The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
Why is it that a movie's audience members can see often trouble brewing amile away that the characters can't see until it comes up and gives them a faintly suggestive jackhammer enema?
From the second this John Huston film opens, Fred C. Dobbs (Humphrey Bogart) scuttles around Tampeco, Mexico, with the word "dickhead" tatooed on his forehead as though a local rancher had branded it there. In the opening he nearly assaults a Mexican boy (Robert Blake) for trying to sell him a lottery ticket and from there it's just a matter of waiting for Fred C. Dobbs to get what's coming to him.
If only the other characters in the film would have just put him down early instead of standing around like absolute morons waiting for God to make Dobbs into something he could never be. It's like waiting for "Hamlet" to end, waiting for "Godzilla" to turn a profit or waiting for "Spice World" to get to the theme. Two guys, Howard (Walter Huston) and Curtin (Tim Holt), go off with Dobbs to prospect for gold, only to watch Dobbs -- surprise! -- reveal himself to be a greedy, suspicious bastard.
If they had only been normal people, Howard and Curtin would have made like Southern schoolboys and shot Dobbs in the face at the first sign of a problem. In fact, this should have happened about a half minute into the movie.
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