Film Dialogue

BRIAN WILSON

‘The rhythms of Hawks’ dialogue scenes – the dizzying speed of the comedies, the laconic saunter of the westerns, the brittle crackle of the gangster and detective films – reveal the power of his ear for dialogue.’

– Gerald Mast, Howard Hawks, Storyteller (1982: 49)

‘The only trouble was at that time sound came in, and they asked me, “What do you know about dialogue?” And I said, “I just know how people speak”.’

– Howard Hawks, interviewed by Joseph McBride (1982: 24)

Since the publication of Jacques Rivette’s ‘The Genius of Howard Hawks’ in 1953, the director’s films have received a vast amount of attention from critics and scholars. Aside from auteurist approaches from the Cahiers du cinéma critics, Robin Wood, and others, Hawks’ films have also been the subject of analyses utilising structuralist and psychological perspectives. Other writers have developed additional strategies. Gerald Mast’s Howard Hawks, Storyteller (1982) has emphasised the important role of narrative within the director’s films, while Todd McCarthy’s Howard Hawks: The Grey Fox of Hollywood (1997) has examined Hawks’ work within the context of the artist’s life. Significantly, such diverse methodologies have led to a deeper understanding of the artist and his work. But none of these studies has been entirely definitive.

The present essay is an attempt to reconcile the fact that a major element of Hawks’ cinema consistently overlooked by the critical community is the director’s particular use of dialogue. Although certain critics, including those above, have touched upon the area and yielded important insights, all too often it is mentioned only in regard to discussions of style or theme. But Hawks’ dialogue deserves further consideration. It is not, as is often implied in examinations of classical Hollywood cinema, merely a functional appendage to narrative design. Rather, it constitutes an important facet of Hawks’ work often equalling the artistic achievements of the director’s visual style.

Mast’s quote above points towards some of the major characteristics commonly associated with Hawks’ dialogue, but is also problematically rooted in the assumption that Hawks’ dialogue techniques are genre specific. In contrast, I wish to suggest that the variations in the director’s aural style are not entirely dependent upon the types of genre in which he worked. The ‘dizzying speed’ characteristic of certain of the director’s films, for instance, is found not only in the comedies, but in the adventure films and dramas as well. Similarly, the ‘brittle crackle’ Mast sees as being characteristic of Hawks’ gangster and detective films is also a major feature of the director’s work in other genres. During the course of his nearly 45-year career as a motion picture director, Hawks consistently employed dialogue to suit the demands of individual narratives, regardless of the genre in which he happened to be working at any given moment. But although Hawks’ aural style may not be entirely dictated by its relationship to genre, it is fundamentally rooted in a set of specific techniques.

Hawks’ dialogue may be loosely divided into two basic categories, both partly overlapping. On the one hand is the naturalistic quality of his aural style. Within this category can be found the underplayed, economical and restrained dialogue techniques often associated with the director’s gangster, western and adventure films. By ‘naturalistic’ I do not mean to imply that Hawks achieved the sort of dialogue realism characterising Italian neo-realist films such as Ladri di biciclette (Bicycle Thieves) (1948) or later New Hollywood films such as Easy Rider (1969) or Two-Lane Blacktop (1972). Compared to many artists operating during the classic Hollywood period, however, Hawks often resisted the overly-theatrical verbal style characterising popular cinema at that time. Particularly during the beginning of the sound era, he concentrated upon a mode of dialogue that he felt accurately reflected how people actually spoke in everyday life.

On the other hand is the highly stylised quality of the director’s dialogue. Within this category lie the techniques of rapid pacing, sharp syncopation and overlapping dialogue often associated with Hawks’ comedies. Films that fall into this category reveal his full mastery of the spoken word, often pushing the concept of classical Hollywood film dialogue to its limits. The dialogue here becomes much more than a method through which to advance narrative; rather, through a complex interplay between rhythm and structure, it feels almost like a musical instrument that Hawks uses to expressively convey the mood of specific scenes. Indeed, much of the director’s dialogue carries with it aspects of a musical quality, and the films of this category explore this quality in great detail.

The key to understanding Hawks’ dialogue comes not only from recognising the manner in which these techniques inform the director’s aural style, but also from identifying the inherent tension that exists between the two categories within which these techniques reside. Hawks’ films rarely utilise dialogue based entirely in one category or the other. Rather, they consistently operate at varying positions between the two poles of naturalism and stylisation. What follows is an attempt to illustrate how Hawks’ films employ dialogue in this manner. By drawing upon specific examples from a number of films across a variety of genres, I hope to provide new insight into the mechanics of the director’s aural style.

