The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
(1948)
My subconscious must have driven me to this as the source of much of the Bolivia section of last week's Butch Cassidy, something my conscious had never noticed before: wizened old codger taking the two greenhorns up the mountain, the dynamics of the bandit band, the sharp-eyed village boy noticing the brand on the hoofed beast.
Something else new to me this severalth screening of this magnificent film: maybe it's just having seen Joan Collins on the screen last weekend, but I decided this time around that Tim Holt is not nearly as bad an actor as I've always considered him. He's still a distant third here to Bogart and Huston père, but he's probably as good as Huston fils in front of the camera. And speaking of John, seeing him briefly in this and seeing Nicholson last week in Cuckoo's Nest makes me a little hungry for Chinatown.
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