by Olivia Hunter Willke, Staff Writer

There is not a single scene in Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye in which private eye Philip Marlowe (Elliott Gould) does not hold a cigarette in his mouth. He is constantly puffing or striking a match on whatever surface is within reach. And almost as frequently, he speaks in a way that defies the full-throated noir “heroes'' before him. Instead of lines being read with precise gusto, they are rattled off with seemingly little filter, divulging whatever train of thought is coasting through Marlowe’s head. Philip Marlowe, the famed private eye of Raymond Chandler’s series of hardboiled novels, has been adapted to the screen numerous times. The most notable example is Humphrey Bogart in Howard Hawks’ The Big Sleep, also penned by Leigh Brackett. But no portrayal, before or since, has been as distinct as Gould and Altman's collaboration.

One night, after unsuccessfully trying to appease his cat with the wrong brand of food, Marlowe receives a visitor. His old friend, Terry Lennox (Jim Bouton), asks for help–he must flee the country to Mexico. Marlowe obliges and drives him to the border, but upon returning, is met by two detectives who suspect Lennox of murdering his wife, Sylvia. Marlowe refuses to believe this, and after fruitless questioning and a three-day stay in jail, he is released. The police have been informed that Lennox has committed suicide in Mexico. An open-and-shut case to the detectives is anything but to Marlowe, who is now left with more questions than answers.

In the meantime, Marlowe is hired by Eileen Wade (Nina van Pallandt) to search for her missing husband, Roger (Sterling Hayden). Roger Wade is a towering, portly, belligerent alcoholic novelist and occasional wife-beater. His Hemingway-esque persona has proved self-destructive; suffering writer's block, he often disappears for days at a time from their Malibu home. In his investigation, Marlowe stumbles upon an unregulated private rehabilitation and detox clinic for wealthy addicts. He recovers Roger, who has been manipulated and raked over the coals by Dr. Verringer (a chilling, monotone performance by Henry Gibson), head of the shady operation. Marlowe soon incurs the wrath of Marty Augustine (Mark Rydell), a gangster who requests the money that Lennox owes him be returned, and proves he means business by maiming his own mistress with a glass Coke bottle. As Marlowe continues to keep the company of the Wades, he witnesses the suicide of Roger. In a drunken stupor, Roger walks into the sea and, before he is able to be rescued, drowns. Amidst the police questioning in the aftermath, Eileen confesses that Roger was having an affair with Sylvia and may have killed her, but Roger’s time in the clinic is a strong alibi.

All of this is captured not in the deep dark shadows of classic noir, but in hazy light. The film basks in exposure, overwhelming you with it. Window glares and bodies roaming, searching within unostentatious but beautifully precise, wide framing. Ever-present dread hangs in the smoky sun-drenched air. Everything is displayed from all angles, overlaid on top of each other to reveal the depth of idiosyncrasy in narrative and themes. The intricacies are not hidden, they are presented in plain sight, for you to stumble upon in the soft-hued flickers of the moving image. The camera responds to every movement of its subjects, not frantic but hovering, voyeuristic. Altman achieved this by having the camera in constant gentle motion, on a dolly, countering the actions of the characters. Counterintuitive to noir's use of intense lowlighting, cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond honed the aesthetic by “flashing” the film, a technique exposing the undeveloped negative to light, which softens color to a pastel hue and washes shadow. It gives the film a nostalgic look, that of an old postcard you find buried in a box in the attic. It also lends a haunting feeling, the frustration of searching for something you know is visible but failing to catch your eye.

