In the wake of Hurricane Milton and its destruction, Florida Man is going light today. This is just for fun.
I’m re-reading “The Thin Man” by Dashiell Hammett. At least I think I’m re-reading it but maybe I’m just remembering the 1934 movie staring William Powell as retired detective Nick Charles and Myrna Loy as his wealthy wife Nora.
The movie is now called a “cozy” which means it was a crime story but not like the noir movies of the day that had more violence but not more booze and cigarettes.
As I remember the movie it had no serious violence but then my memory isn’t that great.
Hammett’s usual style was hard-boiled detective novels like the “The Maltese Falcon” and serious short stories. And like his contemporaries, Raymond Chandler and Hemingway, his writing was gritty and lean.
Not so in Thin Man which is breezy, conversational and witty if still crisp.
He even gave Nick and Nora a dog named Asta, a wire fox terrier whose name appears often in crosswords.
Asta reminds me of a dog I had once named Rocky. He was a yappy terrier who didn’t like me for some reason because I’m very likable, but I didn’t like him either.
Nevertheless, here’s my take on the Thin Man style.
Scene: The Charles’ suite in New York City.
It is bigger than most houses and has 1930s decor.
Time: Noonish, the time Nick usually wakes up from his day and night of drinking.
“Nora, my head is throbbing. I need a drink and a cigarette,” he cries.
Nora appears moments later with a pitcher of tequila an a pack of Luckys.
“Thanks this will help,” Nick says before chugging from the pitcher and lighting up.
“Order some breakfast from room service will ya. Tell them to send up everything the’ve got.”
“Okay,” she says. “Get dressed, we have company and don’t forget that 3Js was found dead last night and the family wants you on the case.”
“I’m retired remember. I’m not doing the detective thing anymore,” Nick says.”But if they beg me maybe I’ll reconsider.”
“No begging so far,” Nora says, “Hang on and I’ll get you another drink.”
Nick slips into his slippers, puts on a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts and heads for the parlor.
The room is filled with people from South America, France, Germany and the Bronx.
The Rockefeller’s, Happy and Nelson, are at the piano. She is playing show tunes and he is adjusting his bow tie. Nick gives them the thumbs up.
Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig are swinging bats too near the Ming vases. Nick tries to get there attention but they’re being entertained by Abbott and Costello doing their “Who’s On First“ routine. Nick asks who plays third. “I don’t know,” Costello answers.
“I’ve got to mingle,” he tells Nora. “and I need another drink.” As he sidles up to John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur she hands him a pitcher of rum and a Coke.
Nick isn’t bashful. “Can I get one of those genius grants you guys give out. “After all I’m a genius in my speciality.“
“Who are you? Catherine T. asks and turns to talk with Andrew Carnegie.
The doorbell rings and Nora answers.
“Nick, it’s detective Frank Colombo. He wants to talk about 3Js,” Nora says.
Colombo slouches across the room and wastes no time. “Let’s get down to cases,” he says, “but first how about a couple of slugs of that rum.”
Nick hands him the pitcher. “I don’t have any cases,” he says.
“Oh yes you do,” Colombo says as he puts a match to Cuban cigar, an El Rey del Mundo. “I don’t want to come down on you too hard but I need your help.”
Nick acquieses and they get down to cases.
That’s pretty much how it goes. Of course Nick solves the case in the next 200 pages while he consumes a case of booze and two cartons of Luckys.
On the last page he and Nora celebrate by giving Asta a bowl of caviar while they sip from a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild.
I was thinking of a new career as a screen writer, but there are too many quotation marks for me. That may also be why I never wrote the great American novel.
