Robert Altman jettisons most of Raymond Chandler's sinister post-World War II ambiance for the more insidious banalities to be found in the daily life of the early 1970's. Many of the twisting complexities of the plot are ignored also (see the DVD's special features interviews for greater insight). The remaining shreds of the Chandler story leave the viewer with a gaggle of corrupt, near-corrupt, and aimless searching souls who inhabit Los Angeles and its general vicinity.
But Marlowe is still stuck with finding out where a more than slightly deranged novelist is located, and where a pile of cash belonging to a decidedly sadistic hoodlum has gone, and who murdered the wife of his best friend, Terry Lennox. Perhaps most pressing of all, for this Marlowe, is tracking down and grabbing as many cans as possible of the right brand of pet food for his finicky cat.
Altman is in full re-invention mode here, turning a classic crime novel that searches for truth and justice through its careworn but noble sleuth into a laid back character study that plumbs the depths of our hero's righteous resolve. Since the focus has been turned fully on Marlowe's actions and reactions within his murky occupational world, its left to the actor playing the part to pull an engaging performance, a counter cultural rabbit if you will, out of his hat.
Abracadabra! Elliot Gould's loose-limbed, chain-smoking, cat-loving gumshoe seems more like a hapless victim of circumstance than the determined detective who attempts to pull it all together in the end. He's mostly off-balance and confused. And even though he declares near the film's conclusion that "I didn't solve anything", this Marlowe knows who done it. Gould is very amusing and entertaining as the private investigator. He isn't the best Marlowe ever (Dick Powell gets the prize for his surprising turn in 1944's MURDER, MY SWEET, with Bogart coming in a very strong second in the 1946 version of THE BIG SLEEP), but Gould is refreshingly different (a trench coat in Southern California?- no way, man).
He's an improvise-as-you-go p.i. who probably would have been plowed under in late 1940's America (no, he isn't as tough as Powell or Bogart) but is ideally suited for the slippery ethos of the 1970's. Altman's ultra relaxed approach nudges the characters at the viewer who in turn push their flaws and foibles at us with intriguing results. Megastar alert: keep your eyes open for an unaccredited muscle-bound newcomer who makes a brief appearance, and whose name would shortly be on the lips of millions of moviegoers as well as quite a few Hollywood executives.
But Marlowe is still stuck with finding out where a more than slightly deranged novelist is located, and where a pile of cash belonging to a decidedly sadistic hoodlum has gone, and who murdered the wife of his best friend, Terry Lennox. Perhaps most pressing of all, for this Marlowe, is tracking down and grabbing as many cans as possible of the right brand of pet food for his finicky cat.
Altman is in full re-invention mode here, turning a classic crime novel that searches for truth and justice through its careworn but noble sleuth into a laid back character study that plumbs the depths of our hero's righteous resolve. Since the focus has been turned fully on Marlowe's actions and reactions within his murky occupational world, its left to the actor playing the part to pull an engaging performance, a counter cultural rabbit if you will, out of his hat.
Abracadabra! Elliot Gould's loose-limbed, chain-smoking, cat-loving gumshoe seems more like a hapless victim of circumstance than the determined detective who attempts to pull it all together in the end. He's mostly off-balance and confused. And even though he declares near the film's conclusion that "I didn't solve anything", this Marlowe knows who done it. Gould is very amusing and entertaining as the private investigator. He isn't the best Marlowe ever (Dick Powell gets the prize for his surprising turn in 1944's MURDER, MY SWEET, with Bogart coming in a very strong second in the 1946 version of THE BIG SLEEP), but Gould is refreshingly different (a trench coat in Southern California?- no way, man).
He's an improvise-as-you-go p.i. who probably would have been plowed under in late 1940's America (no, he isn't as tough as Powell or Bogart) but is ideally suited for the slippery ethos of the 1970's. Altman's ultra relaxed approach nudges the characters at the viewer who in turn push their flaws and foibles at us with intriguing results. Megastar alert: keep your eyes open for an unaccredited muscle-bound newcomer who makes a brief appearance, and whose name would shortly be on the lips of millions of moviegoers as well as quite a few Hollywood executives.