“Poor Bogie.” Those were my first thoughts on that gloomy Tuesday afternoon when the Hollywood sign must have lost its balance, if just for a moment. The great Lauren Bacall has died at the age of 89, and despite my love for and devotion to this hypnotic talent and beauty of a woman, I felt immediate heartache for her husband, who died 57 years ago. My benevolent concern for Mr. Humphrey Bogart and his new status as a widower was momentary, and as I realized Bogie was probably okay with the situation, I was able to smile on an afternoon when, frankly, I feared I was about to break my “no crying at work” rule. I’ve trained myself pretty well – the dam was up and held steadily as I gathered together my meager belongings and took off a few minutes early to . . . oh, I don’t know . . . bake a cake for Bogart. I had some leftover matzo ball soup in the fridge that’s always better the next day; maybe he would enjoy that.
A dinner night with me is a surefire way to go home with at least one old movie recommendation. I’m delighted when the next dinner comes around and friends admit to me that they never knew so many lines came from Casablanca (1942). Other text messages arrive during their first viewing of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), shocked and disturbed that a black-and-white film could go to such dark and evil levels of the human psyche. Some are tickled more by “As Time Goes By” than by dead rats on a silver platter; others just the opposite, and I’m grateful for all the schmaltzy saps and sickos who invite me to dine with them.
On many a dinner I’ve made the pitch for Dark Passage (1947) as much I have for The Lion in Winter (1968) or All About Eve (1950), but I don’t believe I’ve succeeded yet in making a sale. I remember watching an interview with someone who described Bogie and Bacall’s third movie together as, “not a great film but a good film.” Perhaps one of the first times a movie audience witnessed a woman rescuing a man (who else but Lauren Bacall?), Dark Passage follows the journey of an escaped convict and those who help him on his odyssey out of San Francisco. True, I’m not holding a grudge against the Academy for ignoring this one, and it’s not a film you want to watch with that person in your life who moans “Oh, yeah right!” (you just thought of a name, didn’t you?). But trust me, a classic doesn’t have to be an upturned nose of a “Claaaaassic,” and if DVDs wear out from being overplayed, soon I’ll have to buy a new copy of this one.
A treacherous little filming technique at the time, the first hour of Dark Passage is shot almost completely from Humphrey Bogart’s point of view, allowing us to see Lauren Bacall just as he sees her. His hands become ours, as we light her cigarette from across the table; we hide behind her in an elevator, just a few inches from her face; when we all wake up after hiking the hills and staircases of the San Francisco streets, her masterpiece of a face is the first to come into focus. Here we enjoy Bacall as we always have and always will, but we’re also granted the privilege of seeing her through Bogie’s eyes, and, if only for a moment, loving her with Bogie’s love. As the fog of sadness began to lift last night, Dark Passage became the very cake and soup that I felt Bogie so desperately needed.
Thank you, Betty Perske. Thank you, Lauren Bacall. We’re so grateful that the two of you met.