Raymond Chandler's classic pulp gumshoe gets a murky new case with the requisite seedy characters but mere slivers of excitement. Marlowe has every tenet of crime noir yet inexplicably lacks a pulse. Dyed-blonde dames, gruff cops in fedoras, barrels of whiskey, and enough cigarettes to start a tobacco plantation abound to no avail. The mystery never grabs you despite leaving a fair amount of carnage in its wake. A venerated cast does an able job but fails to resonate. The film is a textbook example of style trumping substance.