Although Hawks began his career in the silent cinema, the director’s greatest films did not appear until after the introduction of sound. Indeed, apart from A Girl in Every Port (1927), many of Hawks’ silent films bear little resemblance to his later work. I see this as being at least partly due to the fact that the inherent technological restrictions of silent cinema prevented Hawks from experimenting with dialogue in the manner in which he would within later masterworks such as Bringing Up Baby (1938), Only Angels Have Wings (1939) and His Girl Friday (1940), and that the dialogue contained within these works constitutes one of their greatest attributes. Unlike many major directors from the silent era who suffered following the industry’s transition to sound, Hawks managed to utilise the new technology to his benefit. His first sound film, The Dawn Patrol (1930), introduced an approach to dialogue very different from that being commonly employed at that time.

As Mast observes, ‘in The Dawn Patrol Hawks used dialogue that, in contrast to the florid ranting of most early dialogue films (Hawks calls it acting in the “Riverboat” style), seemed restrained, natural, underplayed, understated’ (1982: 48). Compared to the exaggerated and overly theatrical nature of the dialogue of Howard Hughes’ rival World War I aviation film, Hell’s Angels (1930), The Dawn Patrol featured a manner of speaking that was straightforward as well as economical. Apart from Neil Hamilton as Major Brand, whose presence in the film revealed his inability to move past a previous mode of motion picture acting, many of the actors delivered performances that seemed more realistic for the period. While certainly not comparable to the type of dialogue realism that would come to characterise the work of later directors such as Martin Scorsese or John Cassavetes during the 1960s and 1970s, both the content and intonation involved in the film’s aural style would set the standard for a more naturalistic type of dialogue throughout the opening of the sound era.

But Hawks’ contributions to early sound cinema were not initially recognised. The director notes that while making The Dawn Patrol,

I got about forty letters from the front office [First National] saying that I’d missed the chances of doing good scenes because I’d underdone them so much. I’ve saved the letters just for fun. The dialogue before that reminded you of a villain talking on a riverboat, Uncle Tom’s Cabin or something like that. They hammed it up. And I stopped them from doing that in The Dawn Patrol. They weren’t used to normal dialogue. They weren’t used to normal reading. They wanted to have somebody beat his chest and wave his arms. But when Thalberg saw the picture, he said, ‘You son of a bitch. Everybody’ll be trying to do that, and they won’t know how to do it, and we’ll get into more goddamn trouble.’ It was the biggest grossing picture of the year. And then they decided I knew dialogue. (Hawks in McBride 1982: 26)

The following scene from The Dawn Patrol illustrates Hawks’ ability to utilise this form of naturalistic dialogue to weave an intimate moment of friendship between young pilots Dick Courtney (Richard Barthelmess) and Douglas Scott (Douglas Fairbanks Jr.). After Courtney has carried the inebriated Scott to the latter’s bedroom, the two begin talking about the death of fellow pilot Ralph Hollister’s (Gardner James) best friend.

COURTNEY: Now wake up and go to bed. You’re getting heavier all the time.

SCOTT: I always did hate walking up those steps.

COURTNEY: I don’t know what you want to drink for. You get as fuzzy as an owl. Only you can’t keep your eyes open.

SCOTT: I know. I always want to sleep. [pause] What’s the matter, old son?

COURTNEY: I was thinking about Hollister.

SCOTT: I’d recommend a change of thought.

COURTNEY: That’s pretty rough, losing your best friend. You know, Machen wasn’t much older than your brother.

SCOTT: Yes. Yes, Donny’s seventeen now. Hope this mess is over by the time he gets out of school. Do you remember that time when we went up to visit him? Donny thought he was quite a man when he had that glass of beer with us.

COURTNEY: Yes, and I remember when he was a baby. Your mother let me hold him, and I dropped him on his head because he spoiled my new suit.

SCOTT: [laughs]

COURTNEY: All that seems awfully far away now. As if it had never happened. That out there is the only thing that’s real. Wouldn’t it be funny to be back there again? Imagine waking up in the morning and not having a thing to do all day but to enjoy peace and quiet. And to know absolutely that you were going to get back in your bed again that night. Silly, isn’t it?1

Even towards the end of this scene, as Courtney begins to philosophise about the nature of war and memory, Hawks never allows the dialogue to fall into melodrama. Whereas other directors may have chosen to theatrically embellish upon the emotional content of the moment, Hawks uses restraint to emphasise the close nature of the relationship between the two young pilots. Both Courtney and Scott speak with directness, utilising brief and concise sentences that flow with a conversational rhythm. Throughout the film it is the pacing of verbal exchanges such as this one, as well as the sharp syncopation of individual phrases (for example, the way in which the men respond to Brand’s orders by saying ‘Right!’), that works to make the dialogue so effective.

