A scene that personifies the Humphrey Bogart cinematic experience:
So he and Lizabeth Scott get into a catastrophic car accident near the end of 1947’s Dead Reckoning.
Smash to black.
A slow blink-fade-up on her medical team and a priest, standing around her death bed, administering last rites over her seemingly coma-ridden, presumably soon-to-be corpse (her appearance ends up being akin to a mummified Bride of Frankenstein).
The camera then pans over to Bogey’s adjacent hospital room; the dude is lounging perfectly upright in bed, replete in a silk robe, with nary a scratch on him besides a measly arm brace, casually bogarting.
What a lord.
Also, the way he schmears a piece of bread/toast/crackers. Good god.
Can we talk about how, during High Sierra’s hotel-lobby heist, Bogey pours himself a drink from a shocked-frozen bellboy’s cocktail tray, takes a sip, nonchalantly places the cup back on the tray, AND THEN BOUNCES!!!
DNA profiling really screwed the pooch on corporeal robbery.
