Just a few days ago, I caught this interview by Clive Owen, reflecting on his acting career. Scrolling through the interview, mostly listening for the films I knew best, I came upon the ending of the video. He discussed getting the offer for a new tv series, Monsieur Spade. Turns out, they were looking for someone to play Sam Spade, the detective featured in the all-time classic, The Maltese Falcon. He described picking up the phone, and being pitched the concept of Sam Spade in his later years. As it so happens, throughout the phone call, he’s looking at his Maltese Falcon poster hanging on the wall. Obviously, he took the job.
That detail alone sold me on watching the series. Now, today’s newsletter isn’t a review for Monsieur Spade featuring Clive Owen, although I’d recommend it. It has some beautiful shots and great dialogue. I consider it time well spent, even though it takes its time too much here and there, combined with a rushed ending paradoxically.
But again, this isn’t a review. It’s all about how details sometimes act as that one puzzle piece, after which everything else falls into place. The mental picture of Clive looking at that poster told me all I had to know – he loved the source material enough to put in the work to deliver a great performance.
The same is true elsewhere. In writing the book that I told you about previously (it’s still a long way’s off), I’m reflecting on some of the self-proclaimed experts I’ve written about before and when I saw through them. A couple of moments stick out, although I should’ve noticed the many other red flags as well, and much sooner. There’s one expert who had some interesting stuff to teach, so that after a few months I’d picked up almost every course he ever made. In one course, he talked of having to speak on stage, knowing Trump would be there too – this was in the years before he’d become the polarizing former president we all know him as today.
The expert wanted to do a business deal with Trump. Given what we know today, this probably happened many, many years ago. He knew he’d only see him privately for a brief moment, so he took his time, wrote up his pitch in a sales letter, and tucked the envelope inside his jacket pocket. Upon meeting him, he would hand him the envelope. Waiting to go on stage, the expert kept checking his watch, growing impatient, Trump nowhere in sight. Then Trump finally got there, too late. The expert greeted him, but kept the envelope inside his jacket, deciding he wouldn’t go into business with him. His reasoning went something along the lines of, ‘If he can’t be trusted to get here on time, he can’t be trusted to do business with.’
If this was the end of the story, I’d be rooting for the expert. But the expert’s as machiavellian as they come. He knows Trump isn’t to be trusted, but he knows his audience is mostly right wing and worships the man. In the eyes of our expert, that’s nothing more than a vulnerability to be exploited, so he’ll mention his name here and there when illustrating a larger point. The expert has repeated many of his various stories throughout the years, but he only told that negative Trump story once as far as I know, and never again afterwards. Telling, isn’t it? But who knows – perhaps that whole story is made up. Its individual component parts seem believable enough, but when it comes to these so-called experts, we’d all be better off not believing a single word coming out of their mouths.
In some regard, we can all learn a lot from Sam Spade, private detective. Be careful of who you trust. Mind the details. And get yourself a fedora.
Kind regards
Vincent J. Dancet