The naturalistic form of dialogue Hawks established in The Dawn Patrol would underline the director’s aural style throughout his career. Other films of the 1930s, including The Criminal Code (1931), Today We Live (1933) and The Road to Glory (1936), would utilise a similar verbal style. Even as late as Rio Lobo (1970), a film released during an era in which the radical young filmmakers of the New Hollywood were dismantling the artistic conventions of the studio era, Hawks continued to utilise the direct and straightforward dialogue introduced at the beginning of his career. But Hawks was also an artist who was constantly moving forward and searching for new ways to provide variations on his particular style.

Following The Dawn Patrol, many of the films containing naturalistic dialogue also began to utilise a more stylistic mode of speaking in subtle but significant ways. This included incorporating slang and other aspects of speech that may seem somewhat theatrical by today’s standards, but were actually common to the period in which Hawks worked as a director. A similar manner of speaking may be found in the work of pulp fiction writers of the time such as Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. In novels such as Hammett’s The Thin Man (1934) and Chandler’s The Big Sleep (1939), characters speak with a slick coolness often associated with many of the noir films of the 1940s. Hawks utilised this type of dialogue to great effect within his films, but always maintained its basis in believability.

The following segment from Scarface (1932) reveals this type of dialogue at work. When Tony Camonte (Paul Muni) meets Poppy (Karen Morley) on the stairs, she responds to his flirtation with coldness:

TONY: And I got myself a new house, too. Come up sometime?

POPPY: Yeah, I’ll bring my grandmother.

TONY: No kiddin’? You’ll come up?

POPPY: Why don’t you get yourself a girl, Tony?

TONY: I’m workin’ on that now.

POPPY: Yeah? Well, don’t tire yourself out.

The significance of this exchange comes from its balance between naturalistic and more stylised patterns of speech. Tony’s comments and questions appear entirely realistic, while Poppy’s responses are based in sarcasm and a verbal code that has come to be associated with gangster films of the period. Rather than responding negatively to Tony’s invitation to see his new house, Poppy facetiously tells him that she will come and bring her grandmother along as well. This type of response is not at all what one would expect in such a situation, yet Hawks makes it appear perfectly natural. The fluidity with which the characters move through their lines also contributes to the effectiveness of this exchange. Despite Poppy’s responses, Tony proceeds without hesitation. This works to both support the natural tone of the exchange and create a level of rhythm characteristic of Hawks’ aural style.

In a statement on the gangster genre in general that may also be applicable to Scarface, Sarah Kozloff notes that ‘because many of the scripts of gangster films were written by streetwise newspapermen and/or based on true accounts of criminals’ stories, some correlation between this movie dialect and actual usage undoubtedly exists’ (2000: 202). Indeed, Ben Hecht, one of the screenwriters of Scarface and an individual with whom Hawks would work over the course of several films, was among this group of ‘streetwise newspapermen’, and his influence seems clear during this passage. But Hawks did not limit this type of dialogue to his work in gangster and noir films. Rather, it constitutes an important aspect of the director’s aural style that may be seen within his films across a number of genres.

Another example of this type of dialogue can be found in the following moment from the adventure film Only Angels Have Wings. After the death of mail pilot Joe Souther (Noah Beery Jr.), Bonnie Lee (Jean Arthur) approaches Geoff Carter (Cary Grant) in search of consolation.

BONNIE: Mr. Carter. Mr. Carter. Do you really think, I mean, do you really think it was my fault what happened out there?

GEOFF: Sure it was your fault. You were gonna have dinner with him. The Dutchman hired him. I sent him up on schedule. The fog came in. A tree got in the way. All your fault. Forget it unless you want the honor.

Like the above example from Scarface, the natural and more stylised kinds of dialogue create a balance here. Bonnie assumes the straight role, asking a question that seems completely valid given the circumstances. The pauses and repetition at the beginning of her question are also naturalistic in tone. But rather than providing her a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’, Geoff’s response is both elusive and based in sarcasm. Like the above examples, the verbal exchange here is also based upon rhythm as much as content. The terse nature of Geoff’s response achieves an almost musical, sing-song quality with his use of short, syncopated sentences. As is common in Hawks’ dialogue, the individual lines are important in themselves, but it is the manner in which they function as a whole that makes the director’s aural style so effective.

