The Key to Key Largo

In 1941 John Huston gave a seasoned yet still on-the-rise actor named Humphrey Bogart the starring role in Huston’s first film as a director, The Maltese Falcon. A near-perfect work, this proto film noir is one of my all-time favorites — in fact it’s difficult to imagine anyone not falling under its spell. Perfectly cast — Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre, not to mention Mary Astor as the duplicitous femme fatale, are nearly as memorable as Bogart — with a taut script and razor-sharp direction by the neophyte Huston, the film remains electrifying. Seven years later Huston and Bogart united again for Key Largo. “Electrifying” is not the first adjective that comes to mind when assessing this later work.

Until I watched it recently, I couldn’t remember the last time I crossed paths with Key Largo. (I seem to have indistinct memories of watching it far too many times on The Million Dollar Movie, the beloved New York TV program that, incredibly, aired the same film five consecutive days a week, twice nightly. Flawed prints and heartless edits to accommodate commercials notwithstanding, the show (1955-1988) provided an early and invaluable introduction to a host of Hollywood gems for a generation of Baby Boomers.)

Key Largo, adapted from a long-forgotten 1939 Maxwell Anderson play, is laden with a heavy-handed script (by Huston and future director Richard Brooks) chock full of cement-heavy declamations about freedom and personal responsibility. Bogart and his never-more-beautiful wife, Lauren Bacall, are basically supporting players in an ensemble piece that mainly unfolds in the lobby of a Florida hotel. The script, unsure if it wants to go gung-ho on post-war conscientiousness, while also shoehorning Bogart in as a later extension of his cynic-with-a-heart-of-gold character from Casablanca, is more than a bit of a mess. And Huston, who had done a commendable job moving the dialogue-heavy drama along, seems to have run out of energy or interest by the not-so-fraught-with-tension action finale.

So what makes the film compelling almost despite itself? Basically, Key Largo is a chance for some larger-than-life actors — Bogart and Bacall unfortunately not included — to go big and have great fun in the process. Lionel Barrymore as a wheelchair-bound patriarch, Claire Trevor as an alcoholic former moll, and the one and only Edward G. Robinson as Johnny Ricco, a mobster with a heart of arsenic, are having the time of their lives ACTING! Biting into their parts as if attacking a hearty slice of ham on a fulsome hoagie, these three pros are a joy to watch, each holding fast to their dramatic terrain as if daring Huston to turn the lens away from them. Obviously, Houston must have known what a rich ore of thespian gold he had struck; letting these pros do what only they could do, his behind-the-camera pleasure is palpable. (And don’t sleep on the edgy supporting performance Huston gets from Thomas Gomez, who was particularly exceptional in the, yes, electrifying Force of Evil from the same year.)

Watch Key Largo if you get the chance. It’s certainly no Maltese Falcon or The Big Sleep, let alone Casablanca, but it’s still a thrilling example of Hollywood reliables going hungrily for, and then bringing home, the goods.

Claire Trevor may not have gotten the libation she craved, but her broken bones rendition of this 1929 torch song was instrumental in grabbing her the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress.

To hear the song in its intact glory, see below. (You’re welcome.)