As Marlowe faces a dire confrontation with Marty Augustine, the money owed is suddenly and mysteriously returned, letting Marlowe off the hook. As he leaves the intimidating encounter, he catches sight of Eileen driving away with the top down in her Mercedes-Benz convertible. He chases after her but is struck by a car and loses consciousness, the cigarette between his lips managing to stay in place as his body is flung onto the pavement. He wakes up in the hospital and promptly leaves after being given a harmonica by the heavily-bandaged patient in the next bed. Returning to Malibu, he discovers the house being packed up by a real-estate company and Eileen is nowhere to be found. So, he makes a trip to Mexico and after a bribe, Mexican officials reveal that Terry Lennox is still alive. They were paid off to corroborate the suicide and give refuge to Lennox in a Mexican villa. Marlowe finds and confronts Terry, who admits that he killed Sylvia after she discovered his affair with Eileen. Terry shows no remorse, even gloating that Marlowe fell for his manipulation, but integrity is found at the end of Marlowe’s gun as he shoots and kills his former friend. Marlowe saunters down a dirt road away from the villa and passes Eileen on her way to meet Terry. As she drives toward her murdered lover, Marlowe retrieves the harmonica from his pocket and whistles a tune as he skips down the lane.

Where traditional noir often stews in silent shadow, Goodbye revels not only in light, but also noise. For as solitary as Goodbye can feel, there is almost always a cacophony of auditory chaos. People talking over each other, waves crashing, tires squealing. Not to mention the song, The Long Goodbye, composed by John Williams and Johnny Mercer, meant to lampoon the original songs used ostentatiously in Hollywood studio films at the time. The use of John Williams’ composition is playfully tongue-in-cheek, allowing for both diegetic and non-diegetic experimentation. Bits and pieces, different arrangements, turning over and over; on the radio, PA system, as the doorbell to one of the swanky mid-century modern pads, a hippie chant, layered over any given scene. It takes on different tones as the film does, adapting to it, as Philip Marlowe does to his surroundings.

Altman’s distinct tinges of absurdity work well with (or rather, against...) Marlowe. The ease with which everything is approached, by Marlowe as a character and within Altman’s direction, makes the few sudden bursts of shocking violence all the more stomach-turning. As deceitful as the inhabitants of The Long Goodbye's realm are, there is little (if any) judgment cast upon them by Altman. Everyone besides Marlowe is attached, parasitic entities all feeding off of each other’s pain and weakness. People in this world are bought and paid for, manipulated, lied to, thrown away, used as pawns. They exist this way naturally, born from the circumstances of their social environment. It is within this mode of operation that they have found survival, until the accumulation of their discrepancies become too much to bear. They are not evil, and Marlowe isn't righteous, they simply coincide in an existence that has bled them dry of all hope for a future that isn't actively caving in around them. An outlier, Marlowe somehow takes everything in stride, lighting a cigarette and mumbling to himself as he walks away. And walks away, walks away, walks away. Not to be mistaken for an escape, Philip Marlowe is always in as much control as possible within the chaotic, puzzling situation he has been thrust into. A situation that continually collapses on top of him.

The film also presaged the developments of the Reagan era. The treatment Roger Wade receives at the clinic, in particular, is a haunting omen of what was soon to come. The closure of government-regulated mental facilities in favor of privately-owned alternatives led to massive corruption, the sharp decline of resources and quality care for the poor, and a surge in homelessness (of which we are still suffering the consequences today). The Long Goodbye depicts institutions of marriage, police, and healthcare, all operating under the veil of optimism–they promise a future where safety, happiness, and health are possible. But instead, these institutions trap us, continually force-feeding this lie until our stomach bloats and our body aches and we tear the chains away, no longer caring who is hurt in the process of attaining individual freedom. The prescience of the film can be summed up in a few words: the systems in place are not meant to protect or help you, they will let you drown, and no one will reach for your extended hand as the current washes over your head. And yet, the character of Philip Marlowe is a beacon of hope, an aimless soul with a strong moral compass. A man concerned with truth and justice, but not bound by it. Loneliness and the systems that enforce it may breed amorality in search of companionship in a world overrun by evil, but it doesn’t have to. The modern world is a cavernous oblivion, descend far enough and you might find a way out.