance his work is lazy and the characters stereotypical; the subtle complexity that Altman's capable of just isn't in evidence. You don't wind up caring for anyone in The Long Goodbye, not even Marlowe, because Altman's over-emphasis on atmosphere keeps the players superficial.
Despite this the cast performances are generally reasonable, though not outstanding. Elliott Gould, as Philip Marlowe, hits the right weary demeanour but plays too dumb to be a good detective (at any rate, the script is never complex enough to demonstrate his smarts, which amounts to much the same thing). In this world Marlowe's eccentric values have little meaning, unlike in the private eye's other movies, but then again his moral code is barely noticeable. The other strong male roles, animated by Sterling Hayden (garrulous Roger Wade) and Mark Rydell (sadistic Marty Augustine), are also worthy of credit. The blow to equality comes with the female parts, every one weak and worthless.
Technically, Vilmos Zsigmond's photography is inventive. Constructing shots via the use of mirrors and panes of glass, he superimposes characters to hint at their unspoken connection. John Williams' score is also notable, though not for its variety. No, it's the fact that his title song gets performed throughout the film in a variety of different styles; an effective, if blunt, way to demonstrate how deeply ensnared Marlowe becomes. What's more intriguing though is that Brackett also worked on Howard Hawk's The Big Sleep, an altogether more faithful rendering of a Chandler novel. Why the difference in treatment? Maybe her need to drag Marlowe into the '70s in the service of Altman's desire to reinterpret the genre; a laudable if ultimately unproductive ambition.
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