Robert Altman often referred to his version of Raymond Chandler’s illustrious gumshoe in The Long Goodbye as Rip van Marlowe. Indeed, within minutes, it’s clear that Philip Marlowe (Elliott Gould) is a man from a bygone era, as if he fell asleep as the 1940s were coming to a close and woke up with a bad hangover in the midst of early 1970s Los Angeles. In fact, it may be the only thing that’s ever crystal clear in Altman’s circuitous and beguilingly opaque neo-noir masterpiece. Everything from Marlowe’s vintage Lincoln Continental and propensity for suits and ties to his loyalty to his friends (and, of course, his cat), marks him as an outcast in a Hollywood Hills milieu now overrun with health foods, yoga and the still-lingering idealism of hippie youth, with all its naivety and narcissism on full display.
Even if cigarettes and gimlets were the PI’s vices of choice, the Marlowe of Altman’s film clearly has something of a contact high from all the marijuana smoke in the air as he stumbles through the loose plot of the film, riding the proverbial wave wherever it takes him rather than determining his own fate. Hard drinker though he was, Chandler’s Marlowe was always a sharp thinker as well as a grade-A smartass, and while Gould brilliantly exhibits a caustic wit and perfect comic timing in his sarcastic barbs, they are often mumbled under his breath, coming off as verbal asides delivered more to humor himself, or perhaps the audience, than anyone in the actual film. Whether anyone hears him or not, Marlowe lives and dies by the credo he repeats throughout the film: “It’s okay by me.”
It’s Marlowe’s devotion to his friend, Terry Lennox (Jim Bouton), that first gets him into trouble when, after driving his friend down to Tijuana, a pair of cops bust into his apartment and frame him with assaulting an officer after he won’t give up the goods on his longtime pal. This gets him into trouble not only with the cops, who soon inform him that Terry killed his wife, but with Marty Augustine (Mark Rydell), a sadistic crime boss from whom Terry stole over $300,000 before hitching a ride south of the border with Marlowe. Subsequently, Marlowe also gets involved in a case with Eileen Wade (Nina van Pallandt), who wants him to find her alcoholic author husband, Roger Wade (Sterling Hayden).
Even as these two threads—Terry’s disappearance, and supposed suicide after his wife’s murder and Roger’s disappearance, thanks to a manipulative psychiatrist, Dr. Verringer (Henry Gibson)—converge in fascinating and unexpected ways, Altman is never particularly concerned with a precise rendering of plot details. Narrative is primarily incidental in The Long Goodbye, which instead generates most of its surface pleasures from the absolutely stellar cast of character actors, whose oddball charms delight and unsettling, chaotic energy terrifies, lending the film a genuine unpredictability and narrative instability that is as thrilling as it is discomfiting.
Virtually every scene brims with an offbeat intensity, starting with the 10-minute opening, which plays out as an absurd comic routine between Marlowe and his cat. After being awoken at 3am, Marlowe heads to the grocery store, desperately looking for the one brand of cat food his orange tabby will eat, only to, after unsuccessfully locating it, spoon it into an old can as a way of tricking the cat into eating it. It’s an absolutely ridiculous way to open any film, let alone a detective story, but it’s a testament to Gould’s incredibly indelible performance—as sweet as he is jaded—that this routine not only never overstays its welcome, but remains hysterical throughout. It also instantly keys us into just how idiosyncratic this version of Marlowe is, preparing us for the onslaught of weirdos, creeps, liars and scumbags soon to come our way.
And, no doubt, this parade of outlandish Angelinos is strange—whether it’s the oddly menacing Verringer unceremoniously dressing down the much larger and more threatening Wade for his $5,000 fee or Marty suddenly smashing a coke bottle on his girlfriend’s face solely to scare the wits out of Marlowe. This strangeness, however, is even more heightened by the layer of artifice and self-awareness that Altman brings to the proceedings.
The most obvious, yet highly amusing touch, is the film’s titular theme song, playing through the opening credits, recurring diegetically throughout the film, first as muzak in a grocery store, then as the ringtone of a doorbell, on Spanish guitar in Tijuana, by a marching band during a funeral procession and several other times in various iterations. It’s a delightful touch that matches the film’s playful, ever-morphing tone, hinting at the sheer “movie-ness” of Altman’s Marlowe-in-the-‘70s fantasia.
Early in the film, when the two cops show up at Marlowe’s place and act all threatening, he says “Is this where I say ‘What is this all about?’ and he says ‘Shut up, I ask the questions.’” It’s as if Marlowe recognizes that he’s in a fictional construct, which, in some ways, explains why he so aimlessly drifts through the film, allowing it to carry him wherever he needs to be. Vilmos Zsigmond’s gorgeously hazy cinematography and roving camera further enhances the meandering nature of the whole endeavor, but the ambiguity of character motivations and plot points is part of what makes The Long Goodbye such an unusual noir. Yet, when Marlowe heads down to TJ once again at the end to finally enact some revenge for being drawn into the elaborate, labyrinthine conspiracy that dominates the film, he happily trots off into the distance as “Hooray for Hollywood” plays on the soundtrack. If Marlowe really is just a character—a version of Marlowe rather than Marlowe himself—Hollywood at least has the decency to provide him with a happy ending.
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