The Treasure of the Sierra Madre LaserDisc does justice to Ted McCord's photography, except the picture bounces around a bit much in places.

Madre is a film I have known for a long time. I can't remember when or where I first saw it. It's the kind of film I like very much because even though it is a "type" of film — a little off genre perhaps — it is so accessible that anybody can enter into the world that it creates. And what a world! Looking at it again now, it is difficult to imagine how the opening reels of John Huston's film depicting Humphrey Bogart as a down and outer in a Mexican town must have struck audiences back in 1948. They had never seen Bogart in a role like this, and the only time they were ever taken "South of the Border" was usually through the magic of make believe and your standard Hollywood imaginings of what it looked like "down there."

But in this film, with its extensive location shooting, the viewer is roped into the easy ambiance of the Mexican milieu with surprising agility. I don't normally go for westerns or adventure pictures. The formulaic "good guy vs. bad guy" plots don't immediately trigger interest for me. What is different here is that this story involves a struggle against the elements; the conflict arises when greed invades the soul of one of the heroes of the piece.

But what makes it accessible to so many people, young and old, male and female, is that the picture speaks with such authority that you buy into it whether you've never held a shovel in your life, or whether you dig for a living.

© 1949 Turner Entertainment Co.

I have this theory called "The National Geographic Phenomenon." It works like this: When you are growing up, you read about the big, wonderful world in the pages of National Geographic. As you get older, perhaps you visit some of these places. Then, National Geographic does an article on someplace you have actually been to. After reading it, you say to yourself, "They totally missed it! It doesn't look like that at all!" The Treasure of the Sierra Madre skoots past this problem. Even if you have been to Mexico — no, especially if you have been to Mexico — it strikes you as being exactly right. They captured it perfectly.

This is especially impressive to me in the opening section. The introduction of Bogart's Dobbs character wandering through the streets, the barrooms, the plaza and the flophouses, is done with economy and striking visuals. Here, perhaps for the first time in a Hollywood movie, Mexicans speak Spanish. And they continue to speak Spanish. They don't speak Spanish when they are supposed to be threatening and "alien" and then conveniently break into English when no Anglos are around and they are talking about something the audience needs to know about. Think about it. Mexicans speaking Spanish. As a matter of course. It is a very modern notion to do it this way. This honoring of the reality of the locale of the picture adds to the authoritative voice of the film. I think the film captures you because it pulls no punches. It sounds like a story being told by someone who knows what they are talking about.

And where did this authority come from? From the book written by B. Traven. John Huston nearly always turned to novels when thinking up picture projects, and Madre, first published in 1934, was one of his favorites. Huston, who served in the Signal Corps during World War II, wanted to make Madre in 1941, after finishing The Maltese Falcon. There was something in the story which profoundly appealed to Huston, who, during an extremely restless youth, had actually been an officer in the Mexican army. In the Signal Corps., he directed a number of documentaries shot during battles.

Huston got a late start returning to picture making after the war. He spent 1945 and 1946 making a documentary for the Army which was called Let There Be Light about the effort to treat emotionally damaged soldiers returning from the war. The Army shelved it after it was finished; it has only recently been released.

So Huston had had lots of time to consider how to adapt Madre to the screen. Working at Warner Bros., he approached producer Henry Blanke, who had been working on "A" pictures there since 1930. Blanke was able to convince the studio to allow them to go to Mexico to shoot, which was simply unheard of in 1947. Huston was especially excited because he had been in correspondence with B. Traven, who was known as a notorious recluse who never gave interviews and lived in an obscure Mexican village. Huston wanted to have Traven on hand for the shooting. Traven wrote to Huston saying that he couldn't possibly attend, but that he would send a trusted aide named Hal Croves, who would have the authority to answer any questions Huston might have.

Croves gave Huston many notes regarding the script. He was there during the whole time the crew was shooting in Mexico. They shot in Tampico, in Veracruz State for the town scenes. Then the company moved to the small village of Jungapeo, in Michoaca, for the scenes in the village and the mountains. It was only after they finished the picture did Huston come to the conclusion that Hal Croves was probably Traven himself, who, it turned out, used "Traven" as one of his pseudonyms; some say his real name was Otto Feige, others suggested that Traven was a pair or writers working under the one name.

Without going into a dull recitation of the story, the picture is a steady succession of great scenes. A pal of mine recently remarked, "When I hear the Max Steiner theme for this picture I know what I'm going to be doing for the next two hours! Or at least I watch it 'till Walter Huston dances!" It is true enough. The film draws you in so quickly and completely, even if you don't usually go in for this type of story. Huston had read a letter Traven had written to another director who was considering making a film of one of his stories. In this letter, Traven suggested that the film should be primarily visual in order to emphasize the processes of the natural life of the land and the passage of time. Huston obviously was in tune with this notion.

But the film really belongs to the great Walter Huston as Howard. There is something in this performance that goes beyond merely inhabiting a character. The Hustons - father and son - are so in tune to this character, the dialogue is so perfect, the turns of phrase so right that Howard instantly becomes the grandfather of all screen old-timers. Howard is the guy we all want to be. Wise and experienced, agreeable, but who knows what he is about. The incredible series of events which "happen" to the characters are all handled by Howard with a consistency and adherence to a moral "code" that we all take a lesson from.

In John Huston's autobography, An Open Book, he tells a story of how, in 1937, after years of planning, his father had mounted and played the lead in a production of Othello on Broadway. Walter was exhultant after the performance, which everyone thought went very well. When the terrible reviews were printed the next day, John approached his father's hotel room and heard the sound of Walter's laughter coming from within. He figured that he was about to ruin his dad's good humor by showing him the notices. Upon entering, he saw the morning papers strewn about the room — Walter had already read them. He was laughing at all the work and sweat he had put into the production, only to have the critics pan it. The show closed after only a few performances. Sound familiar?

In this day and age of the special-effect rollercoaster movie, I was talking to a fellow film buff who complained that he couldn't get his young kids to watch anything that was filmed in black-and-white. I asked him if he had shown them The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. He said that he had. "They loved it!" And this, I think, is what makes this film one of the greats. It just doesn't matter who you are, it just ropes you in.

3.27.01