Hawks in fine form, Bogart in classic form, and Bacall introducing her sultry self. An all-time classic, just not a personal fave of mine. Maybe one of the greatest screenplays written, but we probably owe most of it to Chandler’s genius. Film’s like these, meaning those so universally loved, make it extremely difficult to take a new spin when so much has already been written. If I noticed something new this time around it’s Hawks’ use of subtle tracking shots across interior spaces, complimenting Marlowe’s constantly evolving, fluid approach toward the investigation.