The sixth part in a series of eleven book reviews.
From the 1930s to the 1950s Raymond Chandler penned a stylish collection of short stories and novels within the crime fiction genre.
Over the coming months I’m rereading his work and writing reviews. More details about the who, what and why are explained here in part one.
Review Number: 11 (6 in Chandler series)
Review Date: 6 December 2015
Title: Farewell, My Lovely
Author: Raymond Chandler
Country: United States
Publication Date: 1940
Genre: Crime Fiction
“I understand you are a private detective?”
“Yes.”
“I think you are a very stupid person. You look stupid. You are in a stupid business. And you came here on a stupid mission.”
“I get it,” I said. “I’m stupid. It sank in after a while.”
After delivering a stunning debut novel, Raymond Chandler did it again with a superb second one.
It’s hard to say which is better. It depends on what you generally prefer in life or even your mood at the time. Where his debut The Big Sleep is cool and elegant, Farewell, My Lovely is lively and witty. Either way, Chandler proved his style of crime fiction was here to stay.
The opening page is down on the street and grabs the attention:
He wore a shaggy borsalino hat, a rough gray sports coat with white golf balls on it for buttons, a brown shirt, a yellow tie, pleated gray flannel slacks and alligator shoes with white explosions on the toes. From his outer breast pocket cascaded a show handkerchief of the same brilliant yellow as his tie. There were a couple of colored feathers tucked into the band of his hat, but he didn’t really need them. Even on Central Avenue, not the quietest dressed street in the world, he looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.
This is Moose Malloy, a giant of a man, who is looking for his ex-girlfriend Velma Valento. A long stretch in prison hasn’t dampened his spirits. And a chance encounter with detective Philip Marlowe means the plot is up and running. Find Velma – sounds simple. It isn’t.
Marlowe, as always, gets into a lot of trouble, and that’s part of his charm. Chandler was astute enough to ensure he was never invincible. He can be beaten. He’s not the toughest or smartest in every scenario. But his tenacity and sense of humour are second to none.
The book is very entertaining. Never a dull moment and lines like this prove that point:
I was still swearing when there was a sharp tap at the door, the kind of bossy knock that makes you want to open the door two inches, emit the succulent raspberry and slam it again.
Because he’d written a great novel, the world of cinema quickly cottoned on and there have been three film versions.
The 1942 movie The Falcon Takes Over doesn’t use the character Marlowe, but simply copies the plot. It’s not very good and doesn’t capture the spirit of Chandler’s work at all.
Murder, My Sweet, released in 1944, is better. Dick Powell, an ex-crooner, acted the Marlowe role. He was quite good and ensured the detective was a quick-witted character. However, it’s not a great film. Just a competent telling of the tale. Not sure why they changed the film’s title. Maybe someone got a thesaurus for their birthday.
The best is the 1975 one, which finally uses the right title Farewell, My Lovely. The director, Dick Richards, and his crew, did a brilliant job of getting the novel’s mood and the feeling for the 1940s just right. It starred Robert Mitchum as Marlowe and you have to hand it to the guy, he understood the role perfectly. He got the toughness and wit down to a tee. He was even better than Humphrey Bogart.
Chandler wasn’t around for the 1975 version, but long before he said that his ideal Marlowe was Cary Grant. Chandler was an anglophile, which probably played a part in that choice. Grant would have been interesting – debonair and witty for sure, but I’m not sure if he was ‘tough’ enough.
All these movies, whether good or indifferent, relied on Chandler’s brains and originality. Some people deliver one great book and then fade away. But he didn’t.
Farewell, My Lovely is a fine work of American crime fiction that depicted a Los Angeles that is probably the same today. A city of violence, blackmailers and those trying to forget the past and reinvent themselves.
“Most men are just lousy animals,” she said. “In fact it’s a pretty lousy world, if you ask me.”
