Review of Hammett (1982) by Eric B — 12 Nov 2011

By all accounts, "Hammett" was a troubled project. Rumors abound that producer Francis Ford Coppola re-shot much of credited director Wim Wenders' footage and, indeed, the filmmaking leans more toward Coppola's style. A favored Coppola actor (Frederic Forrest, who already had appeared in "One from the Heart," "Apocalypse Now" and "The Conversation") stars, and the sets' obvious, studio-lot falseness is more of a Coppola trait. Wenders' icy introspection is tempered, while Coppola's proven knack for the classic crime drama thrives. Really, the only moment which screams "Wenders!" is an esoteric Samuel Fuller cameo.

"Hammett" is essentially a film-noir pastiche -- it's difficult to produce a contemporary piece like this which doesn't seem like just an arch exercise. The script visits the legendary Dashiell Hammett as a younger, struggling writer, and imagines him returning to the detective beat (he worked for the Pinkerton Agency prior to attaining literary fame). Recruited by an old chum (Peter Boyle) to help find an exotic prostitute missing in Chinatown, Hammett enlists his implausibly gorgeous neighbor (Marilu Henner) to play Girl Friday as he matches wits with colorful actors including Jack Nance ("Eraserhead" and other David Lynch works), David Patrick Kelly (whose strangled voice is an interesting counterpart to his iconic "Come out to play-yi-yay" taunt from "The Warriors"), Roy Kinnear and a few old-timers from film noir's heyday (the scene with Sylvia Sidney is especially good). Multiple genre cliches are affectionately trotted out -- the trenchcoats, the cigarettes, the Venetian blinds, the clattering typewriters, the alleys, the pool halls, the gambling parlor, the clattering typewriters, the shadowy stalkers, the apartment trashed in a futile search, the gun pointed through a pocket -- as Hammett pursues both the lost girl and an overdue manuscript which he has foolishly dropped.

A good ending helps salvage a film which otherwise can seem like a pointless tribute. John Barry adds an appropriately swanky score, and two fantasy sequences give Wenders/Coppola a further chance to indulge themselves. "Hammett" is no masterpiece, but its "flop" reputation is unfair.