To coincide with a major restrospective of his work at the Irish Film Institute, Michael Open delves into the rogues gallery that makes up the fluent, complex and expressive cinema of John Huston.

With his immense height and his gaunt face occasionally illuminated by an enormous grin, John Huston, with his avuncular good humour, was among the most recognisable of American directors. The promised arrival of a major season of his work at the IFI to celebrate the centenary of his birth is a mouth-watering event. This article, which focuses on several of the films that, as we go to press, seem likely to be shown in the season, is our attempt to help readers get the most from it.

Man of the West
Huston, of course, had a close association with Ireland, assuming Irish citizenship in 1964 and living for much of the latter half of his life near Galway, where the National University now locates the Huston School of Film and Digital Media. For myself, I had the great pleasure to talk over the phone to Huston in October, 1984. The context was that Under the Volcano – a wonderful and desperately undervalued work – was about to be shown in the Belfast Festival, and I had discovered that one of Huston's grandchildren was working in Belfast. After a few phone calls to California, Huston agreed to tape an introduction to the film, and the audience had the privilege of listening to his brief thoughts on the film (he insisted on calling the consul a 'counsel') before announcing in his rasping, emphysemic voice that he was working on 'just one more film'.

Huston's life spanned, essentially, the middle eight decades of the twentieth century. When Huston was born in 1906 [1], his father, Walter, was already an established actor, and Huston fils found himself on the stage at the age of three. However, his parents' marriage didn't last and, by the time of the First World War, he was spending half his time with his father on the vaudeville circuit and the other half with his mother, a journalist with a passion for horse racing. After some amateur boxing, he took to the stage, and, at 19 he landed a leading part in a Broadway play and the first of five marriages.

But both acting and the marriage failed to fire his imagination and he took off for Mexico, where he enlisted as an officer in the cavalry. While in Mexico, he started his creative work writing a play (Frankie and Johnny) which, on resigning his commission, he brought back to America and had performed (by puppets!) in 1929.

Meanwhile, Huston père had been working with William Wyler, who asked John to appear in a couple of short films. But this minor work didn't challenge Huston, who turned his attention to writing – this time short stories and journalism. Using his father's contacts, he got a few minor jobs in Hollywood, but distant shores beckoned and, ostensibly in pursuit of a job at Gaumont British, he set sail for Europe. The job, however, was illusory and he led a poverty-stricken life in London and Paris where he studied oil painting for a while, sketching tourists for food money.

This chequered lifestyle continued until he decided to return to Hollywood and take up writing seriously. Employed by Warner Brothers, this, following co-writing credits for a couple of Oscar-nominated scripts (Dr Ehrlich's Magic Bullet and Sergeant York), finally led to his being able to direct his script for Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon, a film that established him as a key creative talent in Hollywood for the rest of his career. After war service, he continued his association with Humphrey Bogart, and made The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, which won him two Oscars – Best Director and Best Screenplay. This was followed by Key Largo, The African Queen and Beat the Devil. In between times, he had made one of the finest post-war films noir in The Asphalt Jungle, starring Sterling Hayden.

The full article is printed in Film Ireland 114.