First off, let me admit that I jumped the gun getting to Huston’s war documentaries before covering 1942’s Across the Pacific. But I’m kind of glad I did, because it provides a nice break between Let There Be Light and Treasure of the Sierra Madre—two very intense films.

Pacific is much lighter and a lot of fun. It reunites three stars from The Maltese Falcon—Bogie, Mary Astor, and Sydney Greenstreet—all playing the roles we love them in. Bogie is Rick Leland, an undercover Army agent trailing Japanese sympathizer Dr. Lorenz (Greenstreet), who’s intent on bombing the Panama Canal. Aboard the Genoa Maru, bound from Halifax to Panama. Along the way, they encounter a number of mysterious figures, chief among them the all-to-proud-to-be-an-American Joe Totsuiko (brilliantly played by Victor Sen Yung), a second-generation Japanese man who makes a point of showing up when he’s not wanted and talking at you like you’re old friends when he’s met you only five minutes prior.

First-time viewers will notice a lot of similarities between Pacific and Casablanca, from the exotic locations, international intrigue, and Bogart’s performance, right down to his iconic trenchcoat and fedora and even his name. But Pacific actually came out two months before Casablanca. Casablanca‘s the better film, yeah, but the spirit of high adventure is just as good–actually, better.

Huston doesn’t say much about the picture in his autobiography other than he was called away for Army duty right near the end of it, so director Vincent Sherman was called in to finish it. I won’t go into many details, but at the end of it, Bogie’s trapped in an impossible situation, and it was left to Sherman to get him out of it. His solution was haphazard, and Huston said he felt that the picture “lacked credibility” after that point, but that’s all of a scant five minutes, and the action is nevertheless fun.

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This marks the first in a series of articles looking at the films of John Huston, one of the most celebrated filmmakers of the 20^th Century and a fascinating man himself.

It seems sensible to start at the beginning, and an impressive beginning at that, with his first film, 1941’s The Maltese Falcon. So much has been written before on this film, so I’ll confine myself to some observations I had on this most recent rewatching and a few points I haven’t yet seen anyone else touch on.

Perhaps most surprising is that this was Huston’s directorial debut. Prior to Falcon he’d written screenplays, among them High Sierra, the film widely regarded as Bogart’s first big picture.

Knowing that, it’s surprising how established the film is, in that it doesn’t look like a director’s first film. Bogie’s Sam Spade is well crafted and believable, but it’s when the camera pans down to the silhouette of “Spade and Archer” that you know this is no amateur.

There are more than a few transitions like this—the spinning tire of the police car also comes to mind—but it never feels overdone. Many first-time directors would be too eager to show off, often to the detriment of the film, but while Falcon certainly has its share of complicated shots, they’re all made to serve the scene rather than the filmmaker.

So many mysteries inhabit the film, and they all come from the characters. Each one harbors a sordid past that’s only suggested. For all the questions surrounding it, we know much more about the flacon itself than we do the people surrounding it.

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