But while these examples from Scarface and Only Angels Have Wings demonstrate Hawks’ blending of entirely naturalistic dialogue with a more stylised manner of speaking, certain of the director’s films contain sequences that lean much more heavily upon the latter type of dialogue. The following scene from To Have and Have Not (1944) features an exchange between Steve (Humphrey Bogart) and Slim (Lauren Bacall) that utilises Hawks’ pulp-inspired dialogue to great effect.

STEVE: How long you been away from home?

SLIM: This is about the time for it, isn’t it?

STEVE: Time for what?

SLIM: The story of my life. Where do you want me to begin?

STEVE: I got a pretty fair idea already.

SLIM: Who told you?

STEVE: You did. That slap in the face you took.

SLIM: Yeah, what about it?

STEVE: You hardly blinked an eye. It takes a lot to be able to do that. Yeah, I know a lot about you, Slim.

SLIM: The next time I get slapped, I’d better do something about it.

STEVE: Hey, you forgot your drink.

SLIM: I don’t want it.

STEVE: Who’s sore now?

SLIM: I am.

The brief and economical sentences characteristic of Hawks’ naturalistic dialogue are present here, as is the verbal rhythm between the two characters. But in this example, both Slim and Steve speak in a facetious and somewhat cynical manner that sounds as if it might be straight out of a pulp novel. There is also a tension here between the content of this exchange and the way in which both characters address such content. When Steve suggests that Slim has faced physical abuse in the past, he hints at the subject rather than being openly vocal about it. Likewise, Slim’s response is neither an admission nor a denial of this issue, but another aloof comment that keeps the conversation moving.

The type of stylistic dialogue that Hawks used as a counterpart to the more naturalistic manner of speaking within the above examples plays a much more prominent role in the director’s comedies. In films such as Bringing Up Baby, His Girl Friday, A Song is Born (1948) and I Was a Male War Bride (1949), Hawks utilises a highly stylised dialogue that relies heavily upon the techniques of rapid pacing, sharp syncopation and overlapping sentences. The tension between naturalistic and stylised dialogue as illustrated within the above examples is here, but it is used for an entirely different effect. Whereas Hawks’ non-comedic films are all based, to some degree, within reality, Hawks’ comedies are not. Their central tension emerges from a conflict between the rational and the absurd, and this is prominently reflected within the type of dialogue they contain.2

One example of this is evident in a scene from I Was a Male War Bride in which the film’s main characters, Henri (Cary Grant) and Catherine (Ann Sheridan), pause from their journey to stay the night at an inn. Henri knocks on Catherine’s door and is greeted with apprehension.

CATHERINE: Who is it?

HENRI: Cinderella.

CATHERINE: What do you want?

HENRI: My slipper.

Like those conversations between Slim and Steve in To Have and Have Not or Bonnie and Geoff in Only Angels Have Wings, the success of this exchange stems from a sincere question being answered by a facetious response. Indeed, this bit of dialogue plays much like those within the earlier examples with Catherine allowing the conversation to flow despite Henri’s lack of seriousness, but the major difference here lies in context. If Poppy’s sarcastic quips to Tony in Scarface are vaguely humorous, it is a humour that exists despite the harsh conditions of the characters’ reality. Within the world of Hawks’ comedies, however, there is a sense of safety and an assurance of future resolution. This is significant because it changes the overall effect of this type of dialogue. This exchange also contains elements of the tension between the rational and absurd that I see as a major characteristic of Hawks’ work within this genre, with Catherine’s questions representing the former and Henri’s responses representing the latter.

The following moment from Bringing Up Baby illustrates how Hawks plays upon this dynamic to a further degree.

When Susan (Katherine Hepburn) disrupts David’s (Cary Grant) golf game by attempting to take his car, he approaches her. Rather than comply, Susan somehow convinces David to help her move his car, which she proceeds to back into a tree:

DAVID: Now look what you’ve done.

SUSAN: Oh, that’s alright. I’m insured.

DAVID: I don’t care whether you’re insured or not! Look, let me drive this car.

SUSAN: Oh, it’s alright. It’s an old wreck anyway. It doesn’t matter.

DAVID: Well, you don’t understand. This is my car!